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#holy shit dr content
xsunnysoftx · 7 days
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And I OOP-
💫✨️Jumpscare✨️💫
I do actually have something planned-! It will just have to be posted in 11 days, March 31st (wink wink 😉) if yall can paitently wait that long.
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For now I can offer this mere crumb of Sustenance 😭
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soulless-angel25 · 5 months
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Riverrosetober 2023- Day 31, Prompt: Costume/Disguise
SOMEWHERE IN THE TARDIS WARDROBE ROOM
"-no River, I am not dressing up as a werewolf."
"C'mon! It'd be fun~ a vampire and a werewolf? Classic!"
"No!" there's the sound of laughter.
"Oh? Then what's your alternative?"
"Well...."
"You don't have any idea, do you?"
"Of course I do! We can do... Sophie and Howl, from Howl's Moving Castle! Book version, not the movie."
River was silent for a moment, "I'm Howl. You can be Sophie."
"Perfect!" a smile spread across Rose's face at the compromise.
And so, they set off to find their new costumes.
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zoros-sheath · 6 months
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Say Something Loving
2023 Monster Fucktober October 9th
❀ Automaton Killer x F!Reader ❀
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❀ N.SFW ❀ 5.7k Words ❀ ❀ Monster Boyfriend AU ❀ ❀ 2023 Monster Fucktober Masterlist
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❀ Author's Note: jfdjfasfakfjasf, I feel like I have been falling behind, but all of these one shots are averaging 3,500 to 5,000+ words. Which, if I am honest, I am proud of. I have never written more in my life, and it makes me feel good. Even my partner is proud of me.
Also, I really need to start shouting out my bestie, @standfucker, more. Y'all need to appreciate their contribution as my editor. Like, fucking damn. I would be so lost without them. Please read their work, it is touching and wonderful and I love everything they make.
Now onto KILLER ROBOTS FROM SPACE. Not really, but for a thing I made up, that kinda applies, and it's funny to say.
Kureha was my favorite part of writing this. Holy shit, she was amazing. Idk, expect her cameos more in the future for stories.
She is a menace to society.
Dr. Kureha for president.
PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING
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❀ When you receive your latest care package from home, you are more than surprised to find a man inside. Much to your bewilderment, the man in question was somehow granted a second life by your grandmother, and is more than willing to assist you with your every need.
❀ CW: blindfold, fingering, vibrating dick, Dr. Kureha being a thoughtful but slightly invasive grandmother, she is a menace to society, Dr. Kureha for president.
❀ Listen to the Playlist: ❀ Spotify ❀ YouTube ❀
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This could not be real.
Your grandmother sent you a man in the mail.
A very naked man in the mail.
You paced the kitchen of your humble little house deep in the silent wood. The gigantic pine wood box sat in the living room, you glanced at it every time you passed the archway that separated the spaces. The man was not moving, and you needed answers.
Per tradition in your long family line of witches, wizards, sorcerers, mages, and the like, you had set yourself up in isolation for the next three years to practice your magic. You were supposed to spend the time reflecting on your work and to help you choose your path from the many different known disciplines you would like to follow. It had only been a few weeks, and most of what you could think of was how much you missed the internet.
While you were only allowed one phone call a month to family to check in and let them know you were alive, you were granted calls in case of emergencies. You felt this warranted an emergency, hoping your grandmother would answer, very concerned for the how or why there was a person in the box. He had no pulse, and had a strange mask covering his head.
“Dr. Kureha speaking.”
Your grandmother answered at least, and you choked on your words before you could even speak. After a brief moment, you blurted out loudly into the receiver, “GRANNY! WHAT THE FUCK!?”
Her laughter met you from the other end, “Oh good, you got my care package.”
“Care package? CARE PACKAGE?!” Though you were alone in the middle of the woods save for the man or whatever he was in the box, you still whispered your next statement, “You sent me a MAN in the mail!”
“And you wouldn’t believe the customs charges and overnight fees. Had to get ‘im to ya before the moon changed out of phase. Other wise you’d have to wait two months, and he’d really start stinkin’ up the place.”
You rolled your eyes, throwing your arms up, “Oh, thanks for that, Gran. Now what the hell am I supposed to do with him!?”
“Kiss ‘im.”
Again, you were flabbergasted beyond words, your only responses being stutters and sputters as you rubbed your forehead.
“Yeah, give ‘im a good ol’ smooch. Finishes the spell and will wake the bastard right up.” Your grandmother stated it as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, “He’ll keep you good company while you’re on your training.”
“I just… Hell’s Bells, what is he even? Did you send me a golem?”
“Don’t be rude, Sprout!” Granny Kureha had always called you such, “We do not culturally appropriate in this family. He’s an Automaton. He can help with the cleaning and cooking while you focus on your work.”
You looked at your phone, then to the man in the box, “You… sent me an overly complicated roomba?”
“Automaton.” Your grandmother corrected, “I used various machine parts, different types of magic ores and organic material, slapped in a soul, and well, boom. One Automaton ready for my grandbaby.”
“So you sent me a sentient overly complicated roomba.” Your eyes trailed over his body, well-built with almost superhero level of musculature, and well-endowed in other areas. Picking up a blanket from your favorite reading chair, you threw it over his lower half, finding yourself distracted by his size even in a flaccid state. “Why did you put a soul in a roomba?”
Your grandmother huffed loudly, “He’s not—!” then let out a frustrated grumble, “Listen, Sprout. An Automaton is technically a form of necromancy,” Kureha was one of the few members in your family who went down the necromatic path, and it was only just a little weird now that you knew it had a soul, “You create a form and shape for a willing soul to inhabit it. So long as you have the correct materials to accompany it, the magic forms a body similar to what the soul had around their time of death. Lucky for you, Killer was a stud.”
Sighing heavily, you tried hard to not allow the heat in your face to be heard in you voice, scratching your head, “What do you mean ‘Killer’?”
“That’s his name,” she laughed, “At least that’s what he remembers. Not many souls always completely remember their names, but they remember aspects of their lives. He cooked and cleaned and was built like an ox, so that was good enough for me.”
Rubbing your face, you knelt down next to the pine wood box, almost feeling like it was a casket. Granted, he was packed in packing peanuts like an expensive electronic, “Okay, fine. Whatever. Is there a manual for this thing or what?”
“Sprout, you wound me. Do you really think I would send you such a delicate and handsome piece of machinery without instructions?”
You sighed loudly yet again, your voice flat and monotone as it was a phrase you had said many times in your life, “No, Granny Kureha, you wouldn’t…” and waited for the other shoe to drop.
“It’s under his ass.”
There it was.
Granny Kureha knew you wouldn’t be able to lift him, and would have to wake him up via the kiss in order to get at the instructions. Your head thumped against the box, letting out a frustrated groan that only caused your grandmother to laugh loudly again, “Just kiss him before nightfall. All of his essentials are underneath him. Don’t remove the mask for at leastfour months. Now, I’m still in the middle of surgery, so I gotta go. This isn’t an emergency call, so you are out of calls for the month. We’ll hear from you later. Love you, kisses!”
“Wait, Gran! How am I supposed to—”
You heard the line disconnect, leaving you there in utter disbelief. Granny Kureha had a tendency to do that. Looking at your phone, you contemplated calling her back anyway, rules be damned. However, you knew it would be futile, she’d never answer the phone again, and no one else in the family would even know what to do. Even if they did ask her, she’d laugh in their faces.
“Well, now what?”
Gazing back blankly at the the man in the box, you leaned your cheek on your fist, breathing out in a way that rattled your lips, “So, Killer… I have to kiss you, huh? How am I supposed to do that if we can’t take your helmet off and I have to do it before the sun goes down?” You felt a little silly speaking to the technically dead man. Was he even dead? Granny Kureha never specified it had to be on the lips, and you looked over his naked body that was only covered by your throw. What did he even feel like?
Reaching into the box, you closed your eyes and touched his chest, withdrawing your hand quickly once it made contact. As you peeked out of one eye, you were surprised at the fact he felt like normal human skin, opening your eyes and looking at him as you touched his chest again. It was no different than touching someone who was asleep, and you poked him a few times before tapping your fingers on him, mildly entertained by the sound and feeling of his relaxed muscles. You were alone, and started to tap his chest like bongos, since you were a little starved for entertainment. Besides, when would you ever get to do it ever again?
His chest started to turn red, you looked at it and winced slightly, “Sorry… I… should…” You gave it one more slap, biting your lip just a bit in your brief moment of insanity, “Yeah, I should stop…”
Looking him over, you started to nudge and prod at him from the waist up, trying to figure out how to move him if possible. Just as you thought, his muscles or whatever he was made out of were far too heavy for you to lift on your own. You were lucky to lift his arms and head at all.
Heaving a heavy sigh, you flopped back down next to the box, holding his large hand in yours after trying fruitlessly to pull him out of the box for the umpteenth time, “Alright, alright. I quit. Whatever… Just… UGH!” Throwing your arms up, you had let go of his limp hand, just leaving it there hanging over the side of the box. Staring at his large fingers, you picked his hand up again, holding your own against it. Were he alive and moving, he could easily curl his fingers over yours, dwarfing your hands with the sheer size of his.
The strange mask on the man covered his face and ears, leaving only a small tuft of what you assumed was a beard or goatee sticking out—some sort of facial hair for sure. The amount of hair coming off the back of the mask made it look like he was sleeping on a bed of his own hair, and you really wanted to brush it. First, you would have to wake him.
“Alright, sleeping beauty… here goes nothing.”
Holding up his index finger, you pressed it to your lips, closing your eyes softly this time as if you were leaning in to kiss him on the cheek or lips. When you opened your eyes again, he had not moved. You gave his finger another peck, then after a few more moments, one to his knuckles. He still did not move, let alone breathe. Sighing deeply, your shoulders drooped, “I knew this was too good to be true…”
Suddenly, you noticed his skin turning red, particularly around his neck going up into his mask. You tilted your head, it being the first sign of life in him at all. Leaning in, you tried to listen for breathing.
“Um, hello?”
“Hi.”
You shrieked, letting go of his hand and backing away, “Hell’s bells! You’re alive?!”
His voice sounded strained, “I think so…? I forget what I’m supposed to do. My chest hurts.” You glanced at his pecs that you were playing like bongos not long ago, “It is like… burning.”
“Burning?” You moved back to the edge of the box, looking at him and placing your hand against him, wondering if maybe he was heating up. His skin did feel warmer than before, but not enough to be concerning. It also felt like he had a heart beat, but it was quickly slowing. What you could not feel was the rising and falling of his lungs taking in air, “Are… aren’t you supposed to breathe? I really know nothing of what is supposed to happen.”
“Breathe?” his head moved toward you, causing you to jump again. You thought you saw a hint of a blue eye in one of the holes of his mask, “Breathe… that… that sounds normal. I’ve been dead for… I think she said 30 years? You forget a lot of living when you’re dead.”
Your eyes popped out of your head, pressing on his chest, “Oh my god, yes! Breathing! Breath! Taking air in and out of your lungs! Do that!” The fear that your Automaton could die when you just managed to power him up was not something you were expecting, but leave it to Granny Kureha to be vague. Taking in a deep breath yourself, you then blew it out of your mouth, taking in another one while making an overly exaggerated motion to try and get him to remember.
It took a few moments for him to catch up, finally taking in a very deep breath to the point he began coughing and hacking, sitting up in the process. You reached out to pat his back, feeling how soft and fluffy his long hair was and also brushing off packing peanuts in the process. When his coughing calmed and his breathing regulated, you watched as he then stood up with a groan, looking at his hands and body as the blanket fell from him. The man began laughing oddly, but you were too distracted as you stared at his ass. That perfect round ass, like an apple you wanted to take a bite out of. Good grief, half the reason you decided to take your journey now in life was because you wanted to escape your dismal dating life, and you were literally face to face with a living god that was actually created to serve you.
You must have short circuited at the thought, not realizing he had walked out of the box and was wiggling every part of his body he could, partially to shake off the styrofoam bits sticking to him. When he tugged on his cock a moment, you covered your eyes, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Decency, dude! Just because you’ve been dead doesn’t mean you can just start touching yourself!”
He laughed, holding his hands up as he faced you, “Sorry, I’ve not really been able to touch anything for so long. Just… to feel, and move, and breathe! Fuck, to be alive!” the man threw his arms up, and you scurried to pick the blanket back up and hold it around his waist, averting your eyes, “Do you know what it’s like!?”
“Possibly, I do it every day,” you worked quickly to wrap the blanket around his waist and tie it properly in place, “There we go. Much better.”
Standing back up to face him, you were looking directly at his chest at first, then slowly raised your head up to look into his mask. You could barely see his blue eyes glittering with life through the holes, mostly because it was hard for light to get into them. He placed one of his hands on his hip, as he held out his other hand in greeting, “Hi, I’m Killer. You must be Y/N. Your Gran told me a lot about you.”
“She—she did?” Your voice cracked as you shook his hand, his dwarfing yours yet again, but with a gentle hold as he gave it a small shake. It surprised you that he had such control over his strength so quickly, but it was a bigger shock that he knew of you already, “She talked about me?”
“Oh yeah, it was a vigorous screening process to be your helper,” Killer let go of your hand, putting it on his hip as he stood there, looking around the space and then letting out a whistle, “You got a nice place here. Pretty simple to take care of, lots of reading. I can dig it.”
Your living room was modest and cozy, consisting of a sofa with two chairs facing a coffee table in front of a large stucco fireplace. There were built-in book shelves stuffed to the brim all around the room, and paintings and framed photos filling in any space that wasn’t a shelf. There was a ladder that led to a lofted bedroom above the kitchen, a little bathroom with a large tub just off the side of the kitchen, and you also kept fresh flowers from the garden in various vases around the room. It was only you (or at least it was supposed to be only you), so when you designed it with your magic, you did not require a lot of space. Now there was this ginormous man living with you, and you were unsure if he would even be able to sleep on the couch.
“Yeah, um… what exactly did Granny Kureha say to you? Not gonna lie,” you looked back to the box, remembering his “instruction manual” and belongings were underneath him, “You were not mentioned to me at all, and was quite a shock opening the box.”
Killer turned back on his heels, facing you and sounding concerned, “She didn’t mention me?” and pointed to himself. His broad shoulders drooped, and only now that he was up, moving, and covered, did you realize there was discoloration on his left arm over his shoulder. He patted the back of his mask, watching you as you started tossing about the packing peanuts, looking for his stuff and the manual. All you found were a pair of slides, work boots, and a USB drive, “Oh! My shoes! Thanks.”
Taking the footwear from you, Killer dropped the slides to the ground, slipping his feet into them and looking at his them as he wiggled his toes, “Ah, much better. Your floor was cold.”
You eyed him over briefly, nice body or not, he was turning out to be a rather strange man. Reaching more into the box, you tossed everything else out, frantically looking for what you could, “Seriously? This is it? There’s nothing else?”
He tilted his head, “What do you mean? She asked me what I would need once here, and I figured you wouldn’t have shoes for a big guy like me, and she said I could only have two things.”
Smacking your forehead, you huffed loudly. Your grandmother’s laughter echoed in the back of your mind, as if she planned to leave you dealing with a naked man in your house during your training. That was just the sort of humor she had, everything at other people’s expense. Especially since it’s not like you would just have clothes for a man his size, either, let alone any men’s clothing at all.
You folded your hands in front of your face, attempting to calm yourself with a deep breath in, “Okay, so you have two sets of shoes, your name’s Killer, and you interviewed for the position to be my helper. Is there anything else I am missing?”
Killer nodded, holding his work boots under one arm and gesturing as he spoke with the other, “Well, I was a chef before I died, and your Gran showed a bunch of us spirits your picture. It was a mad dash after that. Not just to be alive again, but I mean… She said you were lonely and all. I thought—”
“Granny is now pimping me out to the undead, Hell’s Bells…” You started to rub your temples.
“—You could use a friend.”
“Wait.” You looked to him, fingers still pressing into your head a bit, “You want to be my friend?”
The man shrugged, a chuckle escaping from under his mask, “Why not? I’ve got a second chance at life. What do you say? Friends?” He held out his hand to you again, a smile to his voice, but it was hard to tell under that mask. You stared at his hand a moment, with how many times you had already touched it this evening, it should not have been such a strange thing to see by now.
“What the heck then,” you shook his hand a second time, “Friends.”
And that was how you and Killer began your cohabitation.
The USB drive had the manual and videos for the laptop you brought with you that Granny Kureha had put together. Most of it was vague and her mostly talking about the theory of spirit magic. If you didn’t know any better, you were almost thinking she was trying to lead you down the necromatic path like she did. What information you did manage to scrape from it was about the mask he wore. It was the anchor that held his soul in place, and that it would take up to four months or more before it could be removed. This allowed the soul to attune and attach to the new vessel.
There was also a section in there about the different functions that Killer would now have, including but not limited to a wifi connection (THANK THE HEAVENS), access to an extensive memory bank of recipes, building schematics, various encyclopedias, news reports, and, for whatever reason, the Kama Sutra. Killer laughed, but you hid your face, especially as you had to hear your grandmother’s voice say the words “His cock heats up and vibrates, here’s how…”
Despite the embarrassment, Killer did turn out to be a big help for you around the house, especially with cooking and cleaning. You had a degree in horticulture and he was a quick study for helping you in the garden, which became another boon. Once you were finally able to get clothes sent that fit him properly, things were a lot easier, but he still preferred to walk around and work shirtless if he could. While you had used magic to build the house, it was easier for Killer to make repairs manually, so you could conserve your energy for studies and practice; he was always considerate of your needs like that.
He built his own, simple room off the other side of the living room, and was always up before you were, making breakfast. You often wondered if he actually slept, but a strange noise woke you up once in the middle of the night that turned out to be him snoring. For a man who was happy to have a second chance at life, he sure as hell slept like the dead, as you were unable to wake him to stop his incessant noises.
The summer started to fly by in a flash, full of laughter and glee. While he did his best to keep things friendly, you couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach at the sound of his chuckle while reading to himself, the gentle brush of his fingers against your cheek when there was something on your face, or even the way he would help you pick flowers from the garden to keep in the house.
As fall arrived and the harvest came to its peak, you were both gathering vegetables from the garden for canning when you heard a large and heavy thud. Killer was far away from you, and you thought that maybe an arm had fallen off or something. You ran to him, calling for him over and over, only to find him bent over on the ground. Fearing the worse, you rushed to his side, “Killer? Killer, are you alright?”
Breathing heavily, he slowly turned to look at you, realizing you had been looking at the back of his head and not the back of his mask. Blue eyes brighter than the sky stared back at you, almost fearful, then he blocked the light with his hand, “I… I don’t know what happened,” he panted, “I was just walking, and suddenly it fell off. Am I dying again?”
“I… I don’t know?” you helped Killer to his feet, “Granny’s instructions said that it could be removed at 4 months, but she never mentioned anything about this.” Looking down, you nudged the mask with your foot, now in two pieces on the ground, “Just… fell off like an apple from a tree, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess. Didn’t realize how heavy it was.”
Turning to look at each other, you saw how his hair had stuck so much to his face, it had no where else to go after a few months, after all. You were wondering how it even managed to grow at all, seeing how how he was technically not human and had only been able to eat all of his meals through a straw or in noodle form (Killer loved noodles). Attempting to brush it out of his eyes, you giggled a bit, “Maybe we should get all of this taken care of after we get this hair out of your face.”
Killer agreed, gathering up what you had both collected so far and going to start the arduous task of dealing with his hair. There was so much of it, and it tangled easily. You had him do a lot of washing and conditioning treatments first and then sat him down as you brushed and detangled his hair lovingly. He also helped you with your hair routine, so it was a nice trade off. That, and his hair was silky and soft, and any excuse you could have to touch it was perfect, turning him into putty in your hands.
After a while, he stopped you playing with his hair, much to your dismay. Killer went back into the bathroom, doing his best on his own to cut his bangs and clean up his beard to hopefully look less like a wild man. You started to switch out the flowers, hearing him come out of the bathroom and instantly dropping the vase when he came out. It was already hard enough to hide your attraction to Killer, now it would be near impossible since you could see his face—that beautiful, flawless, gorgeous angelic face touched by the heavens.
As you stood there in awe, you didn’t realize he was just standing there and staring back at you. To distract yourself, you quickly bent down to pick up the glass from the vase and the discarded flowers. You thought you were speaking cohesively, but instead you were just mumbling nonsense at different frequencies of volume and frantically picking up everything in front of you, cutting your hand.
“Y/N!” Killer rushed to your side, pulling you away from the broken glass and holding up your palm. He pressed the towel from around his neck against your hand to stop the bleeding, “Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah. You startled me, that’s all.”
He chuckled, “Guess my face is that alarming, huh?”
One could say that. The next few days were spent either avoiding direct eye contact or just straight-up staring. It made it very hard to continue with your work, or even your basic duties around the house. You finally spent a whole day in bed, afraid that if you continued to go into his presence at all you would go completely mad. Killer was also concerned, constantly climbing up the ladder to check on you.
You waited until nightfall when you finally heard Killer’s snoring. Since you wouldn’t allow Killer to bring you anything, your stomach growled loudly. Sitting up quietly, you resolved to yourself that you would sneak downstairs for a quick bite to eat and some alone time in the shower. Hopefully it would be enough to break this feeling, grant you back some clarity instead of feeling as though you were getting wet just looking at his face.
However, strong arms wrapped around you from behind in bed, stopping you from standing. With a loud gasp, you attempted to turn around to face Killer, but he hugged you even tighter, not letting you move, “Don’t. Don’t look at me if it hurts you so much,” he put his face against your shoulder, “I know my face is ugly, but—”
“WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT!?”
The silence after your outburst was enough for you to hear birds disturbed from their sleep, flying off in the middle of the night. For once, Killer didn’t laugh, “Why else would you be so shocked to look at me? To then go so far as to avoid looking at me? You wouldn’t even get out of bed today, Y/N.” You couldn’t swallow down the lump now formed in your throat, unaware that your actions were making Killer doubt himself as a person. Opening your mouth to speak, he shushed you and continued, “I—I can’t take it anymore, Y/N. I know I said I wanted to be your friend, but I have loved you since you said hello. Please, Y/N… please…”
His lips brushed your ear, holding you tightly. You were still only wearing your robe and nightgown, having never really changed, given you stayed in bed all day. He untied the belt, kissing your neck softly as he removed it. Killer brought it up to your eyes and tied it just tightly enough so it would not fall.
“…Let me love you.”
Nodding profusely, you felt there was nothing more in the world you wanted than this moment. While Killer was incorrect as to why you were avoiding him, the words would not come to explain your side of things. Instead, you were rendered breathless, sighing as he pulled you back against his broad chest. His hands wandered your body through your robe as you sat in his lap, feeling your body heat up quickly. Having your sight hindered left your sense of touch heightened, mewling loudly at even his simplest of graces.
Turning your head, Killer caught your lips with his, tongues pressing against each other as his fingers slipped into your panties and between your legs. He gently circled his thumb over your clit, wasting no time in sliding one of his digits against your folds. When his fingers slipped in, your back arched, bringing one hand up to grip into his hair as he kissed your neck, your other holding onto his forearm as he fingered you tenderly. The two of you began to sweat more as he brought you to your peak, feeling you gush around his fingers as you came.
Neither of you spoke as he held you so close, so tightly in his arms that you thought you’d slip away into a puddle of goo if he let you go. Killer kissed your jaw, his large and hot tongue then licking your neck, tasting your sweat. You shivered and moaned at the feeling, his fingers slipping out from between your legs as he started to remove your robe and nightgown. Exposed, you shied away from Killer a brief moment, only to realize that you were pressed against his naked body, feeling his bare skin against yours now that there was nothing between you both.
“Did you really come up here in the buff?” you asked.
“Is that really important now?” he chuckled.
He had a point, especially when he lifted your hips to force you to straddle his lap, running the length of his member against your slit. You rolled your body, throwing your head back on his shoulder as you moaned, “Fuck, Killer!” His cock was hot, not uncomfortably, but warmer than any you remember. Maybe it was the night air, or being blindfolded, or maybe you just remembered the stupid videos your grandmother sent you and having to hear her say “it heats up and vibrates.”
As if on queue with your thoughts, you felt a pulsing start from Killer’s cock, chuckling as you twitched and squirmed, running it along your length until he brought his wide tip to your entrance. Slowly but surely, he slipped you down his vibrating and heated length, stretching you out deliciously as Killer still held your back to his chest. You had never been in such a position before, more surprised by how easily he was able to still keep control of you without making you overexert yourself. Just as he always did, Killer was putting you first.
You braced your legs around his, both of you on your knees as you began to lift yourself up as best you could. Hearing Killer’s stuttered breath, you turned your head just enough to catch his jaw against your lips as you ran your hand along his face and up into his hair. Killer’s hands on your hips tried but failed to stop your movements, hearing his voice strain, “Y/N, please. Let… let me do this. Let me—”
“Shhh,” you cooed to him, a breathy moan parting your lips, “Let me love you back.”
He really could not deny you, stopping only briefly in shock before you claimed his lips with yours. The two of you made love through most of the night, keeping the blindfold on mostly because you just forgot. It was the most amazing and sensual experience you had ever had with a lover. Laying in his arms in your bed panting, you kissed Killer passionately as you finally removed your robe sash from around your eyes.
You had not realized the sun started to come up, looking at him in the dimmest first light of day. Cupping his face in your hands, you smiled to him as Killer placed one of his own on top of yours, running his thumb over your fingers.
“I can’t believe you honestly thought I was disgusted by you,” you giggled, delighting in his smile as he chuckled.
“Well,” his smile grew as he spoke, pulling your body closer to his, “you would avoid looking at me, and froze up in shock any time you did, so what else was I supposed to think? I kinda thought things were one sided, I had no idea you were in love with me.”
You shook your head, “Hell no, I have been in such awe of your face that I feel like I might as well have been staring at the sun when I look at you. Like I’m not worthy.”
Killer held you closer to him, nearly squishing your face against his pecs, “You are more than worthy. You are the only one worthy of me. I would have no other, Y/N.”
It took you a moment to get him to release you, sputtering only slightly until you were both laughing. Kissing his face, you sat up, then looked out into your shared house from your lofted bedroom, “Gonna need a bigger bed.”
“Hm? And why is that?” your lover lay at your side, looking up to you as he rubbed your back with his large hand.
“For starters,” you pointed to his feet hanging off the bottom edge of your bed, “You don’t fit all the way. Second, if you think I am going to spend my nights without you next to me, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Killer laughed in his unusual way, just another thing you truly loved about him, “I guess you’re right, but are you willing to put up with my snoring that much closer to you?” He sat up and leaned his head atop yours, watching the living room below with you as it slowly lit up with the morning sun.
“I guess so. But it’s worth it.” You smiled, feeling his arms wrap around you tenderly. There was a long silence before Killer spoke with a chuckle.
“Because it vibrates?”
“Because it vibrates.”
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wolfyskadi · 11 months
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(TL;DR: therian content and media sucks. We gotta step this game up.)
Been going through therian Tik Tok tonight... I'm gonna say some things that might get me cancelled, but here goes: Mainstream therians are cringy af. It really is nothing but a bunch of 12-16 year olds wearing masks and doing quadrobics. There's nothing wrong with being young. The masks are even pretty cool. And quads are sick as fuck and I wish I could do them. But I'm getting massive "roleplay" vibes from the whole thing which is not really what I think of as "therian".
You guys wonder why the world thinks we're a joke? It's because the face of Therianthropy is a 13 year old kid in a FOX mask lamenting that he's having trouble connecting to his AVIAN theriotype through vocals. Like, kid, you're a bird and you wanna connect to that?? Take the dog mask off, climb a tree, sit on a perch and eat a fucking seed. Make a feathered mask that's actually BIRD SHAPED. Go to an aviary! You're roleplaying a dog and wondering why you feel disconnected from your bird self.
The face of therianthropy is a video of a 15 year old jumping on their bed in fox mask with the caption "I forgot how to jump and I can't force myself to shift anymore :(" Like hello?? You're in a bedroom surrounded by all your human posessions? You're jumping on giant foam rectangle? Do you really not understand why you're having a hard time performing quads or shifting into the headspace of a Wild Animal while you're enclosed in a small space and surrounded by plushies, artificial lights, and the whirrring of your $2,000 gaming computer?
The face of therianthropy is a 16 year old who's "coming out" as a wolf therian, calling themself "Alpha", and running on a Giant Hamster Wheel in a park(?). Like seriously, you don't have to "come out". Our existence isn't really mainstream enough for us to be an Oppressed Minority forced into hiding. (I understand that a lot of us are queer/trans/etc. That's not the point.) And completely ignoring the fact that "Alpha Wolves" aren't a real thing, (I do love my human A/B/O dynamics,) the title of "Alpha" is not something you just give to yourself and expect it to be respected. You gotta earn that shit, and when you do it only applies to your own pack. (-sincerely, a beta puppy/primal/therian.)
To everyone in the world from me, a kinkster, a puppy, a furry, a primal, a therian, a Freak: do what makes you happy. 1000% do what makes you happy and do what makes you feel good. But holy shit is it such a pain to go through so much Content Made By Therians, For Therians and not see a single piece of discussion. It's all just the same three videos being remade by hundreds of different people.
Sorry Not Sorry for the rant, but I want to see something informative. I wanna see stuff that makes me go "therians are so fucking cool". I wanna have a stranger at the bar ask me what that ΘΔ tattoo means and excitedly pull out my phone to show them videos explaining and demonstrating therianthropy. But everything I see on Tik Tok just makes me think "this is embarrassing, y'all just look like a bunch of roleplaying/cosplaying children." There's nothing wrong with that. Have fun. Do what makes you happy. But lets get some better content in this community. If you've read this far, I appreciate you. Comment some links to good therian content creators if you've got them.
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cozy-cinnamon-roll · 20 days
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We Interrupt This Broadcast...
(Another two-part-er! Stay tuned for part 2 very shortly!)
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel
Pairing: Ler!Rosie, Ler!OC, Lee!Alastor (strictly platonic)
Content/Trigger Warnings: tickling, very brief blood mention, medical themes (non-graphic & painless). One comically graphic description of cannibalism (first paragraph). Also, this is set right after Alastor gets his ass handed to him by Adam, so you can expect a lil angst sprinkled in there (don't worry, he gets better).
If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add in the future (and/or to this fic), PLEASE let me know! I am always happy to oblige. 💕
This is a ticklefic! If that's not your cup of tea, kindly move along.
Ok... I'm gonna be honest folks, I have no idea if this fic is even coherent. This ain't my Best Work™ - this is literally the coping mechanism I've been relying on to put myself to sleep every night this week because HOLY SHIT my life is stressful at the moment. 😅
But anyway, I've decided I'm just gonna go ahead and post it, because 1) the world needs more lee!alastor, and 2) I'm not here to do my Best Work™, I'm here to write cute self-indulgent little stories about Alastor getting tickled to bits by his platonic wife. I'm here to decompress my hypervigilant ass at the end of long days by imagining my favorite endearingly creepy characters get wrecked by my other favorite endearingly creepy characters.
In summary, I'm here to have a good time, and I certainly did with this fic. So I hope you do too!
Featuring my new oc! (Rosie and Al still take center stage though, don't worry lol)
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It's a little-known fact that cannibals make terrific doctors. When you spend every meal tearing the human body apart with your face, you end up with a pretty comprehensive intuition for demonic anatomy.
So Alastor supposed he should consider himself lucky to have Rosie and her loyal posse so close at hand after his battle with Adam.
He was certainly relieved when Rosie had stumbled upon him, barely conscious from blood loss on the floor of his wrecked radio tower - and especially a few hours later when, having been rushed back to Cannibal Town, he was whisked into a warm, familiar parlor and deposited on a comfy couch.
Within minutes Rosie had summoned a woman in a white coat who swooped in, produced a bottle of a strange, foul-smelling gel from her medicine bag, soaked a rag with it, and pressed it firmly against Alastor's wound. The searing pain evaporated almost on contact.
"What is that?" Alastor breathes, visibly relaxing against the arm of the couch he's propped against.
"Anesthetic." She begins preparing a needle and thread.
"Didn't know such a thing existed down here."
"Of course! We're demons, not barbarians," Rosie scoffs, watching from the sidelines.
Cannibals, as a rule, rarely last long enough to need a doctor, but Rosie is no ordinary cannibal. And Dr. Trudy Sawblade - a young surgical resident in life, and Rosie's personal physician in death - is the best of the best. While she hadn't quite completed her medical training before her untimely death, in Rosie's service she's gained more than enough experience to make up for her education cut short.
"That salve is derived from a distant cousin of the poison dart frog. Evidently most of the frogs are assholes, because hell has an downright enormous population of them." Trudy's voice is measured and matter-of-fact, with a soft lilt that is both soothing and vaguely unsettling. "Haven't been discovered on earth yet. Which is good, because one whiff of this would end a mortal life in a matter of seconds."
"Lucky you, you're already dead," Rosie chimes in cheerfully.
"Lucky me," Alastor murmurs, without conviction.
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Truthfully, with the pain from his chest wound numbed, the weight of his recent defeat presses even more heavily on Alastor's heart. Someone - probably one of the cannibals who helped transport him from the rubble pile to Rosie's parlor - must have grabbed the broken microphone as they carried him out, because the fractured pieces are sitting on the side table at the other end of the couch. Under normal circumstances the awareness that someone had touched his staff without permission would spark a flash of rage from the Radio Demon, but now he can only stare dismally at what remains of his cane - aware that it's no longer capable of accomplishing much anyway.
It takes only a few minutes for Trudy to stitch Alastor back up and wrap his chest in a stretchy gauze. Meanwhile, Rosie quickly mends the worst of the tears in his clothes - if only to avoid having to watch her friend stare down the couch at his broken staff, with an uncharacteristic half-smile that damn near breaks her heart.
"Alright, sir, that should do it for now. It's a nasty gash, for sure, but the salve should keep it from getting infected."
"Thank you, my dear." He gives an appreciative nod to the surgeon, and Rosie too, as his fellow overlord hands him back his clothes.
"Can't have you going around with a big hole in your chest, can we?" Rosie steps back and scrutinizes her own patch job as he slowly dresses himself again. "It ain't perfect... especially for a classy fellow like you. But I'm sorry to report that I saw my tailor at a Sunday brunch just last week. Inconvenient, but I gotta admit, he made a wonderful casserole."
For the briefest of moments, this aside manages to tweak Alastor's smile into something vaguely genuine. "I'm sure he did."
"One more thing, Mr. Alastor, sir," Trudy jumps in as the radio demon pulls on his coat. "So sorry, I almost forgot. The angel also threw you against a wall, correct?"
At the recollection, Alastor's smile stiffens into something more closely resembling a grimace. His antlers rise between his ears. "Does it matter?"
"You may be at risk for internal injuries." If Trudy is at all fazed by inviting the most powerful overlord in hell's annoyance, it doesn't show. "I really ought to check, just to be safe."
Alastor looks away. As loathe as he is to even acknowledge his own fragility, he truly isn't sure of the extent of his own injuries - given that he's not used to receiving them in the first place. And he'd be damned (well, damned twice) if Adam had ruptured something vital, spelling the radio demon's second death a few hours after the fact.
He grits his teeth. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."
"Lovely. If you could just lie back, sir..." As he obliges, she kneels beside the couch. "I'm just going to feel for any swelling..." Her hands hover over him-
"Er, wait." Alastor abruptly sits up.
"It's alright, I won't touch your wound!" Trudy soothes. "I'll just be feeling down here..." She gestures to his midsection (which elicits a sharp flinch).
"No, I-" He hesitates. "I'm... not sure this is necessary."
"Oh, Alastor, stop worryin'!" Rosie reassures him with a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Trudy is quite picky about her meals. She'd never go for venison."
"That's... not what..."
Alastor pauses, and evidently decides against trying to explain what he meant. He reluctantly lies back against the cushions again.
"I'm going to place my hands under your shirt, sir. If you feel any pain, please alert me."
"Very well."
As Trudy lifts his shirt, he looks like he is going to say something more - but whatever it is dies on his tongue the moment her hands make contact with his stomach. He brings one knee up sharply.
"Tender there, sir?"
"No! No, your hands are cold." His words have gone uncharacteristically stiff.
Trudy methodically probes one side of his belly, then the other (which in turn causes his other knee to pop up). This time when Trudy asks if he's in pain, he merely shakes his head.
The surgeon furrows her brow, concentrating. Human-animal hybrids like Alastor already take a bit of poking around just to get a sense for each unique configuration of organs. It doesn't help that the man is bracing for every touch...
"Are you sure this doesn't hurt, sir?" she murmurs tentatively. "You're very tense."
"Yes." The word comes out like a hiss. She glances at the radio demon's face. He's wearing his typical showman's smile, but his eyes are fixed on the ceiling with a weird, wide, unwavering stare.
Finally the surgeon sits back. "Well, I don't feel anything concerning. But to be honest, sir, I can't feel much of anything." She turns apologetically to her employer. "His stomach is all clenched up..."
But Rosie is simply standing there pressing a huge grin into her glove. She's known Alastor for decades. She can read his expressions like a magazine.
"Alastor, darling," Rosie drawls casually. "Are you ticklish?"
From the radio demon's reaction, you'd think she'd asked if he was an Exorcist. He scrambles to sit up. "No! Why would-"
"You're ticklish. That's..." She catches herself just before the word precious.
"...What?!" There's an edge of defensiveness to his voice that Rosie very rarely hears from him.
"Why are you embarrassed?"
"I'm not emb- That's not- what-" Oh, she's giving him that look. "I'm just- I wasn't-"
As he speaks, Alastor's voice suddenly goes thin. His gaze turns inward. "I'm stuttering. I don't stutter! I've never stuttered!" He clutches his coat closer around himself. "I am the RADIO DEMON, for heaven's sake, I don't sta-AHH! Haha-!"
Evidently a scribble to the ribs is a very effective way to interrupt a panicking demon. Rosie runs her fingers from his hip up his side to his arm and back a couple times for good measure.
The amount of startled laughter she is able to draw from just this surprise touch delights her - the poor man is so ridiculously sensitive that a five-second one-handed tickle leaves him fully breathless.
"Okay! Okay, okahay! Keheh- Rosie!"
"Sorry dear, couldn't resist." She holds her hands up, still beaming like a stadium light. "I'll stop torturing you."
Alastor clears his throat. "You're not torturing me, dearest." He straightens his bowtie, clearly attempting to salvage his dignity. "You know what I always say, laughter is a powerful sign of-"
He cuts off with a sharp inhale and defensive flinch as Rosie perches on the edge of the sofa beside Trudy. She grins.
"You're right. That's certainly your specialty, isn't it?"
Alastor forces a nervous chuckle. "Never fully dressed without a smile, you know."
"Well don't worry, darling. I understand." She pats his knee. "Just because you've got the scariest evil cackle in hell doesn't mean you appreciate having it tickled out of you."
Rosie had expected this assurance to put him at ease, but if anything, he seems more troubled.
"Why would I mind a little, ah..." Tickling. Tick-ling. He can't bring himself to articulate two syllables. Is this all he's left with without his staff? "...Er, a little bit of levity? Can't let things get too serious, can we?" With another quick cough, the radio demon finally manages to get his voice to fall back into his familiar breezy cadence. He turns to Trudy. "Now, are we... quite finished with that examination?"
"Nothing seems amiss, from what I can feel." Trudy takes a step back. "Which is not much, but I think I've already made you uncomfortable enough..."
"Nonsense! I'm perfectly at ease!" He lies back again and smooths his coat. "Please, finish your little checkup. I insist."
Trudy regards him curiously for a moment. "Right." Her hands hover over his belly again. "But if you want me to stop, sir, just say the word-"
"I assure you that w-won't be necessahary..."
Trudy watches him seize up before her fingers even make contact. This time she presses a little deeper into his belly, trying to feel around his defensiveness.
"You are punching holes in my couch," Rosie remarks dryly, watching the poor demon's claws bury themselves in the cushions.
"I kn... ohow, I'm just-" He squeezes his eyes shut as Trudy hits a particularly bad spot. And then another. And another... hell, his torso one big bad spot.
"What do you think, Trudy?"
The young doctor just shakes her head.
"Alastor. Darling. You have GOT to relax."
"I am!" Alastor's composure is dangling by the thinnest of threads.
"Maybe it would help," Trudy says, with infinite caution, "to just go ahead and laugh, sir."
A beat. And then Rosie bursts into laughter.
"Giving new meaning to the 'deer in the headlights' expression, my friend." She scoots closer. "I thought you just said you don't mind a little 'levity'..."
"I don't!"
"In that case. Carry on, Trudy - Auntie Rosie is gonna help our patient out a bit while you work."
Too late, Alastor realizes what his fellow overlord has in mind. "Wait, wait! Ros-"
A delicate set of nails find the region just under his ribs - and it's all downhill from there.
"Ah! Fuhuck!" Alastor chokes on a curse before he can catch himself. He twists sideways, collapses into muffled giggles, and briefly manages to pull himself together - just barely - with a few hyperventilated breaths. "Rosie, really! This isn't- please- ack! I can't-" There's that damn stutter again. He hadn't even stuttered when Adam slashed him.
And now, Great Alastor the Radio Demon, undone by some scribbles? And a medical exam?!
Meanwhile, Trudy can feel even less now than she could before, her patient's belly now quaking with silent, suppressed mirth. But she takes one look at Rosie's delighted expression... and continues probing anyway, curling a subtle little smirk of her own.
It seems Rosie has picked up on a slightly less tangible injury than anything Trudy can address. But fortunately, they've just stumbled upon a promising potential treatment.
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Part 2 is already pretty much finished - my brain is just too mushy at this point to contend with Tumblr's shitty text interface any longer, and this feels like a good stopping point.
Lemme get a good night sleep and another dose of Prozac and I'll have the rest out shortly 😅
💜 - Cozy
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wrenreid · 2 years
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Better off Broken
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synopsis: Spencer Reid finally gets a chance to meet his little boy’s teacher after always being away on a case for all the other opportunities. Though, the single father Dr. Reid was not expecting his son’s kindergarten teacher to be a charming young woman who might possibly make him forget the vow he took to swear off romantic involvements. (dual point of view)
content warnings: past relationship trauma, little bit of self deprecation, 18+ scenes, fluff…
“C’mon, Daddy! Let’s go meet Ms. Y/n!” I hear one of my students, Atlas Reid, say excitedly from outside of my classroom.
Atlas is one of my favorite students. Now, I know we educators are not supposed to have favorites, but we all do. He’s kind and brilliant. I’ve always wanted to meet his parents just to tell them how amazing they’ve raised their son.
But at every parent- teacher conference or holiday party, Mr. and Mrs. Reid have failed to show up.
A few weeks ago when I was walking a few of the kiddos out for pickup, I asked Atlas where his mommy was for the Thanksgiving party we had for the students and parents.
The little boy looked up at me, and with a straight face he said, “I don’t have a mommy.”
Rip my heart out why don’t you, child? I wanted to pick him up and hug him right then and there. Mainly because he didn’t even seem all that upset about it, which made me even more upset. Sure there are hundreds of thousands of kids who don’t have two (or even one) parents, but it still makes me sad. Maybe he has two dads, I thought to myself. I was hoping.
“Who do you live with?” I asked him, trying not to assume anything.
I have a name and a contact for his guardian, but I don’t know who they are since I’ve never had to call them.
“I live with my daddy,” he said plainly, but had a soft smile on his face.
He has a parent. Good.
“Why didn’t he come to the party yesterday?” I asked. I’m being really being nosy, but children don’t notice nosiness because they ask a ton of questions too.
“He was at work. He’s always at work,” Atlas said, and I detected a hint of sadness in his little voice.
I frowned a little, not sure what to say. Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything because the woman who takes the kids across the street to their parents and guardians came to get the kids.
“Bye, students,” I waved with a smile to them.
“Bye, Ms. Y/n!”
So Atlas has someone there for him, but he’s always working. It made me sad to think about, still does.
What if this man neglects his child because he’s so busy all the time? Of course, Atlas isn’t malnourished or anything, but six year olds need attention. A lot of people use work as a way to get away from their families. What if that’s what’s going on?
I obviously can’t just accuse this man of anything, but when he comes in I’m for sure going to question him a little.
Sure, maybe I’m overreacting, but I need to make sure this father isn’t a piece of shit like I’ve seen before.
“I thought your teacher’s name was Mr. Cunningham,” the father says to his child, question in his voice.
They reach the door and enter my classroom.
Before Atlas can answer his father, I do. “Mr. Cunningham was injured, and decided to retire. I was his secondary teacher, but I’ve stepped up since he’s been gone.”
You would know that if you were ever here, I want to say, but I don’t
“Oh. Well, it’s nice to meet you,” he says kindly.
I look up at him for the first time… and holy shit. He’s gorgeous. He has fluffy brown waves that are just long enough to frame his face nicely, but aren’t too long. His face is clean shaven. His build is nice, I notice. He’s tall and lanky but underneath the suit, I’m sure there’s a fair amount of muscles.
I force myself to quit looking at him, hoping I wasn’t exactly checking him out. I look into his brown eyes and immediately regret it because they’re like a a pool of honey that could suck you in and keep you there like quicksand.
“Nice to finally meet you too,” I say. “And nice to see you again, Atlas.”
The little boy smiles at me.
“Oh forgive me,” his father laughs a little awkwardly. “I’m Spencer Reid, Atlas’s father as I’m sure you’ve presumed.”
He doesn’t reach his hand out to shake mine, but I don’t mind much.
“Y/n Y/l/n.” I gesture to the table in front of my desk. “Please, have a seat. Atlas, there’s toys over on the rug for you to play with.”
“No thank you,” he says then turns to his father. “Dad, you forgot doctor.”
“Hm?” Mr. Reid looks down at his son, seeming almost as if he had to shake himself out of looking at me.
“You forgot the doctor in front of your name!”
I smile at the kid then look up at his father. “You’re a doctor?”
“PhD,” he tells me. “I think Atlas likes to correct people on it more than I do.” He laughs softly and it makes me smile a little.
“Well, then nice to meet you Dr. Reid,” I say with that little smile still on my face.
My eyes rake down to his outfit again, and he takes notice.
“Pardon my being overdressed. I just came back from work,” Dr. Reid says.
“Where do you work?” I ask curiously, hoping I can see why he appears to be always busy.
“I’m an agent at the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit,” he tells me.
Woah. Okay maybe he’s not trying to get away from his son. Maybe work just keeps him busy. But I’m not ruling out piece of shit father just yet, no matter how attractive he is.
“Oh. That’s impressive,” I say. “I’m sure that keeps you busy.”
He nods. “Yes ma’am it does. I hate that I haven’t been able to attend all the meetings and parties, but I have promised Atlas I will be going to the Christmas party.”
I smile softly. “Good. I think it’s really special to have parents or guardians here for those types of things.”
“I agree with you,” Dr. Reid says. “I wish I could be here more. It’s just that I’m always being flown off to a different state for cases. I hope you don’t hold that against me, Ms. Y/n.”
His voice is sweet and sounds a little upset. Maybe piece of shit father can be ruled out. Maybe.
“I won’t deny that it made me a little worried,” I tell him honestly.
“Understandable.”
“But I’m glad you’re here today,” I say with a kind smile. “So this meeting is for me to tell parents about their child’s progress. As you know, the semester is almost over.”
He nods, showing me he’s listening.
“Atlas has been an excellent student all semester. He shows incredible strength in all academic subjects. Truly impressive.”
Dr. Reid smiles and nudges Atlas with his elbow. The child laughs. “Good job, bud.”
I smile, admiring the father-son moment. “He is also very kind to the other kids and me. Though, he is less social than the other children. Which is nothing to worry about right now. A lot of kids go through a shy phase.”
“He gets that from me,” Dr. Reid says. “I’m sure we can work on that.”
“Really, it’s no worry right now. It would be something to worry about if he didn’t share and wasn’t very nice, but he doesn’t seem to have trouble in those area,” I tell him.
Dr. Reid nods. “Alright. So there are no concerns?”
“None. You’ve raised a great kid.”
He smiles proudly. “Thank you. Atlas talks very highly of you, I just didn’t know you were his primary teacher now.”
I nod. “Kids leave details out sometimes.”
“Yes they do,” he chuckles. Dr. Reid stands up. “It very nice to meet you.”
I raise from my sweet as well. “You too, Dr. Reid. And I’ll see you next week for the Christmas party?”
“Yes you will,” he nods with a gentle smile.
He takes Atlas’s hand in his, and they walk out.
“Bye, Ms. Y/n!”
“Bye, sweetheart,” I grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The two walk out of my classroom. So I was wrong about Atlas’s dad. That’s a relief.
Dr. Reid and Atlas were the last meeting of the day, and the quickest. Which is a little disappointing for me. I wouldn’t have minded them staying longer. I pack up my bag and head home from the school.
———
“Your teacher seems nice,” I tell my son while buckling him into his car seat.
“Ms. Y/n’s great,” he smiles up at me.
I ruffle his light brown hair before getting into the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to meet her before, kiddo.”
“It’s okay, Daddy,” he says, and it almost breaks my heart.
It makes me feel awful that I haven’t been able to attend the meetings and events for Atlas’s class. I don’t know how Hotch and JJ do this. I guess Hotch had his sister-in-law watch after Jack while he was away on cases, and JJ has Will and their babysitter.
Which is why I hired a nanny years ago. But I hate that I have to rely on her to take care of him at least 3 full days a week. He’s my child, and I want to be there for him.
Starting next week, I’m taking a sabbatical so I can be with him for the rest of the holidays. I’ll be home for the rest of December, January, and February. And I’m excited to tell him over dinner.
I’m glad I was able to attend the end of the semester parent-teacher meeting this evening. I definitely wasn’t expecting Atlas’s teacher to be so young and pretty.
All the teacher’s I had were much older and a little cranky.
But Ms. Y/n can’t be a day over twenty-eight, or at least she doesn’t look like she is.
Not only does Atlas love her, but I think she may have won over my approval as well. She seems like a nice person.
I think she caught me checking her out. Not in an inappropriate way, but I was looking at her hair, and her eyes, and her face. I couldn’t help myself. She’s attractive. Very. Anyway, I was embarrassed and red faced when she saw me looking, but at least she didn’t say anything about it.
I definitely shouldn’t be checking out my son’s teacher, but it’s just attraction. There’s nothing wrong with attraction. It would be wrong if I flirted with her. But I’m not going to
“Daddy, are you coming?” Atlas groans, waiting by the door with his backpack on.
“Yes. Patience, son, patience,” I say with a soft laugh. I’m tying my tie in front of the bathroom mirror.
I’m dressed in a red button up, black slacks, and my infamous dirty converse. I throw on a dark grey cardigan after finishing with the tie.
Atlas waits for me, checking his watch.
“We’re not late, Atlas,” I assure him. “Do you have the cookies in your bag?”
“Yep,” he nods.
“Alright, c’mon,” I say, and the two of us head out of our apartment.
Today is the Christmas party for Atlas’s kindergarten class. He seems to be thrilled I’m coming with him, and that makes me happy. Though, I did pass on my habit of worrying and being early to everything.
Last night, he helped me bake cookies for the party. Usually, I’d do store bought, but since this is the first time this year I’ve been able to attend something like this, I wanted it to be special for him.
We made little snowmen and santa hats out of frosting. Some are a little wonky, and I’m not even sure if they’re my drawings or his.
“Dr. Reid, I’m so glad you could make it!” Ms. Y/n says as I walk with Atlas into the classroom. We’re pretty early thanks to my overly punctual son. In fact, we’re the first ones here.
“Sorry. I know we’re early. You know how Atlas is,” I chuckle softly, getting the cookies out of his backpack.
“No worries,” she says with a little smile. “Nothing wrong with wanting to be early.”
She says the last sentence to Atlas.
He gives her a little smile back.
“Did you make these?” Ms. Y/n asks, gesturing to the cookies in my hands.
“Yes, I did,” I nod.
Atlas looks up at me with furrowed eyebrows.
“Sorry. We did.”
“Well, they’re adorable. Thank you so much.”
I hand her the cookies and she puts them on the snack table.
“I can help finish setting up,” I offer. “You know, since we’re so early.”
Ms. Y/n turns around, and I can’t help but notice how her hair flows nicely and her eyes meet the smile her lips give me.
“I’d really appreciate that,” she says.
Her outfit is festive; she’s got a red sweater with the word “Merry” written in cursive, there’s green ribbons in her hair, and her makeup is themed as well.
“What do you need me to do?”
She thinks for a moment. “Could you hang up that sign over there? I’m too short and didn’t feel like busting my bottom by falling off my spinny chair,” she laughs softly.
“It would be better if you didn’t, yes,” I chuckle softly as well. I pick up the festive sign and hang it up where she tells me too.
She’s got the whole classroom decorated. She seems like the type to do this for all the holidays. I wish I could’ve seen what she did for Halloween, my favorite holiday.
“Thank you so much, Dr. Reid,” she says with a smile after we finish setting up for the party.
“Please, you can call me Spencer,” I tell her. “And you’re very welcome.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear with another grin. “Alright, Spencer, fair warning. Some of these moms are a little intense.”
I raise my eyebrows with a soft chuckle. “Intense?”
“Mhm,” Ms. Y/n nods. “They always try to out due each other with the snacks and games. It’s almost sad to watch sometimes, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
I raise my hands in the air with a laugh. “Your gossip is safe with me.”
“Hey, that was not gossip! It was a warning,” she says, but can’t hold on her chuckle.
“Right,” I nod, making a face to show her I’m being sarcastic.
She rolls her eyes, a slight grin on her face.
Just before I’m about to compliment her (and probably embarrass myself), more parents and kids come into the classroom.
Atlas seems to be enjoying the party, but he doesn’t talk to many of the other kids.
Ms. Y/n makes her rounds, talking to her students and their parents or guardians. I introduce myself to some of them, but Ms. Y/n was right. They’re not the kindest. I hear some of them whispering about how I’m never around.
“How are things over here?” she asks me and Atlas as we snack on some of the goodies.
“It’s going well,” I say with a soft grin. “Just a little strange I guess.”
“Anything I can do?”
“No, ma’am I think we’re okay.”
“Hey, if I don’t have to call you doctor, you don’t have to call me Ms. or ma’am,” she says with a smile.
“Noted,” I chuckle softly.
“Thank you for coming,” she says in a low voice so Atlas can’t hear. “I know he’s glad to have you here.”
I nod. “Im glad to be here.”
The party is over soon enough, and school is let out for Christmas break.
“Are you excited for two weeks off of school?” I ask Atlas once we’re home.
“I like school,” he says.
“I always did too,” I smile softly. “But aren’t you excited for Christmas?”
“Yes. Are we going to see Henry and Michael this week?”
“Mhm,” I nod. “We’re doing our work Christmas on Friday so you’ll get to see them.”
He nods with a small smile.
Atlas is different, just like I was, still am. He’s on the spectrum too. He can show emotions, but he doesn’t do it often. He definitely feels things though, he just feels them differently than other kids.
He’s always had social problems, but he’s known Henry and Michael since he was born. He’s never seemed to have an issue with them.
I just hope he can make more friends as he grows older. It’s hard when your kid doesn’t have many buddies. I understand, of course, but it still makes me a little upset at times.
———
Okay, Atlas’s father is not only gorgeous, but he’s smart and charming too. That’s kind of inconvenient for me because I think I’m developing a crush on him.
He was helpful and kind at the party. Watching him with his son warms my heart too. He’s gentle and loving. Not many dads are as affectionate as Spencer.
I suppose he has to be since Atlas doesn’t have a mom. I wonder what happened there. Was he ever married? Did his wife die? God, I hope not. That’s sad. I would just assume they were separated, but Atlas said he doesn’t have a mom at all.
It’s halfway through Christmas break when I decide to message Spencer. It’s a professional message, of course.
Y/n: Hello, Dr. Reid. This is Y/n Y/l/n, Atlas’s teacher. Sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering how yours and Atlas’s holiday break is going?
It doesn’t take too long for him to respond.
Spencer: Y/n, nice to hear from you. Our break is going great! We spent Christmas with my mother, and Atlas had a great time. How’s yours going?”
Y/n: I’m glad he’s having fun. Mine’s going great too. I spent Christmas with my parents and siblings; it was nice.
Spencer: I’m glad you’re having fun as well. Any plans for New Year’s?
My heart flutters as if he’s asking me on a date. But I know better.
Y/n: Not yet. You?
Spencer: I’ll probably go over to my coworker’s house. Her kids are friends with Atlas.
Y/n: Oh that’s great! Are they close in age?
Spencer: Her youngest son is just a year older than Atlas, and the other is a few years older. I’m glad he has them.
Y/n: We’ll, me too. Enjoy your time with Atlas!
Spencer: Will do! I’ll see you later.
He’ll see me later. Hell yeah, he will. I’ll make sure of it.
I feel a little bad for texting him for so long, but he didn’t seem to mind.
I smile to myself, my cheeks blushing. I did text him because I wanted to check on Atlas, but I also just wanted to text him.
Maybe it was a little unprofessional, but hopefully anyone who found out, which no one will, just think I was checking on a student.
The second semester starts way too soon. I can’t believe this year is already halfway over. The kids are all hyper and excited to share their stories from Christmas break.
I have them sit on the rug in a circle and share what they did over the break. I let them be a little louder than usual just to get some energy out.
After story and play time, we do a 10 minute quiet reading.
I sit down by Atlas at his table. “You didn’t share what you did. Is everything okay?”
He sets down his book. He always reads books at a much larger lever than every other kid. It’s incredible.
He nods. “Everything’s okay.”
I’m not convinced. “What’s up then, kiddo?”
He sighs softly. “Everyone was talking about being home with their mommies and daddies and brothers and sisters. It was just me and my dad.”
There he goes. Breaking my heart again.
“Awh, Atlas,” I frown but try to be supportive. “It’s okay to be upset about that, but you are so lucky to have such a great dad. He loves you so much, you know that?”
He nods.
“There are tons of kids just like you who don’t have a mommy. You are not alone.”
He leans his head on my arm for a second. “Okay.”
I think my words got through to him, but it’s a little hard to tell.
The school day goes by and so does the whole week. I keep thinking about Atlas and his dad. I feel sorry for both of them. I don’t know what happened with Atlas’s mom, but I’m pretty sure it affects both of them often.
My phone chimes and my stomach flutters when I read the name of who texted me. He must be some psychic who can tell when someone’s thinking about him.
Spencer: So Atlas tells me there’s going to be a Valentine’s day party next month.
Y/n: Yes sir. I’m hoping to have as many parents as I can come help the kids decorate their card boxes.
Spencer: You can count me in.
Y/n: Perfect! I’ll be sending out emails within the next few weeks.
Spencer: I’ll be on the lookout. How was the rest of your break?
I smile to myself like an idiot.
Y/n: It was good! How about yours?
Spencer: Ours was good as well. Atlas has seemed a little distant this week. Has he told you anything?
Y/n: He did mention something, but I really don’t think it’s my place to bring this up.
Spencer: If he said anything to you, it is your place. If you don’t feel comfortable texting about it, we could meet up for brunch tomorrow? If that’s okay with you.
Idiotly smiling is now my special talent.
Y/n: I’ll meet you at the cafe on 7th at 10?
Spencer: I’ll see you there.
Is this a date? There’s no way it’s a date, right? It’s just a man and his kid’s teacher discussing the child.
Which definitely explains why I’m getting dressed up for this brunch right now. Well, it’s not like I’m putting on a gown or anything, but I’m wearing one of my nicest blouses tucked into a skirt.
Spencer is already seated in the cafe when I walk in. He pulls a chair out of me to sit in, and I’m pretty sure I would give him my hand in marriage right then and there.
“It’s nice to see you again, Y/n,” he says with a soft smile.
“You as well, Dr. Re- Spencer,” I chuckle softly.
“Atlas is with my friend and her kids right now, so you’ve got my undivided attention,” he says with a soft grin.
Holy shit. The butterflies are going crazy.
We order our coffee and food.
“How was the first week back?”
“It was good. The kids were a little crazy at first, but that’s normal with all the energy they need to get out.”
“I hope Atlas wasn’t giving you any trouble?”
I smile softly and shake my head. “He never does.”
“That’s good to hear,” Spencer smiles back. “So what did he talk to you about?”
I take a breath. “Well, he told me he was a little upset because all the other kids were talking about being with their families, and he was feeling a little… I guess upset about not having a mom.” My words are awkward because I have no idea how to say this to him. It’s not my place to talk about Atlas’s mom.
Spencer furrows his eyebrows and frowns. “Oh.”
“But I talked to him for a second, and I think he started to feel better,” I say, trying to give him a smile.
He nods. “It’s hard being a single dad sometimes. I know he doesn’t understand why all his peers have a mom and he doesn’t. I honestly don’t know how to handle it.”
I give him a look of sympathy and touch his hand lightly with mine. “I’m sorry, Spencer. I can’t even imagine.”
Spencer takes a deep breath. “He may be smart, but he’s still just a little kid. He needs more than what I can give him.”
“I may haven’t known you for very long, but I know you give him the best you can. You’re a great dad, and he loves you,” I tell him.
I try to take my hand away, but he holds onto it.
“I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you,” he chuckles nervously. “Sometimes I just-”
“Need someone to talk to?” I suggest, and he nods. “Me too. You can talk to me whenever you need someone.”
He smiles softly. “Thank you. You can talk to me too.”
I grin, my cheeks most definitely burning red.
“You don’t have kids, do you?”
I shake my head in answer to his question. “No. I prefer to be able to give them back when the bell rings.”
Spencer laughs, brushing some soft curls out of his face with his hand. The hand that was holding mine. It feels like it’s still holding mine. What is this man doing to me?
“Understandable.”
“I’m kidding,” I chuckle. “I want kids. Eventually.”
“How old are you?” He asks, tilting his head. Then realization hits. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just asked that. I don’t want to seem rude.”
“No, you’re good,” I laugh softly. “I just turned 30 in October.”
“My birthday’s in October too,” he smiles.
“Really what day, mine’s the 15th?”
“28th. Though I’m a lot older than you.”
“What?” I shake my head. “No way.”
He nods. “Mhm. I’ll be 41 this year.”
“10 years isn’t a lot.”
“It’s not not a lot,” he chuckles. “You don’t even look 30. 27 at most.”
“You’re so lying right now,” I laugh, tucking my hair behind my ears. “If you’re trying to get Atlas a good grade, he already has one.”
Spencer shakes his head, laughing softly again. “I’m not lying.”
My cheeks are burning red, and I feel so silly right now. We eat brunch together and continue talking for a bit.
“I’ve got to go pick up Atlas, but it was really nice talking with you,” Spencer stands up.
I stand up along with him, and we start toward the door. He opens the door for me and lets me go out first.
“It was nice talking with you too,” I grin up at him.
“I’ll see you soon,” he says.
“You will?” I ask, blushing hard.
“Yeah. At the Valentine’s day party,” he reminds me, and I feel ridiculous.
“Right,” I chuckle awkwardly. “Have a nice weekend.”
“You too, Y/n.”
So I have a thing for my student’s dad. I’m fucked.
—————
I cannot be doing this. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t get involved with anyone after Atlas’s mom. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk getting hurt again.
But despite my swearing off romance, I’m falling for her. It’s extremely inconvenient and a little annoying.
No matter how gorgeous, smart, and charming she is, I have to stop thinking about her the way I am. I’m imagining the way her lips would taste on mine and how soft her skin is.
But I know more than anyone that it’s nearly impossible to stop thinking about things like this. We want what we can’t have. It’s only human.
So I’ll allow myself to want her. But I won’t allow myself to have her.
Letting people in only leads to heartbreak. That’s something I’ve learned in my 40 years of living.
I was in love in her. Like the cheesy head over heals we read about in romance books. She was beautiful and confident.
I finally got the nerve to ask her out, and to my surprise she said yes.
I was too blind and in love to realize that she was only interested in the sex. She didn’t actually care.
I remember the exact moment she told me she was pregnant. I was ecstatic. I’ve wanted to be a father since I could remember.
I wrapped my arms around her, kissed her forehead, and told her we could do this together. We could handle it.
The look on her face didn’t match mine though.
“I don’t want to do this together! Spencer, are you crazy? We can’t have a baby. I just got promoted. I’ve got to focus on my job, not a needy child,” she told me.
I felt my heart sink down to the flow below my feet. “What?”
“Spencer,” she sighed. “C’mon. We’ve only been together for five months. We barely even know each other. We can’t be parents.”
And now it was being stepped on, crushed beneath her high heels.
“Then we’ll get to know each other better… Lily, I love you.”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t, Spencer. And I don’t love you. We were just having fun. I don’t want this baby. And I don’t want to be with you either.”
How could she tell me what I felt? I knew what I felt. I was in love in her. I wanted to have this baby with her. We could’ve been a happy little family.
I looked down at my shoes, and I was pretty sure I saw my no longer beating heart laying there near them.
She was like a black widow, but instead of using me to mate with and eating my head, she ripped my heart out and chewed it up.
“Please, Lily,” I whispered, pleaded. “I’ll take care of the baby. You don’t have to do anything. Just please don’t…”
“Fine. I’ll have the baby, but don’t expect me to be involved in its life. Or yours.”
It? Our child was just an it to her?
I nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
I felt sick to my stomach for the entire nine months on top of the heartbreak.
She wouldn’t let me help her. She barely spoke to me when I asked her how she was doing.
I got to be there for his birth, and I’ll always be grateful for that.
Soon enough, it was legally official that I had full custody, and she didn’t have to pay child support.
So instead of a happy family with the woman I loved and our beautiful son, I got a beautiful son I worried about every day. Worried that I wouldn’t be enough for him.
I still worry about that even six years later.
I made the promise to myself and to Atlas that I wouldn’t be with anyone ever again for both of our sakes when he was just a year old.
I made the promise to protect both of us from heartbreak. I wouldn’t get my heart ripped out again, and Atlas wouldn’t have false hope about someone staying with us.
The promise has been fairly easy to keep. Of course, there’s been a few women I wanted to sleep with and even have a relationship with. But I knew self control was key. If not for myself, for Atlas.
Sometimes I find myself wondering how Lily’s doing, wanting to call her and tell her how our son, no, my son is brilliant and beautiful. But I know she doesn’t care. Just like she didn’t actually care about me.
To her, the last six years have not been full of anxiety, doctors bills, daycare, hiring a nanny, and praying to whatever or whoever is out there that Atlas will be safe wherever he goes. It’s probably been a great six years for her. And it has been for me too; I love my son with everything in me. I just can’t pretend it hasn’t been hard.
Now, I find myself wondering if Y/n thinks of me the same way I think about her. But it’s not like it matters because I’m not going to act on my attraction to her.
part two
tags: @pauline5525mgg @theintimatewriter @lilibet261 @greysviolets @jazzymariexoxoc @one-sweet-gubler @thatsonezesty13 @necromaniackat @awhoreforspencerreid @sebs-oxygen @crynroom @scarredelirium @reid1nspiration @bts-sugaplum @awesomeness1679 @preciousbabypeter @yazzyu @cynbx <3
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enddaysengine · 2 months
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Alberta's Transphobic Government
I try really really hard to keep this blog about RPGs and writing. I really do. But when someone comes for my students, fists gets thrown.
We've seen the rise of transphobic legislation in various US states, as well as in Saskatchwan and New Brunswick. Now Alberta has joined the party. Despite the premier pointing out that there are trans youth in her extended family (I don't know how close the relation is, but somewhere in her close family) and swearing to not marginalize trans youth in the last election.
And ohhhh boy oh boy, my home province is once again aiming to hit the bottom of the barrel
Here's the tl;dr (quoted from the article):
Top and bottom surgeries will be banned for minors aged 17 and under. Doctors say bottom surgeries aren't performed on youth and top surgeries are rare.
Puberty blockers and hormone therapies for gender affirmation will not be permitted for children aged 15 and under.
Youths aged 16 and 17 will be permitted to start hormone therapies for gender affirmation "as long as they are deemed mature enough" and have parental, physician and psychologist approval.
Parental notification and consent will be required for a school to alter the name or pronouns of any child under age 15. Students who are 16 or 17 won't need permission but schools will need to let their parents know first.
Parents will have to "opt-in" their children every time a teacher plans to teach about gender identity, sexual orientation or sexuality. Alberta law currently requires parental notification and gives them the option to opt students out.
All third-party teaching materials on gender identity, sexual orientation or sexuality will need to be approved in advance by the education ministry.
Transgender women will be banned from competing in women's sports leagues. Smith said the government will work with leagues to set up coed or gender-neutral divisions for sports.
This goes well beyond what SK and NB have passed. It violates the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, but Smith doesn't care and will likely use the Notwithstanding Clause to bypass it. Parents, medical professionals, and educators have all reacted with justified outrage. It is clear to those of us who care about youth that these policies will kill.
There is flattly no way in hell I will be deadnaming my students. For a government that says they want to remove red tape and bureaucracy, making parents opt-in to every single lesson involving anything other than heteronormativity sure seems like trying to use red tap to make teaching anything other than their ideology impossible.
What can you do to help?
If you are in Alberta, raise holy hell. Call your MLA, show up at the protests, add your voice to the chorus screaming that we don't want this.
If you are in Canada, there are also demonstrations in support of trans youth going on across the country. Let your MP know as well.
If you aren't from Canada, solidarity and visibility help! We've all seen how this shit has gone down in Florida and elsewhere. We need to stand together to stop this tide.
If you have business ties to Alberta and are able to divist them, please let the Alberta government know you are planning to do so if these proposals become law
Donate to 2SLGBTQ+ organizations in Alberta.
This is not the content I want to go viral from me... but if I have to choose one, make it this one. Please help us proect our kids.
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creepylittlelady · 4 months
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Okay Creepypasta fans, what the fuck happened to Dr Smiley???
Like I barely see content of him anymore, did his creator do something problematic or something??? Like omg where did this guy go
I see Nurse Ann, Bloody Painter and Puppeteer on occasion but HOLY SHIT WHERE IS DR SMILEY??
I swear he was so iconic??? WHERE DID BLUD GO!!! DID THE FANDOM FORGET HIM!??
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murphychips · 1 month
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a treacherous descent into werewolf romance fiction
okay so. this story begins with me being on facebook, scrolling through videos, and getting these adverts at the end of EVERY video clip from these sites:
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and i mean EVERY single one. and out of deranged curiosity i ended up clicking them and checking out their previews only to find maybe some of the more garbage i've ever had the displeasure of reading. each advert was different and each story varied, but all of them had dogshit quality.
eventually, i wondered who was making this stuff; MULTIPLE apps were being advertised to me under a bunch of different names, and all of them were centred around werewolves or mafia or billionaires. sometimes all three!
so i downloaded a couple of apps to see if i could identify an owner, but those all varied too! most don't even have websites; the app is the only thing they have. almost none of them have author names, or any way to identify the writer, and there's no way to submit to most of them. eventually, i chased up a few of these apps on reviews to find most appear to be stealing content from across the internet:
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some of these are stolen from amazon, others are stolen from similar apps are cross-posted, others--as one comment says--appear to be scalping from wattpad (and likely AO3 and fanfic.net, although i'm currently trying to find examples).
HOWEVER
one app that crossed my phone was Letterlux, which does feature a submit page and appears to actually promote original work! the genres remain the same--werewolves, billionaires, mafia, etc--and so i was like alright. this appears to be a publishing outlet of SOME kind. what's the catch?
the catch is the abysmal fucking offerings:
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the 'exclusive' contract here is if you do the whole 'submit a thing and they extend an offer', whereas non-exclusive is you just posting the thing. but look at the numbers! look how low they are! $450 if your story is above 200,000 words????????????????? and you have to post EVERY DAY for the update bonus; if you miss more than 4 days, you're out of the running. HOLY EXPLOITATION BATMAN. never mind that for the non-exclusive, you get a measly $250 for 200,000 words and NO update bonus. with the signing bonus of a whole $50, that's $300 for 200,000+ words: a whopping 0.0015 per word.
another app that appears to promote original work is Galatea, owned by inkitt; it appears legit in that it's been advertised by a bunch of different places, i.e. Writer's Digest, and has a fairly slick site, but reviews from users say it's a scam--a less predatory scam than usual, but still a scam.
TL;DR, if you write heterosexual steamy werewolf romance, your shit is likely making money for some company in whoknowsistan, who use microtransactions to make you pay for individual books. and i haven't even TALKED about how some of these apps have some of the most crazy IP protection i have ever seen, such as banning you for an hour if you screencap ANYTHING, and hiding recorded videos:
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but despite all this, and this horrible rabbithole of novel apps i've fallen down, nothing compares to me having to read all this fiction and realising that we are ignorant to the quantities of sheer bad werewolf writing out there, so much so that i'm honestly tempted to post my own straight-bait just to see how far i can get. things that i've noticed:
all the female protagonists start off as abused or hated and are saved by some Alpha/Alpha King/Alpha Demon/idk man
sometimes the werewolf aspect is just an inner wolf who like. yells at you sometimes?
there's gamma rank werewolves?
there's DELTA rank werewolves?????????????
i honestly think i'm becoming addicted to finding out just how unhinged some of these stories get, but that is beside the point: in the end, for the love of god, don't be a dumbass and use these shady apps, and do NOT submit to places who won't even give you an entire penny per word. also, check your shit; it might have been scalped for someone else's profit. okay. ciao.
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averynicebowlofsoup · 2 months
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With Hazbin getting released, I just have a few thoughts because I'm tired and internet culture/etiquette online these days has gotten out of hand.
If you do not like something, keep it to yourself. If you don't have anything nice to say, just move on and don't interact with it. Or instead of making blatant, hateful statements, open a discussion so everyone's perspectives can be heard and seen. Please. For the sake of other people who find joy in different types of media. In a shocking turn of events, Hazbin Hotel is not real. It's not based on true events, it's not made to be some social discussion, it's made for entertainment purposes.
If you are not entertained, you're allowed to leave the show and find something that DOES entertain you. Please stop shitting on other people for enjoying something.
Stop shitting on the actors, stop shitting on the writers, stop criticizing this show frame by frame, moment by moment. The full season isn't even out! People are so quick to judge and assume things about this show. Before it even came out and things were leaked, people immediately jumped to conclusions and were sending death threats and hate to creators and if you were not aware, that isn't normal behavior.
Viv has her issues, sure. We all do. We're human.
I just want to enjoy a show I've been so hyped about for months now that just brings me a little joy in a world where it's hard to find. I want to enjoy it without scrolling and every other post seeing criticism, hate, or 'I like this but--' No buts. You can like something without tearing down something else. If you think something could have been better, that's what fanfiction is for. That's what fanart can be for. Make the content you want to see. And if you can't make the content you want to see, go looking for it or shocker, just ignore the show. Ignore the content. It's not hurting anyone else.
Vitriol and hatred on the internet are becoming so normalized and its getting tiring. You can curate your own online experience.
People need to learn to read as well. If you don't like musicals or think the singing is too much, then don't watch Hazbin. It says in the first sentence of the description that it's a musical. Ding ding ding, red flag, you probably won't enjoy it. In the warnings at the top of the screen, it says it has foul language. If you don't like that kind of thing, it probably won't be for you.
Please for the live of all that is good and holy, just allow people to enjoy something. There are shows I really don't like but I'm not going to waste my mental energy or thoughts on hating something I don't like. I'd much rather pour that energy into something I love!
I'm just a little guy trying to find some joy in a fucked up world and if I can escape by watching a show about hell, please just let me. It's not that hard to block people. It's not that hard to simply ignore.
TL;DR: stop hating people for liking/enjoying/interacting with different forms of entertainment and put that energy into something else, please.
Curate your online experience and find a little joy in something instead of tearing down people/creators.
To those who enjoy the show, to those who just pour all of their love into it by making fanart, fanfictions, thoughtful commentary, discussion boards, headcannons, etc, you all get forehead kisses and love. Thank you for sharing in my joy and fueling my love for these goobers. ♡
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devnmon · 11 months
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TS-19
Chapter Nine: Written in My Stars
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Summary: After a long day's ride, sanctuary is discovered. But not all is what it seems in their newly found safe haven.
Daryl Dixon x Reader
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Series Masterlist | Playlist
Chapter Warnings: descriptions of walkers/dead bodies, mentions of blood & needles, suggestive content, mentions of death, suicide, and lotsss of angst.
wc: 10.2k
A/n: This is the longest chapter of all s1 ahaha.. afraid to say they're just gonna get longer as I go on writing this fic. But... as season 1 concludes I'm ready to dive into writing season two when my semester ends, so it'll be a while before that happens. Enjoy this last chapter <33
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The light penetrated your vision as it poured out from the large doorway. Gasps of disbelief were heard as Rick raced up to the entrance. The glass doors were heavy but when you pushed them open, a blast of cool air flooded your body.
"Hello?" Rick called into the building, the others spreading out as you all advanced into the building.
Upon first look, it was ominous. For one, the place was completely clean. There was no debris on the floor, no stench of rotting corpses, dead or alive, no blood anywhere to be seen. The high ceilings and windows only intimidated you further. Almost hidden behind Daryl's large figure, you followed him inside, bow drawn.
"Watch for walkers," someone spoke. There wasn't a chance your group would take a step further inside if even one of those dead freaks showed their faces. Where there's one, there's always more, and you knew the group wouldn't take that chance.
Frantic faces glanced about, searching for any sign to retreat out of the building.
How could this place still be standing?
Something was off about it, but you weren't sure what yet.
The unfamiliarity with what you'd seen in this building, versus what the outside world looked like, was unsettling. It concerned you more than the door even opening in the first place.
Clicking of a shotgun sounded from not too far away, your heart skipping a beat at the abrupt noise.
"Anybody infected?" A voice called out, holding a shotgun from down the hall. You didn't see the figure until you moved further into the lobby.
Holy shit. Maybe this is hope, you thought.
"One of our group was. He didn't make it." The sheriff stated, still holding his shotgun out as well.
"Do you see that guy?" you asked Daryl, walking to the side of him.
"Mhm.. don't know what he's got in store for us. But it'll do for now, that's for damn sure." He turned back to you, voice low but still in a mode of suspicion. You shot him a small smile and he turned back.
The man stepped closer, look on his face nervous, but you could tell he didn't want to have to shoot. None of you were infected, which changed his facial tone as he spoke again.
"Why are you here? What do you want?"
"A chance," Rick replied, out of breath from his yelling before.
"That's asking an awful lot these days."
Silence rang out as the unknown man's eyes trailed over every single one of you.
"You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission."
Rick nodded fervently, "We can do that."
"Once this door closes, it stays closed," The man said, walking towards Rick, his guard completely down at the moment. He rushed back with him, grabbing whatever bags were left in the vehicles, and entered the building again. As everyone rushes in, the blonde man swipes a keycard at the front entrance and states a command like he would to an assistant.
"Vi, seal the main entrance. Kill the power up here."
Who the hell is Vi?, you thought.
"Rick Grimes." The sheriff introduces himself to the blonde man.
"Dr. Edwin Jenner," he replied with shifty eyes.
Definitely suspicious, you thought to yourself. Shifty eyes, untrustworthiness, yeah. This guy's gonna have to convince me.
Jenner led you all to an elevator, where he let you all squeeze in, before pressing the lowest button of all levels.
Daryl, being the curious man he is, spoke up as the elevator ride turned to a cramped and silent one, "Doctors always go around packin' heat like that?"
He didn't trust good things like this often, always thought it was too good to be true. Though, Daryl was on his guard, ready to pierce an arrow through Jenner's skull if there was any sign of trouble.
"Well, there were plenty left lying around. Familiarized myself," he replied, looking back at all of you, "But you look harmless enough," he said, as he looked at Carl, "Except you. I'll have to keep my eye on you."
The boy smiled at his joke, making you smile a bit too. When you looked over at Daryl, his face was stoic, a version of his own mistrust his shield for the moment.
After piling out of the elevator, Jenner had you all walking down a long hallway. The place seemed like a maze, infinite doors and hallways you couldn't count. You and Daryl trailed behind everyone else, continuously marveling at the state of the place.
"Are we underground?" You asked, chest starting to tighten.
"You claustrophobic?" Jenner questioned, turning around as he walked ahead of the group.
"A little."
"Try not to think about it." He stated, turning back around.
Try not to think about it my ass, you thought, scoffing and continuing to walk with the group. The long hallway led to a massive room, filled with computers and one large screen on the wall.
"Vi, bring up the lights in the big room." Jenner's voice echoed out eerily, the clutter in the room not enough to mask the extensive shape of it.
There's that name again, Vi.
Daryl trudged into the room with you by his side, nervous at what was to come or what Jenner had in store for you all. As if on command, the room lit up with a ring of light hovering above all the computers.
"Welcome to Zone 5."
"Where is everybody? The other doctors? The staff?" Rick questioned, expecting more than just one man to be working at such an extensive place.
"I'm it. It's just me here." A moment of silence rang out as loud as the door opening had been, Lori breaking it with another question.
"What about the person you were speaking with? Vi?"
"Vi, say hello to our guests. Tell them, welcome."
The computer spoke, as if it had a mind of it's own.
Hello guests. Welcome.
You followed the Doctor down another hallway, as he brought you all to another room, one that looked like some sort of conference hall. Everyone took a seat against the wall or in one of the chairs.
"Sit tight, I'll be back with the equipment for everyone's blood tests." Jenner stated, before walking into another room off the one you were already all in.
"Ah shit, I hate needles," Daryl stated, taking a seat on one of the chairs. You scoffed at the irony of his statement.
"You're telling me big, bad Daryl Dixon is afraid of a little needle?" You inquired, turning to him as your weight flopped on the chair next to him.
"Didn't say I was scared, jus' said I didn't like 'em." He played with the strings of his bow as he replied. Sure, he'd been around needles before. But not in a medical context.
"Well, it's not that bad. Just a pinch, and if you're that bothered by it, don't look. That's what I do."
"You tellin' me you're scared of needles?" Daryl scoffed, realizing you two were more alike than he thought.
"All my life I've hated them, not shots at the doctor's, just whenever I needed an IV or blood drawn."
"Uh huh, we're the same then." He said, shrugging as he threw his head back on one of the seats.
"Guess we are." You sighed, doing the same.
Jenner came back into the room with several vials as well as other things he needed to take everyone's blood properly. He sat in the front of the room, as everyone watched the other's blood be taken. You went before Daryl, but he sat by your side, back turned to Jenner as he went on with drawing your blood. Once he finished, you turned to Daryl with a soft smile.
"See? Not so bad." He only grunted in response, taking the seat you'd been in a moment before.
A couple other group members took their turns, but when Andrea was in the seat, she had relentless questions.
"So, what's the point? If we were infected, we'd all be running a fever," Andrea stated from her seat across Jenner, as the vial filled.
"I've already broken every rule in the book letting you all in here. Let me at least be thorough." As soon as he was done, Jenner watched Andrea's light headed state take over, becoming light headed easily after barely any food. "Is she okay?"
"We haven't eaten in days, none of us have." Jacqui replied while helping Andrea sit. The look on his face had enough concern to fill an entire stadium, but he knew how to fix it.
Next thing you knew, you had been brought to a dining hall, sat next to the members of your group, shoveling food and booze into your mouth like there was no tomorrow.
A fit of laughter broke out amongst the people around you, relishing in the wine rushing through your system. Each bite of food was like heaven, filled with flavor and warmth that made you forget how abhorrent the world was outside the walls of the building. The euphoric tone it set for the group had Jacqui throwing her head back in a fit of laughter. You all seemed to be enjoying yourselves, food and drink coursing through your systems.
Your heart felt as full and content as it had once been, a long time before the world fell. It was a genuine, innocent time, one that couldn't be replicated or replaced. You were happy to just be caught in another moment like that after an extensive period without it.
When another fit of laughter broke out, it had been from Carl's reaction to the taste of wine. It brought tears to your eyes with how hard you were chuckling, smile lines beginning to ache from how big you had beamed from across the table.
Daryl noticed the shine from your smile from his seat, as he sat chugging the rest of his wine down.
You were chuckling loud enough for him to hear; he hadn't gotten to hear you laugh, genuinely and completely, ever. This was the first time he'd been lucky enough to do so. He stumbled, getting up to grab a fresh bottle.
"Why don't you stick to soda pop there, bud." Shane spoke.
"Not you Glenn," Daryl retorted, after grabbing another red wine bottle, walking back over to the table.
"What?" The dark haired man replied, cheesing so hard due to the buzz of alcohol in his system that his cheeks hurt.
"Keep drinkin', little man. I wanna see how red your face can get." He smirked, sitting back down at his seat. You burst out in a fit of drunken giggles yourself at Daryl's words. The alcohol in your system might have been distracting you from the horrors you'd seen the past few days, but to know you were there with these people you trusted made every torment wash away.
As you giggled to yourself, your eyes subconsciously found Daryl, sat across the table. His arms were poking out of that yellow plaid shirt, vest adorning his shoulders. His bicep muscles flex, moving ever so slightly, shaking your thoughts when you notice the group's conversation had died down a little.
Though Daryl's indulging himself thoroughly, he isn't blind to how Rick's gaze trails over to Jenner, sitting quietly and watching everyone around him in a corner. A moment later, Rick is clinking his glass and standing up.
"It seems to me, we haven't thanked our host properly."
"He is more than just our host," T-dog replied, raising his wine glass in a toast, causing you all to raise your glasses with him.
"Hear, hear!" Dale exclaims. The clinking of wine glasses overtook the man's words, as the others expressed their appreciation for him.
"Here's to you, doc. Booyah!" Daryl blurted out, the liquor in his system clearly taking over the usual grumpy attitude he always puts up.
It's got you giggling at him, again.
The laughter settles, and Shane starts to speak again. "So, when are you gonna tell us what the hell happened here, doc? All the uh- the other doctors that were supposed to be figuring out what happened, where are they?"
Though, Rick is quick to retort, not wanting to ruin the wholesome moment the group had going.
"We're celebrating, Shane. Don't need to do this now."
"Woah, wait a second. That's why we're here, right? This was your move- supposed to find all the answers. Instead we- we found him. Found one man, why?"
His persistence pisses you off slightly, but the alcohol in your system is too overtaking to have the strength to snap back at him.
Jenner goes on to explain that the rampage of dead walking corpses drove some to up and leave the facility. They hadn't been thinking straight, just wanted to get home to their friends or loved ones and spend whatever time they had left with them. On the off chance that those people didn't leave, some couldn't face the outside world, dead people walking and whatnot. The sheer brutality of it all. Some chose to opt out, as he'd said, taking their own lives in the hallways to avoid letting the terror that walked the streets into their minds. He'd only stayed in hopes of doing some good with what work he continued.
Silence rang out in fault of Shane, for bringing it up during a nice moment.
"Dude, you are such a buzzkill, man."
You all cleaned up the space after eating, then ended up following Jenner down yet another hallway, one filled with rooms available to get some rest in.
If i have to sleep on another cot, I'd just die.
"The couches are comfortable, but there are cots in storage, if you'd like."
Oh, great.
The alcohol is running through your system at such a fast rate that your brain doesn't pick up anything else that Jenner says, until he mentions the showers.
"If you shower, go easy on the hot water."
"Hot water?" Glenn repeats, an overjoyed smile on his face now.
"That's what the man said.." T-dog replied, smiling as well.
He meets your eyes, his bright facial expression turning yours into one as you realize how long it's been since you've taken a shower.
"Oh, hell yeah."
Just the first glance at the shower stall makes a chill run up your spine. After all this time with your guard up in the world you lived in, letting it down for something as simple as a shower made you shudder. The clothes on your body felt welded to your skin, soaked with sweat and dirt and who knows what else, like a filthy dish towel.
In such a way, you hadn't removed your clothing to relax with something like this in so long. To be this unguarded again after so long intimidated you a bit. There was nothing comparable to the vulnerability of a shower.
Every birthmark, scar and mark on your body was still painted on your skin, only covered from a layer of grime, sweat and dirt that built up from the wear and tear of the outside world.
A rush of clean, fresh water fills the room, with the shower turning on. Mist floats onto skin with warm droplets, like spritz of a water spray. It's almost anticipatory, the image of you holding the shower curtain back. To have something this humane after so long felt unbelievable.
A hopeful tone is set as you enter the shower, stepping in with the water beginning to heat up. It hits your feet first, warming them so, that it tickles a bit. With just the flow of water, your mask of filth begins to wash from your skin.
The several months old nail polish was still coated over your toes, realizing how long it's lasted.
You step further under the flow of water, just the aroma of it closing your eyes in relaxation. With your head under the water, you stood silently for a few minutes in the peacefulness of it all. The liquid runs hot, goosebumps rising over your body at the contact. It's warm, familiar, something you haven't known since the world fell. Like a hug from a close relative. Safe.
Having something like this back after so long without it made the moment even more euphoric, as if you'd never be without it again.
When your eyes shoot open, droplets trailing down your lashes, you look to the couple of bottles placed on the shelf. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and an unused razor.
Even before the apocalypse, you hadn't found the desire for relentless hair removal in your top priorities. Sure, you shaved a few parts of your body, armpits and face at times, but didn't bother with your legs or anywhere else. Especially not when there were other things that deserved more attention in these times.
You weren't especially girly, either. Didn't grow fond of dresses or skirts, not even wedding gowns stood out to you. You'd been a tomboy all your life, no reason to change now.
Pouring some of the shampoo into your palms, you massaged it through the crown of your hair thoroughly, the contact of your fingers scratching your scalp heavenly. The shampoo and conditioner both were refreshing to the smell, its lathery substance washing from your hair. A lack of dirt and grime on your skin lifted your mood, still a little tipsy from your wine at dinner, but nonetheless it made you feel completely clean for once. Who knew if you'd have the chance to be this tidy again one day.
Raking fingers through your hair, you wrapped your body up in the one clean towel and changed into your other clothes for the night, a pair of sweatpants and big t-shirt. You packed up the filthy clothing from before and balled it up, throwing it in a different compartment of your duffel. Passing the others in their rooms from the hall, you'd been about to enter the room you were to share with Andrea for the night, only to walk in upon Dale sat beside her next to the toilet.
She'd gotten sick from all she drank, and he'd been comforting her.
"Hey, everything alright?" Dale turned to you at the sound of your voice, look of concern in his eye.
"She drank too much, got sick. On top of everything that she's gone through, overcompensating on the wine wasn't the best idea."
A groan comes from Andrea at his words, still knelt over with her hair pulled back. You refrained from speaking as Dale shook his head.
"Okay.. I'll just find somewhere else to stay, then. Feel better, Drea."
Walking back into the hallway, you tried to find another place to hole up for the night, duffel bag in hand. It wasn't till you reached the end of the hallway, that you spotted Daryl sitting in one of the rooms alone, fiddling with his crossbow. His muscles contracted with every movement, biceps unveiled as they had always been. His shoulders and neck were tense, you noticed, and his eyebrows were furrowed
What's causing your tense state, huh?
He hadn't looked up from his task, whatever it had been, until you knocked lightly at the door.
"Hey, Daryl?"
He finally looked up at the voice coming from the doorway, eyebrows releasing from their furrowed state as he met your eye.
"Oh, hey. wh'sup?" He slurred, still under the influence from wine he'd drank.
"I was supposed to stay with Andrea tonight, but she isn't feeling the best. Could I possibly bunk with you for the night? I'd like some company when I sleep. Don't wanna be alone." You leaned against the door now, droplets from your hair wetting your shirt just the slightest. Daryl was quiet for a minute, noticing the cleanliness of your skin and hair. It was a different look for you, one that showed you to him in a new light.
Chewing on his lip, he nodded with a low mhm, then continued working on his bow.
Walking into the room, you were suddenly hit with an awful scent that made you grimace. Placing your things down, you sat on one of the chairs in the room, while Daryl sat on a cot he'd taken from storage, shirt unbuttoned a bit as his angel wing vest hung on the back of a chair.
"Did you get a chance to shower yet?"
Daryl glanced up again.
It wasn't that he hadn't gotten the chance, it was that he didn't think he needed it. After all the time spent in the woods, covered in filth, he grew accustomed to it. It was comfortable for him, and he couldn't find anything else more safe. The energy of washing all the evidence of survival off his skin- he didn't have that. Daryl didn't want to lose that proof of survival, either. It was easier than wanting to clean himself. So he just didn't.
"Nah, let y'all go first. There prob'ly ain't no hot water left, neither."
Gaze back to his bow again.
Although his eyes wanted to trail back onto your figure, clean and freshly smelling as opposed to his, dirty and filth-ridden.
There's no way she'd go for you, baby brother.
Shaking his head lightly at the thought, he placed his bow down on the floor.
Your head tilted at his action, compassion in your eyes that he couldn't see you had for him.
"Well, I'm not gonna go to sleep until you shower." You said pointedly, getting him to look at you again. There was a smug look on your face, like you knew how to get under his skin.
"Don't. Ya need rest."
"C'mon! Take advantage of the hot water and soap like you did those two bottles of wine, Dixon."
"You're funny, but still no." He rummaged through his bag as if looking for something that wasn't there.
What is it with him? Why is he so stubborn that he's missing out on things that are good for him? Make him feel better?
You sighed, feeling the leather behind you on the chair, an idea popping into your head. Daryl was searching through his bag, so you grabbed the vest from the back of the chair. It was heavier than you thought it'd be, and stunk like cigarettes and motor oil. But it smelled like Daryl.
"Okay, well I didn't wanna have to resort to this." You stood, pulling his attention from the pack, "You've lost vest privileges, Mister Dixon."
"I've lost wha'?"
A confused look on his face turned to an annoyed one as you slipped the vest over your shoulders.
"Cut that shit, give it back. Now." He started to saunter towards you, but you stepped back slightly.
"It was on my chair, and until you shower, it's mine. I'm not staying in here all night if you're gonna stink up the place."
"Then go find somewhere else to sleep!" He yelled, throwing his arm in the air.
"Can't, rooms are all booked. No vacancy! Guess you're gonna have to listen to me after all."
Daryl rolled his eyes, "Don't do that. Seriously- y/n, give it back." He advanced closer to you, not threateningly, but starting to get irritated with you.
"Shower, and you get your precious vest back. Easy as pie." Shrugging, you inspected the vest as it weighed your shoulders down a bit.
"Nah. An' I don't even like pie."
"Ugh, you're so stubborn! Just listen to me, Daryl, a shower can do wonders for relaxation. You certainly need it."
He scoffed, "I am relaxed," eyebrows raising at your words, stepping back from you just an inch or so. His buff arms crossed over his chest, biceps flexing.
"Really? Cause the tension in your shoulders says otherwise." One of your hands rested on your hip now, the other clutching his vest in your grip.
"Stop it. Gimme-" Your hand yanked the vest away from his grasp as he leaned forward again, arm out to grab it from you.
"Daryl, is this about something else? You can tell me, you know." You met his eye, pausing him in his tracks. You knew there was something else, something he wouldn't let come to light, but he couldn't hide it now. Not after you specifically called him out for it. His gaze dropped to the floor before sighing and looking back at you.
"Don't you think this place is for real?" He took a seat on the cot again, shifting his weight and sitting hunched over his legs.
"How do you mean?" You asked, sitting down as well, dropping the vest back onto your chair.
"Like, do ya think we could survive in this place. I mean, there ain't no other doctors here, just Jenner, and I don't think he was tellin' us the whole truth. There's gotta be more to this whole place. I jus'.. don't trust him."
"Yeah, I wanna believe that we can. Daryl, I don't think he's gonna stab us in our sleep, if that's what you're assuming," you chuckled, "He's been kind and let us in, given us food, water, soap, alcohol? Why would he-"
"Exactly. He's given us all this stuff, even a place to sleep. Why would he waste all that shit on us? Cause Rick said we were desperate? Nah. There's gotta be more to it. We're nothin' special."
Nothing special? Me saving you from certain death was nothing?
"We're not?" You repeated, taken aback a little at his statement, "Cause I-I don't think people who are nothin' special survive a horde of walkers, let alone travel all the way here on basically nothing for a slim chance at survival."
How could he just push aside everything the group has been through? Did joining the camp really mean nothing to him? Did-
Did meeting you mean nothing to him?
"I didn't mean it like that. Ain't no society, no 'thing' to be anymore. We're all nobody. Shit went down the drain... day I saw a walker for the first time. Tha's when I knew we were never comin' back from it."
"Daryl, you can't think like that. You're not nobody to me, you're my friend. That makes you somebody. It makes me somebody, makes Rick somebody, Dale, Lori, Carl, even Glenn. This group makes us all somebody to each other, and if that's all we have, then so be it. We can make it through. No matter how long we're alive for. But we've gotta do it together."
Daryl sighed, sitting back against the wall. He went silent, contemplating everything you'd said, and his blue eyes glanced at you before sitting up again.
"Alright," he drawled, "Now, what's a man gotta do to get his vest back?"
A genuine laugh came from you, optimism light in the air for both of you, when he seemed to chuckle as well.
"Well, for starters, you can take that shower.." You mentioned again, a part of you wanting to see what Daryl looked like when he didn't have dirt and sweat plastered across his skin. You wanted to see how his biceps flexed every time he moved, wanted to feel them twitch as he lifted something heavy.
Woah. Has he always been so handsome?
Daryl scoffed, the slightest twinge of a smile making itself apparent on the apples of his cheeks.
"Fine."
He strode out of the room silently, giving you a few moments alone to collect your thoughts and get ready for bed.
Daryl walked down the hallway, passing each of the rooms everyone had settled in for the night. Once he found the showers, he slipped in and kicked off his boots at the door. Dirt cluttered out of the soles of his shoes, not realizing he'd been wearing them for so long.
He met his gaze in the mirror, shying away from his face to the dirt covering his arms and neck. To be quite honest, he did feel disgusting. But he owed it to you for convincing him to even think about showering, let alone doing it again after so long.
Slowly, he undid every button of his sleeveless flannel, tossing it onto the chair in the shower hall. He didn't dare turn around to look at his back, or memories from decades ago would come back to bite him in the ass.
He couldn't. Not now.
To pull himself away from going there, he thought about you, the soft image of you in your sweatpants and t-shirt, damp hair as well as your face illuminated by the lamp light. From what you looked like at camp, till now, was a way different image of you.
You seemed calm, content, okay, given the circumstances.
How he wished he could do the same.
Daryl found comfort in you, tried to hold onto it as best he could, without getting attached. If he did that, it would be over for him. He'd be pining away for the rest of his life.
There was just too much up in the air about Jenner for him to think straight, which almost pulled his focus from you, but he didn't.
Jus' relax for the night, dumbass. Worry 'bout that shit tomorrow.
He began undoing his pants, dropping them to the floor along with his belt. All his thinking about you made his boxers tighten, not becoming apparent to him until he looked down.
Fuckin' serious righ' now?
Stood in only his boxers now, he turned the shower head on. Daryl tried to ignore the confines of his boxers becoming tighter, and only when the water was hot enough did he strip himself from them, and step into the shower.
A low groan left him as the hot water covered the expanses of his body, trickling down the front of his torso, dampening his skin and the wiry hairs on his chest. When he pooled some of the shampoo in his hands and began washing it through his short hair, he squeezed his eyes shut, those pesky thoughts about you and your soft gaze only making it harder to focus on something that wasn't you.
The soft scent of his shampoo, how the water felt against his back.
Nope, nothing was stronger to distract him from the horrors of the outside world, other than you. His thoughts shifted from what you looked like in those clothes, to what you looked like without them. Though he hasn't seen all of your skin, he wished he'd have the privilege to see it one day. To have you in his bed, doing sinful things to make you feel good. To have you call out for him in the name of your pleasure.
Daryl.. Daryl... Daryl...
Your voice was the sweetest of all; behind your spitfire demeanor was that kind-hearted person he met in the woods that day. He knew from the day he saw you that he thought you were beautiful. Perfect, even. Like no one he's ever met before. Especially not someone he knew because of his brother.
How, he thought, how could someone like you become a person in his life? He thought he sure as hell didn't deserve it, someone kind willing to talk to him, be around him, listen to him talk?
Can't get attached.
The left over suds of shampoo trailed down his body, reminding him of the reason his boxers were tight. His gaze finally trailed down there, now apparent of how caught in a daze he's been over you.
Can't walk back in there with a hard-on, either... man, fuck it.
Daryl decided to indulge himself just this once.
Once, and it'll never happen again, he told himself.
The satisfaction washed over him when he'd finished entertaining himself over filthy thoughts of you. When that was gone, guilt came creeping over him like a devil on his shoulder.
Got no fuckin' right, thinkin' 'bout her like that. I got a better chance gettin' to the moon than ever gettin' them. She don't want some redneck trash deadbeat Dixon.
As he turned the water off, he stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel hanging on the wall. He dried himself accordingly, draping it over his shoulders as he pulled on his dirty clothes he'd tossed to the side before. Steam from the hot shower clouded the mirror, walking up to it again.
He looked different, soaking wet hair, face bare of dirt or sweat or walker blood. All of the sudden, he felt his eyelids droop just the slightest bit.
Guess the shower did somethin' right, can't wait to hit the sack now.
He trudged back to the room he shared with you, where he saw you sat with a book in your hands. First glance at you like that made his heart drop, thinking you'd found his journal, was reading all of his intimate thoughts, broken his trust. But no.
You'd picked out one of the books in the recreational room, which Jenner mentioned was full of games and books for anybody's use. Once you'd spotted the shelf of classic literature, you couldn't help yourself.
The place had every story you could imagine, Emma by Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, even The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Safe to say you grabbed a couple of the ones you were familiar with, and one or two you hadn't read. You started with Of Mice and Men, but stopped when you remembered the ending.
Although once you picked up The Great Gatsby, you couldn't put it down. It was one of those novels that made you want to live in the 1920's, just for the fashion. Flappers and the massive growth in modernization always fascinated you. Prohibition, though, never seemed ideal.
Before you headed back to your room, you thought on what Daryl had said about not trusting Jenner. He was right, in a sense. Jenner wasn't telling the whole truth, and there was no knowing what else he'd been hiding about the place. It all seemed eerie, but you remembered to bring it back up to Daryl before you both fell asleep.
You'd been reading silently, when you heard the familiar thump of Daryl's boots down the hall. Everyone else had turned in for the night, hallway dimly lit by other sources.
"Welcome back, wow you smell exquisite." You laughed, peeking up from the book in your hands.
"Pfft, stop." Daryl sat back onto his cot, blanket splayed across it. He hadn't known how to start conversations properly, especially not after doing what he just had in the shower. Thinking about you in a way he shouldn't have.
His flannel was unbuttoned, tiniest sliver of his torso visible, falling further apart as he leaned back. It began to pull back further, but you stopped looking before getting caught.
Get your head out of the gutter.
"Feeling relaxed, now?"
He chewed on his lip silently, giving you a low mhm, as he shoved off his boots onto the ground, kicking his feet up on the cot. The hairs on his chest were slight, but still visible.
"So, I've been thinking about what you said. About Jenner." You closed the book over on your thumb, Daryl lifting his head from the pillow.
"You were right, we can't trust him. He's shady, and probably hiding more things than we thought. We gotta grill him for info, tomorrow or something. It's the only way we'll get the truth. You know?"
"Don't know if Rick would be cool with it.. much less anyone else. But we are gonna find out what he ain't tellin' us. I can promise ya that."
"Good enough for me," you said, standing up and placing the book on the couch, "Alright, well I'm gonna go brush my teeth. Carol stopped by while you were in the shower and gave you and me toothbrushes and toothpaste. Swear I've never been so ecstatic in my life."
You chuckled before leaving the room, slight smile on Daryl's face, one you couldn't see. One he wished for you to see. One he grew a liking to plastering across his face because of you.
Groaning, he laid back on his cot, before realizing he hadn't journaled yet today. A hand darted out to his pack, shifting through his belongings to find another shirt for him to wear, and his journal.
Day nine
Somehow we made it to the CDC. It looked like another dead end at first, bodies scattered all over the place. Some doctor let us in, Jenner. Y/n rode with me the whole way on my bike. I think she sees me, like really sees me. Strange, feelin' like someone cares about me for who I am. Never expected that from anyone, not even her. She's stupid to care about me, and I aint no good, neither. Spent the night eatin' real dinner and drinkin' real booze with the group. Thought the night would conclude with me passin out drunk. Then y/n asked to stay with me. She would'a stayed with Andrea, but since she wasn't in the best place, she came to me instead. Even convinced me to shower. Weird how much she affects me already. Rubbed one out jus' thinkin' about her. Fuckin' dumb thing to do. I ain't got no right feelin' that way about her. She's a friend, never gon' be anythin' more.
With that, he closed the journal, tossing it back into his bag and replacing his older shirt on his body with a somewhat clean one before you came back. Daryl attempted to get himself to actually relax, and once his head hit the pillow, the same fatigue that washed over him in the bathroom returned to his head.
Though he was laying to face the wall, he heard the slight pitter patter of your feet approaching the room from down the hall. You entered silently, closing the door and shutting off the light.
Silence was present in the room, and he thought you'd passed out, until you heard you speak.
"You're a good man Daryl. You may not see it, but I do. I don't know what you've been through, but whatever walls you put up, you'd better think about taking them down."
That was the last thing he heard before drifting blissfully off to sleep.
The next thing Daryl could focus on was a splitting headache, one he'd gotten from his lovely two bottle of wine drunk. Relentlessly, he tried to make it go away, but sleep didn't come as easily as it once had. His instinct was to get up and turn on the light, but paused when he remembered you were in the room with him. If he turned the light on, you'd wake up and lose some of your rest that you very much needed.
Daryl's hand darted out from the covers to his pack, grabbing the flashlight and his journal from it as he stood from the cot. Cracking the door open, there was a small source of light coming from down the hall. Once he clicked his flashlight on, he began striding down the hall.
He came across the rec room, void of any people. One of the clocks read 4am, which meant he'd been asleep for about 4 hours at most. Once he sat, he opened another page to his journal and started a new entry.
Day eleven
It's 4 am. Only know cause there's a clock in this rec room. Had to take a walk. Made me feel like shit for leaving y/n alone when she asked for company while she slept. I'm gon' go back, just needed a minute to clear my head. I don't completely trust Jenner, he's hiding something. Definitely more to what he told us. I've been tryin to keep these people safe best I can, so if there is something else goin on here, I've gotta find out. Don't wanna lose any more people. Can't. Won't. Them undead pricks won't stop me. Won't stop us. I'll do whatever it takes, for this group.
Once he'd finished, he shut the book and headed back to the room to find you still asleep on the couch. Sleep washed over him a while after he laid down again.
The rough knock on the door was loud enough to shake you from your slumber, reading the clock in the room that said 8:45. Daryl snored lightly from across the room, chest lifting with each breath. He looked peaceful, laying under the covers of his cot like it was the best sleep he'd gotten in years.
You wondered what it would be like to actually wake up next to him in the mornings, brush the hair from his face and leave a soft kiss on his cheek before rising for the day.
But you couldn't, and you thought you never would.
You rose silently, letting the archer catch a few more minutes of rest while you put on clothes for the day, and slipped your boots on again, brushing your fingers through your hair to calm some of your bedhead. The mirror on the wall helped, as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You remembered to pack both toothbrushes and toothpaste from the previous night, before walking over to Daryl, fast asleep on his cot.
"Hey, psst. Daryl," You poked his chest once, twice, three times before his eyes fluttered open.
"Wha-"
"C'mon, they're making breakfast. I can smell that bacon from all the way in here. Maybe we can find out what Jenner's keeping a secret today, too."
He groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, still half asleep. You glanced at him from where you stood by the mirror, he looked adorable, even in his drowsy state. You noticed the darker color shirt he was wearing, the top buttons undone, chest hairs visible. You could've sworn you saw a tattoo poking out from his left pec.
Before you could stare any more, his eyes opened fully, pulling himself off the cot. His pants were unbuttoned, a sliver of his boxers visible as he stood. You tore your eyes away from him, although you wanted to look more.
Daryl cleared his throat, buttoning his pants as you combed your hair in the mirror. He walked towards you, turning back to him.
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
The door opened, light beaming from the hallway. Some of the group had already exited their rooms, hearing their chatter from down the hall. The two of you walked into the room you had all ate in the night before, smell of bacon and eggs filling the place.
"Eggs, powdered, but I do 'em good." You hear T-dog say, walking over with a pan in his hand. "Protein helps the hangover."
Glenn, on the other hand, is sat upright, head in his hands, groaning loudly for everyone to hear.
"Morning, everyone." You stated, taking a seat next to the dark haired man, Daryl sitting next to you. A few others said good morning back, others too caught up in their hangovers to speak. Rick looked about as bad as Shane did, but not as terrible as Glenn looked.
Lori glanced up at you, her eyes shifting to Daryl as you took a plate and served yourself, "Eventful night?"
"What? No- I just read some books and went to sleep." You chuckled, trying to break the awkward tension floating in the room.
Rick picked up a pill bottle from the table, asking Lori about it, responding with, "Jenner thought we could use it. Some of us, at least."
"Ugh, don't ever, ever, ever let me drink again."
The group conversed lightly as everyone woke up, sipping their coffee and eating their meal. You stood to grab some coffee as Jenner walked in.
"Morning."
"Hey, doc."
You saw Andrea nod to Dale, turning towards Jenner in his chair.
"Doctor, I don't mean to slam you with questions first thing-"
"But you will anyways."
"We didn't come here for the eggs," Andrea states.
Jenner brought you to the same big room again, standing in front of the screens while he spoke a command to the computer: Give me playback of TS-19.
Displayed on the monitor was the playback he requested, closing in on an internal view of a brain, along with other pieces of data. Jenner demonstrates that the lights flowing through a much closer-up image, was someone's life; their experiences, memories, thoughts- it was everything. He continued rambling on about the test subject, someone who was infected by a bite, but volunteered to have the process recorded for research.
Scanning to the first event per his request, the playback began to display the doctor's research, as the lights in the brain began to flicker rapidly, fading to darkness quickly after. Solemn expressions plagued the room upon hearing Jenner's analyzation of the infection's course.
A moment later, he scans to the second event, playing back on the monitor the same as it had before.
What Jenner calls resurrection points reveals itself to be that moment of reanimation you'd watched in Amy, two days prior, not to mention the individuals you saw on the road before finding your group.
The same brain flickers with red light, hearing that it restarts the brain stem, only lasting a few seconds before its termination occurred. You and Daryl shared a confused look, silence ringing out loud enough to hear a pin drop.
Andrea puts two and two together and questions Jenner yet again, only this time it's on account of not having a clue as to what the virus is.
"There has to be somebody who knows something. Somebody, somewhere.."
"I've been in the dark for almost a month, but I hear France was the longest to hold out. But that's as far as I know."
That was the moment your heart dropped. You inhaled sharply, losing the grasp you had on any hope left.
"Man, I'm gonna get shitfaced drunk, again."
At that point, you might as well have joined him, if there really was nothing left anywhere in the world. It was all gone.
Your vision filtered out of focus, room beginning to spin as you lost any strength you had in your legs, as your body hit the cold marble floor.
It felt as if a moment passed where your eyes were fluttering open, attempting to push yourself up with the help of your forearms. Your head pounded, each voice muffled as you went to grasp at your head that was now throbbing in agony.
As the aching settled a moment later, you were finally able to clear your foggy vision on the person crouching before you, Daryl.
"You alright?"
"I- uh, what happened?"
"You fainted, sure ya not still drunk?"
"N-No, just-"
The recollection of what you had just been told by Jenner became apparent in your mind, the horror flooding through your head once more.
"There's nothing left, is there?" Your voice weakened, not sure whether to be bothered with the way four of the group's men just ran out of the larger room in a panic.
"C'mon, lemme get ya back to the room, 'kay?"
Nodding, he pulled you up, draping your arm across his shoulder with your head still pounding. Daryl brings you to the couch you'd slept on the night before, as he lets you sit down on it.
"You think Jenner was serious? About there being nothing-" You inhaled again, unsettled feeling coating your stomach at the thought.
Daryl stood chewing on his thumb, now pacing back and forth, "Ain't sure, 'specially not with the way he went quiet." His pacing became aggressive, grabbing the bottle of whiskey on the ground that he'd apparently put near his cot the night before.
Your conversation was cut short after hearing a commotion about the air shutting off in the rooms.
Why is the air off?
What's going on?
Voices echoed from outside the room, Daryl peeking out of it with the bottle still in his hand. Jenner was the one being questioned relentlessly by the members of your group as he treaded down the hallway.
Why's everything bein' turned off?, you hear Daryl say as Jenner walks right by him and swoops the bottle of liquor from him, taking a swig. He follows Jenner out the door, quickly rising from the couch to follow him and the rest of your group on the quest for answers.
Energy use is being prioritized, he replied, admitting to not having any control over the building's programming. Zone 5 is shutting itself down.
Daryl's frustrated state grows with annoyance, fed up with the doctor's vague answers and wanting some real ones.
"Hey, what the hell that mean, huh? Man, I'm talkin' to you! What'd you mean it's shuttin' itself down? How can a building do anything?"
"You'd be surprised."
Another vague answer.
The computers were programmed to be the very last thing kept running until the power grid shut down completely, beginning at the half hour mark of a digital clock with large red numbers, counting down the minutes.
What the fuck... what happens at zero..
"Let me tell you something-" Shane bolts towards Jenner but Rick stops him before he can get any closer to the doctor.
"To hell with it, Shane. Lori, get our things- everybody, get your stuff, we're getting out of here, now!"
That was the sign you'd been scared of getting, one that meant retreat in the most devastating way. Heart racing, you all turned for the door, until a loud alarm sounded out, startling you even more.
Thirty minutes to decontamination, the computer played out.
"Doc, what's going on here?" Daryl yelled, straining his own throat at the looming unknown of what was to come in those thirty minutes.
Suddenly, the hallway you'd been heading towards was being blockaded by an automated door, and by the looks of it, there was no getting through it.
"Did he just lock us in?" Glenn spoke, "He just locked us in!"
Anger overtook Daryl in a wave, throwing himself towards Jenner with every intention of beating his face into the ground, only to be ripped away from the chance, getting pushed away from him getting any closer.
"I told you, once that door closed, it wouldn't open again. You heard me say that."
"It's better this way."
"What is? What happens in 28 minutes?!" Rick questioned incessantly, standing a few feet away from the doctor.
Jenner had gone off on one of his rambling tangents again, only this time it was in a fit of rage, attempting to make the group realize why this place was built the way it was.
"In the event of a catastrophic power failure, H.I.T's are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out."
"H.I.T's?"
"Vi define-"
H.I.T's: high-impulse thermobaric fuel-air explosives.
It continued on to state how they'd be set off as the timer runs out, lighting the air on fire with its two step process. Gasps of horror and cries filled the air as the computer had all but handed you each a death sentence on a silver platter.
A chill rushed down your spine at the realization: every single one of you was going to die.
No chance of survival desired by the effect the explosives had promised. They would set the air on fire.
Some of the group clutched their loved ones in their arms desperately, while others only stood around, any hope they still held washing away from their expressions.
We're all going to die here, you thought. There's nothing left, anywhere. We were doomed from the start. How could we be so stupid? So ignorant? So filled with hope and determination to make the world better for us, to survive, when there's nothing out there that could fix this? Nothing that could make it better?
Any hope you'd still clung onto was pooling out of your body in a pile of unseen ambitions and delusions you'd foolishly looked forward to for the future.
Daryl's anger only burned, a forest fire that only grew larger with every time he yelled out for the doctor to open the door. You sat crouched against a wall, huddled with the rest of your group that wasn't doing everything they could to release the door.
We're fucked. We're so fucked.
"You should've left well enough alone. It would've been so much easier." Jenner stated, the men still throwing themselves at the door.
No, no, no. This doesn't make anything easier.
"Easier for who?" Lori spoke, offended with his words that were so clear of an attempt to pull you all back from this realization.
"All of you. You know what's out there-a short, brutal life, and an agonizing death."
His words, although speaking from a scientist's point of view, began to sink in, but not in a way that sent death to your door terrifyingly.
The words of your group members were muffled, focusing on your heart beating so infuriatingly fast, until you heard: Those doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher.
The next words you heard were the heated ones coming from a familiar voice.
"Well, your head ain't!"
You glanced up from your lap, viewing how Daryl threw himself at the doctor, once more getting pushed away from the man before inciting violence on him.
There's always hope, you heard Rick say, Maybe not here, but somebody, somewhere-
No, there's not. Not anymore, you mumbled to yourself.
Within his rage, Daryl managed to take a few deep breaths, eyes trailing over to where you sat. His focus changed from the situation at hand to the frail state of your body, legs pulled to your chest and hands shaking with every move they made.
"What part of everything is gone do you not understand?"
This is our extinction event.
After an outburst from Shane resulting in him shooting several of the computers, then Jenner, with a shotgun, you only felt more despair fill your chest. It made you raise from the floor in fear of getting run over. The state of everything had already converted people to such evil, why would you want to live in a world like that?
"I think you're lying."
"What?"
"You're lying about no hope. If that were true, you'd have bolted with the rest, or taken the easy way out. You didn't. You stayed when others ran. Why?"
"Not because I wanted to. I made a promise," Jenner stood from his chair at Rick's questioning, pointing to the monitor, "To her. My wife. She begged me to keep going as long as I could. How could i say no?"
Bang.
Daryl was at the indestructible door again, sending blows down on it with an axe.
"She was dying."
Bang.
"It should've been me on that table."
Bang.
"I wouldn't have mattered to anybody. She was a loss to the world."
Bang.
"Hell, she ran this place. I just worked here. She was an Einstein. Me, I'm just Edwin Jenner."
"Your wife didn't have a choice. You do. That's- that's all we want- a choice, a chance."
"Let us keep tryin' as long as we can," Lori stated, with Carl in her arms. The tone in her voice made you break a little, but there was no changing what your fate had decided.
"I told you, topside's locked down. I can't open those." Jenner walked past Rick and the others to another computer, swiping a keycard and pressing a few buttons on a pad with numbers.
Just like that, the door opened.
Daryl was the first one to yell out, being he was closest to the door.
"C'mon!" He started out the door, but entered again when he realized you hadn't followed.
You felt empty, the fight for hope dwindled to just ashes, somewhat like and end to the blazing fire of life, living, surviving. The whole world was gone, and there was nothing to be done about it. All the feeling from your chest faded away.
"I'm grateful."
"The day will come when you won't be."
Gasps and desperate yells sounded out from the group, alerting the group of their one passageway out of the building. While everyone grabbed onto each other, you stood in place.
Glancing around the room through tear-brimmed eyes, you noticed not everyone had bolted out the door, either.
Jacqui and Andrea stayed in place as well.
"Y/n! What're you doing? Let's go!" He bolted towards you, only watching as he approached with a solemn face.
"I-I can't. You go."
"Wha- n-no. I ain't lettin' ya. 'M not just leavin' you here."
"Yes, you are, Daryl."
She's not in her right mind, the coercion of Jenner's words had gotten to you, he thought.
"Hey! we've got four minutes left! C'mon!" Glenn yelled out, still stood by the door with Carl and a few others, as Lori pulled Rick out the door.
T-dog tried to bring Jacqui with him, only to be shoved away.
"No, I'm staying. I'm staying, sweetie. I'm not ending up like Jim and Amy. There's no time to argue, and no point if you wanna get out."
"Just go." You whispered, walking a few steps from Daryl.
How could he tell you why you dying would be the worst thing that would happen to him? It would rip him apart, piece by piece until he only became a shell of himself.
"I can't, you know I can't. I'm not leavin' you here." He only followed after you, not having the right words to say to you in a hopeless time like this. "You were the one that told me there was hope, remember?"
"Daryl-" you started again, kicking at the debris on the ground.
"Nah. Listen to me. I ain't goin' if it's not with you."
"You're insane," you scoffed, arms crossed over your chest.
"And you're not? Come on, there's always somethin' to fight for. Just gotta find it. How can ya if you ain't with us? We're gonna do it, make the world better. If we can't do anythin' about the geeks, we can only do it in spite of 'em."
Your eyes glimmered with fear, but he could've sworn he saw a light of hope, so he continued.
"You can find somethin' new to fight for, I swear on my fuckin' life. I can't-" Daryl sighed, "I can't lose you. I won't. You mean too much to me. You're my only friend, the hell 'm I gonna do with you gone? If you're not around, I got nothing to fight for. Nothin'."
Daryl's voice broke amidst the other conversations.
That was the moment his eyes met yours, flicking to light the fire of survival in you once again. Tear filled eyes met his, pulling him in for an embrace, and against his skin, you whispered.
"Okay. Let's go."
With that, you both ran for the doorway, pushing the ticking clock of death away with every patter of your footsteps. Eventually, you'd gotten to the front of the building, where the rest of your group was figuring out how to exit the building. Glenn spotted you and Daryl coming closer towards them all, a slight smile on his face.
Their methods of getting the window's glass to break had failed, until Carol rushed towards Rick, pulling something from her bag.
A grenade.
Once he got close enough to the glass, he pulled the pin, urging everyone to step back to be guarded from the blast. You all but threw yourself far enough away, hearing the effect of the blast shatter the glass with a loud boom.
You all dashed out of the window, spotting the vehicles down the road from where you'd parked them. Walkers had heard the blast and began to approach, only to be taken down by bullets from your group. Once you reached Daryl's bike, you looked back at the building one last time, before it was blown to pieces.
Two figures emerged from the broken window, Andrea and Dale.
You heard Lori yell from the RV to get down, both you and Daryl crouching behind the Winnebago before the blast rang out.
All you heard a few seconds later was the massive explosion of the building, along with a wave of heat that radiated all the way over to you all. Daryl panted, looking at you before hopping on his bike, starting the engine. Hopping on behind him, the engines of each vehicle sounded out, as they began to drive away.
You clutched onto Daryl's torso as the bike engine began, shuddering breaths filling your chest. Before he began driving, you tapped his shoulder.
"Daryl, thank you for getting me out of there. You're right, I do have something to fight for."
His eyes lightened, nodding before pulling his weight off the ground and driving the bike away from all the wreckage.
You'd found something- better yet someone to fight for, and it happened to be the very archer your arms wrapped around.
You chose to fight for him, of all things.
Just as hard, he'd chosen to fight for you.
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val-made-a-mistake · 1 year
Text
❝THE PUNISHMENT.❞
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(not my gif)
summary: doctor octavius, your nuclear physics professor, catches you smoking on campus. instead of reporting you to security, he takes the opportunity to bring you back to his class and punish you his own way instead.
warnings: smut, teacher!au, age gap, oral sex m receiving, spanking, hair-pulling, embarrassment, mentions of orgasm control but no real orgasm control, sliiiight dubcon at first because reader is kept in the dark on how she’s gonna be punished, totally not originally written as a guilty pleasure fic for my irl english prof
word count: 2.4k
a/n: come on. did you really think i stopped being horny for this man?
//////
As soon as the lecture had ended, you’d made what you hoped wasn’t an overly obvious beeline out of your classroom. You couldn’t help it: you hadn’t had a hit this morning, and now the rhythm that you’d previously established was totally off and you were embarrassingly, wildly desperate, driven half-insane by the seventy-five minutes it had taken to get through a complicated explanation of nuclear physics from Dr Octavius without the hazy contentment from your vape.
You almost sighed in relief as you caught sight of the gender-neutral bathroom down the hall: you shuffled inside in a hurry, already shrugging your bag off your shoulders so you could unzip and search for what you needed so badly—
Pressing your bag to the wall, your eager hand rifled past binders and papers and textbooks, diving deep into the bag until you found it.
Freshly filled and beautiful. Holy shit.
You stuck the vape into your mouth and inhaled greedily, filling your lungs for a moment before exhaling an enormous, satisfying puff of grape-scented vapour all around you. Like always, the aftertaste burned your throat in the best way.
As you waved away the residue clouds that hung in the air, the nicotine washed over you like a peaceful, calming wave, and you found yourself smiling in spite of yourself.
The bathroom was deserted, but you turned into the corner and sucked on the vape again, quickly pulling off as the taste of artificial grape burned in your throat—
“Y/N, you forgot your book in class,” Otto Octavius said, rounding the corner of the bathroom at exactly the wrong moment: it was impossible to hide, you choked on vapour and sent half of it prematurely pummeling down your throat, and half of it into the air.
Fuck!
You coughed violently and tried to hide the vape behind your back, embarrassment and panic rising in you all at once, but of course he’d already seen.
Otto’s face was impossible to read: his eyebrows had jumped up and his eyes had widened, you weren’t sure if he was surprised or…angry.
He definitely sounded disappointed, though. “Y/N, you know I have to bring you to security.”
Your mouth fell open but no words came out: with no other options, tears streaming down your bright red cheeks because of choking, you dropped the vape into his hand and awkwardly stared at him as he pocketed it.
You couldn’t help it: you crumpled under his stare.
“Pl-please don’t take me to security,” you blurted out.
(Not exactly the attempt at gaslighting him you had hoped for, but you tried your best.)
“You’re not going there yet, you’re coming with me to my room,” Otto inserted firmly. “You still need to get your book.”
You gulped and nodded rapidly. “Okay.”
//////
The awkward walk back to his room was silent. You were trying not to cry out of panic, and at the thought of punishment, your blood had run so cold it felt like your heart had ceased to beat altogether.
Otto let you in first, and you couldn’t help but gulp again as the door smartly shut closed with a loud SNAP!
Hating not knowing what to do with yourself, you awkwardly sidestepped to your seat and put the book you’d left in your bag. Your panic was subsiding slightly into anger— anger at him or anger at yourself, you didn’t even know.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
God, I hate myself.
The silence continued as Otto tossed your vape onto his desk and paused for a moment.
You weren’t sure if you were supposed to say something just yet, so you didn’t say anything. He broke the silence calmly.
“I won’t take you to security, but that doesn’t mean I won’t punish you.”
Your eyebrows quirked in confusion; you opened your mouth to speak. “Sir, I—“
“Did I not make myself clear?” Otto snarled, making you cower slightly. “Come here. Bend over my desk.  Pull up that little skirt for me, too.”
Incredulous, your heartbeat speeding out of control from sheer embarrassment, you hurried over and complied, wondering what the hell he was going to do with you.
An uncomfortable shudder crawled up your spine. Your stomach was buzzing with all sorts of uncomfortable feelings, but you couldn’t ignore the excitement within the fear.
You tried to keep your face straight as Otto lifted your skirt up to your hips, but for a few long seconds, nothing happened. Skin that you weren’t at all accustomed to showing was exposed in the rush of room-temperature air, and he was just…staring.
“Are you…just going to look?” you wondered aloud.
“No, I’m punishing you,” he told you.
You felt his hands on your butt first, fingertips slipping under your underwear delicately only to roughly tear it off.
You squealed slightly at that, biting your lip to keep it down, but he heard you and of course he laughed as his hand connected to your ass in a sharp SLAP!
Oh, god.
Another spank made you wince and lurch forward, but a pang of heat hit between your legs, too— you hadn’t expected to enjoy this so much, but after all the anticipation, you just needed him to get it over with.
“Ow,” you mumbled weakly.
You curled your hands into fists and shut your eyes, preparing for the next hard smack— you could already feel your stinging skin beginning to bloom pink— but instead of spanking you again, Otto lowered his hand to let his fingers slide over your pussy.
You managed to swallow your gasp but your legs were already quivering at his touch, betraying you: he was focusing on your clit, rubbing it gently, and you found your back arching of its own accord.
“What…I don’t…” you mumbled something incoherent, trying to keep yourself from squirming as you approached the edge of…something, but at first you didn’t know what it was.
Then it hit you.
Oh, no.
But before you could feel the telltale pleasure of heat pooling low in your abdomen, Otto withdrew his hand quickly and spanked you harsher than ever, making you cry out.
“J-just a little more, sir, please,” you begged.
“I’ll give you more, don’t worry,” he promised cryptically, and you felt his fingers dance across your pussy again.
You swore under your breath as he pushed a finger inside of you, just barely to the second knuckle, and did your best not to squirm.
Otto paused. “Just that makes you struggle?”
Your embarrassment felt electric in your stomach, but you shook your head rapidly, needing more, more, more, all of him that you could get.
“I need you,” you whispered.
There was a long moment of silence, and for a second you thought he was going to spank you again, but instead he withdrew his finger and said, “Get on your knees.”
Excitement hit you like a bolt of lightning and you got on the ground as fast as you could, craning your neck to look up at him.
You opened your mouth obediently as his thumb brushed your bottom lip. Sucking on his thumb gently almost distracted you from his other hand unzipping his fly, but you kept eye contact with him, needing to prove to him how obediently you could take this punishment.
“Close your eyes,” Otto murmured, and you closed your eyes softly, anticipation and need bubbling in your stomach all at once, needing this more than the vape he’d caught you with.
You couldn’t see anything with your eyes closed, but you felt him wrap your hand around his cock, so much warmer than the rest of him and growing harder in your palm.
You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning. He felt…big.
“Just like that, baby,” Otto murmured as you experimentally slid your hand up his length, then slid it down. “Just like that.”
Another stroke, an electrifying beat, then you leaned forward and took the tip of him in your mouth.
You felt his salty precum smear on your tongue and it gave you courage to stroke him again, gently and tentatively— God, you really hoped you were doing this right.
You must’ve been, because suddenly there were two hands on the sides of your head, then Otto was pushing your mouth all the way down on his cock, making you gag as the tip of his cock barged into the very back of your throat.
Your eyes flew open and tears threatened to fill them, but he kept the hands on your head as firm as ever, forcing you to bob your head, making you choke and splutter around him as you tried to take it all.
You needed to come so bad, but first of all you needed to breathe.
Apparently sensing this, Otto pulled out of your throat and let you gasp for air for a moment, smirking as you blinked the tears out of your eyes.
“That’s how deep my cum will be when I’m done,” he told you, and he gestured over to the desk again. “Get up.”
You complied weakly, bending over the desk before he could tell you to, and unsurprisingly, his hand connected to your ass in a loud SMACK once again, but he shoved two fingers inside of you before you could even process it, effectively alleviating the sting that came two seconds later.
As his fingers delved in and out of you, he laughed quietly, making you glance behind you in confusion.
“That’s wet,” you heard him say from above you, jutting his fingers inside of you a little further. “You getting turned on by this, honey?”
You gasped incoherently in response, squealing a little when Otto made you arch your back by tugging on your hair, then forced his fingers inside of your mouth, making you taste how sweet you were.
“Sweet little thing,” he muttered, releasing you and shoving his fingers inside of your pussy again.
You inhaled sharply at the stab of heat in your abdomen, but when you glanced back at him, he was tasting your sweetness himself.
He caught you looking and smirked.
“I’m more than twice your age, sweetie,” he reminded you. “You shouldn’t be wet because of me.”
“Oh god,” you spluttered, “Please don’t say that.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” he responded. “Makes your little pussy clench.”
You knew he was right, but you still shivered. “God, please…”
“Bratty fucking girl,” Otto spat from above you. “I catch you vaping in the bathroom, I punish you, but you just want more, huh?”
“Yes,” you panted.
“What, you need to be fucked?”
You nodded as his fingers went deep inside of you, trying not to moan out loud as embarrassment burned in your veins.
“Need to be fucked raw?”
You spluttered, words failing you, but you arched your back and put your stinging pink ass on full display for him, a wordless confirmation of how badly you needed this, and holyfuckingshit you felt his fingers withdraw from you.
“Could watch this puffy little pussy drip all day,” he told you, but you were barely listening as you felt something incredibly warm breach your entrance: hard, big, and thick, and you felt your gut twist and the shame rise in you as he continued to push further, untill…
Your professor’s cock was inside of you.
“Fuck,” you whispered, your heart plummeting.
It took a few moments, but once he found his rhythm inside of you, his cock delved in and out of your pussy, it was mind-numbing heaven.
Oh. My. God.
You almost wondered how no one had caught you yet, looking around at the rows and rows of empty seats all around you, but nothing mattered as the sound of skin on skin filled the wide, empty room.
“Fuck, my whole class is gonna smell like you, honey,” Otto laughed breathlessly, and you clenched your eyes shut, trying not to moan so loud the whole of Empire State University heard you.
You were whining and gasping, clinging onto the edge of the desk he’d bent you over. “Please sir, please let me come!”
“Yeah, come for me, sweetheart,” you heard him say, and you whined as heat crashed through you, giving you what must’ve been the actual sweet release you’d been looking for ever since the lecture had ended, and you had to grin at the irony as euphoria raced through your brain.
You heard a gasped laugh from above you. “Consider that a treat.”
Your body was shaking, a live wire of this electric pleasure running through you, and for a moment your mind drifted away from the university entirely as Otto reached down to rub your clit, nice and firm to couple with the rhythm of his cock inside of you.
This was so wrong, but so good, and holy shit, you were already needing a next time.
Your head was spinning and you didn’t even want to think about the bare feeling of his cock inside you with absolutely nothing in the way, allowing you to feel absolutely everything, but it didn’t matter, you felt a hand in your hair and suddenly he was yanking you upward.
“Sweet little cunt,” he got out in a grunt, “Wish I could feel you squeezing me all day…”
To your dismay, Otto was already withdrawing from you— you were both running short on time, you realized.
“On your knees,” he said, and with your head spinning and your legs aching, you complied a little slower this time.
You knelt before him and took him into your throat, noticing his cock was significantly sweeter now that you’d had it in you, but you bobbed your head around him, leaning into it until you felt your gag reflex kick in. You didn’t even care, you gagged around him, sucking him to the best of your ability as filthy noises spilled from your throat and tears materialized in your eyes.
“Oh, fuck,” Otto choked, grabbing the crown of your head to push you down, and his cock pulsed in your mouth as the first shot of come went into your throat.
It was bitter, but you gulped it down eagerly. Knowing you were doing something right, you wrapped your hand around his cock as more drops shot onto your tongue, jerking him off to keep getting more and more from him, milking him for all he was worth—
Otto had to stop you by grabbing your hair and hand at once, laughing as he guided you off of him.
"That's all of it, sweetheart, you got it all— fuck…"
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cherryo · 1 year
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can i req suggestive hcs of the rise turtles(separate) of how they would react to fem!reader on top of them during fun time suddenly put a hand on their throat and lightly choke them and then suddenly stopping when she realizes she got too lost in the moment?
so with this i kinda did this where the boys are like surprised in a good way and not like scared? if that makes any sense ! i appreciate you requesting and I loved writing this <33
Pairings: Rise!boys x fem!reader (seperate) hc genre: smut? smut HCs wordcount: Pronouns:she/her w/ fem genitalia Warnings: explicit content, swearing, choking, BOYS ARE AGED APPROPRIATELY <333
Raph:
So you cant exactly “choke” him because well,,, your hands probably wont even reach around his neck 
You end up just putting pressure on his neck? 
He stops, like fully stops his part and youre confused
You realize as he just kind of reaches up and pulls your hands off his neck
You apologize and all he does is smile and says its okay
Tbh i dont think he’d be into it but he wouldnt mind if you were
Was just shocked tbh but was like kind of turned on by your straight forward-ness
You both had an in-depth convo after about what you both like and if the other is okay with it and what not, tried to make it a lesson almost?
He’s so silly, he’d probs admire the fact you thought you could actually choke him and thought it was hot that you got that into it hehe
Leo
You could wrap your hands around his neck
Also stopped but as soon as he made eyecontact he laughed, like belly laughed
He thought it was cute and hot 
I feel he’d be into this tbh
Didnt let you apologize because “it was so hot babe! Why would i let you apologize for that?”
I dont think he would want to choke you unless you specifically asked beforehand
Defintietly wants to be choked though teehee
I doubt you’d have an in-depth conversation but he’d ask what else you were into and what you were hiding up your sleeve
Donnie
Literally the most shocked out of all the boys 
I don’t think he’d stop but would def sit up in shock
Would look at you then like hold your hands together in confusion
Didnt know you were into that but was seriously turned on by it
I  think Donnie would be into it both ways? So being choked and choking you?
He’d def do it if you had a hot reaction to it!!
Idk why but i think donnie would be the experimental one out of them all
Y’all talk about other things to try later on
Mikey
Holy shit
Just goes wide-eyed
He isn't stopping so he's not going to let you stop
Def an ‘in the moment' type of guy?
Like he wasn't sure what to do but to continue?
He wasn't nervous or scared, just turned on 
You stopped when you realized, apologized, and felt bad but he laughed it off and said it was fine and sorta hot
Yall have an in-depth conversation because yknow, dr. feelings has to make an appearance lol
And the fact he wants to know what else you like
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kkolg · 6 months
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small vent rq
K so like I love posting Md content like it’s super fun but it fucking sucks cause now all of my other art that I genuinely work so hard on and enjoy is just being covered up by shipping content. Which like- I like making it don’t get me wrong but whenever I post something not related to it, it flops so fucking hard like- oml I might just stop at this point. I love getting new followers too but if you just followed me for the Md content I suggest you leave, like it is my current hyperfixation but once it’s gone I’m gonna go back to posting my batim stuff. I STILL AM ACTUALLY BUT HOLY SHIT THEY FLOP SO FUCKING HARD. Like dawg follow me for my art not just some fucking ship PLEASE. I work so hard on the story I’m trying to portray but the minute I draw a stupid little shitpost comic the crow goes wild. Like look, I just wish people would appreciate my art for what it is and not what I draw
TL;DR: if you follow me look at my other art and content. Might take a break from my Md stuff cause I want my other works to be a bit more appreciated. DONT FOLLOW IF YOU ARE JUST HERE FOR MD STUFF
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feraltuxedo · 1 year
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Joint Honours
My new university AU just started posting!
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Joint Honours by FeralTuxedo E, 13 chapters. Summary: PhD student Aziraphale is busy enough with his studies at Tadfield University. But at the start of a new semester, his measured routine gets shaken up by the sudden responsibility of teaching, the arrival of an irresistible new house mate, and a mysteriously flirtatious sausage roll.
Excerpt from chapter 1:
By the time Anathema rang the doorbell, Aziraphale had transformed the contents of his fridge drawer into a passable vegetable stir-fry. They piled up their plates and settled at the large table.
‘What did Gabriel want this time?’ she asked between bites.
Aziraphale, only too happy that the subject of Sausage Roll Man had not been picked up again, told her about the Introduction to Jane Austen seminar that had so suddenly been thrust upon him.
‘Oh.’ She looked surprised. ‘That’s great, isn’t it? Right up your street, and you’ll get paid for it. What’s the catch?’
‘The lecturer is, well, she’s a bit scary.’
Aziraphale looked resolutely down at his plate, but Anathema’s raised eyebrows somehow still made it into his field of vision.
‘Aziraphale soon-to-be-Doctor Fell, don’t you think you’re a little old to be intimidated by—’
Her dressing down was interrupted by the opening of the kitchen door and the entrance of a tall man with windswept red hair and the longest legs Aziraphale had ever had the good fortune to behold.
He quite forgot to be embarrassed about his healthy respect for Dr Celeste, and instead stared at the intruder, who stared right back. Warm brown eyes surrounded by high cheekbones and finely arched brows.
He paused in the doorway, lamplight from the corridor flowing around his skinny frame, dressed from head to toe in black. There was a pair of sunglasses hooked into the neckline of his t-shirt and a squashed packet of cigarettes sticking out of the front pocket of his denims. He looked startlingly out of place here, like he belonged on a sandy beach on the Adriatic coast rather than a run-down student kitchen in Oxfordshire.
Good lord, Aziraphale thought, or possibly whispered.
‘Whoops, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,’ the stranger said after a moment. ‘Just wanted something from the fridge.’
‘Oh, no, not at all,’ Aziraphale was quick to reply.
Then, to his intense mortification, he jumped up from his chair and ripped open the fridge, like a gentleman holding the door for his lady.
The man frowned.
‘Er, cheers.’
He noticed the cold sausage roll on the counter next to the fridge, raising a questioning eyebrow at it.
‘You can have that,’ Aziraphale stammered, picking up the pastry and thrusting it into the man’s hand. ‘If you want, I mean. I don’t need it.’
The stranger’s mouth pulled into an amused smile, and Aziraphale had the sinking feeling that he was making an awful mess of this.
‘Cheers,’ the man said again, holding the sausage roll between two long fingers as he sauntered over to the door and turned around with one hand on the frame.
He gave Aziraphale a slow, lingering look that took in every part of him, starting with his scuffed charity shop brogues and ending, he was certain, with the depths of his very soul. Aziraphale slammed the fridge shut and folded his arms in an unmistakable gesture of defence.
The stranger’s smile widened, all traces of sarcasm replaced by appreciation.
‘I’m Crowley, by the way. Just moved into 4A, right at the top.’ He pointed the sausage roll at the ceiling. ‘See you around.’
The door closed, the click echoing through the vast, high-ceilinged kitchen. A few seconds later, there was the creaking and groaning of the ancient wooden staircase. Aziraphale exhaled heavily and risked a look at Anathema, who sat at the table, chopsticks frozen in the air halfway to her mouth.
‘Anathema, I swear—’
‘Holy fucking shit. Did you see him? Did you actually look at him?’
‘Lord in heaven, I looked.’ Aziraphale sank back into his chair, glancing up to the ceiling, where Crowley was presumably settling into his new room just across the hall from his own. ‘Bet you regret not moving in here now.’
Anathema snorted.
‘Yeah, right. As if I have a chance, way he was staring at you.’
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inchidentally · 4 months
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(not gonna post the link you sent bc I don't wanna tread on other people's stuff since we're all out here in the tumblr wild to talk about these rich men and their problematic silly sport in any way we want to. I'll reply with my thoughts but remember that they're my own and I am NOT telling someone else how to feel)
okay so fully removing the ship lenses and assuming they're not wishing any hostility towards Oscar or any future teammate of Lando's at McLaren: holy SHIT no. fuckballs NOOOO.
ok from a purely practical/realism standpoint Carlos will not be taking any steps backward. based purely on Ferrari's overall performance and the fact that Charles is a damn good match as a teammate (hi Singapore) Carlos is exactly where he should be for WDC contention. McLaren are out there competing hard with them and with the Mercs but to see them outpacing those cars would be solely down to the youth and combined competitiveness of Lando and Oscar they've invested in - so still no dice for Carlos in the foreseeable. I'm not F1 smart enough to know how likely it would be that he'd go to RBR but even there I'm not sure how he and Max would work together again with Max's dominance and ummmm Carlos' least favorite thing being following team orders to concede to his teammate. followed by what would become Carlos' first least favorite thing which would be to drive Max's car since development only works one way at RBR. and that's all assuming that Lando stays with McLaren and that Oscar chooses to leave. the first being reasonably likely and the second is too soon to tell. then there's the fact that by that point Lando would not be considered McLaren youth anymore and they'd be highly unlikely to bring on someone even older to partner him. ((add to that the fact that Carlos will never be an Alonso and will definitely get married early in his thirties and move on to different types of racing or maybe even a different field in racing)) Lando will be a Lewis and stick with F1 competitively chasing wins and WDCs (especially if he can outlast Max's boredom threshold) and he won't be interested in nostalgia hires unless they can help him with that goal.
but moving on to the more parasocial fandom side of it…
honestly the biggest surprise to me is seeing people think that they were equals ??? during their season together?? Lando was a tiny baby who has talked about how being partnered with Carlos fed his anxieties and insecurities! he saw this seasoned driver learning the car faster than him, knowing the circuits better than him and speaking to the team with more confidence than him. lbr when his "trophy" was Carlos' champagne while Carlos celebrated his podium, Lando did NOT look completely happy being forced into that celebration (and I seem to recall later on him even ruefully saying "it wasn't my celebration but anyway"). Carlos literally saw Lando as a baby brother and treated him as such but he also had no clue what to do with Lando's darker moods besides try to cheer him up (and sometimes fail).
I am someone who likes to keep the streams of real life and rpf totally crystal clear and separate and I also like to keep the reality of who these drivers are free of anything I imagine about them for fantasy. when Carlos isn't winning or at least happy with his result, he isn't remotely a team player (and with a team like Ferrari it's hard to blame him sometimes lol). I guess for some people? it's easy to think that Carlos would become a totally different driver when on a team with Lando from ~the power of love~… but that would also have to hand-wave when he actually was Lando's teammate. (it would also hand-wave that Carlos and Charles are also good friends and much more flirty and lovey dovey but Carlos still fights against Charles like a beast when he's in the car)
this man is in it to win it. if you called him soft for a teammate or said that the foremost reason he gave Lando DRS in Singapore was for Lando's benefit he would laugh in your face. at no point in the incredibly stressful final laps was Carlos going "aw shucks I hope my lil buddy can be up there with me let me rig this to make it happen" bc by that point in a race they are thinking in nothing but driving binary and /how do I cement my win against all the bastards behind me/. Carlos does NOT revolve even a small part of his racing career around Lando or any other driver. he doesn't even regard much of his team's input (again, probably for the best with Ferrari). even when he gets direct help from Charles following Ferrari strategy (see Singapore) I still can't really recall that he was overly effusive in acknowledging that fact. he's modeled himself much more on the F1 generations of more like two generations back. and why shouldn't he? so I do not get how people can still think that drivers - especially Carlos' type - are remotely friendly with anyone when they're on the circuit. sure they might get even more pissed off at a driver they aren't keen on but literally /everyone/ is their enemy and their own result is their one goal. that's literally their job.
and as Lando says himself, no one in F1 including him wants to beat anyone more than their own teammate. again. how do people think that Lando would take this entire career he's worked so incredibly hard for and make it about a guy he golfs with (in groups, folks) and occasionally goes to dinner with (which he also does with Daniel) and talks to during the drivers parade (he also consistently seeks out Max, George and Yuki) but has a thriving professional and social life that has nothing to do with Carlos? yuk|erre, maxie| and ga|ex are out there doing far more shippy type things than car|ando all the damn time but when have they ever let that affect their desire to win or beat each other??
nothing about little unseasoned raw lamb cutlet Lando with hairy alpha Carlos at McLaren at all resembles what their dynamic would be as teammates. and the fact that Lando is really liking this new feeling of being the superior favored driver bodes horribly for how he'd react to Carlos swinging his huge sexy cojones back into McLaren expecting to be the number one again by age and experience. folks should enjoy getting to see them during the drivers parade and out golfing as non teammates bc the adorable content of 2019 would curdle into something grotesque if they now had to do goofy challenges while slowly learning to hate the sight of each other during briefings as they sought to supplant the other in the standings.
in no way on this or any other earthly planes can I be convinced that having them compete on the same team again would be anything other than a trainwreck and result in them not even speaking for the next 10-15 years.
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