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#there is a nature paper about it for gods sake
istj-hedonist · 2 years
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Visual Typing - MBTI Head Shapes
After collecting more evidence over the past two years here is an updated chart of the different head/face shapes for the MBTI types.
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the general markers:
1. Introverts have thin faces, extroverts have wide faces (the only exception being xSTJs, more on that later), scientific studies about this:
- https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-020-65358-6
- https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0191886916309096
2. xxTPs have very rectangular faces with pronounced square chins. ExTPs in particular are prone to bulldog-like underbites, giving a stereotypically masculine appearance
3. xxFJs have smaller underveloped jaws with small chins, giving a triangular/ heart-shape, feminine appearance
just a hypothesis but 2. and 3. are probably related to testosterone-influence during embryonic development hence the correlation for both appearance and gendered character traits (feeling vs thinking, emotion vs ratio)
4. *for some reason if someone has this specific long jaw misalignment it -has- to be a male ISFJs (photo example before and after lefort 1 jaw surgery). (like, not -all- male ISFJs have it, but if someone has it you can bet it’s an ISFJ). haven’t seen this in INFJs or in female ISFJs yet
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5. Te/Fi-users have average jaw sizes and therefore go more into the circle/oval direction. xSTJs in particular often have “egg-shape” heads. xNTJs look somehow more triangular than their Si/Ne-counterparts but still more egg-ish than xxFJs.
behold, an xSTJ:
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6. for why ISTJ and ESTJ are “switched” in head width and they are the only MBTI pair that is an exception from the I/E-width-rule I only have this half-baked explanation that it’s not about introversion/extroversion in a social sense but more in a “openness to sensations” sense that ESTJs with their inf Fi are more stubborn and actually more withdrawn than ISTJs(??)
7. ENTJs have the most pronounced foreheads you’ve ever seen
8. fat can disguise the head shape, but not always. e.g. see those two examples of ExFJs before and after weightloss. the chin is still sharp and triangular even when overweight:
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meanwhile the rectangle shape of this ISTP only becomes visible with lower body fat:
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9. overdeveloped masseter muscles can distract from the chin shape. e.g. take this picture of young INFP Brad Pitt. one could easily fall into the trap thinking he has an IxTP head shape when in reality his chin has a normal Te-user size and it’s just his masseter muscles distracting from the shape. the curved indentations between chin and muscle are a good clue. (compare it to pictures of him being older with less pronounced masseter muscles, then his real chin shape is more obvious)
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comparing with ISTP Sigourney Weaver, her rectangle head shape is visible during all ages regardless of muscle mass
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as a novice those differences can be hard to track. train your eye by observing photos of people during different age stages, try to imagine the face without any soft tissue and bone only.
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reidmotif · 8 months
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Coffee and Consequences
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Summary: Reader joins the BAU, and Spencer seems insistent on being a problem for her.
Request: pls i am such a sucker for angst/smut, can you do one where spencer is closed off and cold to a new recruit, and it upsets her, so she tries to get him to like her, which leads to an argument and confession, with soft smut?
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut/Light Angst (Happy Ending)
Content Warning: Reader POV, little shit Spencer, oral sex (f recieveing), gunshot wound/typical canon violence, unprotected sex
Word Count: 6.1k
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Upon starting at the BAU, I believed there was no question about me, especially when it came to my skills and ability to perform my job. From stellar recommendations from my superiors at the Academy, to general demeanor and tact, there was no question about whether or not my success was imminent. Most of the team were more than elated to welcome me to the small family they’d built over the years, despite my younger age than most of them, which I was eternally grateful for. 
Most, being the keyword in that sentence. Since I’d begun, there’d been one thorn in my roses, the bane of my existence, you might say. Spencer fucking Reid. I’m aware of the fact that not everyone could like me, that was a given. I'm an FBI agent, for god’s sake. To expect warmth and friendship from everyone would be naive and lead to disappointment in any given scenario. 
But Jesus Christ, this was getting absolutely ridiculous. 
I consistently replayed the events of our first meeting. In an attempt to make a good first impression, (which seems stupid, in hindsight) I brought coffee to each of my new co-workers, hoping to establish myself as a friendly, non-threatening presence in their lives. I’d covertly asked Emily for help, as within the interviews and background checks required to even be considered for a position in the BAU, there was a certain camaraderie and friendship forged through the continued exposure to each other. 
Emily advised me carefully, understanding the intentions behind the act, and being more than happy to help.  “JJ likes vanilla lattes, nothing too fancy. Rossi is a little simpler, a Caffe Americano.” I spoke, and continued to go through my team’s regular orders, until there was hesitation on a somewhat infamous name, one that I myself was already intrigued by. “Spencer’s an easy order to remember, but you have to make sure you get it right.” 
I found myself nodding, the seriousness of Emily’s words striking me- momentarily finding myself forgetting that they were speaking about something as mundane as coffee. "Emily spoke slowly, as if I was advising a child. 'Reid likes black coffee, but you have to make sure to add extra sugar.'" I nodded quickly, "Alright, black coffee with extra sugar, got it-" Emily interrupted me abruptly. "No, no. You're not hearing me, extra sugar. I mean a lot, okay? Otherwise, he quite literally won't drink it."
I found myself chuckling a little bit, thinking about the image of Spencer Reid I’d built up in my head before I’d even met him. I knew he had been framed and had endured a considerable time in prison. I was also aware of his intelligence, a natural by-product of all the papers he’d written, and how many of his own techniques in geographic profiling were referenced during my time in the Academy. Working with him seemed like a dream come true. The idea of a grown man needing as much sugar in his coffee as Emily made it seem added just a bit of charm to the already positive perception I’d had of him. 
In the coffee shop, I carefully recited the orders of my new teammates, taking extra caution in advising the barista that the black coffee needed extra sugar. I could tell the patrons behind me were definitely annoyed, but it didn’t matter. First impressions matter more. Even after my incessant requests about sugar, I took the time to open the lid of the steaming black coffee to add in 3 extra packets of brown sugar provided at the customization station in the back of the coffee shop. I could tell the barista was boring holes into the back of my head, and I honestly wasn’t surprised or could blame her. At this point, the sugar had to be more than the coffee itself. I gave a satisfied grin to myself, knowing I’d followed Emily’s directions and the possibility of friendship with someone I’d already come to admire wasn’t something far-off to wish for. 
God, was I wrong. 
I approached the bullpen cautiously, being greeted by an assortment of new faces. I quickly matched names to descriptors that had been given to me from Emily. I then noticed one face that hadn’t greeted me yet, sat alone in the back with his nose in a book. I couldn’t discern the title, which I quickly figured was due to the fact that the book appeared to be some European language I’d most likely never even heard of. The man had a mess of brown hair on his head, and even from across the room I could tell it was curling softly near the nape of his neck. He was handsome. More handsome than I had pegged him for. I knew almost immediately that this had to have been the infamous Spencer Reid, and I cautiously approached him, flashing a small smile. 
He heard me a mile away, looking up quickly and putting away his book. His eyes seemed to size me up, and he didn’t seem to return my smile. I knew better than to shake hands with him, being predisposed to his germaphobe nature and instead held out the coffee, almost as if it was a peace offering. 
“Hi, uh. I’m the new recruit, I believe Emily warned you all about me and I just wanted to introduce myself. (Y/N). That’s my name. It’s nice to meet you.” I said, a little dumbly, still holding the coffee out. I quickly realized I hadn’t explained the reasoning behind the coffee cup and quickly added, “Coffee. I asked Emily about how you liked it. And brought it. So, yeah.” I said. I was aware of how awkward this conversation was becoming, considering I was still holding out the cup, like an idiot, and he hadn’t said a word to me yet. He nodded, taking the coffee cup from me and placing it on his desk. “Dr Reid. Welcome.” His greeting was short, but I tried not to let it bother me. Perhaps he wasn’t as forthcoming to strangers, nevermind that. The coffee was enough. I smiled, again, hoping to make my intentions clear. “Nice to meet you, Dr Reid.” 
I turned back, feeling satisfied. I’d done what I’d come there to do. Except a sound from behind me alerted me that maybe I was a bit early to assume that, because when I’d turned around, an incredibly displeased Dr Reid was throwing away his coffee- the coffee I had brought! That I’d waited for in a morning rush for, that I’d taken the time to add even more sugar to- that coffee! In the trash! His eyes met mine as he dropped it into the trashcan near his desk, shuddering a bit as he did so. He didn’t even look apologetic. 
I approached him, a bit upset and sad, but there was caution in my tone, not wanting to offend him before he even had a chance to know me. “Dr Reid, I’m sorry was the coffee-” Dr Reid quickly interrupted me. “Did Emily not tell you my order?” He asked, a little bit of sharpness to his tone. 
Okay, so this guy took his coffee seriously. Emily was not kidding around. 
“Um, yes-” He interrupted again. “Yes? Are you sure?” He said, a bit of condescension in his tone. Okay, holy shit. All this over coffee? “Very sure.” I responded, confidently. “Black, with extra sugar- I even put extra at the counter.” I added this, trying to convey that while I was sorry it wasn’t to his liking, it’s not like I didn’t try. That had to count for something, right? 
Wrong. Spencer Reid did not seem like the type of man who cared about trying. He retorted with, “Well, it wasn’t enough.” And with that, he shuffled to the breakroom, seemingly to make his own coffee. 
It seemed like from there, things only got worse. In one of my first cases, I quickly made a quip about the statistics on suburban murders, hoping to add some valuable information to the conversation. I tried hard not to overpower anyone and stay in my lane as the resident newbie, but Spencer seemed to take personal offense to it, going out of his way to argue that it meant nothing. I fired back, hoping to affront my point but Reid quickly cut me off.
 “You’re new, alright? And young. It’s granted that you should be clueless when it comes to some of these things.” His words, although somewhat true, were accompanied by a harsh tone and a coldness in his voice. What could’ve been well-meaning advice from a senior agent on the team was clearly not that at all. All signs pointed to one thing: He absolutely hated me. 
For all I tried, it seemed like he only disliked me more. It wasn’t unnoticed by my teammates, how he’d dismiss me. I was aware of my newness, of my inexperience, how this team had had years to grow around each other before I was ever even considered for this position, but it seemed with the more time I spent at the BAU, Spencer’s disdain only increased. He seemed to go out of his way to not sit by me on the jet, or how he seemed absolutely uninterested in anything involving me. I understood that not everyone would like me, but a bit of respect would be nice. I didn’t need friendship, just his tolerance, and even that seemed out of reach for Dr Spencer Reid. 
Eventually, this led to the dynamic  we harbored now. A year into the BAU, and instead of a friendship, or even acquaintanceship, it was constant bickering. It’s not like I wanted to argue- he just made it impossible for me to find footing within the BAU. I obviously stood up for myself, but was met with resistance from the doctor, and so the cycle continued. 
Still, despite the obvious dislike Reid harbored for me, it wasn’t like that magically made him dumb, or any less attractive to me. His intelligence was as impressive as I’d expected it to be, if not even moreso. I watched in real-time as the cogs in his mind turned, his slender fingers finding a point on the side of his mouth to tap, before stopping and sharing what he’d just thought of. He was brilliant, and no one could take that away from him
 However, in this particular case we were currently dealing with, it seemed that brilliance simply didn’t matter, because how could someone like him be so absolutely stupid? 
The hostage situation we were dealing with was tricky, to say the least. Multiple civilians, and a trigger happy unsub. Any experienced agent would be at a loss when handling something like this, but Spencer seemed confident. He’d been pushing to storm the building, citing that more people would get hurt the longer they allowed the unsub to continue making demands. I found myself  wholeheartedly disagreeing, attempting to put my foot down and be heard. I found that perhaps, through negotiations, we could not only save the civilians, but walk away with zero people hurt. Naturally, this caused commotion between the senior agent and myself. 
“Reid, I’ve told you for the millionth time that this unsub can’t be approached like this!” I whisper-yelled, clearly fed up with Spencer by this point. He questioned every decision of mine, and it's gotten to me. 
“(Y/N), you’ve dealt with maybe 3 hostage situations in your life. This isn’t something for you to take point on. We have civilians in there, and it’s more important we save them.” He responded, in his own hiss. 
“You’re being ridiculous!” I retorted. 
“You’re naive!” He shot back. 
We’d clearly reached a head when it came to this. Spencer huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m using my seniority here. We’re going to give the go-ahead to SWAT and make our way into the building.” 
I found myself returning the gesture. “Spencer- '' I began, only to be interrupted.
 “Dr Reid.” He corrected, venom in his voice. 
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I replied, furrowing my brows. 
“What?” He countered, seeming calm, but his eyes gave away simply how determined he was to win this. 
“This is a terrible idea.” I said, firmly. “Someone’s going to get hurt.” 
“Oh, and how do you know that?” Spencer quipped. “Is it your years of experience in the field? Or your time spent as an FBI agent?” He said, sarcastically. 
“I understand I don’t have as much experience as you, but-” I started, but I found myself cut off by him again. Bastard. He never let me finish my sentences. “Exactly.” He responded, calmly. “You don’t have as much experience. I know what I’m doing. Let’s go.” And with that, he walked, leaving me to simply follow. God, I fucking hated that guy. Forget the intelligence, none of that mattered when he was such a dick. 
As they entered the warehouse doors behind SWAT, I  knew that it was wrong. Something was off. We’d profiled this unsub as the dominant type, and an egotistical personality that wouldn’t allow for a partner. It was a part of the profile that they were sure of. It was part of the reason why Spencer was so confident of going in. 
Upon entering though, the SWAT team had a clear shot of the unsub, but in a split second, there were shots heard from an entirely different part of the warehouse. From the direction in which Spencer was directly in line of. 
It wasn’t like I thought about it, maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have done it. It was based on pure instinct. I found myself in front of Spencer Reid, the man who’d questioned my every decision since I’d begun my job, taking a bullet for him. Maybe he was right, maybe I was an idiot. 
I heard the gunshot first, then felt the cold floor pressing into my cheek where I’d been knocked down. Then a tight pressure in my arm. I finally looked down, seeing a bloom of red appear under my dress shirt where a bullet had struck, away from the vest I wore to prevent this sort of thing. I took in a sharp breath of air, eyes widening as my breathing began to quicken. I rolled onto my back, only to be met with Spencer’s concerned and frightened expression above me. I heard ins and outs of his speech into his receiver, as I faded in and out of consciousness. 
“Yes! We have an agent down. We need medic, now!” He yelled. I watched him in fascination, his face currently seeming to be the only thing I could focus on besides the overwhelming burning that I felt. I heard him speak to me, calmly. “Y/N? Stay with me, okay? You need to stay conscious. Okay?” He spoke to me calmly, but the waver in his voice was unmistakable. I found my eyelids growing heavier as I nodded. 
It wasn’t long until I came to, groggily opening my eyes to see Spencer’s concerned face looking back at me. I heard his voice, soft and distant. 
“(Y/N)..?” Spencer said, cautiously. 
“Dr Reid?” was my response. I was still a bit dizzy, and a bit confused about my whereabouts. 
“You were shot.” He replied, immediately. “In your arm.” He added, as if that wasn’t already obvious. 
I found myself chuckling, “Yeah, I can tell.” I said, my eyes meeting his. His expression was a bit unreadable, a mix between sternness and apprehension. I watched him, as his gaze shifted and he bit his lip. “You took it for me.” He said, suddenly. “The bullet, I mean.” He continued. “It would’ve hit me if you hadn’t gotten in the way.” 
“Gotten in the way?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow. 
“Gotten in the way.” He repeated back to me, his face hard. 
“Are you upset I took a bullet for you?” I said, furrowing my brows, my lips parting in shock. Was this guy serious? 
“Yes.” He said, his voice angry. “What were you thinking?” His voice wavered with anger and another emotion I couldn’t quite discern in that moment. 
“I wasn’t thinking, I just-” 
“Exactly.” He responded, harshly. “You weren’t thinking.” He said, his voice reaching a volume I’d never heard before, granted, it was still collected, but I’d never seen this side of him. 
I contemplated how to respond to this, actually not being able to believe that he could be mad at me for something like this. Yes, it was brash but- he didn’t get shot! Isn’t that a plus? His voice broke my thoughts, now a bit more shaky, softer. “Do you have any idea what that would mean? If you’d been hurt worse, what that would mean for me?” He said, looking right at my face, into my eyes with a blaze. “What you mean to me?” 
I found myself unable to respond, still not being able to grapple with what he was saying. What he was implying. “Sorry?” I asked, softly. 
“(Y/N)..” He said, softly. His own expression mirrored my confusion mixed with longing I’d never seen before on him. Especially when he looked at me. His hand brushed across my face, moving some hair that had drifted near my eye. I held my breath as he did so, watching as his tongue slipped out to wet his bottom lip, still watching intently. I felt my lips slightly part as he came closer, unsure what was going to happen in this moment, but regardless, my gaze was intently trained on his. 
In a split second though, the sounds of the rest of the BAU filtered into the hospital room. They jumped away from each other, Spencer now 4 feet away from me. Emily came up to my bedside, looking at the wound. 
The typical chastisement came, and the general choruses of appreciation that I was still alive. The diagnosis revealed that (Y/N) would be just fine, given I remembered to clean my wound liberally and change the bandages.
In about a week, I found myself discharged. I was given about 2 more weeks to rest at my apartment. I assumed the time would be enough to forget the strange moment I’d had in the hospital room. At some points, if I tried hard enough, I could convince myself it hadn’t happened at all. The tenderness in his eyes, the way his gaze drifted to my lips, so subtle it could’ve as easily been a figment of imagination. I shook my head, as if I could rid myself of all the feelings I’d harbored about that specific moment. I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a fresh-set of bandages to apply on the recovering wound, wincing as I peeled away the layers of gauze to reveal the injury. As I began to apply the anti-septic, I began to wrap the gauze, until I heard a knock at my apartment door. 
I put down the gauze, looking through the peephole and being surprised to see the senior agent that had been haunting my thoughts for the past few weeks. I opened the door quickly, meeting his pensive gaze. 
“Can I come in?” He said, quickly, almost if he didn’t say the words fast enough, he’d bolt the other direction. I sensed the confusion about his own actions, and opened the door wider, allowing him to push past me into my apartment. He noticed the gauze, and the open wound, and raised an eyebrow. 
“I was changing the gauze, sorry.” I said, explaining the sight on my kitchen table. He immediately took a step towards the table, picking up the bandages. “Let me help.” He said, quietly, motioning for me to sit down. 
I found myself sitting, out of pure habit of obeying him, but still shook my head. 
 “Dr Reid, no, it’s fine.” He quickly shook his head, mirroring my previous actions,  already beginning to take my arm, his light touches on my bare skin shooting a shiver up my spine. This was noticeable to him, him immediately retracting his hand. 
“Sorry, did I hurt you?” He asked, softly. 
I found myself shaking my head. “No, no. Sorry. Just. Continue.” I said, trying to get the words out without looking at him. I suddenly remembered the strangeness of this situation, and forced myself to calm down as he began to carefully wrap the bandages around my injury, swallowing and looking up. 
“Dr Reid, why are you here?” I asked, carefully. I made sure that my tone was neutral, not trying to express displeasement, but still a bit confused about his intentions here. 
“You took a bullet for me.” He replied, simply, as if that explained why he was in my apartment, looming over me as he tenderly wrapped gauze over my arm, looking at me with the gentlest gaze I’d ever seen on him. I sighed, locking eyes with him. “I know, but-” He interrupted. “No, (Y/N), you don’t know.” 
Immediately, the rage returned to my eyes, the months of dismissal I’d faced from him flooding back in a moment, and those emotions came to full light in that moment. my brows furrowed, my face turning sour. “Oh, I don’t know, Spencer?” I said, sneering at him. “Am I too young, too stupid, too inexperienced for you?” I question, sarcastically. “Am I so dumb, that I wasn’t aware of what I was doing when I stepped in front of you?!” I say, my voice practically yelling at him now. 
“Yes.” He whispered, dangerously close. 
“Excuse me?” 
“Yes. You weren’t aware.” He says, repeats, softer this time. “It’s the only way any of this makes sense. That.. that you were so unaware, so blinded that you weren’t thinking when you stepped in front of me.” He said, quietly, remaining just as close as before. 
“I wasn’t.” I said, firmly, my brows still furrowed but the tension slowly left my face, being replaced with a softness. 
“Why did you do it then?” He said, dropping his gaze as he began to focus more on the bandages. “I haven’t been very forthcoming with you since you’ve begun your time at the BAU.” 
“Ah, so you’ve noticed.” I said, trying to make humor of the situation, but it came out a bit more breathless and dry. I was aware of the intimacy of the situation, and it seemed my body was catching up. I could physically feel the way my cheeks were heating up, and how they were close enough that I could see every breath that exhaled from his lips. How, despite everything, I still desperately wanted to kiss him at that moment. 
I couldn’t be crazy, when he secured the bandages and slowly trailed his eyes over my figure, sitting in front of him. I saw the same desire I felt, reflected in his eyes, and I found myself biting my lip. What the fuck was going on?
“So why’d you do it?” He repeated, still looking at me. 
“It felt natural, I..” I trailed off, trying to find the words to explain what I had felt in that split-second, but instead went with the simplest retelling my brain could manage, considering how close he was. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” I said, looking at him. “I.. I care about you.” 
I felt stupidly vulnerable. His breath fanned over my face, and I bit my lip. I waited for him to say something, anything, staring anxiously at his face. 
“I’m a good profiler, you know.” He says, softly. 
I  chuckle a little at this, moving away so the tension can be relieved. “Trust me, I’m reminded of that every day.” I said, feeling like the distance between them was now more manageable, allowing me to talk.
But in a moment, he closed that distance to its predecessor, just as close as they were a moment ago. “You learn a lot about body language. Not just by learning to profile, but through years of experience. It just comes naturally, reading people. You can’t really turn it off. It’s like trying to forget how to breathe.” I hung onto his every word, and found my breath hitching when he directed his monologue to me. 
He gently inquires, “Do you understand?” 
I nod, looking up at him, as he inches closer. 
“So I hope you’ll understand and not take offense when I say I’ve been profiling you.” He pauses.  “Would you like to know what I’ve found out?” He says, looking right into my eyes at this point. 
My brain is screaming at me to say no, to not take the bait that he was dangling right in front of me, and to not cross that line tonight. Because, surely, that’s where this was going. I had a sneaking suspicion that the man in front of me was going to ruin me, if I let him. 
Instead, I ignore the instinct and intuition I normally rely on, and nod. “What did you find out, Dr Reid?” I responded, a bit shakier than I wanted to sound. 
“Your pupils dilate when I come near you. It’s an involuntary response, but I notice it every time. I’ve seen it in low and heavy lighting, the only commonality in both those situations being that we were in some proximity to each other.” His voice was low, and seductive, something I’d never heard from him before. 
“Your heart rate.” He murmurs, slowly picking up my wrist and pressing a thumb to the pulse point. “This isn’t exactly the best way to measure heart rate.” He explains, “My thumb. It carries its own pulse that can make it hard to distinguish between mine and yours. But right now, (Y/N)?” He mumbles. “I can tell. Because your pulse is going crazy right now. It’d be hard to miss.”  He said, with a low chuckle.
And he’s right, I can feel my heart getting faster with every second he speaks to me, in that hushed tone that seems to be driving me crazy. 
“It’s not just tonight. I’ve noticed it since the day you walked in.” He whispers, getting closer to my ear, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “Since you brought that terrible coffee, actually.” 
I pulled back, letting out a noise that was both composed of surprise and amusement. “Oh come on, it was not that bad.” 
“It was, but I can tell you tried.” He said, a small smirk playing on his face. “It was cute.” He said, now taking the time to brush some hair out of my face. It all happened quickly, his gaze tender and soft, before he captured my lips in a swoon-worthy kiss, pressing himself against me. I quickly melted into the kiss, letting out a satisfied sigh as I gripped his forearm, before rising from the chair as he slowly guided me to my couch. I let out a nervous laugh as my knees hit the cushions, tumbling a bit as I fell onto the soft pillows. He immediately pulled back, breathless, looking at me worriedly. 
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He murmured softly, kissing me again, a bit more gentle so I could murmur a soft “no” against his lips. 
“Good.” He growled, positioning himself above me on the couch,  beginning to press hot kisses down my neck, eventually reaching my exposed sternum, and looking up at me through hooded lids for implicit consent to continue, to which I nodded, feverishly. 
“Please.” I whispered, hoarsely. 
He took no time in obliging my request, rising a bit to remove the fabric of my shirt in one, clean swoop and continuing his assault on my chest, leaving open-mouthed kissed, eventually switching to nips and playful bites, as he sucked marks into the swell of my breasts, leaving me letting out delighted sighs and soft moans, which only seemed to encourage him to go lower. I arched my back, screwing my eyes shut, until he felt him stop, and come back to my neck. 
He murmured against me, close to my ear. I could feel his lips slowly brush the sensitive skin between my ear and neck, barely giving me any real stimulation, but it was enough to drive me crazy anyway. 
“Keep your eyes open, baby.” He whispers. “I want to see every part of your pretty face when I do this.” He says, returning lower again, leaving little kisses everywhere he could possibly go with his lips. I opened my eyes on command, watching as he went lower and lower, before finding the button on my jeans, slowly undoing them with nimble fingers and moving them off  my legs. I could imagine them so vividly inside me, expertly guiding me to pleasure in a way that mine couldn’t. But right now, if I wasn’t fucked senseless by him right now, I’d just about lose my mind. 
“Spencer.” I whispered, breathlessly. “I need you.” I breathed out. “Please.” 
“You need me to do what?” He asked, smirking as he already began to undo his own belt. 
“Spencer.” I repeated, firmly, not wanting to say the words. 
“Say it.” He says, in a much more commanding tone. 
“Spencer..” I repeat, breathing out again. “Fuck. I need-” I waver on the words, biting my lip. “I need you to fuck me. Now.” 
His smirk turns into a grin of satisfaction and pride, capturing my lips in yet another passionate kiss. “Mm. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He says, cockily. I whined against his lips, tacitly begging him to just get on with it and he chuckles, moving off of my mouth. 
“Alright. I get it.” He says, moving his lips downwards again, his lips brushing against my underwear, as he began to remove that fabric as well. He nearly moaned when he saw just how wet I really was. It was a bit embarrassing, just from a few touches and words, but it was hard to care when I felt his tongue right on my core, beginning to lap at the hot flesh, reducing me to moans as I knotted my fingers into his hair, arching my back and bucking my hips to feel more of his ministrations. He seemed to understand, hooking his strong arms under my thighs, firmly planting me to the couch we were currently on, continuing. I could feel his moans against me, sending vibrations that only heightened my arousal in that moment. As if that was even possible. 
And then it was, because I heard him murmur against me.“You taste-” he paused, using his tongue to lap up more of my arousal. “So fucking good.” He finished, beginning to now harshly flick at my clit, which caused an entirely new slew of sensations. I recognized my end was fast approaching, and I tugged on his hair, unable to form the words as the white-hot pleasure overtook me quickly, he seemed to understand this without a word, nursing me through my orgasm as my thighs shook around him and he held my hips down. Even then, he didn’t stop, continuing to flick his tongue, lapping up my arousal until I had to physically push him away with a soft groan. “Spencer.. It’s too much.” Even then, he continued, reducing me to nothing but moans, and I heard him whisper. “Come on. One more. Please.” The words unintentionally caused a flutter in my stomach, and in record time I was being pushed towards my second orgasm in a matter of 5 minutes.
His mouth was clearly so much better at this than arguing. 
I felt him lap up the last bit of my arousal, looking up at me with a glistening chin, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was the most erotic sight in the world at that moment. The man that had questioned me at every turn, now in between my legs. He gave a smirk, moving up and giving me a rough kiss, and I didn’t hesitate to moan in his mouth when I could taste myself on his tongue. He smiled as he broke the kiss, caressing my cheek with one of his hands. His thumb moved along the smooth expanse of my cheeks. 
“Are you okay?” He asks, gently, concern in his eyes. 
I couldn’t help but break out into a dazed smile, nodding, a thin cover of sheen over my body, where I was still breathing heavily. “Yeah. I’m good.” 
“Good.” He breathed out. “I’m not stopping.” 
“I don’t want you to stop,” was my response, his shirt coming off before I’d even finished my sentence. 
I watched in fascination as he undid his belt, the very sound of it filling me with anticipation and desire. I could feel myself getting more aroused by the second, despite my previous two orgasms. I wanted him, I wanted this so badly. 
I felt him position himself over me, and feeling the head of his arousal run through my folds. I let out a breathy groan, as I felt him push into me. He let out a moan of his own, shutting his eyes. “You feel.. So fucking good.” 
I whimpered slightly as my body adjusted to him and his size. He was so big, and I’d never felt full like this before. He noticed this and placed a gentle kiss against my lips, watching my face as it contorted in pleasure and pain. As the pain began to subside, I looked up at him nodding. 
“Move, please.” I begged, the desperation evident in my voice.
He took no time in obeying my request, beginning to slowly thrust in and out of me. I moaned, feeling his cock stretch me and fill me up in a way I had never been full before. A pleasant sensation bloomed through my lower abdomen, and I could feel him bury his head into my shoulder as he pushed into me, my walls clenching on his length with every movement he gave. He pressed wet kisses into my neck, and I moaned happily at the feeling. In an instant, I could feel him fucking me desperately, placing both of his hands on either side of my face. I could feel my jaw drop, and no sound came out. I was being hurdled towards my third orgasm of the night and it was all at the behest of the man in front of me, plowing into me like it was his job. 
I moaned loudly, my legs wrapping around his waist in an attempt to keep him buried in my deepest point, feeling my release creeping up on me. 
“Sp-Spencer..” I groaned, attempting to alert him of my impending orgasm, but he simply swooped down, kissing me roughly, which only caused me to moan into his mouth. 
“I know, baby.” He whispered, in a deliciously dark tone. “Come for me, baby. Wanna feel you make a mess all over my cock.” 
It took no more provocation from there, as I felt my hips buck up once more and my thighs shake. I came with a loud moan of his name, my free hand gripping onto him and leaving scratches I knew wouldn’t go away for a while. 
My release seemed to spur him on, the wetness allowing him to fuck into me harder. I watched the man above me lose all control, and it was beautiful. He grunted a bit, and I could feel his hips stutter, chasing after his orgasm. 
“Please, Spencer.” I begged. “Fill me up, I need to feel you come inside me.” I whispered. 
It didn’t take long after that, after a particularly hard thrust, a warmness filled me at my hilt and Spencer nearly collapsed over me. He gave me a kiss, murmuring into the skin of my neck. “So perfect, so fucking perfect for me.” 
I smiled at the praise, biting my lip. I let my hand traverse over his back, drawing figures into the warm skin. I looked at the man laying on my sternum, looking absolutely fucked out despite being the one to give me three orgasms tonight. “Perfect, you say?” I teased. 
He looked up at me, kissing my lips softly, before mumbling against them, “Mm. Perfect.” 
I had a sneaking suspicion the next time we were at work, and he’d have something to say about my work, (because he always did), it wouldn’t take long to have him whispering sweet nothings to me in an instant, just like he was now. At least I could do something right on the first try.
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hi!! this is my first fanfiction i've written since i was literally in middle school. spoiler. far from middle school right now. leave a comment, reblog, like, whatever! i had fun writing this. my ask box should be open for more requests? if anyone would like. anyway! hope u enjoyed!! :3
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jazzyoranges · 3 months
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hey. i really like the fic about shapeshitfing!reader x wednesday. i was wondering if u could do thing and reader being absolute besties and playful with each other which makes wednesday annoyed and sorta jealous.
Best friends
Wednesday Addams x fem!shapeshifter!reader
Words: 1.4k
A/n: lowk shapeshifter!r is so fun to write, thanks for all the requests about her :) hopefully you like reading about her a lot because honestly i’m a little obsessed with this universe
Warnings(?): wednesday being wednesday, ooc wednesday, mentions of knives and blood
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“Why are you adamant on annoying me.” Wednesday opens her door to you, whose rapidly knocking stops when the look on Wednesday’s face doesn’t give much room for explanation. But you love being defiant so you don’t really care
“Thing and I planned to go on a date today!”
The Addams looks behind her to see the appendage with the tiniest little crocheted messenger bag that was worn on his wrist like a bracelet. You can see Wednesday’s forehead wrinkle when Thing saunters over to your feet for you to put him on your shoulder, just as you’ve seen Wednesday do countless times before
“I asked Thing if he had any rings to wear and he said no, so naturally I’m going to treat him on a day out” The appendage taps excitedly on your shoulder, poking at your face to signal he wants to go
“And when did you plan this?”
“After we played tag, you wanna come with us?” You ask with a turn of your head
“Shopping isn’t my strongest suit. I’d only slow you two down.”
“We’ll be off doing hot girl things. I promise I’ll have him home before curfew, Miss Addams” You treat Wednesday like she’s a disapproving mother, when in reality she looks unfazed and honestly a little annoyed. You and Thing wave goodbye, leaving Wednesday with her own thoughts as her roommate is doing god knows what with her friends
Time alone could be good for Wednesday. She’s been around people far more than she preferred. With maybe an hour on her hands before someone interrupts her, Wednesday sits at her desk to write
Her fingers drum against her desk, a habit she picked up from Thing. The appendage you were taking out on a date. For gods sake, he was a hand! You asked a singular appendage out on a date. Not even a full human. A fucking hand. A hand that didn’t have a voice, yet you were still infatuated with him nonetheless
And maybe Wednesday is smart enough to recognize she’s feeling a little peeved over a hand. Maybe Wednesday is smart enough to know Thing does have a voice; a sassy one at that. Maybe Wednesday is coping with the fact you wanted to take Thing out more than someone you actively sought out and saw every day
And maybe you’re the reason why Wednesday had to buy a slightly bigger trash can for the more recent mistakes she’s been making during her writing time
You were a disease. You forced your way into everyone’s life, but somehow you always came out with more friends and acquaintances than you started with. It was annoying how unforgivably social you were.
Your dumb smile with your pearly white teeth. Wednesday’s tapping on her desk got a little faster
Your need to include everyone whether you knew them or not. It was why you were on a date with Thing in the first place
Your everlasting hunger to be around someone. Wednesday knew you didn’t like to be alone
Your voice that Wednesday knew so well.
Fuck.
“Hey, Wens!” Enid makes her presence known with a sing-song tone while placing her jacket on the coat hanger near the door
“Where’s Thing? It’s quiet in here” The blonde immediately notices
“He’s on a date,” There’s a small pause after Wednesday talks “with (Y/n).”
“(Y/n) took Thing on a date?”
“Correct.”
“How’s your writing going?” Enid peers over Wednesday’s shoulder to look at her once again, full trash can. Enid notices that happens a lot when you’re on Wednesday’s mind for some reason. The Addams glares at Enid when she makes another mistake, crumbling up the piece of paper while maintaining eye contact with her roommate
“Great.”
A beat of silence.
“…did you seriously get cucked by a hand?”
“Repeat such degenerate nonsense and I’ll be forced to make sure you never will.”
“I dunno, you’re looking a little jealous over there” Wednesday doesn’t have to turn around to hear the wolfish grin in Enid’s voice
“The urge to push a knife through your skull is an insatiable hunger that cannot be fed by anything that isn’t your blood.”
//-//
“Do you like this one? See look, the dragon is the ring!” You place the ring on Thing’s middle finger. The appendage shows his approval with another few taps
“Yes, it makes you look tough. You want another one?” He nods. Well, at least makes it look like he’s nodding. You grab a silver ring from the display, putting it on his thumb
“Will Enid like the rings?” Thing signs
“Everyone will love them, especially Enid. You running out on lotion?”
“Nope! How can I repay you?”
You pretend to think for a second
“If you delete Enid’s blackmail on me off of all her devices I’ll take you out again, free of charge” The employee at the front is probably wondering why your back is turned to her while you’re whispering into your hands
Thing holds a thumbs-up and you take the two rings off his fingers and put them on the check out counter along with a few other little trinkets you liked and stuff for your friends
A pink and white bracelet with charms you knew Enid would find cute, scale earrings that twinkled in the sun that Bianca would look stunning in, a bee pin that was too perfect for Eugene, and a black snake that curled into itself as ring for Wednesday
You only assumed Thing gave you a blank stare when the cashier said your price was a bit more than a hundred fifty dollars. Your mom would definitely chastise you for your spending issues, but that was a problem for another day. Your current problem was that you had to get Thing home by curfew like you promised
//-//
Thing might not want to take up your invitation on another date anytime soon.
Currently you’re turned into a bird with the appendage hanging on for dear life on your back as you carry the bag of items you bought in your beak. Thing pleaded you just run on the ground like any normal animal, but you promised you’d get him home by curfew. Running would’ve taken too long and your ass would get tired
So instead, you went for the skies without Thing’s approval
He might hate you now, honestly. In your defense, it was too late when he told you he had a fear of falling when you were above tree height
You asked if he wanted to sit in the bill of a pelican instead and you felt him pluck one of your feathers. Lucky for you both, Wednesday and Enid’s room wasn’t too far away
When you land on the balcony of their dorm, Thing hops off your back and apologizes for your now lost feather. You also apologize for not planning correctly and having him on your back with little to no safety
Enid looks a little confused when Thing starts to hug the bird that landed on her balcony, but she eventually figures out it’s you. The blonde looks away for a second and you’re already a cat desperately knocking against their circle window to be let in
You walk in like you own the place, and Wednesday checks the clock if you actually got Thing home by curfew
“With minutes left to spare, too.” Wednesday says. You smile proudly
You jump up onto Enid’s bed, bag still in mouth. You push it over so it’s parallel to the bed, digging your head in until you find what you need. The pink and white bracelet with charms you got from Jericho. Enid makes sure to ruffle your fur so much it starts to stick out until she pats it down. Thing makes sure to tell Enid all about his day
Grabbing your bag, you make your way towards Wednesday, who’s reading a book with a dark cover on her bed
You look through the bag again, but this time with the aforementioned snake ring in your mouth. You keep your tongue away from the ring as much as possible to stop you from getting your saliva on it
Of course you thought about your friends while on a date.
Wednesday reaches out her hand, taking the ring from your mouth. She places it on her left ring finger and it seems to be a snug fit. There’s a wordless thank you in Wednesday’s eyes when she uses the same hand to scratch under your chin, making you purr
The happy expression on your face and the way you lean into her touch makes Wednesday’s heart melt the tiniest bit.
You crawl into Wednesday’s lap as she reads her book. Every now and again you can feel the now cold ring against your skin, sending shivers down your spine
You end up spending the night with Wednesday’s lips against the back of your ear and her hand on your stomach. It wasn’t your fault you were a cuddly cat.
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monacotrophywife · 29 days
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Lima!! 🤍 not on anon, cause yeah!
I wish you would write a fic where...
Lando and Oscar have been apart for ✨ reasons ✨ They haven’t seen each other for a long time so naturally the heart goes wanting? Basically Lando convinces Oscar to have phone sex maybe?
uhhhhhh so
this rolled around my brain for 2 hours and then i ended up writing this mini-fic about it, so.... enjoy!!!!! (this is not remotely edited, haha, just directly from my brain) thank you so much for the prompt, this was fun!
* call me beep me
Oscar rejects the call for the third time in two minutes and taps out a text. He’s fervently glad Mark’s sitting in the front seat, chatting to their driver, and can’t see his screen.
Oscar: No Oscar: You know full well I’m in the car Lando: youre so boring Lando: this is what happens when you spend too much time with mark over the xmas holidays Lando: you turn into an old old old man who doesnt wanna hear me cum Oscar: Obviously I do want to hear that you dick
He shouldn’t have said that – Lando evidently takes it as encouragement because his phone starts vibrating again, loud even over the sound of Easy Listening FM or whatever Mark has put on the radio. Mark cranes his head round and smiles encouragingly.
“You can get that, Oz,” he says, gesturing at the half-covered screen. “Don’t worry about me, Paul and I are chatting about the glory days.”
The driver makes a cheerful agreeing noise: it turns out he knows Mark’s uncle or something, and they’ve been enthusiastically playing a game of ‘who do we know who’s dead or really successful now’ for ten minutes. With another fifty miles to go before they reach the training camp, Oscar might die of boredom, but it probably still doesn’t mean he should do something reckless like listen to Lando jizz his brains out over the phone.
Oscar smiles thinly. “It’s probably not important.”
Mark just shakes his head kindly. “You never know, kid. In this sport, one missed phone call could mean the difference between- ”
Oscar clicks ‘Accept’ before Mark can really get going, and regrets it immediately.
“Knew you couldn’t resist,” Lando says, and his voice is cracked and breathy. Fuck’s sake.
“Alright mate, how’s it going?” Oscar says evenly, studying the expanse of dusty faded landscape out of the window. He picks his rucksack up, pretending to rummage for a notebook, and then kicks himself for really acting it out, looking around for a pen to go with it, before resting the notebook on top of the bag squished safely over his lap. Four words from Lando in that voice and his dick has already decided to join the party, and he can’t run the risk.
Lando giggles delightedly at Oscar’s deadpan response. “Can Mark hear me?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so, no,” Oscar says. “Which is probably best."
Mark and Paul are chatting away again. Oscar hasn’t said anything incriminating yet, nothing they could notice, and yet he can feel the cherry-red flush of frustrated-horny-amused he gets around Lando creeping up his chest. He clicks the pen and scribbles over the notebook, trying to make it look like he’s taking notes.
“I’m wanking,” Lando says, unnecessarily, his breathing short. Oscar snorts, tries to convert it into a cough.
“Yeah, I thought that’d be the case. Kind of what we expected.”
“Are you pretending this is a call from the factory?” Lando says, and Oscar hears a slick noise in the background that makes him stab the pen through the notebook so hard it tears the paper. He takes a calming breath.
“Yeah, no, it’s good to have updates. Nice to know what I’ll be coming back to at shakedown.”
Lando giggles, but it turns into a choked-off little moan. “Fucking hell, you are a freak. Bet you’ve got a hard-on in the car too, don’t you.”
Oscar does. He presses the rucksack against his lap for the tiniest amount of friction, and says, keeping his voice steady. “It’s looking that way, but it’s hard to tell right now.”
“Oh god, I can’t wait to get my mouth on your dick again. It’s been ages. Years.”
Oscar counts in his head, feels the flush on his chest grow warm remembering the last time he’d seen Lando, a frantic shag in his London apartment before one of them had to catch a flight. “I think we said a few weeks since that last update? That sounds right.”
“You did fucking update me, yeah, updated all over my face.” Lando says, irritably, as though he’s annoyed Oscar can’t join in. Oscar tries not to smile too fondly about it.
“Yeah, that was a high point for us all, I think.” Oscar says, grinning, into the window. It steams up slightly from his breath, the aircon, the day growing hotter outside. He feels a long, long way away from Lando right now. It feels weird to be missing him when he can hear a lubed-up squelching noise in his ear, but that’s the whole thing with Lando. He’s surprising.
“God, Osc, I wanna hear you too,” Lando says, and it’s ruinously horny, as Lando always is, but Oscar thinks there might be something softer underneath. Like he might be missing Oscar as well.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Oscar says, and his voice comes out soft. His dick, however, is not soft. His dick is aching under the rucksack, the thought of Lando shacked up in some hotel room in Finland, peeling off his ninety layers of clothing he’s been complaining about wearing, just to get his grubby hands on himself and call Oscar and breathe down the phone at him like a little pervert. This train of thought is interrupted when Mark turns his head and raises a thumb questioningly.
“All good, mate?” Mark says. Oscar rearranges his face, hoping he doesn’t look wistful or turned on, and nods. “Is that Mark Webber?” Lando says, voice shrill. Oscar ignores him and smiles at Mark benignly.
“Yeah, all good. Won’t be long.”
He starts jotting something on his notebook, a string of random words. Shakedown. Brake balance. He adds a few numbers, too, and Mark seems satisfied that Oscar isn’t accidentally entering into any contracts or agreeing to any sponsorship deals. When he turns back round and Oscar can tune his brain back in, Lando is still talking.  
“…fucking hell, the thought of you there in the car with your dick hard for me is driving me mad, do you reckon you could sneak a picture without him seeing?”
God. Oscar’s dick twitches at the thought. Lando sounds hectic and whiny and close.
“I’m assuming you want to see a really big improvement?” he improvises, and Lando makes a shocked gasping laugh, “But I guess we’ll have to wait to find out.”
Lando lets out a whine. “Can’t believe I’m about to cum over you talking like you’re in a fucking debrief about your massive dick.”
Oscar scratches out brake balance with an unnecessary amount of force.
“Do you think we’re that close?” God, it could be anything. Close to Red Bull’s pace. Close to getting new data. But he’s tense anyway, like Mark will glance in the rear view mirror and know somehow.
“I’m really fucking close, yeah,” Lando murmurs now, his voice getting indistinct and stupid in the exact way that makes Oscar’s skin feel tight and hot.
“Good, yeah.” Oscar pushes the tip on the pen into his thigh, lets the sharp tip focus his voice to stop him sounding wrecked. “That’s really good.”
“Shit,” Lando says, and then there’s a rustling of sheets, a distant, muffled moan, as though Lando’s dropped the phone. Oscar thinks he is alarmingly close to coming in his jeans for someone sitting a foot and a half away from his manager and a middle-aged man he doesn’t know, but hearing Lando get off is too much after weeks away from him. He stays on the line, waiting.
“So, just to check, was that everything you needed?” He says tentatively. There’s a shuffling noise, then Lando, panting softly.
“Fuck. Yeah. God, that was – shit, sorry, you’re in the car aren’t you?”
“Yep.” Oscar says, staring at a loose thread in the headrest in front of him. This was a terrible idea: now he’s going to be achingly hard for another twenty miles and he’s going to have no chance to do anything about it for hours.
Lando giggles again. “Sorry. Missed you, though.”
It slices through the prickly, horny feeling - tender and nice. He knows Lando means missed doing weird sex stuff with you, probably, but. Still.
“Yeah, I agree.”
“You agree, do you, Ozzy? I need a shower now so bad, I’m gross.”
“Not surprising,” he says fondly, trying not to smile.
“You like it when I’m gross. Are you still hard?”
“Yeah, yeah. Definitely.” He’s definitely failing to keep the grin out of his voice now.
“I’ll suck you off to make it up to you next week?”
He wants to laugh or throw his phone out of the window or throw himself out of the window and get on a plane to Finland immediately.
“Yeah, you too, mate. Thanks for the call.”
He ends the call and stares down at the notebook for ten long seconds. Mark turns his head back round, the nosy bastard.
“Anything exciting?”
Oscar tries to think back to what he’d actually said out loud, what story would be plausible. “Just some stuff about the upgrades, wanted to know if I’d looked at the new data they sent through.”
“I bet you did,” Mark says approvingly, “You’re a bloody hard worker.”
Oscar glances down at the notepad full of utter nonsense in front of him, spies a little 4 he’s drawn in the corner, obvious and embarrassing. He folds the notebook up, tucks it back in the rucksack, keeps it clamped on top of his knees.
He nods at Mark brightly. “You know me. I try and be professional.”
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sehtoast · 5 months
Text
Satisfy Me (Homelander x Reader PowerSwap!AU)
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18+ | 3.4k, stalking, masturbation, mostly mutual masturbation, graphic violence, powerswap au, gender neutral reader | Fic Directory
Ask Prompt: Non supe hl x HL reader. Like the reader has his powers, and he's just a regular guy.
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You find him by chance. Could've been any of those little ants down on 36 assigned to your old suit's preservation, but it was him. 
What an ordinary fellow he was, too, running around in those little blue sweaters over his dress shirts, his soft box-dye-blonde hair, those pretty blue eyes behind dark framed glasses. It drove you nuts, but that was the best part. 
John was the best part. 
You fixated on him from the moment you saw how he handled a literal part of you, how he touched your suit with care and grace, expressed how much of an honor it was to be picked to take care of you. 
And you? You were bigger than life itself! The fucking Homelander, for crying out loud. Of course he should be honored to preserve and maintain your old suit; it's you for fuck’s sake. So why was it that his anxious little demeanor was so endearing to you?  What was it that made his promise to keep something of yours in tip-top shape turn him into the center of your attention?
Why did you find yourself lingering on 36 far more often? Going down with the excuse of wanting to see progress on the display, but really just wanting to see him, talk to him, learn about him. 
Your gloved hand on his shoulder makes him nervous. You can hear his heart beat as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings as he glances up at you. His cortisone spikes, but not in the wrong way. You rile him up. 
It's adorable. 
You begin to watch him. You follow him along the route of the subway, trail him from his stop to the school where he picks up his son, then to his apartment. You float up at the same pace that they ascend the stairs until you're lingering outside the window to his bedroom, watching him sleep. 
This becomes your routine, and god help anyone who tries to take you away from it.  
You sneak in a few times when no one’s home. Roam between rooms, investigating every little piece of his life. You borrow a sip or several from the milk in the fridge, peek at the living room, investigate the bathroom. You learn the boy's name is Ryan from the little wooden letters mounted on the wall above his bed. There's not much of note in the kid's room save for action figures, lego sets, and a few stick figure doodles labeled ‘me and dad.’
John's room is where you have your fun. You start at his desk, sifting through papers and soon-to-be-due bills. You wiggle the mouse at his computer and find his desktop background to be a picture of himself and Ryan. You're almost offended that it's not a picture of you and all your star-spangled glory. 
Almost. There's better things to do than care about that. 
There's a closet full of clothes to run your fingers over, a drawer of underwear from which you can pick your new favorite keepsake.  You settle on a pair of dark red briefs, holding them to your nose to inhale deeply, groaning as the scent of him fills your lungs.  You make your way over to the nightstand where you find a drawer with a stroker and lube hidden inside a ball of paper towels.  You smirk and toy with it for a time, tongue jutting out to lave over the inside, hoping and praying that there’s even a drop of him left in there. 
And then there’s his bed, full of his scent.  You lay on it and press your face into his pillow, breathing in his scent in several deep, focused breaths.  Underneath a smell that is so uniquely him, you find a hint of something woodsy and herbal.  It tickles your nose sweetly but you focus more on his natural scent than that of his products. You want to stay more than anything. You’re surrounded by him in every sense of the word. All of your senses are bombarded by parts of him; the only thing missing is the man himself.
You roll on your back, eyes shut as you picture what it would look like to gaze up at him from that angle.  How he’d look leaning above you, sweat on his brow as he drives into you over and over and over again… How he’d pant and gasp, exerting himself just to please you, just to pump you full of his love and devotion.
God, you hadn’t even realized you’d snaked your hand into your pants during the fantasy.  You shut your eyes and continue anyway.
Your mind wanders back to the thought of him. You’d touched yourself to the thought of him quite a few times, but doing it in his bed?
Delicious…
You imagine wrapping your legs around him, featherlight lest you crush his pelvis.  You roll him, straddling his waist as you come down hard on his cock.  Beneath you is where he looks best.  Squirming and panting, hips thrusting to meet you in desperate, sloppy motions.  You’d be so good to him, too.  You’d ride his cock until he saw stars, until the only word that could come out of his mouth is your name…  
You’d let him pump you full of however many loads that pitiful, human body of his could muster, until you’re dripping with his come and he’s yours inside and out.
Maybe you’d mark him up, too.  Leave some handprints at his hips, some bite marks where he’s soft… Wouldn’t be hard… Wouldn’t take much to mar that perfect skin with your claim of ownership.  Some hickeys at his inner thighs, maybe an extra special one right where his cock meets his groin.
Your salacious fantasies come to a head at the same time as your pleasure.  You grind against your hand as you picture what it’d be like to milk his cute little cock.  Suck him dry, watch him beg and plead, let him squeeze your head with his legs as if he could possibly make you stop.  You’d eat up every ounce of him and spit it back in his mouth.  Make him go down on you with a mouthful of his own come.
“Oh, fffuck!” You howl, writhing on his bed, fist gripping and pressing his blanket to your nose. Your underwear are soaked, but you couldn’t care less.  Not as you pant heavy breaths, your body blissful and surrounded by him.
You linger for quite a while, only breaking away for your regularly scheduled visit with him. 
You had asked for a lesson about The Federalist Era - not that you really gave a shit beyond getting to consume his time. John was all too excited at your sudden interest and he offered to stay late just for you. Ryan would be with his mother, as was the case for every Friday to Sunday, and he’d have nothing but time for you. 
He meets you in your penthouse with a textbook and it's everything you've got not to devour him whole. He’s so precious.  You keep your gloves off, brushing your fingers over his as you point to parts of the text you ‘didn't get.’ You do everything in your power to keep him red and blushing.  You scoot closer, hover in his space, lean over his shoulder.  You practically eye-fuck him every time you look at him.  You toy with him all night until he finishes his lesson.
He stays for another hour just for the hell of it. Just to spend time with you. It's not until he's yawning that he entertains the idea of heading home. 
“Why don't you let me fly you?” You offer, smirking at how he deeply he flushes. 
“Oh, I mean I don't- I just-” He stammers. “I’m just a little scared of heights, you know?” 
You scoff a laugh at his confession, taking him by the hand and leading him to your balcony. He doesn't resist you whatsoever. 
“C'mon, Johnny! I won't let anything happen to ya!” You wrap your arms around his waist and begin to hover. You whisper in his ear, “I'll protect you,” and you can feel the way he shivers before nodding.
His arms wrap around your neck, textbook dangling from one hand as he presses himself against you. The higher you rise, the tighter he holds on. 
“Good boy.”  You breathe soft and low, thumb rubbing circles at his lower back.  “I’m a much better ride than the shit they got down there.”
He clings to you the whole way home, only realizing after you've dropped him off that you somehow know where he lives. 
You drive him wild. You stir a feeling in him that he hasn't had time to focus on in so long, and it's to your absolute pleasure that you get to linger and peer through his roof that night as he takes care of himself. 
John fucks his fist with reckless abandon, then his toy that he just can't help but imagine is your hole. You focus extra hard, trying to make your senses pick up on everything happening in that room.  You can smell the salt of his sweat, the pheromones in the air, the scent of his precum.  You hear every little gasp and moan, every groan that rattles out of his pretty little mouth.  The sound of lube squelching in his stroker riles you up so much more, and you’ve half a mind to burst through the fucking wall and mount him.  
You tease yourself in time with him, knelt on the roof so perfectly that no one could catch you.  You gaze through matter with hooded eyes to watch him, and it’s the most beautiful, tempting sight you’ve ever seen in your life.  You can’t remember a time you’ve been so fucking horny as you are right then.
He comes near violently, shouting, “H-Homelander!” as he does. Your eyes roll back and a quivering moan rips from your throat as you come apart with him.  He called your name.
He called your fucking name.
He’s already yours.
He works the next day for some overtime pay. Nothing stressful, just some extra document filing. You're preoccupied with filming away from the tower, much to your heavily expressed ire, and he's bored. 
He's bored for the whole day, wishing you'd come by.  He stays extra late, hoping beyond hope that you’ll meander in like you don’t actively choose to come down to such an insignificant level.  
But you don’t.
He’s thoroughly bummed out as he steps off the train, walking the rest of the way home in the dark.   He knows you didn’t forget about him; you’re just busy.  Even the world’s greatest superhero’s gotta take care of their commitments, right?  He’s deep in thought as he makes his way down the cold street.  The yellow glow of the streetlights sets a somber feeling deep in his heart as he shuffles further along, passing the occasional stranger, hands in his pockets.  He should’ve worn more than a sweater and a scarf.  He had no idea it was gonna be so chilly.  Or maybe he’s just so used to running hot after spending time around you.
God, had he really caught the attention of Homelander?  Like, really caught it?
He’s heard stories– god knows there’s enough to go around.  Was told by more than a few of his coworkers in the archives that it’s dangerous to be around you.  That there was a good reason that the loneliest spot was always at the top.
He didn’t like that, though.  What he did like, however, was you.  The way you look at him as though he’s worth wanting.  You give him your full attention and fuck, you always come back.  It’s like he matters now.  He’s not just some orphan-turned-moderate-success trying to raise his son and keep from drowning under the oppressive cost of New York’s rent.  Well, he still is, but he’s all of that and he’s got the attention of The Homelander!
And he finds you sweet.  Like a big, scary dog that only likes him.  He wants to know more about you.  As much as he likes history, he’d love yours even more.
He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he neither sees nor hears the man sprinting up behind him to grab him by the scarf.  John chokes harshly as he’s dragged into an alley, kicking and thrashing to no avail.
He’s thrown on the ground and he wants to get back up, fight for what little good it’d actually do, but there’s a clicking sound directly in front of his face and–
He freezes.  Eyes go wide, skin chills far colder than the air alone could ever turn it.  A pit forms in his gut and oh god he’s fucking helpless.
“Empty yer fuckin’ pockets,” demands the gunman, motioning down with the barrel of the firearm.  He can barely see them as more than fuzzy silhouettes and he realizes that he’s lost his glasses.
He pulls his wallet and phone free shakily, laying them gently on the ground before raising his hands up in surrender.  He watches the man who grabbed him go through his wallet, and he hears a scoff.
“Twenn’y bucks?”  The man slurs exasperatedly.  “Yer life ain’t worth twenn’y, son.  Ah shit… we could sell ya!  I got a guy needs a good piece’a meat to throw ‘round in his dog fights.  Should see the way the mutts fight over fresh food.  Y’look like good bait.”
John blinks rapidly, eyes wide and panicked as each word settles in.  He tries to shuffle backward, but he’s grabbed by the ankle and yanked back.
“Bet he’d go for a few hundred.  He don’t stink.  Not a ton of meat on ‘im, but there’s enough,” the gunman muses.  “Shit, Gordy, we might as well.  Fuckin’ twenty bucks… Ain’t even worth the effort to–”
John hears a sound like fabric flapping, and suddenly everything goes silent.
Silent, until he hears you.
“Howdy ho, boys!”  You greet, though your tone couldn’t be further from inviting.  “Say, what’s got two idiot fucks like yourselves out tonight, eh?”
John pats at the ground, desperate to find his glasses.  His heart pounds in his ears so loudly that he can’t hear what the men say to you, only the sounds of shrill, agonized screaming.  Something warm splats against his cheek and a deep, unsettling feeling in his bones tells him that it’s blood.
“C’mon, boys!  It’s not that bad!”  He hears you chuckle, followed by a flash of red and more howls of pain.  “You guys! It’s not like I’m, oh, I dunno, feeding you to a pack of dogs?”
As he scrambles, he feels the cracked lenses of his glasses and puts them on in time to see just what you’d done.
His assailants kneel on the ground, their arms laying next to them. He swears he sees bones jutting out of their legs.  
You’re elbow deep in one’s chest, smiling sadistically with every crunch and squelch as you rip free a blood drenched length of bone and shreds of muscle.
His stomach should churn at the sight of you shoving the gunman’s body to the ground.  It folds in half without a spine to support it, and it’s objectively the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen. The other man whispers to himself, which must really piss you off.  He sees it in your eyes.  Yet, he’s not scared.  Not of you.
“Greedy little thing, aren’t ya?”  You muse as you stare down at the man.
John can hear him reciting a prayer.
“God? No.”  You kneel down to pat his cheek, staining his skin a deep red.  “No god. The only one in the sky is me.”
He watches you wedge your hands into the man’s mouth, effortlessly ripping his jaw and head apart, splitting him down the length of his neck.
John watches in a mix of awe and horror as you continue tearing all the way down through the chest cavity.  There’s a sick look in your eyes.  Like you’d done this before.  
Like you were comfortable doing this.
So why the fuck wasn’t he afraid when your gaze flickered up to him?  Why did the shakes of his body quell the minute your blood stained hands reached down to loosen the scarf still tight from when he’d been dragged?
You’re drenched in blood.  The pungent liquid soaks you, drips down your collar and into your suit. It’s all over your face, coating your hair, resting thick on your eyelashes.
His hands come to rest at your cheeks, thumbs smoothing through the viscera as he gazes up at you in awe.  Your grip on his arms is featherlight at most, and he’s amazed.
You are a creature of unfathomable violence.  You have ripped and torn through an incalculable amount of flesh, committed sins far greater than even his mind full of historical horrors could imagine, and yet…
You hold him as though you’re afraid to break him.
Even as you gather him in your arms and fly away, you’re so gentle with him.  Considerate and kind, courteous and caring as you bring him home.  Your boots leave bloody prints across the hardwood floor of his bedroom as you walk him to the bathroom.  You’re on autopilot and that nagging voice in your mind berates you for prioritizing some simple mud person over yourself, over the thrill of the kill. 
“Are you hurt?”  You hear him ask, and it leaves you deeply confused.  Are you, The fucking Homelander, hurt?  Are you, indestructible force that you are, in pain?
He forces you to sit on the edge of the bathtub as he scrambles around for supplies.  You’re not sure why you let him move you around.  Hell, you’re not even sure why you let him wash the blood from you.  
Worse yet, you let him strip your upper body bare.
You let him see the truth of your suit and what you lack beneath.  You’ve got the power of a god, certainly, but you’re so regular underneath the facade. But you can’t find it in yourself to care as he wipes you clean with a warm, wet cloth.  Not with the way he holds the back of your head and removes the evidence of just how far your love for him will push you.
At some point your eyes lock and his hands stop moving.  
Time stills, but he does not.  He leans forward and takes you in a kiss so soft that you wonder if it even counts.  Just a peck at first, barely even a graze of his flesh against yours.  When you don’t pull away, he comes back, this time brushing his lips to yours with the slightest bit of pressure.  His lips are soft, his kisses unsure until you finally reciprocate.
Then?
Oh, then he devours you with a need fit to rival your own.  His arm wraps around your upper body and pulls you against him, all while your own hands scramble to grab at him.  Your breaths mingle together, fanning hot and heavy against each other.  He tastes blood on your lips, and you taste the remnants of his afternoon coffee.  The scent of iron mixed with him surrounds you, and god it is the most exquisite aroma. 
His taste, his scent, his touch, his sweet little gasps…
You want it all.
He pulls away once he, fragile human that he is, gets dizzy.  John giggles breathlessly against your mouth, tongue sliding over his lower lip to lap at your lingering taste.  You smile in return, indulging in something you’ve never quite felt before.  His hands still roam, and you’ve a pretty good idea of exactly where this night will end up once he’s got the rest of that pesky blood wiped from you. For now, though, you’re satisfied even if you’re not entirely satiated.
After all, you’ve truly proven yourself to be–
“My hero…”
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mkfluffluv · 2 years
Text
Comfort
STEVEN GRANT X GN READER , SLIGHT MARC SPECTOR AND JAKE LOCKLEY X READER
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prompt : you decide to use the spare key to steven's apartment and find that he isn't home. when he does come home though, steven is in a terrible mood and wants all the love you can possibly give.
for the sake of this not being awkward, marc and layla signed the divorce papers. this takes place after the events of moon knight and they know of jake's existence. also english is not my first language so please excuse the mistakes. leave me requests !!!
like and reblogs appreciated !!!
warnings : none. this is literally just pure tooth-rotting fluff and steven being a big lovable baby.
word count : 1,119
masterlist
You close the door behind you, the lack of your boyfriend anywhere in the apartment making you frown. The plan was to come over to spend some time with Steven since your place felt too empty but you were utterly disappointed when you find that he wasn't even home yet.
Swear to god if Donna had put the poor man in inventory again, you are personally going to go over there and claw her face off. Which you'd offered to do so many times before but Steven always assures you that he's got it handled. Every day you pray he'll change his mind just so you get to slap that annoying face of hers.
You push the violent thoughts away as you make your way over to his desk where a clutter of books on ancient Egypt history lay on top. Shaking your head at Steven's usual untidiness, you gather a bunch of them and start to clean up for him. You're sure he'd appreciate the help.
-
It starts with just the desk, and then his bed, and his shelves, and after a while, you've pretty much started to clean up the whole place. Gosh, you knew Steven could be a mess at times but the place was in such disarray, that it took you around an hour for the apartment to even be moderately clean.
In the middle of picking up clothes strewn about the floor, you hear the clicking of the door being opened then closed, and lo and behold, there stands your sweet Steven looking tired as ever.
It only takes a few small steps till you're standing face to face with him. You place a hand gently to his face, Steven immediately leaning into your touch. You resist the urge to coo at his endearing behavior and give a soft peck to his slightly pouting lips. "What's happened, love?" The nickname falls out of your mouth with no hesitation.
Steven doesn't respond. Instead, he opens his arms and you naturally fall into them, letting the man hold you against his body tightly with your own arms wrapping around his waist. "Just missed you." He mumbles into your hair. This time, you let the small coo come out. Can't help it, he's just too adorable.
After a while of just holding each other and your hands drawing comforting circles around his back, Steven eventually pulls away and looks at you with tired eyes. "Do you have work tomorrow?" You shake your head. "Can you stay, then?" He asks timidly. A smile makes its way up your face. A shy Steven is a 10 times more adorable Steven.
You give him a kiss on the cheek, "Go get changed," A kiss on the forehead, "then we'll head straight to bed." And finally a kiss to his lips. "Does that sound good?" Steven nods, the frown on his face gone, replaced by a weary smile.
He hesitates for a second, still wanting to stay by your side so your warmth doesn't leave him until Jake in the mirror tells him to "get a move on, so we can cuddle and sleep." Steven grumbles and drags his feet towards the closet, then the bathroom to get changed.
You change into your own pajamas that you keep in his closet for days like these and head towards the bed. You fluff up the pillows, ready the blankets, and try to make the cheap mattress look and feel as comfortable as possible.
Steven walks out of the bathroom in a plain white shirt and sweatpants. You sit on the edge of the bed and pat the space beside you, urging him to come and sit down as well.
He does so but then lays his head across your lap instead of just sitting beside you. He grabs one of your hands and places it on his head where you immediately start playing with his hair. This is pretty much the usual routine for you both whenever you stay over so it comes naturally to you.
It's silent for a while, no conversation is had between you two as you gently rub at Steven's head, massaging his scalp and letting the sweet man relax on your lap. Eventually, though, curiosity just got the best of you.
"Why'd you come home so late?" You ask him. Steven scoffs and turns his head towards you, his hands crossed in front of his chest.
"Someone," He pointedly glares in front of him. At the mirror where Marc or Jake is probably standing there guiltily, then turns away. "Decided to interrupt me at work. Donna didn't like that, thought I was going mental and I got put in inventory." And the violent thoughts are back again. You wish you could poke her eyes out or something. You voice these thoughts to him.
"Steven?" He hums in response. "My offer to claw her face off still stands." Your statement gets a bright laugh out of him.
-
Eventually, after talking about his awful day for about 30 minutes, Steven's eyes start to get droopy and his yawns start to interrupt his story more often than not.
You lay down on the bed, taking Steven with you. He's visibly startled by your sudden strength but gets comfortable quickly. He loops his arms around your middle and pulls you closer to him.
Steven snuggles closer into your chest, and visibly relaxes as you run your fingers through his hair again. A small smile makes its way up your face at the adorableness that is Steven Grant cuddled up close to you. You continue to play with his curls until Steven's breathing eventually slows and he falls into a deep sleep.
Which lasts for about 5 minutes when the arm around you suddenly tightens its hold on your waist. When he looks up, you are greeted by tired but confused eyes. Gone was the innocence and pureness that laid in those eyes, now replaced by a more stern and less relaxed gaze.
"Go back to sleep, Marc." You say, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head. "You all need some rest." Marc doesn't argue, the sudden fatigue and stress confused him but he eventually gives in to exhaustion and falls back asleep.
At first, you expected Jake to come out this time, maybe wanting a small kiss to the head as well but after half an hour of waiting, the only movement coming from him was only the soft rise and fall of his broad chest. You decide to give him another kiss anyway, just in case. Holding your love closer to you and nuzzling into his hair, you finally let yourself drift off to sleep as well.
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theendofviolet · 9 months
Text
“ashiya douman is evil for the sake of being evil”
yes! but also.....very much no.
(heian-kyo and very mild out of context paper moon spoilers abound below)
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i think what i find sometimes among fate/go players is treating ashiya douman As It Says On The Tin; they’re a nuisance, a monstrous soul, a giddy evil jester happy to spread their malice to cause harm to human beings. and yes, as it stands, that’s exactly their role. even nasu states in an interview that douman was created to be a negative force to push the lostbelt kings a little to serve the plans of the foreign god as her Apostle. the man was told “be amusingly evil” and boy, did they live up to the task!
but to stop at just the interpretation of “oh, guy is EVIL that’s all, time to wrap it up and go home boys” completely misses the true complexity lying behind the surface, and whitewashes a key point repeated time and time again in heian-kyo.
douman....or rather, limbo (and the distinction is important!) is an alter ego. limbo is a shadow. limbo is a part of the whole. limbo is an aspect, a silhouette of humanity, a piece, a caricature. xu fu even goes into detail of the nature of alter egos here:
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limbo is an alter ego, which means if you take the whole of ashiya douman and write them off as “evil for the sake of doing evil”, you are more than happy to stare at the shadow at the back of the cave without wanting to turn around. heian-kyo is more than unsubtle about this point. for where, does it ask, that resentment come from? where does that malice originate? when guda and the others meet the living douman (even if it is limbo, hiding in plain sight), the man they meet is not a overly hammy evil clown but a mild-mannered, sincerely humble monk. and it is seimei....yes, that seimei, the great nemesis, the one limbo spits at and hates with every fiber of their being, who makes the distinction over and over again that limbo and ashiya douman are distinct.
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“but living douman also wanted to do evil for the sake of evil!” are you sure? this is a man who we see in a brief moment want to end his own life with no real hesitation because he was deeply appalled by the nature of his own evil in the form of limbo.
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and then, if we really want to go down to brass tacks, even if we make a distinction between limbo and douman, with writing off limbo as the monstrous form of a human’s resentment and evil, is LIMBO really evil for the sake of evil? time and time again, we see limbo do things that seem so contrary as to be suspect. douman finds and fixes danzou up, claiming that they are doing so as to make her suffer more by giving her memories of her son, but without limbo, danzou would’ve continued to be a cold unfeeling broken machine with no recollection of what mattered to her most. in nagiko’s interlude, guda even calls limbo out for acting as a nuisance to actually help her and raikou resolve their differences. is that “evil for the sake of being evil”?
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this isn’t to say that limbo isn’t evil at all. this isn’t even to say douman, as tragic as they are, isn’t evil in his own way, either. but the truth is more complicated. in the end, limbo and douman are just....human. flawed and horribly human, even if one is an aspect of a person. to write them off as some grand evil with nothing more to it is to make the same mistake that history did. douman was the nemesis of seimei, so he had to be evil. of course he’s evil. there’s nothing more. ignore the man crying at the edge of a cliff for all his sins and vices and flaws, hm? there’s nothing more. there’s nothing more. there’s nothing more-
Fufu. Even if I am in the guise of a Heroic Spirit, I am still the shadow monk of humanity. But I suppose that's no different than what it means to be human.
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brainr0t-landfill · 1 month
Text
📋Compartment Syndrome
gn! reader x Captain Price
"...I had to kill it to keep it, framed it afterwards, above my bed so I could see it each morning."
-???
(tw: unhealthy relationship, phisical violence, mentions of drugs, minor mention of reader 'being the other woman')
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You served John divorce paper today.
He's sat at the kitchen table blunt nails drumming against mahagoney as he look at you, then the documents, less surprised or heartbroken more expectant.
And it baffles you how a man so big can look so small, how a man that fills up doorways and commands the air around him like second nature can slump his shoulders, hide his tears with coughs.
İt was a few years in the making and even then you feel bad, this is the man you love, loved; you used to stay up at night waiting for his footsteps on the front lawn. You have to remind yourself that was over five years ago, back when he actually bothered with you and the home, the love he had vowed to build with you, left high and dry like an abonded building spiderwebs in the corners and illegible graffiti on the walls, suffocating dust clouds merging with ominous shadows.
You used to hotbox in buildings like that, you and what few friends you had back in the days he wouldn't even look your way.
"And-"
He lifts the first paper pretends to take a look at the one below that and pushes them away from him, a muscle feathers in his jaw.
"-your reasoning for this? I'd like to think you wouldn't ruin us over something petty luv."
He knows and you know that he knows, you've argued about it often, you wanted him to be home more, you wanted him to be safe, you wanted him to at least bother interacting with you beyond sex, dinner and whenever he couldn't find the remote.
It wasn't even about his job at this point the day you had married that bright eyed, headstrong young man you knew you'd always be the other woman to his job you just desperately want his shadow out of your home at this point.
You clear your voice ,eyes on your weathered house slippers.
"Look I don't want to offend you, I don't even wanna cut you off completely! I just think-"
"Straight to the point, sweetheart."
He emphasis the word sweetheart, today of all days, knowing how it makes you feel.
"Neglect."
You answer, his eyes widden ,nose flaring.
"Neglect? Oh please we've been over this honey, I don't neglect you I'm not home kissing your feet all the damn time because I have a fucking job to do! I'm the one who keeps a roof over your head and defends this country while you sit at home and twiddle your thumbs! God you're fuckin infuriating, this is why you can't find a damn job, you braindead homebody-"
"I started working at the new school, the one that opened last year, you didn't get my messages?"
He falters, runs a hand over his overgrown beard.
"You did? That's- luv that's amazing! How's the pay? Are your colleagues-"
"Let's- let's just stay on subject, please."
You tell him doing your best to keep your voice even and cold.
He deflates, leaning back in his chair as he sighs. He looks awfull, unshaven, hair greasy, shirt dotted with blood and one of his arms in a sling you'd said that it was important that you couldn't wait for him to change or shower, less you chikcen out like the first five times it used to feel impossible to leave him once, he was bigger than life with each little bastardized segment leading up to him in some capacity.
"Luv, listen I know you're frazzled I've been gone for a month and I was barely home for a week before that, I understand ya wanna pick at me and get ya anger out but I've had a long ass month, okay? I just want a shower, your cooking then I want to cuddle up to the love of my life, yeah? Give an old man a break and for fucks sake get rid of these."
He gets up with a groan and pushes the papers towards you it always suprises you, how quickly he can dismiss arguments you've spent hours thinking through, how small he can make you feel.
"Price, look-"
"What the fock did ya just call me?"
"-I know it's painful to think about but this relationship obviously isn't serving either of us anymore, you're too busy for it and I don't think I ca-"
He has you against the wall before you can even react, shoulders and chest crushing you against the smooth, pearly white surface as his humid breath warms your cheek, your arm twisted across your back in the grip of his good hand; pain like coke sparking cruel stars in your visom.
"Shut. The fuck. Up."
He growls in your ear mashing his nose against your cheekbone.
"There is no reason for us to be together, just listen to me for a second-"
You hiss in pain as he twists your arm further, your ring finger -adorned by his mother's heavy, heirloom ring- brushing against your shoulder blade.
"I love you and you love me, that's plenty reason to stay together. Isn't it?"
It's marvellous how much conviction he can put into that excuse when you're pretty sure it's his hundredth time saying it, slightly different context, same words. You almost miss the times you'd jump through hoops for a smile from him when he was indifferent to you because he had no reason to treat you any way else.
"Isn't it?"
You nod, cheek rubbing against the wall as your eyes water.
He relaxes his grip on your arm, presses firm, moist kisses against your face.
"That's my baby, I know you're upset, I know and I'll make it up to you, I promised 'n I always keep my promises don't I?"
Your face is sour with all the promises he broke, all the times he let you down, left you alone as you nod.
"Use your words luv."
You take a deep breath, trying to find your words through the pain of your twisted muscles, your straining elbow, your back straight and stiff as a cutting board that your arm is pinned on.
"Yes, John."
He clicks his tounge, sharp sigh brushing against the side of your face.
"I just got injured ya ought to be a little bit sweeter."
"Yes,-"
You take as deep a breath as his crushing body allows.
"Yes, honey."
He smiles, letting go of you and stepping back allowing you- granting you space to breath, to turn around and rub at your burning arm something too close to guilt for comfort in his eyes. You stay like that for a few moments, feeling his eyes across your skin; slow and heavy like his hands like something you have to work to keep on you.
"One last thing?"
You look up, his eyes are wet. He hands you the divorce papers. Your lawyer will be so disappointed.
"Rip them and think about what you're doing next time, how your actions affect me."
You take them, the pristine paper shaking in your hands as your rip them, barely seeing through your tears you walk over to the bin.
He looms over you, broad shadow blanketing, eclipsing yours, swallowing it. He wraps his good arm around your waist when you're done, presses his barrel chest against you stil-stiff back and flutters kisses from the base of your neck up to your jawline.
"Y'know I love you."
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dogsayswoof · 9 months
Text
Hounds From Hell Chapter 5
Summary: Vulnerability. That's it. That's the whole post.
Word Count: 2.2k Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Hounds from Hell Masterlist)
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
You and Wednesday now sit in an awkward position since the altercation at the Rave'n. Her confession of having no feelings for Tyler had calmed your anger but your anxiety heightened at the thought of her having no feelings for anyone, including you.
Sure, she had told you that you weren't a convenience, but that didn't mean anything. It was how she viewed all her friends.
Meanwhile, Wednesday was on the hunt to know more about what happened before the dance but you changed the subject every time she got close to mentioning it. You didn't want to talk about it. You kept that part of you hidden for a reason.
As much as she wanted to pry, she didn't. Her normal bashful and shameless tongue holding back for the sake of your privacy, straying from her natural behaviour.
A week before the championship game, you had a big chemistry test and Wednesday ensured that you were properly prepared to ace it.
She sat patiently waiting for you to enter the classroom, but you never did.
Then you didn't appear at lunch.
And, again missing in English.
She began to get annoyed, her mind unable to focus on the notes at hand when she was plagued by where you could have run off to. 
So, she took it upon herself to march into Weems' office requesting your location.
"I'm afraid I cannot share other student's personal information with you" she said politely, a small smirk present on her face.
"I'm sure you could tell me where I could find her." Wednesday said furthering her irritated state.
"Unfortunately all I can tell you is to stop wasting your time, she is not on campus."
"What? Why?" she asked needing the information more now than ever.
"Family emergency. Now get out of my office." Weems said growing tired of Wednesday's never ending questions.
She and Thing exited the office. He signed to her,
"I know you're worried, I'm sure everything is fine. We'll find her tomorrow." Wednesday tried comforting the hand.
She quickly found your friends who had laid out a blanket on the grass and were lying talking about nonsense. She threw her bag down and sat down crossing her legs.
"Pouting cause your girlfriend isn't here?" asked Ajax throwing a grape at the goth girl in jest.
"She's not my girlfriend and I'm not pouting." she huffed.
"Um yes. Yes you are." Bianca said, Divina and Yoko nodded in agreement.
"George and Benton weren't in class either" said Xavier as he laid looking at the clouds.
Wednesday's heart sank, realizing that this was bigger than taking a spontaneous trip to see your family. Thing must of pieced it together too because he signed frantically.
Her brain was working overtime trying to have some sort of idea what was going on. You had hunted just a few days ago before the Rave'n and it wasn't going to be a full moon tonight.
"Any idea where they went?" asked Ajax and Xavier shrugged.
"Weems said it was a family emergency" Wednesday said and Thing pretended to faint, "don't be so dramatic, I'm sure everything is okay," but Wednesday seemed like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night Wednesday could barely focus on her writing. She did her best to distract herself but she needed to know where you went, especially with Benton and George.
Enid had gone to god knows where and she had hoped to capitalize, but you complicated things as usual.
Her keys clacked rapidly until it would stop abruptly. Then the sound of the typewriter resetting and the whoosh of a new piece of paper being drawn.
This went on repeat for multiple hours until she heard a crashing sound from her window.
Thing scrambled over to take a look and he signed frantically to Wednesday.
In an instant she was up from her desk and out the little door to the balcony.
There you were on your hands and knees with next to no clothes on, covered in blood that she could only assume wasn't yours, breathing desperately as if you couldn't.
You were having a panic attack maybe?
Your eyes were glowing red, your canines were fully extended, and you hadn't looked up from the bricks you were at the mercy to, gasping for air.
Wednesday took small steps towards you, her hand gently touching your shoulder.
You looked up at her in fear.
She bent down and cupped your cheek.
Your breathing began to calm and your eyes began to dim as you recognized the familiar girl.
She took advantage of this, pulling you gently to your feet and inside her room.
She brought you to the bathroom, still not a word exchanged between you.
Turning on the water, she ushered you into the small shower.
You fell to your knees, boxers and a sport bra still on as the water fell.
Your eyes looked broken, refusing to look her in the eyes, and as the blood began to run away from your skin turning the water red. 
She saw the damage that was hidden before.
A dark purple bruise stained your cheek. Faint hand marks remained around your neck. Your body littered in small cuts and other bruises.
Her heart ached at your pain. A feat that may of brought her joy in any other scenario.
She was not used to feeling this. The feeling of gentleness and wanting to care for somebody else. She was not used to love of this sort.
"Look at me" she said softly and you did without hesitation. Your eyes still a faint red and they would stay that way until death ran its course through your system.
"Come with me" she continued,
You stood up, turning the water off. She handed you a black towel and you dried your body the best you could without wincing. You refused to show her anymore of your pain. You were not her burden.
As you exited her bathroom, you saw one of your hoodies and a pair of your sweatpants folded neatly on her dresser.
"Where did you get those?" you asked, your voice raspy.
"I had Thing get them" she said as if it was common knowledge.
You grabbed them, your movements slow. Wednesday turned around as you did the same. Stripping from the wet garments and pulling on your sweatpants, you hesitated putting on the hoodie.
"Turn around" you whispered and she did.
That's when she noticed the mark freshly burned into your back. In the hope that it wasn't too much, she stepped closer to you and reached out. Her fingers featherlight as she brushed the mark.
Your back muscles flexed and you flinched.
She retracted her hand and you pulled the hoodie on turning around to face her. She could see you were on the edge of breaking down and in a moment of rare weakness, she reached for your hand pulling you to her bed.
You sat down and she stood in front of you. She was so close and it was intoxicating for you. Your eyes met hers and you could see her fondness for you.
"Show me what happened." she said gently and you nodded.
She pressed a hand to your chest and she was taken over by the vision. Your hands wrapping around her to keep her from falling back.
Benton, George, and you were driving to the mansion. You owed Hades a hunt. It was simple. You've hunted for years, one extra hunt this year would have been fine.
You entered the mansion. So far so good. Your father was the only other person there. He looked mad. Annoyed. Use any synonym in the book. It wasn't unusual for him to convey this emotion. He was usually only happy during the ceremonious hunts. Not the impromptu ones for a "dumb highschool dance."
"You better deliver." he growled before taking his drink and his anger somewhere else. 
As you stood awaiting Hades arrival, a demon arrived instead. He held a tray containing a piece of paper. You picked it up and read it, passing it to George and Benton.
It contained nothing but an address and a number. You understood what was being asked of you.
"Let's go" you said gruffly,
Exiting the building the three of you shifted. An auburn wolf, a black wolf, and a white wolf sprinting through the woods towards their target.
You weren't prepared for what it was when you got there.
As the three of you laid in the shadows you took in the sight before you. There was a bonfire, with tens of kids running around. There was a small building nearby and you could hear the laughter.
"An orphanage?" the black wolf said towards you,
You didn't say a word, continuing to observe the scene before you.
"Hades demanded it" you said almost defeated, "You know the punishment Benton"
The three of you leapt from the shadows, like something out of a nightmare.
It was pure carnage and destruction. Life after life taken. Adults, kids, babies. Each kill taking a shred of your humanity.
The three of you slaughtered each and every last orphan there, ripping apart their bodies for the sake of a master. How sick.
When the last one was dead you stood there your fur wet with blood, the shadows of their deaths sought for you as if you were magnetic.
The white wolf, Wednesday could only assume was George, began herding the souls his white fur stained red at the paws and his mouth.
A portal opened and he made sure he rounded each and every last one of them up.
Benton's wolf was ripping apart the corpses, their blood seeping into the ground illuminating slightly as the underworld took it gratefully.
And you walked around consuming the black particles of their death.
Wednesday felt herself be pulled further in time.
This time you were standing before the mansion still in wolf form. Your father and Hades stood at the top of the entranceway. They walked out slowly and Hades snapped causing another demon this time with a branding iron.
"You three have made me so proud, proving your loyalty time after time." he said walking until he stood before you all, "For that, I believe you have earned this."
He snapped again and the demon handed him the iron. He walked to Benton, branding the back of his shoulder. Then to George, repeating the same action. Then to you.
All three of you had let out painful yelps and you could hear George's small whines. 
Hades looked down at your wolf form and rubbed the top of your head.
"You're a good hound. All of you are."
He headed back inside the house but your father stayed. The three of you shifted back, on your knees in the dirt.
"Go inside boys. I need to talk to my daughter." he said puffing a cloud of smoke from his cigar.
They listened going to their rooms to find their clothes. Your father flicked his cigar before coming before you and punching you hard.
"Your brothers didn't yelp like a little bitch when they were given Hades mark" he growled
You said nothing and continued to stay on your knees.
"It's a mark of praise, you stupid girl" he said hitting you again, then again, and again, before grabbing you by the neck.
"You ever embarrass our family like that again, I will kill you." he said his eyes glowing red.
You did nothing but give a nod, as best as you could with his hands around your neck.
He threw you to the ground and went inside grumbling to himself.
Wednesday shot back to reality, seeing that you were holding her carefully waiting for her reaction. She took a few steps back and you felt pain sink into your chest, your arms falling to your side.
She hated you and what you had done. Your 'friendship' with Wednesday was surely over.
Then she threw herself into your body. Her arms wrapped around your neck pulling you close to her and your tears fell.
You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her equally as close. Your head rested on her chest and you could hear her heartbeat, grounding yourself as best as you could.
"I'm so sorry" she murmured into the top of your head.
You squeezed your eyes tighter and buried yourself further. 
She held you for what felt like hours, but was really just a few minutes.
When she felt you pull away and look up at her. She loosened her grip, her hands coming around to rest half on your neck, half on your jaw.
"I should probably head to my dorm" you said and glanced at her clock,
1:34 am. Shit.
"Stay" she whispered and you looked back up at her onyx eyes.
"Okay" you whispered back.
She leaned in and kissed you with the tenderness you had never expected she would have the capacity for.
Her lips were warm and soft. Pleasant against yours as you kissed her back.
Your hand embraced her welcomingly and she traced your jaw with her fingers.
She climbed up and straddled you lap, allowing a certain vulnerability between the two of you.
The kiss never escalated to anything more, it was pure and you knew this was her way of telling you that you'd be okay. And that she had feelings for you. 
She would never be this unguarded with anyone else but you made her feel okay to be that way. You had a key to her locked black heart.
You pulled away watching her eyes flutter open, her lips kiss swollen and chapped. And by god, she was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen.
You pressed another delicate kiss to her lips, watching her eyes flutter close and open again reacting to your touch.
"Come to bed" you said quietly and she did nothing to object.
She got off your lap and you scooted back, lying down.
As you laid next to each other, you made sure to give her space. She appreciated that, as she would rather not be suffocated in her sleep. Though as you began to close your eyes to succumb to sleep, she reached out finding your hand and intertwining your fingers.
All you could do was smile.
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foli-vora · 1 year
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masterlist | foli jolly xmas list
my only wish: part two
jack daniels x single mum f!reader
summary: typical hallmark movie. he’s never been one for christmas - he hates the tacky decorations and the ear drilling music, but maybe the owner of a small town bakery and her children will change that.
warnings: this man. this man is a warning. this is soft. S O F T. i have heart eyes. swearing, more minecraft shit, almost kisses, yearning, the good stuff hits next chap (18+)
word count: 5866
a/n: gif by moi. so this is a combo of part 2 & 3 and it's fucking late because i'm so fucking busy and have fallen so fucking behind i want to cry. i will forever apologise for the utter shitstorm this month has turned out to be. catch me fighting off the burn out til at least mid january lmao. this made me so disgustingly soft. enjoy!
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His first morning, after an admittedly restless sleep, he was wide awake and ready to go at 6am – his body clock just used to waking early to get a start on the working day. He takes a shower, has a coffee, wipes down the already clean counters and stares outside the kitchen window for an hour.
He flicks through the books left behind by previous tourists lining some of the shelves in vague interest, but none appeal enough to him to laze about on the couch as he had hoped. He flicks through the channels on the mounted TV, but finds nothing intriguing enough to watch. He moves for the porch swing, the icy air biting at his cheeks, and rocks in the creaky seat, trying desperately to just be.
It’s not too bad, he supposes. It’s a calm he doesn’t get to experience a lot, especially seeing as he constantly bounces between Kentucky and Manhattan. There’s not a whole lot of nature to soak up from his penthouse in the city, and he never bothers to hang around long at his ranch at home. When was the last time he put his riding boots on? 
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
No, it’s not bad at all. He’s been in much, much worse predicaments. Maybe it was a good thing to put his feet up after doing back to back missions for God knows how long. Lord knows his body needs a damn good rest, but how could he shut his mind off? 
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
It’s only for a few weeks, and then he’ll be able to dive right back into it. Maybe Champ will already have something lined up for him. Did Rum file those papers correctly? Has Cointreau taken over his Manhattan office for the time being? She’d better not kill his peace lily, she’s incapable of keeping a plant alive for longer than a week…
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
“Fucking Christ,” he grits out to himself, deciding to give up on the swing and marching back indoors, wondering just how long it would be before he loses his entire fucking mind.
It shouldn’t be this hard.
Was it always this hard? Any other normal person would delight in taking a vacation, would relish in having nothing to do but lounge around and soak up the peace and quiet. Why is it so damn hard for him? 
He grabs his jacket and keys before locking up the cabin and heading into town, deciding to stroll the streets and window shop to fill some time, maybe even take a wander past the bakery. Purely for the treats and not the pretty thing he’d been pleasantly surprised with yesterday.
Didn’t even get a name, and he only realised when he got back to the comfort of his Bronco. He couldn’t just waltz back in there and ask like an idiot… maybe he could persuade the kid to give him some information. Should be easy enough to convince with a couple of dollars if the last two interactions with him were anything to go by.
He frowns out of the windshield as he drives, wondering if he’s really lost that much game he’s resorting to bribing a kid for things he could quite easily get the answers to himself. This wasn’t a job — a quick flirt and seduce for the sake of a mission… this could be a real thing, no matter how brief due to him not being in town for long.
He was coming here as Jack, not Agent Whiskey.
There’s a slight pressure there in the back of his mind that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“He should come over for dinner,” Gabe mumbles around a mouthful of muffin, crumbs spilling from his lips and raining over his sweater. “I want him to meet Snickers.”
A few crumbs fall to the freshly cleaned floor beside you where you kneel on the cold tiles and you scowl lightly at them before returning your attention to the decorations in your hands, rifling through the tangled pile of lights and signs until you find what you’re looking for.
“We barely know the man,” you reply after a moment of fiddling, tearing through tape with your teeth and sticking your Merry Christmas banner to the front of the counter, taping around the edges to ensure it sticks. “We can’t just invite a stranger over, Gabe.”
No matter how pretty said stranger is. You’d be lying if you hadn’t had Jack lingering in the back of your mind since meeting him yesterday. He was quite a hard man to forget, what with his strong, handsome features and warm charismatic presence. Apparently you’re not the only one who thinks such—
“He’s very handsome,” Edith murmurs, smiling thankfully at Stacy as the young blonde places her usual tea and pastry in front of her. “Betty said he’s available, too.”
You chuckle quietly, turning your attention to Edith where her small, aged frame hunches slightly in her thick winter coat. 
“You on the market, Edith?” You grin cheekily, giving her a little wink. “He looks like he’d be a good handful.”
“Oh, you never know, pet. I did just have my hip replaced.”
A snort tears its way from your throat before you laugh, your smile widening as her own chuckle fills the shop. Gabe’s eyes move between you both, a growing frown of confusion deepening between his brows.
“I don’t get it.”
“Never you mind, young man,” Edith smiles, sipping delicately at her tea.
“Mi amor, you wound me! I thought I was your only one!” Jose cries, walking out from the kitchen and sliding a fresh tray of various slices into the display case before waltzing over to her with a playful frown. “And now you leave me for some cowboy? My heart aches—”
“Oh you,” Edith murmurs warmly, melting into the embrace he gives her from behind her chair and patting the arm he has across her chest fondly. “You’ll always be my favourite.”
“That’s more like it,” he returns indulgently, planting a kiss on her temple before straightening up and returning to the kitchen. He pokes the side of your head as he passes, grinning at your swat of annoyance. “And you? He won’t be a stranger if you invite him over and get to know him.”
Gabe makes a garbled noise of agreement after shoving the remaining muffin into his mouth. “Exactly! He’ll always be a stranger if we don’t give him a chance, and h—Cowboy!”
You roll your eyes, on the brink of telling him not to be so loud in the shop when Jack’s sudden deep chuckle has you fumbling with the tape in your hands before it could drop to the floor from your surprise.
A quick glance over your shoulder confirms that he’s here in the flesh, stepping into the shop and sliding the yellow tinted glasses from his nose with a charming half grin tugging at his lips.
Speak of the devil himself.
“Glad to know you’ve dropped the ‘lame’ title for me, kid.”
“Mum said it was rude,” Gabe shrugs lightly.
At your mention, Jack’s attention falls on you and your reaction is immediate. It’s like that sweet high school crush all over again. Your heart quickens as a small thrill rolls through your body, humming along your nerves and causing the muscles of your stomach to tighten in delight.
He nods politely, the rim of his Stetson briefly ducking over his features, and you grin at the greeting, rising unsteadily from your spot and inconspicuously wiping your hands down the front of your apron to dampen the sting of sweat biting at your palms. 
“Are you here for more gingerbread already? I haven’t made any new ones yet so you’ll have to wait til later,” Gabe says frankly, lips pressing into a line as he gazes up at him.
“Now that’s a real shame,” Jack drawls, a frown pulling at his features as his arms cross over his chest. “I was lookin’ forward to one of them fancy diamond fellas of yours.”
Gabe suddenly brightens, seemingly struck with quite an idea, and you feel the trickling of dread begin to grow along your shoulders. It’s never good when he gets that shine in his eyes… God, what is he up to now?
“We could make them together! It would be so much fun with all of us! Can’t we, mum?”
Where is he going with this? Of course you could, but would Jack even want to? He could just be playing nice after all, and now Gabe’s practically cornering him into something he doesn’t want to do. Would Jack be too polite to decline? Maybe you should swoop in before he gets too uncomfortable.
You shift slightly, eyes quickly darting to Jack. “I mean… yeah, but I don’t thi—”
Gabe grins, “Cool! Come over tonight, okay Cowboy? You can meet Lou and Snickers! Do you promise? Promise me!”
“Whoa hey, slow down, kid,” Jack grins, holding his hand out in a calming manner. “That’s not your decision to make. You gotta talk these things through with your mama before you go makin’ plans.”
“Mum,” Gabe whines, whirling on the spot. “He has to come over tonight. You were just talking about having him over for dinner—”
“Is that so?” Jack swoops in, dark eyes rolling to yours and shining with interest.
Heat grows along your cheeks as your mouth suddenly dries up, your mind whirling and whirling yet giving you fucking nothing in terms of words. Though it’s only a moment, it feels like hours until you finally manage to speak, clearing your throat of the feeling of shy discomfort and giving a small shrug.
“I was just saying we can’t invite a stranger over,” you explain dumbly, inwardly wincing.
He cocks his head, a playfully charming smile tugging gently at his lips and you feel the effect of his eyes settle low in your stomach.
“How do you make friends without givin’ a stranger a chance, sugar?”
His tone curling the pet name on his tongue brings your heart to an unsteady beat, blood rushing along under your skin as your smile briefly widens. 
“You make a good point, cowboy,” you reply softly.
“That’s what I said!” Gabe agrees loudly, suddenly snapping you out of the apparent daze Jack had all but forced upon you.
You become very aware of Edith glancing at the three of you from her table, an amused smile playing along her lips as she sips at her tea. Jose is unusually quiet in the kitchen — no doubt eavesdropping, and Stacy seems to be wiping over the same spotless mark on the display case, trying her hardest to not make it look like she’d been lingering to purely listen in.
How had you not noticed them all? They were hardly discreet.
It’s his damn smile.
Jack, unbothered by the interruption, grins widely at Gabe, raising a hand to ruffle the thick knitted beanie forced over his hair. “You got a good head on your shoulders, kid.”
You catch Edith’s eyes over Jack’s shoulder and she gives you a nod of encouragement, throwing in an impatient point to the cowboy for good measure.
“Did—did you want to?” You ask, hoping your nerves didn’t shine through your tone. “Come over for dinner, that is. We could decorate cookies after…”
“Yeah,” Jack answers after a moment of studying your features, his smile softening briefly when he finds whatever he’s looking for. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Relief washes through you, followed steadily by a wave of anticipation and sweet excitement. You’re positive everyone can hear your heartbeat. It drums loudly in your ears, quickening when Jack sweeps forward to pluck the pen from where it hangs off the top of your dusted apron.
He bends briefly to jot something down on the back of a business card he’d pulled from the little holder in front of the till before straightening, smoothly slipping the card into your apron pocket.
“Let me know where and what time, and I’ll be there. See you later, kid — be good, y’hear?”
“Bye cowboy!” Gabe hollers after him, grinning and waving when Jack turns to give him a nod of goodbye.
“Holy shit,” you breathe when he’s finally out of sight, hand flying to rest over where you feel the business card tucked into your pocket and feeling the sharp edges of it through the thick fabric with a wash of warmth rolling through your body.
He still doesn’t have a fucking name.
His steering wheel had taken the brunt of his irritated palms during his drive back to the cabin and his brows had been furrowed over his eyes for the entire journey. He’d been so confident, so set on finding out your name the moment his gaze landed on your familiar shop front.
Well that went to fucking shit, didn’t it?
The second your pretty little eyes found his, he couldn’t remember a goddamn thing. Not a goddamn fucking thing. He’d been struck off balance, practically clawing to keep his cool calm. Hell, he couldn’t even say hello — he’d had to settle for a nod because his throat was so damn dry.
Thank god the kid had been there or he’d have made a right ass out of himself. How does one get a date before a name?
And he damn well couldn’t ask for it after receiving a text from you, noting your address and a time you’d be home after closing up. He couldn’t even label your fucking contact details in his phone.
“Fuckin’ idiot,” he’d growled to his reflection in the mirror while he was getting ready, his fingers smoothing his damp moustache down as leftover steam from his shower swirls towards the ceiling. “Get your fuckin’ act together.”
He’d come too far.
Now he needed to bribe the kid.
The drive to your house is mostly spent giving himself an internal pep talk, all of which seems to be forgotten the moment he rolls to a stop alongside the curb.
It’s a dark-bricked two storey with stark white lined windows and smaller in size than the others that line the roads heading towards the town centre, but not at all lacking in its own special charm, set amongst some trees with a paved path lining the way to the small, welcoming porch.
He knows he has the right place by the familiar face squished against one of the upper floor windows, and he gives Gabe a wave as he walks towards the steps, chuckling quietly to himself when he vaguely catches the kid yell his arrival from inside.
His knuckles rap softly against the light teal door, and he takes that brief moment to collect himself with a steadying breath while shaking the tension from his shoulders, before the door suddenly swings in, revealing your frame in the vacant space. His fingers tighten around the small bouquet of flowers held loosely by his side, suddenly struck dumb by you once again.
“Hey darlin’,” he greets softly, his smile automatic as your own spreads across your lips.
“Hi Jack,” you murmur, delighting in the buzz that runs along your nerves.
He raises the flowers, pride rolling over his shoulders when you blink in surprise before giving him the sweetest fucking smile he’s ever seen. God help him.
“These are for y—”
“Cowboy!”
The door is shoved open further by a new body, and Gabe grins up at him, tugging along another little body behind him. The girl stays half hidden behind her brother, her shy smile mirroring her mothers as she blinks up at him from around Gabe’s shoulder.
“Hey kid,” Jack greets fondly before leaning to take a better look at the girl, smiling when she ducks to hide further behind her brother, “hey sweetheart.”
“This is Louisa,” Gabe explains the second your lips part to form her name.
He takes a small step to the side, encouraging her to say hello with a comforting half embrace but she stays silent, hiding her face into Gabe’s sleeve and chewing on the nail of her index finger. He remains unphased and shrugs, tightening his arm around her and returning his attention to Jack.
“She’s a bit shy, but she’s cool.”
“Alright guys, let’s move out of the way before he freezes on our doorstep.”
You herd the kids out of the way and he steps in with a murmur of thanks, relishing in the warmth that fills the small home as you close out the cold behind him. He offers the bouquet of flowers to Louisa as she clutches at your leg, grinning when she carefully reaches for them. Gabe jumps to help him take his jacket off, as well as his hat, straining on tip toes to hang it neatly on the coat rack beside the door.
“Come on through, Jack,” you murmur, smiling at him over your shoulder as you walk deeper into your home, Louisa in tow, and he feels his heart jump in his chest. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Gabe goes to follow but Jack holds him back with his fingers pinching the collar of his t-shirt, waiting for a moment until you’re out of ear shot before bending at the waist and flashing the ten dollars he’d had ready in the front pocket of his jeans.
“You wanna make a deal?”
Gabe eyes the money and grins, “Sure.”
“I’ll give you this for your mama's name.”
“You really don’t have to do this, Jack.”
He gives a low rumble of a chuckle, turning to shoot you a brief grin as he passes you a wet plate. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, his hands turning slightly pink from the high heat of the soapy water filling the sink. He bumps softly into your shoulder, returning his attention to washing the small stack of dishes piled next to him.
It’s domestic, cosy.
“After that meal? Darlin’, it’s the least I can do.”
Dinner had gone down without a hitch, full of endless questions on Gabe’s part and a comfortable conversation with you when the kid had been too busy shovelling food into his mouth. Gabe had disappeared briefly and come back with his most treasured friend for introductions — Snickers, a soft tri-color Holland lop that stayed snuggled into his arms during the rest of the meal despite your disapproval.
Jack was at peace for the first time since he walked out the Statesman doors.
He tries not to enjoy it too much. His time in town is brief, after all.
“I’m glad you liked it,” you murmur softly, relishing in his sincere appreciation, “I’m actually not much of a cook.”
“Now, I refuse to believe that—”
“No, it’s true,” you grin, sharing a quiet laugh with him, “I can’t cook very well, but I can bake.”
“Yes, you can,” Jack agrees immediately, glancing over his shoulder to where the batch of gingerbread shapes sit on the counter before looking back at you. “I’ve never been one for gingerbread, and now it’s all I’m thinkin’ about.”
Maybe not all he’s thinking about.
He swallows, dragging his eyes away from the sweet curl of your lips.
“Well, in that case—” you spin and throw the towel playfully at his chest, “—let’s stop wasting time with the dishes.”
His eyes follow you as you move away, preparing somewhat of a decorating station over the clean kitchen counter, and he only becomes aware of the dazed little smile tugging at his lips when his cheeks start to ache from the pull of it.
He steps up next to you at your request, grinning at the cries of excitement from the other room when you call out for the kids. They settle on the two stools and take their pick of shapes from the tray you hold out to them, chattering about the various sprinkles and colours of icing you bring out already prepared.
Gabe quietly coaches Louisa along with decorations before glancing at you, his brows rising.
“You’re forgetting something, mum.”
“Oh, shit.”
Gabe grins as you grab your phone and mess with a little bluetooth speaker before the familiar notes of a certain song that is overplayed way too fucking much during this time of the year starts to fall from the speakers. Jack can’t help the little scrunch of his nose and you notice it with an amused tilt of your head.
“Don’t like this song?”
“I don’t like any Christmas songs,” Jack admits, accepting the little bowl of candy cane sprinkles Lousia shyly holds out to him with a tender smile.
“Oh no,” you murmur, catching Gabe’s attention as he turns to look up at you in question. “I think our new friend is a grinch.”
“What?!” Gabe abandons his decorating in favour of frowning up at the cowboy. “Do you hate Christmas? Why? Were you naughty?”
Jack chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ve just never really celebrated it, kid. It doesn’t interest me.”
“That’s fair, but I’m sorry cowboy,” you coo, leaning against the counter and giving him a coy smile, “when we make our gingerbread cookies—the Christmas playlist comes on.”
He decides he’s more than okay with it if he gets to spend a bit more time in your presence, and, all things considered, it’s not that bad. The music brings out a sweet giddiness in both you and the kids, and it only deepens the smile stretched out along his lips as he swims in the comfortable atmosphere falling over the kitchen.
“I have never used one of these in my life,” Jack notes dryly, holding the piping bag in his hand and frowning at the tip of it.
He glances at the way you work your own, looking so effortless in the way you ice intricate patterns over the cookies while softly swaying to the music. You side eye him with a grin, finishing off a swirl with a smooth flourish and raising a brow at him in a silent challenge.
Looks easy enough…
It’s not.
He makes a low noise of distaste at his shaky attempts, discovering the piping bag is not as innocent as it looks. Laughter melts into his ears and he throws you a playful frown, nudging your arm softly with his elbow.
“Are you laughin’ at me?”
“What? I would never,” you return cheekily, stepping closer until your front brushes against his arm.
Your hands cover his, the warmth of your palms oozing into his skin and he’s only vaguely aware of the instruction you quietly murmur into his ear. How could he focus on anything else with you so damn close? He ignores the pattern you help him ice over the cookie, too busy studying the way the kitchen light reflects in your eyes and the way your lashes brush against your skin.
You become hyper aware of his gaze burning into the side of your face and your body reacts automatically, your heart picking up in your chest and thudding heavily against your ribs. You sneak a glance at him, suddenly caught in the pools of warm brown focusing solely on you, and your breath catches in your throat.
It lasts only a minute, the chatter of Gabe and Lou obliviously decorating their cookies in the background keeping you both from falling any deeper into the temptation building along your nerves to close in on those last few inches.
Jack’s the first to look away and break the spell, his eyes falling down to the counter, before he gives you a final glance from his peripheral. You spy the smile tugging at his lips and your chest tightens, lost to the feeling of blood rushing to fill your cheeks.
Could he hear your heartbeat? God, you hope not.
The curl of anticipation never fades from the pit of your stomach as the night rolls on, stretching out over your system whenever you’d catch his gaze or feel the brush of his body against yours. It becomes harder and harder to deny the level of attraction you have for him, despite only meeting him yesterday.
And he’s wonderful with the kids… a fact that does nothing to temper the lure you feel for him. 
He listens attentively to every word Gabe says when he goes on a ramble about his new world and how creepers keep blowing up his house, despite quite clearly not knowing what the hell he’s talking about. He’s delicately soft with Louisa, never pushing her to talk and simply content to watch her work, interacting with a kind smile whenever she’d ask for his help or thoughts.
She’s completely smitten by the end of the night, and you don’t blame her.
She gives him a small tired wave from where she snuggles into the couch under a blanket with Gabe who’s long passed out, head thrown back against a pillow and snores falling from his open mouth. You follow Jack out once he returns Louisa’s goodbye, cringing at the icy temperature when you step onto the darkened porch behind him.
“You’ve got a couple of great kids,” Jack murmurs, turning to you.
You grin in return, glancing over your shoulder to the warmth of your home where they rest before meeting his gaze and giving a little shrug.
“I know.”
He chuckles deeply and the low timbre of it shoots straight to the pit of your stomach, the feeling only worsening when he takes a step closer and leans in to press a soft kiss to your cheek, dangerously close to the corner of your lips. He lingers for a brief moment, his moustache tickling your skin as his nose brushes your cheek and it sends your heart into a frenzy.
You can’t help but turn into it, the movement bringing his lips within breathing distance, much much closer than before. His breath is warm over your lips, heavy with the hot chocolate you’d made after the cookies, and you feel your heart beating in your ears as the tip of his nose briefly catches yours.
“Thank you for havin’ me, sugar.”
“You’re welcome any time, cowboy.”
“Careful now,” Jack drawls quietly, tongue slipping along his lower lip as his eyes shine mischievously, “I might take you up on that offer quicker than you think.”
“I sure hope so,” you smile, watching fondly as he finally steps away from you and raises a hand to place the weathered Stetson atop his head.
You’re in trouble. You can feel it in your very core. You can feel it in the way your cheeks refuse to let go of the smile stretched across your lips. Despite spending the entire evening in his company, you ache with the question of when you’ll be able to see him like this again, his brief time in town only fuelling this need, and it prompts you to speak up before he goes too far.
“Jack?” You call as he slowly swaggers down the porch steps.
He stops instantly, turning to face you with a curious brow raised.
“If you want to take me up on that offer, we’re putting our Christmas lights up tomorrow… we could do with an extra hand if you’re available. Unless Scrooge has to work…” you trail off teasingly, grinning at his chuckle.
“I’ll be here, darlin’.”
It’s different, and very much unlike you.
Inviting a stranger over for dinner? Inviting him back to help decorate your home? It’d all felt so natural the day you spent clipping rows after rows of small, twinkling colourful lights along the eaves and windows, sharing conversation and jokes until the sun melted behind the mountains.
The feel of his hands steadying you on your trusty little step ladder had burnt you, even through the thickness of your coat. The way his eyes had reflected the wild flash of colour from the lights had settled something soft and tender in the pit of your stomach, pleased that he seemed to be enjoying himself in your company, even doing something as mundane as tacking lights everywhere. 
His farewell was much like the night before, leaving such a sweet kiss on the corner of your lips and lingering right there until you thought for sure he was going to kiss you, only to step away with that dazzling little grin and sauntering away with a raspy goodnight.
You’d stared at your ceiling longer than you cared to admit once he left, lost in the thoughts of his lips, his hands, the way he’d feel. 
He quickly lost his title of stranger, becoming something of a fast friend the more he spent time with you. The feelings that bubbled to the surface and swam merry little circles around your heart came so naturally in his presence. You desperately try to ignore the way they strengthen with each shared glance and charming smile, convinced it’s just the thrill of a new crush and nothing more.
It couldn’t be anything more. Though he didn’t tell you a whole lot about his work, he did tell you he was never in one spot for too long. He bounced between Kentucky and New York, often going overseas and all over, and it didn’t give him the opportunity of settling, or even dating.
He had said it with a tone of apology, as if he was giving you the option of walking away before you stepped any further after knowing it could be nothing like you were potentially dreaming. You’d enjoy it while it lasted, you decided. It didn’t have to be anything serious, or even romantic, just a sweet memory to treasure when he eventually drives out of town.
“That one is huge!” Gabe cries, running to a monstrous 11ft thing towering over the other trees and fluffing its lower branches. “We have to get this one.”
“And put it where, Gabriel?” You question in amusement, rolling your gaze from the thick width of the tree to the tip top of it. “We wouldn’t even be able to get this through our front door, let alone stand it up inside.”
He gives a dismissive shrug, “We can make it work. Can’t we, Jack?”
Jack chuckles next to you, walking over to Gabe and resting a hand on his shoulder. “I think you’re askin’ a bit much of your door, kid. How about we find somethin’ more… compact?”
Gabe sighs, but eventually yields, giving one last look of longing to the monster before snatching Louisa’s hand and dragging her to other potential trees. You watch them dart between trunks with a small smile, your insides turning to fire when you feel a hand press into the small of your back to guide you between two close set trees.
“I’m sorry Gabe roped you into today,” you murmur as you step past Jack, your heart thudding when you feel his hand linger before sliding away. “I know Christmas isn’t your thing – this must be very painful.”
The night Jack had helped you with the lights, Gabe had asked — begged — him to come Christmas tree shopping with you, and had asked him every day leading up to the day a week later. Jack had given in early in the week, but Gabe had still asked every time Jack wandered into the shop for a treat to ensure his newest friend would help him pick the ‘coolest and bestest tree ever’. 
Jack laughs, reaching out to feel the needles on a passing tree and giving you a grin. “Don’t be, sugar. I’m havin’ a great time. I’ve got good company.”
He gives your shoulder a playful little bump with his own and fire spreads across your chest, curling around your heart and filling the tips of your ears. Instead of stepping away, he stays close, keeping his side constantly brushing against yours as you both leisurely follow after the kids and your heart starts to hammer.
“I could say the same,” you grin, shooting him a look from the side, “you’re not too bad for a grinch.”
“Hey now,” he drawls with a smile, “there’s still time for me to go ‘round town stealin’ Christmas.”
You’d let him if he kept smiling at you like this.
“I’ll make sure I keep an eye out for you on Christmas Eve.”
“Speakin’ of Christma Eve,” Jack murmurs, fighting the feel of something curling around his throat, “what’s this Christmas Ball thing I’ve been hearin’ about?”
“It’s hardly a ball,” you grin, trying to not let the brush of his body send your heart into too much of a frenzy, “that makes it sound a lot fancier than what it is. It’s just a Christmas Eve party at the hall — they’ve had it for years. It’s gotten bigger over time, what with more and more tourists coming into town.”
Jack nods along to your words, wondering when the hell he started getting so goddamn nervous to even speak. He swears his heart is beating in his throat. It’s not him, it's you. It’s you doing this to him, catching him off guard with those pretty eyes and making him feel like he was a clueless boy head over heels all over again. 
What in the hell are you doing to him?
Your voice breaks through his reverie.
“Will we see you there?”
His eyes flash up to meet yours, once again struck dumb by your smile. He gives a nod, barely able to catch his breath before your lips widen into something much more pleased and it rockets through his system. Originally he wasn’t going to, but the idea of going with you seemed much more appealing that staying in the cabin and nursing the bottle of whiskey for the night, waiting for the holiday to be over.
It’s just too bad he can’t get his damn mouth to form the fucking words to ask. Speak, man—
“Darlin’, I was wonderin’—”
“We found it!”
You both startle at the cry of victory that comes from in front of you, cutting through the moment of potential. Gabe has his hands clenched and arms high in the air while Louisa gives an excited little hop beside him, her face split from the grin stretched across her lips. Jack sighs quietly, weak to fight the smile that pulls at his cheeks at the kids’ excitement.
“Hold on a second,” you call back, turning those sweet eyes back onto him. “What were you saying, Jack?”
His eyes flick over your face, his throat bobbing with a swallow as he studies your features.
Maybe it’s best to leave it as it is. He already knows you’ll be attending, so what’s the point in asking you to go with him? He can just catch up with you there. Not to mention you probably had things to do with the kids, with your fellow townsfolk… no. He’ll leave it be. Besides, it’s not like he’ll be in town for much longer.
“It’s nothin’, sugar,” he finally replies, lips set in their charming curl. “Come on now, let’s go get this tree before this kid finds an axe and does it himself.”
-
everything pp tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @karolydulin, @pedrostories, @fabilei, @ghostwiththemostbitch, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @cannedsoupsucks, @chaoticemz, @hows-my-hair, @alexxavicry, @cran-berry-vodka, @deadhumourist, @outercrasis, @thisshipwillsail316, @toxicfrankenstein, @hotchlover, @ew-erin, @mishasminion360, @jitterbugs927, @penelopeimp, @woodland-mist, @pedro-pastel, @spaceserialkiller, @adriiibell, @1andthesame, @elegantduckturtle, @captain-jebi, @magpie-to-the-morning, @sharkbait77, @sleep-tight1, @musings-of-a-rose, @karlawithacapitalk, @woomen23, @frasmotic, @songsformonkeys, @loonymagizoologist, @aynsleywalker, @ruhro7, @bluestuesday, @what-iwish-you-knew, @princess-djarinn, @totallynotastanacc, @girlofchaos, @pjkimrn, @bangaveragewhitewine, @trickstersp8, @rominaszh, @gooddaykate, @ms-loverman-066, @bunniwarrior, @detectivecarisi-1, @tintinn16, @iceclaw101, @bport76, @thatpinkshirt, @tusk89, @withakindheartx, @curiouskeyboard, @pedropascalsx, @sirpascal, @racetrackheart, @patisseriel, @timpletance, @titabel, @xdaddysprincessxx, @dnxgma, @astronomeoww, @dindjarinswhore, @alwaysdjarin, @mando-amando, @mx-ferelden, @trinkets01, @jxvipike, @thesmutslut, @thereisaplaceintheheart, @scentedthingtidalwave, @mwltwo, @loveslide
whiskey/jack tags: @pedrohoe04, @stardust-galaxies, @androah, @wildmoonflower, @quica-quica-quica, @stevenmylove, @lawfulgranola, @dins-cyare, @eatommo, @serini-ty, @bbyanarchist, @raphaelaisabella, @breakfastonpluto19, @churchofrain, @joelmiller81, @h-hxgirl, @mischiefnevermanaged94, @shadowolf993​
so many aren’t working lately, sorry x
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kathaynesart · 1 year
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I love your storytelling! I was wondering if you’d give tips for outlining and planning a story, I adore your pacing and different arcs. I’m new to writing and I’m having trouble keeping things cohesive even with an outline and I just wanted to know if you had any perspective or tips to share. Don’t feel pressured to answer. I love your replica au and hope you are doing well!
Aw thank you so much!  Sure I can talk about that.  Mind you aside from a screen writing course I took in college I am entirely self taught.  This is just information I’ve absorbed and worked out over the past couple decades of personal writing. More below the cut.
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WRITING/OUTLINING STYLE
For starters you need to figure out what style of outlining works for you.  I’ve been told there are two types  of writers.   The Architect and the Gardener.  The Architect is someone who has the entire framework plotted out and builds off of that.  The Gardener starts with a basic setup and lets the story flow naturally and chronologically from there, basing it entirely off of their extensive knowledge of the world, characters, and how they interact within it. 
There are draw backs to both sides. Gardeners can often times write themselves into a corner or lose track of where the story should go (leading to lots of unnecessary fluff and loose ends).  While architects have a habit of ignoring a lot of the important “middle stuff” that leads to their major predetermined plot points and sometimes don’t realize how the story is naturally leaning in other directions, making it jarring when they try to force it back on track. 
I like using both methods but in different situations.  For example before I even put pen to paper I already knew what I wanted the beginning and ending of Replica to be as well as a few pivotal scenes. I had a basic framework.  However that framework has grown and changed over time as I’ve nurtured it.  So I’ve come up with my own term I like to call “the Greenhouse Method,” where you may create the basic framework but understand that things within it can change and warp the structure to something entirely new. Just make sure it doesn’t go too off course. 
That method may not work for everyone  so I recommend looking inward to see what variation of the methods work best for you.  Because if you’re not enjoying the process then there’s no point. 
With this method I tend to list out major scenes of importance and then slowly figure out how they flow or cut into each other.  Doing this involves several other factors I will state below…
THEMING
One important thing is to know what is the theme or message of your story.  This doesn’t have to be obvious but every good story normally has an underlying theme.  There needs to  be a point.  For example, Sherk is about accepting yourself for who you are.  Jurassic Park is a warning about playing God.   
Replica at its core is about cherishing your self worth and holding onto hope and loved ones even in the darkest times.  Even when they’re not there anymore.  
Whatever it may be, find that theme that means something to you, and make sure that feeling stays with you and the plot, even if subtly.  
CHARACTERIZATION
Have a strong knowledge of the characters in your story.  I achieve this by doing little exercises on how they would react to certain incidents or answering questionnaires.  By doing this it allows them talk to each other within any scene I have setup but leave void of my own input. Instead I simply take notes rather than force them to say something they’re supposed to say (very Gardener style).  Often times letting the characters be themselves allows them to say and do things I find far more entertaining than what I initially had planned. 
It’s important with characters though that you make sure you let them be themselves rather than have them act out for pure drama/plot sake.  I see that a lot in fan communities where characters will begin to cry or overreact in ways that seem out of character and it can really break my immersion. So know your characters.  Know everything about them from what their favorite cookie is to how they deal with trauma.  It’s all important to lead to the most natural of interactions. 
SCENES
When plotting out scenes make sure that every one of them has a point. Every single scene.  If there is nothing new to be learned, or changed, or shared, then there is no point beyond a few brief sentences to transition it to the next important scene.  Avoid fluff that is just fluff for the sake of fluff.  You can have fluffy scenes, sure, but make sure there is something else to be gained from it.  I’ve read scenes that are literally just the same character harping over the same issue they’ve been dealing with without coming to any new conclusion or going through any sort of change, be it internal or external from the plot.  I don’t like having my time wasted as a reader and neither should you as a writer!
THE ZONE
I don’t see many people talk about this but I think it’s important for any writer to find a space where they can zone out and let the story bloom in their mind. No judgement, no analyzing, just pure fun. For some this happens in the shower, or sitting in front of the laptop with a cup of tea, or me driving too fast down the freeway blasting music in my ears.  I come up with all my best stuff while driving.  Sometimes I will extend a drive just to finish a scene properly.  Whatever it is, find what helps you get in that zone and see if you can play something out in your head.  It helps keep me inspired for sure. If you've managed to come up with something you like, make sure to write it down and then come back to it later to look at it from a more analytical perspective. Does it work with my theme? Are the characters reacting realistically? Where does this happen in the timeline and how can it impact future store plot points? Etc.
EXTRA: EASY MISTAKE TO AVOID
This isn't so much about outlining, just writing in general, but when you start writing, be sure to choose a tense and stick with it.  Many writers, myself included, prefer past tense.  Though I’ve seen some people do present that can work well.  Just make sure whatever you do stays consistent. 
Example BAD: “Jane WENT to the store, hoping to find some crackers.  She  SPEAKS with the clerk to ask if he had any.” 
Example GOOD: “Jane WENT to the store, hoping to find some crackers.  She  SPOKE with the clerk to ask if he had any.”  
SUMMARY
Know your theme/message
Know your characters
Know your genre
Every scene should have a point and be interesting in some way 
Recommend for beginners having an idea of where you want the story to conclude and see how that links up with your theme
Hope that helps.  Sorry if I went off on a tangent but I feel like a lot of the story telling process is interconnected when done correctly.  Let me know if you have any more specific issues you want addressed!
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that1nkyone · 11 months
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Hang on, I gotta talk about the Platypus for a sec
So it's a pretty well-known fact that once colonialists started invading Australia in the 1700s, they came across a lot of fauna that made them go "what the fuck is this." A lot of the default reaction for England back then was 'shoot it and take it back home,' or 'put aboard a ship and hope it's alive when we get there.'
But I wanna talk a little about the details of that, and how I'm a little cheesed off with the Naturalists of Old when they first saw a platypus.
For one, it was dead. And dismissed because there's no way that beak was real. Those cheeky colonists were definitely playing a prank and wasting their time.
And then a few more come in, this time preserved as well as they can be in spirits. And people start saying "okay, well... what is it? Is it a bird? The bill makes me think it's a bird." "These aren't feathers." "It swims? It's an amphibian, which is a Reptile, as we all know (they didn't think these guys Seperate until quite a bit later)." "This thing is also clearly amongst the Lower Beings of God's Creations (Creationism was still a big thing in scientific circles)."
Paper upon paper was written about this new creature, and suddenly nobody could agree on what to classify it as. Their ideas of the natural order started suddenly collapsing and being thrown into disarray.
Because of this little guy.
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The Naturalist Science scene was going berserk halfway across the world because their fundamental understanding of nature was being turned on its head by this tiny mammal - who they were still trying to decide whether it was a mammal.
The English were having arguments with the French, but some were collaborating ideas based on what data they'd gained (some French and English naturalists met up in Australia during the war to share a drink and talk about Platypuses). Because this strange duck-billed creature surely had no place in the Chain of Being, their point of classification for species that they'd used for the past hundreds of years. And if it did, where the heck did it belong?
Did it lay eggs? How did it swim? What was the bill for? They didn't know the answer to any of these questions because all the specimens they got from Australia were Very Deceased, either being shot and put in spirits, or dried out. The poor platypus was being done in a lot for the sake of research.
And look, I know methods were Different back then, and it wasn't easy to transport live specimens or have the technology to preserve specimens over half the planet. With that said, I do want to point something out:
While this huge crisis is happening, in January 1812, a man named Patrick Hill gets the bright idea to like... ask the elder of the local Indigenous tribe about them (my source records him as Cookoogong, but not all sources about First Nations from early colonial texts are accurate.)
And Cookoogong's like "Oh, these guys? Yeah, so, they do lay eggs. They have long, deep burrows. We know how to get to them. There's a spur at the back of their feet. We don't really eat them for food. We call it the mullingong.*"(also malangong, depending on what tribe/dialect) Cool. Mystery solved.
Except:
It took over seventy years for this information to become accepted as scientific fact.
Not just because of the inherent biases of the Colonials being backwater people and prisoners in a funny little land far away, not just out of a need to get more data before confirmation, but because almost nobody in Europe took the word of the native population in Australia.
And in between that 72 year gap between 1812 and 1884, there were so many instances of the First Nations people giving vital and essential pieces of information on correctly identifying the features and habits of this land mammal as European Scientists had a massive meltdown and argument over whether an animal they'd Never Seen Alive gave milk or not.
Hell, Charles Darwin made the trip to Australia, and was inspired by animals like the Platypus to start questioning whether all life was truly static and didn't transition or adapt to changing circumstances.
The platypus made Charles Darwin start questioning his beliefs in Creationism, and going on to begin his steps towards the theory of evolution.
And then there's Harry Burrell, who had the bright idea of like, not killing specimens every time someone wanted to see it up close. He was one of the first recorded people to try and keep platypuses in captivity, and thoroughly learn their preferred lifestyle, diet and breeding habits from careful observation. He would learn how to make platypuses Comfortable, and how to transport them safely.
His protege, David Fleay (pictured below), would go on to ensure the first successfully bred platypus in captivity - 'Corrie' (born to parents Jack and Jill).
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what I'm saying is, the story of trying to Classify the Platypus ends in "Nature is just fucking weird, we're going to try understanding it as best we can, and maybe we should ask and respect the opinions of the people who have lived alongside something we don't understand for thousands of years."
The platypus is literally referred to by Mervyn Griffiths, an authority on monotremes, "The animal of all time."
Anyway, in summary: - Colonialism fucking sucks and Sovereignty was never ceded.
- The Platypus is an Amazing Creature and sorta Toppled Creationism in the scientific community??
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teaandransacking · 1 year
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Hey, i was wondering if I might request a little something? I hoped you might be able to write something about Lockwood x reader, where the reader is from fittes and there is like a enemy to lovers kind of arch. Thank you very much I adore your writing!
Thankyou SO much <3
I couldn't quite get them to the lovers stage but I hope you enjoy this.
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They don’t even wear a uniform, for God’s sake.
How is anyone meant to know who agents work for without some sort of uniform?
It’s what you thought that day in the library, when Anthony Lockwood showed off some annoyingly impressive rapier skills and launched Kipps’ own sword into the ceiling. 
He had, in fact, needed a ladder.
You’d thought about Lockwood’s face a lot after that - the smug little smirk.
And you hated that you didn’t always think about him with irritation. Sometimes you thought about kissing that smug little smile off his face.
Ugh.
The next time was at the party., under lights that flattered his - okay, fantastic - bone structure way too much. He was with Lucy (who looked fabulous in that electric blue dress), while you stuck with Bobby and Kipps, taking advantage of the little coq au vents.
Lockwood caught your eye as you passed through the crowd, close enough to speak.
“Lucy not around to protect you?” you asked, keeping your tone saccharine sweet.
He just raised a brow. “Unlike Fittes’ crew, I don’t feel the need to hide behind someone, or something, else.” He shrugged. “What you see is what you get.”
“Which is fine, if you want a two-bit agency run by a teenage boy.”
If the words bristled, he didn’t show it, just aimed that megawatt smile at you. You curled your hand into a fist, letting the bite of your nails distract you from how diverting he was. 
“A boutique agency well used to pivoting to accommodate bespoke requests. If you’ll excuse me.”
And off he went, slipping into the crowd, leaving you vibrating with frustration, but also, already missing him.
The next time you see him, it’s nowhere near as glamorous a setting. The local supermarket, in fact. He’s standing by a display of fruit, and his arm is in a sling. You do a double take for a second - he isn’t wearing his suit, but instead a pair of jeans - jeans? - and a t-shirt, to, you assume, make room for the sling.
He fumbles the paper bag and it slips out of his hands, dancing through the air towards the floor. “Dammit,” you hear him mumble.
You nip forward and catch it, and you look up when he looks down, and your eyes meet.
“I might’ve known,” he says softly as you offer him the bag. “Kipps send you to gloat over my invalid state?”
“No, actually. I’m just here buying apples, like you,” you scoff. “And Kipps asks after you, you know? He isn’t all bad. It’s just his way. He’s a great agent.”
Something passes over Lockwood’s face, but he doesn’t disagree. You wish he would make some snippy comment, but apparently, he’s too much of a gentleman for that. 
You respect that, and it annoys you. 
“Can I help?” you ask instead, gesturing to the paper bag. “You can’t hold that and pick apples.”
Why you’ve offered, you don’t know. But you do know that he smells of earl grey tea and magazine pages and citrus, and it’s heady, intoxicating, and when he says, “Thankyou, I appreciate it,” his accent is as crisp as the first bite into a Braeburn on an autumn day.
He asks for three Pink Lady apples - George’s favourite - three Jazz, and three Red Delicious. You inhale greedily as you select the last three, they smell fresh and naturally sweet.
“These are divine. So tempting.”
“On that, we agree,” he responds, and is it your imagination, or do you feel his gaze linger on your mouth?
You are obviously going insane. Lockwood isn’t interested in you. Your main activity when together is trading barbs.
Which is kind of fun-
You help him take the apples to the checkout. He aims that blinding smile at the cashier and gets his fruit bagged for him, and then you head out the door together.
“Well, it was nice to see you in a situation where neither of us wants to use our rapiers on the other,” he begins.
You laugh. “Speak for yourself.”
“Well, then. Until next time.” And he turns toward Portland Row.
“Wait!” You call to his back. His legs go on for days in those jeans. It should be illegal. 
He stops, and then slowly turns. The breeze tugs at one loose lock of his dark hair. He could be on magazine covers. You love that and you hate it. 
“What is it?”
You cast around for the reason you’ve asked him to stop. There isn’t one, other than the fact you feel drawn to him. He gives off a sort of comforting energy; you want that. “Do you like apple pie?”
His eyes narrow for a second. “Of course. Who doesn’t like apple pie?”
“Well, I have a great recipe, if you’ve got flour and butter and sugar for pastry.”
“Considering George would rather fall on his sword than be found without a well stocked larder, I’m confident that we have those things. Both he and Lucy are out, though - at the Archives, and after, Lucy’s off for a few days, to visit a friend.” His gaze stays trained on yours. “So you’d be stuck with just me.”
Your stomach twists with anticipation - both of the pie, and being alone with him. “Well, that depends. How do you take instruction?”
A smile tugs up the corner of his mouth. “I can’t say it’ll all be smooth sailing.”
You wouldn’t have it any other way.
Three hours and one almost perfect apple pie later, you find out that he takes instructions on kissing way better than baking.
But that’s perfect. Because it wouldn’t be fun not to trade barbs some of the time.
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maplleaf · 2 years
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"Act Professional"
Al-Haitham x gn!Reader (small spoilers about chapter 3 Sumeru Archon Quest, written in 3.0 before the story of 3.1)
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In Sumeru, information is the key for everything. Researches need information for their papers. Eremites needs as reliable information as possible to complete their tasks without risk. The whole foundation of Sumeru's title as "The City of Wisdom" is based on information that the previous Archon and her citizens found.
It's the same for Al-Haitham. As much of a genius he is, his name and face is known both outside and within the Akademiya. Therefore gathering certain information can be tricky at times.
That's where you came in.
You're not a genius like Al-Haitham, but you are capable of having more inside connections than him. Being an informant has its perks.
Whether it's the Eremites, merchants, Akademiya scholars; you'll give any information they need for the sake of a paycheck, and for Archon's sake does it pay well.
Al-Haitham became aware of you from a rumor that spreads a year ago; "An informant that could tell you what you need with proof." As a man of rationale, he knew that having connections with an informant such as that would do him well.
It would be a lie to say that you don't interest him beyond your professional relationship; your latest meeting as something that he couldn't get out of his mind.
And so he became one if your regulars. Granted, finding out how to be your client is a difficult task; almost as difficult as becoming Dori's customers. Fortunately, the hard work pays off as you gave him any information and proof that he needs.
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"My favorite client! What do you need today, pretty boy?" you called out. Teasing Al-Haitham with nicknames seems to be your favorite hobby everytime you two meet.
Al-Haitham cut to the chase, numbed to your teasing. "The words 'world...forget me,' does it seem familiar to you?"
You pondered for a moment, "not that i know of, though for a special pay I can find intel on it." You gave him a smile only merchants seeing a business opportunity could give.
Al-Haitham thought about it for a moment, "seven-hundred thousand mora, with evidence."
You faked a sad tone, "We've been working together for months and you can't trust based on my words alone? I am incredibly hurt."
After receiving an unimpressed look from Al-Haitham, you waved off his cold nature, "loosen up would you? Even Kaveh and I have more chemistry."
You stepped away from behind the building, a place that wouldn't catch other people's eyes. "I'll get it done as soon as I can. Better have my payment ready after."
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Meetings between the two of you usually goes that way; you tease him, Al-Haitham requests what he needs, one of you offer the payment, and you leave. The mention of his roommate is what's been bothering him.
Al-Haitham operates solely on rationality, he doesn't see any reason why he would be bothered by the mention of Kaveh. No, he definitely didn't glare at his poor roommate this morning, and the morning before. He's just in a bad mood these past few days.
It didn't help that he can't mention you to Kaveh to ask him. The deal between you and your clients is that they can't mention you, for the sake of your business' safety.
When Al-Haitham received a letter about your the next meeting time and location, his swinging moods seems to change for the positive. Kaveh is silently thanking the Gods for that.
Al-Haitham met up with you within the following days, this time inside a hidden café near Sumeru City. You were already there when he arrived, sitting cross-legged as you waited for him.
As he sat down, you begin to speak. "Nice place right? Better than behind a run down building," you started. The decorations of the café is classy for a hidden one, Al-Haitham began to grow weary. "Don't worry, I know the owners. They won't do anything."
"That's reassuring," Al-Haitham took notice that you don't have any sort of items with you, or something that could be described as evidence.
"Let's get straight to business," he started, making you chuckle.
"As stern as usual," you commented. "I couldn't find any physical evidence and the source said that they wouldn't come. So I'll say that the price would be decreased to.... around two-hundred thousand."
It's bad for business, you knew that. But even an informant like you have your own morals when it comes to selling intel.
"'World...forget me,' is coming from Irminsul. A God is related to it, about what God specifically no one knows," your past few days' research only came to that. Getting intel about a recently berserk Mizri and a strange blonde traveler with the flying mascot is hard, even if it's only two sources.
Despite the lack of supporting information, Al-Haitham seems pleased. "That's good enough, pleasure doing business with you again, (y/n)." He slid the bag of mora that you're owed, though sliding a second one right after.
"Although, I have one more question," you're confused, Al-Haitham usually leaves right when business is over. Not even sparing a moment for you to make small talk. Though it would be a lie to say you're not amused at the change.
"And that would be?"
"What's your relationship with Kaveh?"
You wanted to laugh, though kept it to yourself. You remember mentioning Kaveh at your last meeting, honestly it's adorable how a genius like Al-Haitham would be bothered by a meaningless comment.
"Oh? Using our professional relationship to ask such a private question?" You smirked, trying to prolong a feeling of superiority over Al-Haitham. You even moved closer, arms on the table as you leaned over to him.
"You did take the payment, (y/n)," Al-Haitham pointed out. He kept his composure, much to your disappointment.
You let out a chuckle, placing your finger under Al-Haitham's chin to make his head look up. You satisfy your sadistic needs by looking up at him. Al-Haitham began to sweat involuntarily. He held an unbothered, or even annoyed look. Though inside, he feels his heart racing the more his informant continue.
You took notice almost instantly, somehow being able to move your mouth directly next to his ear.
"Act professional, Al-Haitham."
You stepped right back after, an innocent smile appearing instantly. With your needed payment and an added bonus, both monetary wise and to tease your favorite client, you're completely satisifed today.
"I've only worked with Kaveh once, and i didn't like him enough to be included as my regulars."
And with that you walked away, oh so innocently.
Unfortunately you purposefully left the internally confused and flustered Al-Haitham. Such a rare moment you wishes you had brought your kamera...
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First time writing a fic solely bc I'm hungry for al haitham content
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melodymelancholyart · 7 months
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We’ve reached 100 followers, and of course here’s your reward lol
The Smosh Pony Celebration Post!🎉
I’m going to supply the Smosh pony art I made in middle school , more art of the “Smosh in Equin” mock au, and Smosh pony designs based on Ian and Anthony’s current appearances! My two hyper fixations merged into an abomination of god!💕 This post is a long one so I hope you all enjoy!
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I’ve noticed that some of you guys aren’t familiar with Mlp lore I don’t blame you I’ll supply some terminology and definitions so we’re all on the same page. I’ll be focusing on the lore of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic which I’ll be shortening to MLPFIM for simplicity sake. I’ll only go over really basic lore so you don’t need to watch the show to understand this post.
Cutie Mark - that weird symbol on a pony’s ass. They signify that pony’s ‘special talent’ or a symbol that represents their identity. These special talents are usually an activity that comes natural to its owners. Some can get rather abstract in meaning and design while others might be obvious. For example, a pony good at drawing might have a pencil and paper as a cutie mark. This gets very existential the more you think about it
Equestria - the central setting of MLPFIM ruled by two princesses. It’s home to ponies, dragons, and a multitude of fantasy creatures.
Pony - Ponies exist as three main types; Earth Ponies (normal horse), Pegasus (horse with wings), and Unicorns (wizard horse).
Pegasus (lore) - Pegasi can fly and move/stand on clouds. They usually work in controlling the weather. The weather is weirdly manual in the MLPFIM universe I’m not getting into it
Unicorns - Horses with a horn that allow them to use magic! Mostly telekinesis unless the pony is has raw magical talent (ie. Twilight Sparkle).
Earth Ponies - Normal horses but agricultural makes bank so they aren’t complaining.
Alicorns - All three horse types in one er a Pegasus with a horn.
(Made in 2012)
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I originally made a cringey Smosh pony ‘series’ in middle school. All your favorite characters are here! Looking back, this entire concept was just really self indulgent. I shipped myself with Anthony (gurl wtf you’re 12??? Of course she’s an alicorn too lol) and some of these characters. As embarrassing as this is, I remember getting my friends involved, and we all would bounce ideas off each other about plot and lore. Just a bunch of preteen artists meshing what they love in one big project.
That being said if my preteen horse sona did meet Ian and Anthony it would probably be like this:
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Cynicism aside I decided to draw the old designs of Ian and Anthony for old times sake.
I have no clue why they’re wearing hoodies like an eddsworld character or why Anthony has the Smosh symbol as a cutie mark but Ian doesn’t.
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Fast forward to fuckin last year I got the idea for the April Fools Smosh horse thing and my brain just ran with it. This entire 'au' is one big satire of my middle school concept.
Terms like ‘cutie mark’ and ‘Equestria’ are replaced with ‘soul brand’ and ‘Equin’ since it doesn’t actually take place in the MLP universe.
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Minor spoilers: Sketch ver. Ian and Anthony fuckin die and are reincarnated as horses forgetting their past lives. They grew up and live as social outcasts unable to use magic/fly properly because they literally don’t belong there and the universe is actively rejecting them. They fight forces that look like biblically accurate angels because they’re celestial bodies trying to remove them from the universe (Ian and Anthony are only fighting them because they think the big wheels with eyes are keeping them there but it’s actually something else).
With that being said, art time!
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That got me thinking about what Ian and Anthony would look like if they were in the mlp universe. Of course my brain took this concept and ran with it. I’d like to share what I came up with!
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Stellar Prism (Anthony) and Golden Horizon (Ian)
• They got their cutie marks together at the same time as kids.
• Gold’s talent is radiating sun energy that makes everyone in a 10ft radius happy. He literally glows when he’s happy.
• Prism can focus on someone’s talent and magnify the magic energy from them. I used Anthony’s quote of being a magnifying glass as a jumping off point.
• They preform comedy shows together akin to a manzai routine where Prism is the straight man and Gold is the funny man. They’d travel Equestria preforming together.
• Just like real life, Prism split from Gold because he felt like he didn’t know who he was without Gold. His talent is showing other people’s potential but he wanted to discover his own. While split, Prism studied more “unpopular” forms of magic to rediscover himself. He basically went through the abyss but came out on the other side self content. His ‘tattoos’ are side effects from these magic experiments.
• During the split, Gold met other aspiring comedians (other Smosh members) and they all formed into a comedy troupe.
• When Gold reunited with Prism, he was so happy that he accidentally flashbanged Prism.
• Prism calls Gold “Duck” because he looks like a rubber duck.
• Gold is a pretty fast flyer. He can out-fly most members of the troupe.
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That's all from me! Thank you guys again for 100 followers! I've never really used Tumblr and I'm very late to the game. I'm still thankful for all the support I received! <3
Don't come cryin to me if this post got you to draw horses lol
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boltupbitches · 2 months
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The Great Outdoors
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A week in the great outdoors sounded idealistic until reality set in. Hiking didn’t just mean scenic views and fresh air. It also meant insects, mud, sweat, dirt somehow getting into unimaginable places, poison oak and poison ivy, and the possibility of getting lost on a trail and being eaten by a brown bear or mountain lion. 
Maria didn’t know which possibility would be worse of the latter, but she knew she had to suck it up for Justin’s sake. Her boyfriend was beyond excited to bring her to Oregon, particularly Eugene, to meet his family and close friends. Justin spoke so highly of the nature trails and parks that littered the region. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she wasn’t the outdoorsy type. 
The morning of the hike, Justin had taken her to one of his favorite diners he went to as a kid. They laughed and talked over stacks of pancakes and bacon as the waiter attempted to ply them with refills of water and orange juice. Justin was well-known around here - that was a given. The older waitress (Peggy was her name) doted on him as if he were her own son.
“I’m so glad you all stopped by here. It’s always good to see you, Justin. Please tell your mom I said ‘hello’. I’m sure she’s happy you brought such a beautiful girl home with you.” 
Maria couldn’t stop grinning at the exchange as Justin’s face flushed beet red with embarrassment.
“I’ll let her know you said ‘hi’, Peggy.” He handed her a folded $100 bill with a small smile as the older woman gave him a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and turned to wink at Maria.
“Great meeting you, dear. Keep him out of trouble!” She jokingly cautioned as she set off to her other table that just had people seated with menus. 
Maria thought about that exchange as she struggled up the path Justin decided on. He was lucky she loved him so much to be in this current predicament. Her legs were not as long as his so Justin had to slow down anytime he picked up pace unconsciously. He didn’t complain at all.  She also was sure she could no longer feel her calves from the last mile they walked. Being eaten by bears or mountain lions was starting to sound better with each passing minute.
Don’t even get her started on the insane amount of gear they were carrying because Justin was a meticulous man who was prepared for anything. That included a bandana he packed for each of them.
She mistakenly assumed it was for if they sweat too much.
Justin just grinned and said, “Nope. It’s what we’ll use in place of toilet paper.” He held up the plastic back labeled ‘waste’. “We’ll put the rags in here when we’re done.”
“Oh.” She almost gagged, “That’s… that’s convenient.”
Maria didn’t consider herself a high-maintenance girl. Not by a long shot. But as someone who grew up in urban spaces her whole life, this was extremely out of her comfort level and understanding. She was just thankful Justin didn’t make fun of her novice information on the great outdoors. If anything he was like an eager boy scout, eager to point out everything he knew. 
Even in her miserable state, she couldn’t bear to snap at him when he stopped them to observe a yellow-bellied marmot that was scaling around a large rock, likely trying to find its burrow to return to.
When they reached a clearing on a cliff, he finally declared it was time for a rest and some lunch. Maria almost cried out “thank God” as she dropped her bag next to her as she leaned in exhaustion against a rock.
Justin was drinking from his huge canteen as he observed his exhausted girlfriend. She was digging the beef jerky from her bag as she ate ravenously, not even caring about manners in that moment. “Thanks for coming out here with me,” he said softly, his eyes shining with happiness at the sight of her. “Honestly, it means a lot to me. I know it’s out of your comfort level but you’ve been a huge champ.”
Maria smiled after gulping down the mouthful of chewed jerky. “Of course. It meant a lot to you. I wanted to spend the day doing what you wanted to do with being back home.”
Justin walked over to her and leaned down to press a kiss against her lips, not at all minding the salty and savory taste of beef jerky on her lips. He leaned back and pressed one more kiss to her sweaty forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” She hummed back with her own matching smile.
They set about eating their lunch and quietly taking in the beautiful scenery around them. This is what Maria had in mind for a hike. She was glad to at least get this view. It was ethereal. It was beautiful. She felt like she was in heaven. 
To be away from the constant noise of civilization and to just hear the beautiful noises of the breeze moving through the trees, the luscious grass gently dancing in that same breeze, and the sunlight spilling through as it encroached on shadowy spaces underneath the towering trees.
Justin put his arm around her and pulled her into him as he pressed another kiss to her temple. “I wish I could stay here forever with you.” He murmured against her ear.
“Me too…” She thought for a moment, “Well, maybe just right here the walk back will be hell and I am afraid of half the things that live in the forest here.” She admitted.
Justin laughed at that and said, “I figured. You’ve been a frazzled mess since we started this hike. I was so concerned you were going to pitch yourself off the nearest cliff if we hadn’t made it to the clearing when we did.”
“Glad my misery amuses you,” She said flatly.
“It does.” He grins as he lets her smack him in the stomach, barely feeling it. “But your happiness makes me happy too.”
She ‘hmphed’ at him and pretended to pout. 
Justin just looked at her in amusement. “Wait until we go on a hike again tomorrow! More altitude and better views.” He was egging her on.
She took the bait. “Absolutely not! I’ll stay home with your mom instead.”
“Awww don’t be like that.” He urged. “It’s good exercise.”
“So is a treadmill on fat burn mode. I’m good. If the trail isn’t flat, I’m not interested. I’d rather let a bear eat me out here.”
“Dramatic.”
“I am - you knew that when you got with me, Mr. Social Media Quarterback.”
“Love you too, Maria.”
Maria couldn’t help but smile and notice how carefree Justin was now that he was back home. It was refreshing. The tenseness he usually carried in LA during the regular season was a lot that he shouldered. Here? He was just Justin Herbert, a man who loved football and the outdoors. Someone who tipped waitresses generously at small diners he grew up patroning. A man who was a walking encyclopedia of flora and fauna knowledge as he quietly pointed out each animal and plant they passed.
He was so endearing and everything she ever wanted in a man. She felt so lucky he trusted her enough to show her this part of him, the real him. As she looked at him, admiring the freckles on his face, she knew he was someone she could see herself spending the rest of her life with. Even if it meant going on the occasional hike to see this side of him.
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