#//Too many muses to write and not enough mental capacity. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollwritesarchive · 2 years ago

Note

If you are still acepting ideas for kinktober, maybe sexual mindbreak (kinda like brainwashing by pleasure???) with any character of your liking from Twisted Wonderland? Or public casual cockwarming? ....AAAAAaaAa I hope those aren't too weird or hardcore

yes!! omg don’t worry love, not at all too weird or hardcore 💕 i chose mindbreak because i already have a cockwarmimg fic for kinktober & i chose idia because i’ve been itching to write some crazy yandere idia!!

𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒 ( 𝒾 𝓉𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ) ⎹ 𝓘.𝓢.

❝ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ⤻ twisted wonderland / kinktober 2022 / @dollsotome-library

❝ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs ⤻ yandere idia shroud x reader ( f! )

❝ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ⤻ nsfw! none of my writings are meant for anyone under the age of 18, and any minors interacting will be blocked on site.

❝ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs ⤻ dark fic, dubcon turned consensual, mindbreak, past bondage mention, idia has some homemade toys for reader, overstimulation and multiple orgasms, anal and vaginal penetration, suggested hostage / stockholm syndrome

❝ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⤻ 1.3k / mini musing

❝ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴇ ⤻ i do not consent to having my work reposted / translated / stolen in any capacity for any reason. please reblog and leave a comment to support content creators! my work is very rarely proof read so mistakes may be present. all characters / pairings i write for are 18+ with no exceptions.

Idia was terrified of being away from you. just the thought of you left unsupervised on campus with your fellow classmates was enough to send him into a fit of jealousy— he wished he could go with you to every class and ensure that not a one even spoke to you, but the need to stay hidden was just as overwhelming.

still, he knew what a gem he had in you, and surely the others could see it, too.

what if they tried to steal you from him?

he couldn’t let that happen.

that was why he’d brought you to his dorm, and you’d never left. with tablet in hand, as he sat as his desk, he watched your visage squirm on the bed in the other room. he could hear you moaning from the open door to his left, and every single time you’d call out for him he wanted to sprint to you, attack you, and bury himself so deep inside you that you felt him in your bones. but every time, he’s restrained himself. you hadn’t been ready.

however, when you cried out this time, and your back arched off the bed, he could hear the desperation for him in your voice, and he knew you were ready.

his hands were shaking, so he gripped the tablet with one and shoved the other in his hoodie when he meandered into the bedroom— he knew the second he caught sight of you squirming on his bed he was done for. one hand up against the pillow, and the other gripping your own breast, your hips were rutting up into the air, and his little project, two thick and pumping dildos fastened to a makeshift chastity belt, was whirring at the speed he’d set. you’d endured so many orgasms today alone that there was already a puddled wet patch of sheets under you, and your thighs glistened with sweat and essence. from where he stood in the doorway, he could see the base of each, thrusting into you at opposite rhythms, keeping both of your holes occupied. and then there were the vibrators: three high powered, blue bullets that he’d modified with tacky, flat bases that were stuck to your body— one glued to your clit beneath the waistband of the device, and the other two sucking on either nipple.

the goal had been to override your brain with so much pleasure that it simply malfunctioned. and, by the glassy look in your eyes and the drunken half smile on your lips when you saw him watching you, it’d worked. maybe he’d even overdone it.

his eyes fall to your wrists. he made a mental note that the rope burn had almost completely healed. restraints were no longer needed, you didn’t tell him that you wanted to go back to your own dorm anymore, you didn’t beg for him to turn the device down or to let you go back to class.

“I—Idia…!” you mewl, grinding into the air.

Idia took his time though, taking slow steps into the room, and his golden gaze drops to the tablet in his hand; one swipe of his thumb and he’d switched over to the device’s accompanying app, and he rolled the pad of his finger along the virtual dial. the machinery whines in response, pumping into you faster and harder. “It’s hard to focus on doing both of our assignments when you moan that pretty,” he muttered, but he was breathless. you gasp, and your head drops back, and his heart skips a beat. “You’re… so damn distracting…” he comes closer, watching you with hungry eyes, and his free hand comes up, pushing wild blue flames away from his face. they hiss in submission, curling behind his ears and down his back as he sits on the bed beside your writhing form. “Should I make you another cock to suck on while I work to quieten you down?” but truth be told, he didn’t want to do that. if he couldn’t hear you moaning, whimpering, screaming out in ecstasy— then it wasn’t worth it.

you push your lower lip out in a heart-melting pout, trying to force your heavily lidded eyes to stay open so you can look up at him, “Mmm— missed you…” you pant, both of your hands grabbing at his hoodie, trying to pull him closer. “Missed— you—“

heart pounding, fingers twitching, Idia’s eyes are alight with joy to hear how needy you sounded, and feel you pawing for him. “Say that again.” it was almost a plea as he scoots closer, dropping the tablet against the ocean of sheets. both hands grab and cradle your face.

“I missed you!” you moan, eyes threatening to roll back from how furiously you were being stretched and filled.

the confession alone is enough to have his cock twitching against his thigh, and he leans closer, until he can feel your hot, little puffs of breath on his mouth. “You want me to stay with you?” you nod, squirming, “Beg me, baby.”

“Please, Idia, mmnn, please please stay with me!”

“And you don’t ever want to leave me?”

you shake your head, brows knitting together. your breathing was ragged, and your toes kept curling, the muscles in your thighs and your belly contracting— you were on the brink of another orgasm.

“You’ll… never… ever… leave me.” he rasps out, lips ghosting over yours as he forms each word. you’re desperate to taste his lips, your own parting and trying to catch his, whispering each word he says under your breath as if reciting a mantra. “You’re mine. You’re happy to be mine.”

“I’m happy, fuck, Idia, I’m so happy!” another nod, and you hold on to his hoodie for dear life, “Kiss me, please,” you whine, “kiss…”

it was beyond tempting, and his tongue flicks at his couplet in anticipation, but he merely stares at your expression as your eyes close, before pressing an open mouthed kiss to your temple. “You’re close, aren’t you, baby?” he asks, and he glances to the tablet on the bed as you nuzzle your face into his neck. you didn’t even mind when the flames of his bangs flicked at your cheeks, you peppered his cool skin in loving, sloppy kisses instead. “So close…” with your face smushed against his throat, you nod, fervent, and he reaches over to tap twice on the screen of his tablet.

the device slowed to a stop, and you began to fidget, babbling in protest and trying to rock against the toys. “W—wait, wait, wait, I—“

“Shh,” Idia replies, kissing all over your forehead, willowy digit tapping another button and swiping; the machine releases from your body, toys pulling out, and then falls against the bed, “shh, baby, hold on to it. Don’t let it slip,” he’s already shoving the device aside and peeling out of his hoodie, nudging himself between your trembling, open legs, “this one is mine. I want to fuck it out of you myself.”

you stare up at him, eyes glazed and mouth hanging open. you’re happy. “I’m yours.” you whimper.

you’re happy.

you’re so fucking happy to be his.

#idia #idia shroud #idia x reader #idia x you #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x you #idia smut #idia shroud smut #twised wonderland #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst imagine #twst x mc #twst x reader #twst x you #twst smut #kinktober 2022

2K notes · View notes

tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Stabbed

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort Characters: Scott, Virgil, Gordon

Proofreading? What’s proofreading? This was a ventfic I started a while ago, and as my muse decided today - my one free day to properly write this week! - was the best day to go curl up in a corner and refuse to interact with me because some unwelcome stress appeared, I prodded a little more at this and maybe there’s enough to post. Maybe. It’s not a darkfic, but it is kinda whumpy so sorry, Scott.

I have nothing specifically planned for this, so chances are this is just going to remain like this forever more. Sorry about that.

Scott gasped, staggering one step, two steps forward as something drove into his back. Something solid, digging in painfully.

In front of him, crumbling away beneath the toes of his boots, was the crevasse he’d just climbed out of, the woman clinging to his back for dear life – uninjured, but shaken and unable to climb out herself.

Whatever it was was still lodged in his back, sending distress signals to his brain, but before Scott could unscramble it enough for a translation, there was a hand on his shoulder. Steady but firm, heel of the palm dropped down over his shoulder blade.

“Sorry, hun,” the woman purred – was it the same women? She’d been shaken but this woman wasn’t shaken at all – sounding entirely unapologetic. “I appreciate the help, but I can’t have you blabbing.”

The pressure on – in – his back lessened abruptly, and the hand on his shoulder pushed.

Scott stumbled, earth gave way, and then he was falling, falling down into the darkness. Instinct had him reaching for his grapple, but his back screamed at the movement and against his wishes his hands went numb, grazing the equipment but failing to grasp it.

Something went crunch inside his chest as his fall came to an abrupt end. A rib or few, no doubt, but Scott had broken ribs before; a nuisance but as long as they didn’t poke holes anywhere they shouldn’t they’d be fine. He was more concerned about his back, and the fact that he hadn’t landed at the bottom, but rather an outcropping of rock that wasn’t big enough for all of him. Already, he could feel blood rushing to his head as it dangled off the end, and the tingly feeling in his fingers that meant the blood flow to his extremities was compromised by the way they, too, were hanging.

Squinting, he could see his legs dangling as well, leaving his torso and abdomen the only thing actually caught by the outcrop. If he shifted, his centre of balance would tip him off either forwards or backwards, and it was a long way down.

This was a problem. This was a big problem, and his screaming back just emphasised that. His baldric was trapped between his chest and the outcrop, meaning that he couldn’t reach the comm in that, and his wrist comm…

He tried to twitch his tingling fingers without moving the rest of his arms. It was not a successful move. A second attempt was no better, and on his third he felt himself start to slip.

That was a major hint that he should stop moving. Breathing didn’t help, either, his no doubt broken ribs sending stabs of pain through his chest to compliment the burning back. He still didn’t know for certain what had happened, but he was starting to get a reluctant inkling.

There were only so many things that hurt specifically like this and Scott was unfortunately no stranger to things stabbing into him, as much as he tried hard not to think about it. He redirected his concern to the fact that whatever it was, it didn’t feel like it was there any more.

Suddenly the weird and uncomfortable position he was dangling in felt like a best case scenario, even if he could do without all the blood also rushing to his head. But if it was pooling downwards, and the open wound was on the highest point of his body, maybe he wouldn’t bleed out quite so quickly.

He just had to hope one of his brothers realised something was wrong soon – but not so soon they also got attacked.

***

John telling him Scott had gone silent and wasn’t responding to hails had rushed Virgil into the fastest post-rescue clean up he’d ever done. They weren’t far apart in distance – Scott had made the hop from this rescue to the trapped climber when the call had come in – but if John was worried, then Virgil was definitely worried.

Scott not picking up calls was unusual, especially multiple. John had given them all enough earfuls about ignoring him that unless they had a really good reason, they always tried to respond immediately – the second eldest was not a brother to cross, and even Scott was wary enough of the consequences to at least agree to open comms. Then again, open comms worked both ways and meant Scott could check up on them, too.

The added warning that it looked like his suit had taken some damage and he was partway down the crevasse and not moving was really just the icing on the cake. Gordon had been slightly baleful at the snap to hurry up, until Virgil told him John thought Scott was in trouble, and then the aquanaut had jumped to work at a terrifyingly fast and efficient pace.

There was no room for slothfulness when a brother was in trouble. Record time saw Thunderbird Two loaded and ready to go, and she roared into the sky at his touch, nose pointed in the direction her sister had headed earlier.

Thunderbird One had made the journey in five minutes. Thunderbird Two made it in a shade under fifteen, going as fast as she could to minimise how long it took. It was still twenty minutes since John had made the call, and Scott still wasn’t answering. Scans and telemetry still put him down the crevasse, and Virgil didn’t bother to land.

Normally he’d keep control of Thunderbird Two and send Gordon down on the cable, but not this time. Not for Scott and the nagging sensation that he was needed. Gordon didn’t argue when control was passed to him, and Virgil wasted no time in getting down to the module and rigging himself into a harness to be lowered.

It was a fair way down, not because Scott was far into the crevasse but because Thunderbird Two had to stay high so she didn’t dislodge anything with her VTOL. They had no idea how secure or otherwise their brother’s position was, and if he fell from whatever was keeping him there, it was a very long way to the bottom. A fatal fall.

Virgil couldn’t take any chances.

The familiar flash of blue uniform was the first thing he noticed. The muddy crimson spreading across it was the second.

He accelerated his descent.

“Scott?” His voice was drowned out by the VTOL of his ‘bird above. If Scott heard him, there was no reaction. “Scott!”

Still nothing, and that red stain taunted him for the agonising seconds it took to draw level with the slumped form and properly get a look at his brother’s condition.

Bad was one way of putting it. “John, find us a local hospital,” was another.

There was a ragged hole in the back of Scott’s uniform, the epicentre of the blood. It barely missed the baldric, the margin looking painfully deliberate, but most concerning was the lack of an obvious case. Scott knew better than to take out foreign objects until it was time to be treated, and even if he’d mistakenly thought treatment was about to happen, there was no way he had reached whatever it was to extract it so cleanly.

Virgil felt cold at the implications. “Gordon, anyone else nearby?”

He didn’t wait for the answer as he secured himself to the rock face with a grapple and yanked an emergency first aid kit out of his own baldric. Scott hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as twitched, at his arrival, and with the quantity of blood he’d lost, if he wasn’t unconscious he might as well be.

“Negative, Virgil,” Gordon said, voice steady and threaded with something that sounded like the military had come to the fore. “How bad is it?”

“Bad.” Virgil didn’t have the mental capacity to spare on anything more than basic answers. “I’m secure; put her on autopilot and get a blood transfusion set up in the medbay.”

“F.A.B.” The line connecting him to his ‘bird wavered slightly at the change in piloting, but the grapple held him in place. Confident that Thunderbird Two would be ready for them, he wadded gauze and pressed it firmly to the hole in Scott’s back. There was no response, no indication that Scott was even subconsciously aware of their surroundings, and he strapped it down with medical tape.

A deployed med scanner told him that there were two broken ribs. Neither had snagged anything vital, but one was too close to Scott’s right lung for Virgil’s comfort. There was very little he could do about that hanging inside a crevasse, and the priority was to get him to medical treatment as fast as possible.

It was awkward, but Virgil was creative, and securing a harness over his limp ragdoll of a big brother to tie him firmly to the cable suspended from Thunderbird Two was not an option but a necessity. The gauze was already starting to discolour as the blood kept leaking out of the wound, and Virgil kept a careful eye on it as he triple-checked the line was secure and eased Scott off of the outcrop he was slung over.

The fact that his face was red wasn’t a reassurance; instead, it told him that Scott had been hanging down for long enough for the blood still in his body to pool in places it shouldn’t. There wasn’t much he could do about it without risking further blood flow out of his body, but as the harness took Scott’s weight and left him suspended next to him, Virgil reached out a hand and carefully tilted his head so it wasn’t hanging down.

Blue eyes stayed lightly closed, no sign of conscious or subconscious recognition at the touch, and Virgil’s fingers trembled. With his other hand he gripped the belt of Scott’s baldric, before sending up a call for them to be reeled in. Whether it was John, Gordon or EOS that did so he didn’t know. Didn’t care, either, because as the red drained from Scott’s face as blood retreated from pooling in his head it left too-white skin in its wake, which was almost worse.

Gordon’s language was colourful as he met them in the module, instantly fetching the hoverstretcher so that Scott could be gently lowered onto it as Virgil freed him from the harness and whisking him to the medbay as he extracted himself from his own straps.

It didn’t take long, but it was long enough for Gordon to have slipped Scott’s glove and bracer off of one arm and sliced the uniform open from wrist to shoulder, exposing the bare skin ready for the transfusion. No words were exchanged as Virgil took over, Gordon instead relocating to cut away the baldric and the uniform around the hole in his back, exposing the site in its entirely.

Beneath his feet, Thunderbird Two thrummed as Thunderbird Five directed her into movement. Virgil didn’t look away from his unconscious big brother for a single moment.

“This was a knife.” Gordon broke the silence, his voice icy. Virgil finished hooking Scott up to the blood bag and let it start flowing before looking over.

The aquanaut had removed the hastily plastered gauze, now saturated red, and was wiping away the worst of the blood from around the wound. It wasn’t free-flowing, but that didn’t reassure Virgil. After at least twenty minutes, Scott didn’t have much blood left he could afford to lose. With most of it currently pooled where he was lying on his front, there wasn’t much to continue leaking from his back.

Virgil didn’t question his diagnosis. When it came to things like that, Gordon knew more than he did. Instead, he reached for a clotting agent, determined to do everything in his power to lessen the amount of blood still trickling out, while Gordon applied a fresh gauze.

“Mind his ribs,” he warned as his younger brother pressed down firmly. “Two are broken.”

“Lungs?”

“Intact.” For now. Virgil hoped they could keep them that way.

There was little else he could do; a stab wound that deep needed surgery, and Thunderbird Two wasn’t an operating theatre. Virgil wasn’t a surgeon, either. “How far out are we, John?”

“Ten minutes,” his brother replied instantly. “I’ve passed on the results of the scan and they’re ready to take him straight in.”

“F.A.B.”

He didn’t want to let his brother out of his sight – not ever, and certainly not if he’d been stabbed – but Scott needed more treatment than he could give him. That didn’t make it easier to hand him over, blood bag still attached and a second prepped as the first ran low – and watch unfamiliar people whisk him away.

“Kayo’s on her way,” John told him. “Thunderbird One is locked down and secure. EOS is reviewing the security footage now to see what happened.”

“Some sonofagun stabbed him in the back’s what happened,” Gordon snapped. His fingers were curling and uncurling, never quite making a fist. They were also covered in blood. So were Virgil’s.

“To see who did it,” John clarified, not reacting to Gordon’s waspishness. “Until we know what we’re dealing with, stay together. And be careful.”

Virgil nodded, his voice somewhere stuck inside his throat, or maybe taken with Scott into the operating theatre. He should be trying to reassure Gordon, but Gordon had slipped into something less familiar, more sharp edges and dangerous, and Virgil trusted him to handle whatever was going on around them while he ran through everything in his head, double-checking that he’d done everything right, that he hadn’t missed anything in his initial treatment, that there was no mistake he'd made that might cost Scott’s life.

There was a hand on his arm. Amber eyes looked up at him, firm and steely. “Let’s get washed up,” Gordon said, although it wasn’t a suggestion. Dimly, Virgil knew it should be the other way around – he should be the one making the decisions – but Gordon oozed confidence and a knowledge that he’d be obeyed, and it felt safer just to follow. “Then we’ll go inside and wait for news.”

Wait to know if Scott would live. The words weren’t said, but Virgil heard them all the same.

He nodded numbly and let his younger brother guide him back inside his ‘bird.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #thunderwhump #drabbles #stabbed

49 notes · View notes

krisrix · 4 years ago

Text

Venite adoremus

FIC PREVIEW

In a wild series of overestimations and underestimations, I find myself without a finished chapter 1 of my @carryonthroughtheages fic to present to you all tonight... I’m so sorry!! I’ll try to get it up soon. In the meantime, please accept this small preview of what’s to come:

December 1726

Bleeding bloody hell.

I do my best to stave off the vulgar words ready to tumble free as I openly gawk at the man standing before me, both of us poised to advance upon the same residence. The croaks of my befuddlement at his presence leak out like dying crickets as I struggle to find a single appropriate thing to say.

“What are you doing here?” is what I blurt. While it’s a good deal better than greeting him with profanity, this is not an auspicious start for the evening.

Basilton arches one of his cruel eyebrows at me, and the back of my neck grows hot despite the winter chill. One might imagine that after seven years of having the misfortune of his acquaintance, I might be inured to the gesture. Heaven knows I’m as familiar with the catalog of his expressions of distaste as I am with the constellations which dot the night sky.

“Good evening, Mr Llewellyn,” he says with polite enunciation, and I know it to be spiteful; he rarely has the decency to call me anything other than my middle name, ‘Snow’.

Shame burns high in my cheeks as my namesake leisurely collects around us. I clear my throat and try to greet him anew: “Good evening, Your Grace.” I tip my head, disturbing the snow gathering on my hat. “I’m, ah, surprised to see you here.”

“Yes, I inferred that much.”

Duke Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is an infuriating specimen of a man, and it’s rare I ever mind saying so. As a matter of course, Basilton and I have spent a not-insignificant portion of our lives reminding anyone who will listen exactly how much we detest one another. Penny has all but barred me from mentioning Basilton in my letters. Back when he and I were only squabbling boys at Eton, our rivalry still in its infancy, Penny wrote:

‘As to the matters of the Marquess,’—for that was his title at the time—‘I should hope you take only the appropriate amount of offence when I profess to you that, regardless of all my deep sisterly affections for you, I cannot possibly bear to read another correspondence so heavily burdened with details about him. Save for in the circumstances of utmost importance, of which I can predict no such circumstances at all, I implore you to keep your mentions of him to no more than one-tenth the sum of words gracing the rest of your letter. Ideally, should you care enough for me to do the favour, you will also confine these words to a postscript. If you cannot comply, I am afraid you will leave me no choice but to burn all of your letters, for I can no longer bear the headaches they cause me.’

I begged Penny not to make me do such maths in my letter writing, which she was all too pleased to remind me of a mere year later when I became irretrievably invested in mapping the movements of the heavenly bodies. Given that this chosen course of study then only brought me further into Basilton’s very own path, for he too sought out such knowledge, my letters were well-calculated from then on. I had no disillusions that my dear childhood friend Penelope Bunce wouldn’t be good on her word.

In turn, I have become very skilled in slipping references to him in my letters in ways Penny might not berate me for. Then, I pour my unfiltered thoughts out into a diary before bed so that I have a private account of Basilton’s many misgivings. It’s important I keep a record—know thy enemy, and all that.

Faced with him right now, numerous possible complaints tumble about in my mind, but this is neither the time nor the place for such musings. Which brings me back to my initial query: “What brings you to London, Duke?” I ask with what little formality I can muster. Last I saw him, we were parting ways at Oxford when Michaelmas term came to a close. I assumed he’d be travelling to his estate for the holidays, and that I would be bestowed the Christmas miracle of not having to be reminded of him for a magnificent four weeks.

Basilton’s gaze slides away from me, which feels like both an insult and a relief. “Have you been drinking already? Surely even an addled mind could deduce why someone might be approaching another’s front gate.” Basilton gestures grandly with his walking cane, deploying a small tap to the iron structure as punctuation. “Open this for me, won’t you?”

“B-but—” I sputter. “You— This is the Teague residence!”

“How fortunate for me, seeing as I am a guest of their gathering this evening,” Basilton replies tersely, tapping the gate again.

“You were invited?” I grip the gate, though it is more for support than to submit to his demands. The sounds of music and laughter drifting out from the house sounded so pleasant when I initially turned onto the street, but now it hangs in the air like a mockery.

Basilton pulls in a long, slow breath through his nose; I tense in preparation for the imminent scathing words. “While I’ve never had good reason to think you a very smart man, Snow, I did at least expect you to maintain a certain level of basic mental capacity. Has this past term so thoroughly shaken you that your brains have dribbled out your ears?”

I suppose it was a rather foolish question. It’s not as if he’s the smell-feast between us, slipping into parties uninvited in search of food and connections, two types of nourishment we are all so enslaved to. And while I greatly enjoy using my mouth for the former, the arse kissing is where my abilities cease. It’s common knowledge by all those who know me that my command of my tongue is not ideal. I inherited not even half the persuasive oratory skills of my father.

My tongue feels fat and traitorous in my mouth as I continue my attempts to wrangle it. “I-I’m having a hard time fathoming what connection you could possibly have with Mr Teague’s household.”

“The same as you, surely.”

“Trixie?” My loudness causes Basilton to flinch. It’s a reaction I don’t elicit from him often, but one I like very much. Emboldened, I wedge myself between him and the gate. “You’re lying!”

All pretence of niceties has been stripped from him now. Baz’s face twists up into the wicked sneer I’ve come to know well over the years. “Why in God’s name would I be lying, you dundering blockhead?” he roars, drowning out the sounds of the party. The party which is happening without me. A party I was very much looking forward to!

“Because she is my friend, and you don’t know her!” I yell back.

Baz scoffs. “Perhaps you don’t know her all that well, then.”

Damn him!

Trixie Teague has been an acquaintance of mine since I was a young boy. She, Penelope, and I were neighbours up in Lancashire. Penny and I were always thick as two thieves, and while Trixie didn’t join us often, she was welcome. (On my behalf, at least. Penny’s, not as much.) We didn’t keep in touch once I came south for my studies, so it was a very pleasant surprise to have spotted her in London by chance one day. Her family relocated here two years ago, and I’ve enjoyed having her familiar face around whenever I’m in the city. She knows me. From before all of it—the posh schools, the politician father, the powdered wigs …

Zounds, I’m not even wearing a wig! This was supposed to be a relaxed, joyous evening of drinking and laughter to ring in the Christmas season! Before I have to attend all those important parties riddled with posturing and courting and intricate table settings.

And now, here is the villainous Duke to show me up and make a fool of me.

Like he always does!

#COTTA2020 #carryonthroughtheages #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #simon snow series #my writing #wip

35 notes · View notes

sunstoneyearned · 4 years ago

Text

GUIDELINES

You are required to read all of my pages carefully before interacting with this blog. This character is set in a Pokémon AU which deals with more mature themes than the source material. For that reason, this blog is strictly 18+. Keep in mind that my muse is a villain and I do not condone or encourage any of his beliefs or behaviors.

This blog is co-dependent with @moonstoneunturned if you follow me I strongly advise you to follow them as well. You won’t be disappointed.

TRIGGER WARNING FOR THE FOLLOWING:

Violence, blood, gore, physical and psychological abuse, toxic relationships, strong manipulative tendencies, foul language, drug/alcohol abuse, sexual themes, mind altering powers

GENERAL

This blog is highly private, selective and story focused. I will not partake in crack threads, magic anon shenanigans or dash commentary (may make exceptions with close friends).

I will not tolerate plagiarism of my character(s). I’ve been much too lenient in regards to this kind of bullshittery in the past. Believe me when I say you’re not as slick as you think you are and you will be called out.

Do not attempt to shoehorn your character(s) or headcanon(s) into my canon. Just talk to me (or @moonstoneunturned and in all likelihood we will be able to work something out.

Do not interact with any of my threads if you are not an active participant of them.

This blog is not a meme source. Do not reblog memes from me.

MUN

Keep in mind that I, the writer, am a 25 year old mentally ill woman with my own, real life obligations and priorities. I won’t be available to you every waking moment of every single day. Sometimes it takes me up to a week to respond to IMs and asks. Pestering me in an annoying, hostile or patronizing manner is not going to make me respond to you any quicker.

I don’t write with people that are under the age of 18. Minors will be irrevocably blocked on sight.

PLOTTING AND THREADS

Both the muse and i, the writer, are very picky with the interactions we choose to take on. Friends will always be prioritized when it comes to threads. It’s nothing personal, we just prefer to write with people we are comfortable and familiar with. Don’t let this deter you from reaching out, though. If you come to me with an open mind and a willingness to flesh out a solid plot I am almost guaranteed to be interested.

That being said, if you want to plot with me please be able to put forth some of your own ideas. It’s not fair to make your partner do all the heavy lifting all the time.

Physical altercations need to be plotted beforehand. Misael is very hostile and very dangerous. I’m not going to tone him down so that your muse can seem badass. There will always be consequences to pissing him off.

I reserve the right to drop a thread whenever for whatever reason.

Don't godmod.

SHIPPING, SMUT AND 18+ THEMES

I don’t write sexual threads on tumblr and I absolutely do not write them for your personal gratification. Don’t come into my IMs or inbox telling me how much you want my character to dick you down. It’s fucking weird.

Don’t assume your character is going to be close with Misael in any capacity. He is extremely hostile and hard to get along with.

With enough plotting I am willing to consider pre-established relationships.

Violence and gore are going to be very prevalent on this blog (along with many other heavy themes) but I have zero interest in entertaining any thinly veiled attempts at torture porn. That shit is so predictable and boring to me.

I will personally dump you in the nearest landfill if you come to me with an underage muse and try to instigate anything sexual.

While Misael may be promiscuous he is not open for shipping.

LITERACY AND FORMATTING

I don’t really have any strong opinions when it comes to formatting. I use icons sometimes, gifs other times, neither on occasions. You do you and i’ll do me.

I don’t really care if you don’t cut your threads. I try to remember to do it myself but it tends to slip my mind.

Please have a basic grasp of the English language—i can’t write with you if i can’t understand what you’re trying to convey to me.

That being said, English is not my first language. Don’t be afraid to correct me if i misspell something or use words which don’t make sense to you. I’m still learning :)

—Hart

#sunstoneyearnedrules

1 note · View note

madamhatter · 4 years ago

Text

Headcanon: The ‘Actress’ Motif and Sophie Hatter. Companion piece to Self-Perception, Self-Restraint, and Conflict in Sophie Hatter.

A theme that has been going throughout this blog’s writing (and in my interpretation of Sophie) has always been themes surrounding theater and performance. It ranges from addressing the young Hatter to work through ‘masks’ that best work per situation (this’ll date to pre-curse in canon and standard in others) to the stage that everyone works on to this thing we know as life.

She refers to herself as a cognizant actress to take on many shapes and forms, easily transitioning and adapting physically and emotionally (feelings, as opposed to long-term sentiments) whenever possible. Her adaptability isn’t as flexible when it comes to her own mentality, and emotions, which itself is jeopardized and rigid most of the time. However, what matters to her is how she is perceived and keeping all in order and in check as she is, after all, responsible for providing to others.

Emotional intimacy, in which she opens herself up to others, is among the hardest things for her to express. She has placed too many boundaries and walls around to find herself comfortable to do this in any normal circumstance. And this is a result of her own deliberate management and compartmentalization of her own person. Which is basically saying ‘her behaviors and thought process has harmed her normal processes and her own perception of herself. It is a removal from understanding herself entirely and placed it in the back of her mind. That is itself an entirely different topic, but it does relay back into this current headcanon. More details on that may be found here: Is your muse very emotionally intimate?

Performativity is an important asset to how Sophie functions. She has already withdrawn her own interests and future intentions at a relatively young age (book canon wise) in order to pursue raising and aiding her youngest sister to seek our her fortune. This also includes her other sister, the second-born, by keeping her in line and helping her navigate through her wants. Being perfectly honest, Sophie did raise both of her sisters and Fanny, her mother, gave her her rightfully deserved acknowledgement and credit for that after being missing for quite some time. Back on topic, this is the first instance to where Sophie begins her ‘performance’and reworking herself to better meet the needs of others. The first mask for her to where was the one meant for the most important people in her life: her sisters.

As for imagery, the most consistent would be masks, the stage, dancing (specific performance), marionettes (and being controlled by strings), the ‘audience’ being connected to overwhelming (and public) eyes always watching her and recitals. All of it revolves around how she sees herself in the real world interacting with everyone else, making her distinctively separated from the others around her. And boy, Sophie’s views on what she deserves and what others deserve is a topic.

The quote below is an excerpt that goes thoroughly into the mentioned imagery. It is specifically a dream sequence Sophie has that encapsulates her own experience and fears that ties all this together.

( White, red, and gray dance in the mind of the dancer; dissonance spinning her around by the wooden controller that fate held onto. Entangled by responsibilities, her feet drag, and the wires dig into her light skin along her neck, arms, legs, and across her exposed body. The same sequence, dance, and song – the marionette towed onto the stage takes her place – first position, heels touching, and feet outward with shoulders flat and body motionless.

A jerk to the left from the strings, one arm now up, and her feet are drawn to the fifth position. Assemblé, the left foot behind her right, gives a small kick forward, and once that rests, the right foot and arm continue the pattern. Within the same step, arabesque. Both arms out on her sides slightly angled forward to the house, left leg extending behind her body with her right leg firmly straightened. Before long, she turns to position.

Rond de jambe to create grace, tendu to keep simple, sissonne to change the pace, and passé to change her feet position a little. Each rigorous moment had a particular formation to follow, an order that must be obeyed. Performing for the faceless and unseeable, they still demand entertainment, and she must appease.

Echappé to the stars and emboité for impressions, each step now was exigent and the breath in her throat she held. Jumps, bends, snaps, it must be according to the motions of wires that compose and direct her required movements. Glistening her throat was sweat, trailing down a major muscle tensing, yet now she held the house in her palm.

One arm pulled back over her shoulder, back bent backward, her head craning back to greet the audience with her eyes, and her left up, pointing forward to the direction of the stage. A waltz dip for only one, a dance for two yet she must perform in solitude. Her greatest feat, making illusions of balance when impossible.

Rrrrriiiiippppp. All she could feel was cotton. Just like a well-loved and well-traveled toy, sometimes they tear after a while. White cotton plush tumbling out of the split down her abdomen, the chaotic tune in her ears now white noise, a stillness hangs over the theater. But why was it so hot? Why were her appendages twitching, and why now of all places? Could she not continue? She must–…

Her legs failed her – no, no, she failed them. The conductor to the show, the audience, the faces she knew and loved. Perfect form collapsing to the ground, her body descending to the wooden floor with her arms splayed and legs luxate stiffly.

How odd, this dream never ends like this. But, it’s a kinder dream then if it does. )

DRABBLE RESPONSE TO @/diverse-hearts’ ASK.

Now, onto another business revolving around this motif: the mental state of Sophie’s mind because the imagery, references, and comparisons whenever I write are connected to each character by third person narrative. Basically, any time I do write for a character, their unique particulars bleed through into the writing which makes it their own and provides the capacity available to experience what they’re thinking, going through, rationalizing/understanding something, etc.

Having this constant duality between the perceived world and the real world since young, Sophie’s mind oft bleeds into relying and using her active imagination, which was of the many things that were kept ‘in line’ as a child. It is something that is persistently with her as she has a tendency of vicariously living out different lives and imagining herself as a completely different person or face (thank you HMC musical for validating this HC). But, she would most often take on imagining what other people life and what kind of fun and excitement and fortune was in their lives. Case and point: the entirety of chapter 1 where Sophie spends her time coping from her isolation by talking to her hats.

Her mental stage is working around the loss of herself and the opportunities, time, and chances for herself. In some cases, thinking of life in a certain way can help minimize the suffering and pain that one endures if they don’t want to come to terms. However, there comes the fact that it is more damaging to the person the longer they continue with their ways. Sophie falls underneath this umbrella since her own coping is essentially one fitted to how she was originally responding to traumas as a child. She has become a reclusive, nervous wreck of a person (book canon) that refuses to leave home and works through executive dysfunction whenever she prompts herself to leave the house or do something outside of her schedule (house-work-sleep). This only happens once she is officially hired as an apprentice under Fanny and her sisters both leave for their apprenticeships. But, judging from what Martha tells her, Sophie’s tendency to wallow and hide didn’t suddenly appear. It’s been here and there that both sisters comment on it. Even when she tells herself that she should go, it’s up to her and she knows, it is then where she falls back to excuse certain things and continue only for the sake of someone needs to work.

And that itself is relatively childish. There are numerous gaps in her to understand herself and assess her own self that she tends to fall back into this box of where she’s been already used. To her, it’s easier to play upon the part assigned to her as opposed to seeking herself out and shedding off this role. It’s only until she is cursed beyond recognition that she, finally, goes out for her own and is remarkably accepting of the situation. (Which, really, speaks enough about Sophie’s mental health).

With all the emotional maturity and responsibility to help and guide others, however, there is freshness and uncomfortable feeling she carries when it comes to acknowledging her divided self. It is an untreated wound and unacknowledged creation made by her household. it is the ‘elephant in the room’ that even her sisters repeatedly tell her about (about her being exploited and being taken advantage of).

It could be simply said that Sophie, overall, confronts herself with over-simplifications of her own feelings and thoughts, despite showing intense and deep questioning and dislike. The actual her that wishes to speak cannot when the role she plays does not find need for it. With this in mind, this perpetuates frustrations and even more inclination to make skewed, if not worrisome, conclusions. If she could, she would rather split herself to play different roles just like what she does and ignore what is brewing inside her mind. Which is why, for verses including Sophie crossdressing (Simeon), or in disguise (ie: Myrtle in TW), this side of her is explored much more as for the fact she’s as willing and open to doing it

One of the best examples to elaborate on this Sophie’s confrontation of death and what she views it as. Taking into account from the previous HC post, there are two variations to how Sophie may view a particular topic (but end with the same results, which is her belief). The two accounts below carries the romanticize versus poison parts of herself.

To truly embrace of total removal of control, that was the final evidence needed to show that one was willing to submit their mortality in the hands of someone else.

A cold someone else, whose of the remains of all mankind, placid bones that caress against still-warm skin, cradling mortal’s falling form. Garments of black hug their rib cage, hollowed eyes gazing tenderly, they hold humanity and allow for the mortal to lay all weight and burdens into their hold. Bowing now from the dance of life, death takes the final lead in the danse macabre.

Sophie hopes at the time death greets her, when she submits herself unwillingly or willingly to the final number in their performance, that they were beautiful.

But, it was yet the step for that – as she never knew when it’d be and countless times, she could’ve. To when she would’ve been enveloped in unconditional acceptance, for the first time in her life, it was not yet time. For now, it was a long waltz with the grim reaper who waited for her.

Yet, the actress returns to form, facing the mirror once more as the curtains drew back on her neck.

ACT. ???? - SILVER STIGMATA.

Context: Sophie Hatter, after doing a night’s work as Simeon, is standing before her bathroom mirror, in a state of undress. Her mind right now is blurred between the current act of Simeon and the act of Sophie. She is looking over the parts of herself that she keeps hidden (her scars) and her own bareness has her examining herself. While lost in this space, she slowly succumbs to revisiting her true self, locked away in mind.

Part of her wants to laugh. How dare he have the audacity he had to think she’d be bothered by death? [...] Death was the only guarantee she had in her life besides her future as a failure.

DRABBLE RESPONSE TO @/diverse-hearts’ ASK.

Context: Sophie made a reckless decision during one of the Port Mafia’s events to take on an incoming threat that almost cost her life. Chuuya is reprimanding her while she’s laying out in a hospital, a place that is uncomfortable for her and reveals her usually hidden hostility and anger.

While elaborate in description and playing along with Sophie’s imagination (and thoughts), the ending results are still the same: death is the only other variable in her life promised to her. She may look at it lovingly and dream it or scoff and bitterly remark it as if ‘that’s how life is.’ Both still embrace it, which is reducing the actual gravity and weight of the situation of her almost dying and the thought of herself dying.

(For those curious: Sophie’s views on death for others is entirely different and she’s fearful of it for others. Relates back to both of her parents’ early death and her witnessing her father succumb to ailment while she spent most of her time caring for him.)

Anyways, that’s a lot for this one post ---!

#( in which we learn about the eldest ; headcanons )#death idealization tw #[ GOD DAMN FINALLY TUMBLR WORKS WITH ME ]#[ anyways. welcome 2 my shitshow of a post. ]

2 notes · View notes

heythatpenguinhere · 5 years ago

Text

By Your Side

*Voahahaha! I come forth with more angsty-romance Eleteo for your day! Inspired yet again by real life circumstances with some magical touches to it. Hope you all enjoy! If you have any topics or ideas for me to write on, comment below or message me! Thanks for the support <3

Laying in the doctor’s suite was not how Elena wanted to start her day. She wasn’t too fond of hospitals or clinics as she was headstrong often enough to get by without needing them. She wasn’t too proud to admit when she really, really needed to visit one however, for a sprained ankle or fever could be more damaging if left untreated. But she was a healthy woman! At 18 years she was the picture of health, always finding time to get some exercise of some sort even on royal business days. Her appetite was large and she ate a wide variety of foods to keep a balance. She had never had anything to cause concern for all her life, even if she had been imprisoned in a magical amulet for 41 years and magic pumped through her veins.

Then one day, Elena began to start feeling strange. It had started minor and could have almost been lost in her daily musings. She had begun to have headaches, feel more fatigued, nauseous, she was off balance (more so than normal) and dizzy, and had a constant on and off pain in her lower abdomen. She didn’t think they were anything too concerning though even then; surely she was dealing with “female stuff” and growing. It hadn’t impeded her daily functions much either so there was no real need to create a fuss. She was strong and would chug through just fine.

“Ha ha! I told you I’d be able to get it this time!” Elena shouted in glee.

The Crown Princess and her royal wizard were practicing magic in the gardens currently as they did from time to time. It was becoming a habit to fill quiet afternoons with rambunctious practice sessions to grow her magic skills better. Her concentration was improving and her emotions weren’t ruling her as often and for that she had to thank her friend.

“I’m impressed Elena! You are really getting the hang of your magic everyday more and more.” Mateo said as he lowered his tamborita.

“Ah, I know! I can almost fully channel these crazy emotions into doing what I want. No more magical chaos.” She said smugly wiping her shoulder off.

Behind them a garden statue crashed into a bush below suddenly, startling the two friends.

“Okay… no magical chaos starting now.” She said wincing at the damage she had inflicted in the royal gardens… again.

Mateo shook his head laughing, “Let’s get this cleaned up, shall we?” He said amused and hit his tamborita with the right spell to fix the statue good as new.

Elena sighed, “Thanks Mateo. This palace would be a wreck without you.” She said and went to put a hand on his shoulder when a stab of pain hit her lower side.

She doubled over a little and her hand subconsciously reached for the site of the pain. Mateo didn’t miss a beat.

“Elena! Are you alright?!” He gasped and put his arms around her shoulders to steady her.

The princess’ head was spinning slightly, but the pain had dulled a bit as she stood up straighter.

“Ugh...Thanks Mateo. I’m not too sure what happened. Just a bit of pain though, so maybe I overworked myself a little today.” She said holding her head to attempt and stop the spinning in her head.

Mateo looked at her with uncertainty still; his green eyes glowed sadly. His friend had doubled over rather roughly and she had seemed to reach for her lower side… Was she still in pain? Did she also have a headache as she was now holding her head? It wasn’t that he thought she was lying, but he knew that being as strong and independent as she was that she did sometimes downplay the severity of any personal issues. The last thing he wanted was for Elena to be suffering in silence all alone. She had spent enough time alone in that amulet, he wanted to make sure she never felt isolated again.

Frowning at her still weak state he spoke up again, “Maybe I should take you to get checked up?”

Her face said it all.

“Hey, I just wanna be careful. I’ll go with you if you want? Please. For me Elena? I would feel much better if you did.” He said with a compassionate look that tugged her heart. She could never say no when he did that.

She sighed, “Fine. I’ll go get checked I guess.”

Mateo smiled at the small victory. He cared so deeply for his amiga and just wanted to ensure she was well and able to function. He would never forgive himself if she was ill and he ignored it. Now they would go to the doctor and she would be up and better in no time.

“Thank you. Now let’s get you to the clinic.” He said, squeezing her shoulders and she nodded softly.

She moved to begin walking and another wave of dizziness hit her hard. She couldn’t hide the swaying her body did and soon Mateo was grasping her body again.

“Okay, maybe we go slowly.” Elena said, slightly groggy as the world seemed to pivot around her; colors blurring together.

Now the royal wizard was beginning to get more anxious. He hadn’t seen Elena weak and helpless too many times before and it never failed to send warning alarms in his head. Without another word he swooped her legs from under her and carried her in his arms.

“Mateo...You...You don’t have to c-carry me… I-I’ll be fine…” She said, willing the dizziness to stop.

He shook his head, “You just hang tight okay? I’ll get you there soon Elena. You’re going to be alright.” He said, unsure whether he was fully speaking to her or himself.

Elena lay on the soft bed in the royal doctor’s suite for the doctor to arrive. Her dizziness had subsided thankfully, but she still felt a dull cramping feeling and slight nausea as she tried to relax her body and wait. Mateo sat faithfully by her side as promised; elbows leaned on his knees and his head resting in his palms. He would occasionally look over at her to see if she was in pain or had fallen asleep. He had walked as quickly and as gently as he could to assure she would arrive in a timely manner. He had to dodge several palace staff and guards who expressed concern for the princess, reassuring them that she was just a little under the weather and needed rest.

He would be lying though if he said he wasn’t worried. He had noticed she was in pain. He had noticed she was in discomfort and dozing in and out of sleep; very out of character for her. She always had bundles of energy to go around and was ready to go at any moment. He hoped the doctor would have some answers and be able to tell them what was ailing the princess. He had hope, however, that it was simply a bug or cold that she would be able to sleep off. She was the strongest person he knew and he had no doubt she would find herself back on her feet as soon as she could. Mateo would do his best to ensure that she actually rested until that point.

“Mateo?” Elena said looking at her friend who was clearly worried and in his own mind.

Mateo looked up at her and his thoughts ceased for a moment at the unsure look on her face. “Something wrong?” He asked her, rubbing his robes nervously.

She shook her head, “Not exactly...Mateo… What if there is a chance that I’m like sick-sick?” She said with a frown.

The thought didn’t sit well with him.

“Don’t think about that. Let’s just wait to see what the doctor says alright?” He said and grabbed the hand closest to him tightly.

She was Elena. There was no way she wasn’t okay. To see her questioning herself though and see her so uncertain, broke his heart. Her in pain to any capacity hurt him. He would literally do anything to take her pain anyway and ease her sorrows to whatever capacity he could. He would calm her stresses and emotions and help her find peace in whatever situation because of who she was to him. She was like his light whether she realized it or not. Everything he was, was because of her.

As Mateo went to open his mouth and spill forth more of his heart, the doctor arrived.

The doctor was an older woman with a kind face; hair pulled up and paper pad in hand for notes and references to be made. She smiled at the pair and took a seat next to the bed.

“Crown Princess Elena Castillo-Flores, it is always a surprise to see you here your majesty.” She said teasingly.

“Oh believe me, it’s a surprise to us too.” Mateo said earning a look from Elena that made him shut up instantly.

“Royal Wizard Mateo de Alva, it is a pleasure to see you as well.” She said amused to note him by the princess’ side and eyeing their connected hands.

Mateo blushed brightly and coughed nervously while releasing Elena’s hand. “A-A pleasure to see you as well.”

Mateo stayed by Elena’s side as she explained her symptoms. He was deeply troubled to learn this had been going on a while now and she hadn’t alerted anyone. The doctor nodded, taking notes and asking her own questions to elaborate on what the princess was feeling. She took the princess’ vitals and checked her basic wellness. When it came time to do a more in-depth evaluation, she politely asked Mateo to give them some privacy.

Mateo quickly stood up, awkwardly bumping into the chair he was in before casting a shy smile of encouragement to Elena. She eagerly returned it, hoping that it would be enough to ease some of his concerns for she knew he had to have them. She felt slight guilt in not opening up to him about what she was feeling earlier on, after all they were best friends. Best friends tell each other everything, but for some reason she had held herself back from letting him know. She owed him an apology for sure and made a mental note to do so as soon as she could.

“Alright Princess Elena have you been experiencing any other symptoms? Anything pertaining to your cycles perhaps?” The doctor kindly asked, feathered pen ready to notate.

Elena frowned a bit, “I mean… I guess so actually. More painful for sure and different then I recall them to be.”

The doctor stopped noting and leaned closer to Elena. “Would you please elaborate a bit more? I think we might have to look into what’s troubling you a bit differently.”

Numbness would probably be the way to describe how Elena was feeling. Her mind was blank, save for the words that the Doctor had spoken mere seconds ago.

“I...I what?” She spoke, unsure if it was anger or despair clawing its way up her throat.

The Doctor put her hand on the Princess’ shoulder tenderly, before repeating herself. “Princess Elena… Your illness is probably affecting your reproductive system, causing all these symptoms, and while we won’t know until testing confirms it… I am unsure if you will be able to have children… I am terribly, terribly sorry. We will do everything we can to make that possible for you.”

Elena didn’t move. She didn’t blink or respond in anyway to the doctor’s words. The doctor could feel the heaviness in the room and knew that this was a horrible thing to be told; she couldn’t imagine how the princess was feeling. She wouldn’t have to imagine for long, because soon the room darkened and the wind began to blow harshly from an unseen source. The princess’ dress turned a deep purple although her face betrayed no sign of emotion.

The doctor braced herself, grabbing items that flew through the air. She knew that the princess was magical and her abilities sometimes seeped into the environment around her with little control; she didn’t know what to do when it happened though.

As if sensing the princess’ distress or perhaps the magic radiating, Mateo burst through the doors to the clinic. The wind was raging harder now and the Doctor had ducked behind her chair by the time Mateo confirmed that the magic outburst was indeed Elena’s doing. In the center of the storm, sat Elena staring off into blank space; dress a dark purple shade he hadn’t seen before. Something had set the princess’ mood off so drastically that her anxiety had turned into a panic or despair he had only witnessed perhaps a very small amount of times. If Elena didn’t calm down soon, she would destroy the clinic and hurt someone…

He slowly made his way over to her, shielding himself from the wind with his arms. “Elena! Elena listen to me! Whatever is going on, you are going to be okay!” He started shouting to try and get through to her.

She turned to face him and he noticed tears pooled, but not falling. He finally reached her side and grabbed her clasped hands tightly.

“Elena, listen to me please. It kills me to see you like this, but you need to calm down. You need to try and relax the magic inside you. I don’t know what is hurting you so badly, but I promise you Elena I will do anything I can to erase it; I will stay by your side. No matter what you face, I will face it. Whatever you have to carry, I will carry it too. You will never be alone again and I will stop at nothing to make sure you are alright. Elena, amiga, please believe me.” He said, struggling over the wind and emotions to speak and moving his hands to now cup her face.

Looking straight into his emerald eyes, something in Elena broke and the magic swirling from within her stopped. Items fell to the ground and the light returned to the room as only the breathing of Mateo and the Princess could be heard.

“M-Mateo…” She whimpered and fell into his arms harshly.

In all the years of knowing her, he hadn’t seen her in this much pain openly around him. He knew she grieved, hurt, and feared, but she didn’t show it too much to the public around her. Whether she felt like she had to handle it on her own or just didn’t want to burden others, he didn’t know. What he did know was that Elena has hurting badly and didn’t know how to process what she was feeling. Why she was feeling like that was another question…

He rubbed her back tenderly and whispered encouragements and beyond in the close space between them. Her tears began to fall and he just held her as close as he could to let her know she wasn’t alone in this moment.

“She doesn’t know...S-She doesn’t know if I can...h-have a family one day…” Elena said through sobs.

Mateo’s eyes closed. God no. Not Elena… If anyone deserved happiness and the chance to have a family of her own one day, it was her. She deserved to marry a wonderful man and have a child; an heir to the throne that she would love unconditionally. He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling. Elena loved children. She would always make time to greet and even play with the Avaloran children she encountered. She had such a child-like spirit and protectiveness to her that would be perfect as a mother. The thought of her being unable to have something like that, deeply hurt him even more as he watched her suffer.

“Oh Elena... “ He said. He didn’t know what to say honestly.

“How will I have an heir to the throne now? Who would even want to marry me if I can’t give them kids?” She began to say, dress turning a blue color with her despair.

“Don’t say that. Any man would be beyond lucky to have you in their lives, children or no children. Your worth stretches beyond securing an heir one day. You are the most wonderful woman I have ever known and this will not change that. It won’t change how anyone sees you or their capacity to love you.” He said more stern this time and gazing into her eyes.

He wanted her to know that he meant what he said and would never leave her.

Elena hiccuped as her sobs began to relax a bit more. He hoped that his words brought her some relief. She began to wipe her face of the tears.

“Mateo. Thank you.” She said very seriously.

He smiled at her adoringly. “Elena, I meant every word. I won’t leave your side. We will figure things out and I will do everything in my power. Have hope Elena. But again know that this doesn’t change anything about you to me. You are still incredible. You are lovely and wonderful. You are...beautiful.” He said then blushing heavily.

Her cheeks took on a rosy tint as well. “Thanks.” She said as she was trying to process his words. He thought she was beautiful?

“Well, like...I mean… You are…” He tripped over his words again.

“So you aren’t just saying that to make me feel better?” She said with a slight smile.

He immediately shook his head, “Nope. I mean it… If that’s okay with you.”

She smiled. Mateo, with his many quirks and charm, could be the only person outside her family that she wouldn’t mind saying that seriously. He thought she was beautiful. Even after she almost destroyed the room they were in and even after finding out she may not be able to be a mother, he still saw her as if nothing had changed. She wasn’t flawed or damaged in anyway to him and he had vowed many times to stay by her side…

He truly cared about her and she knew it. What other man would be as caring, patient, loving, gracious, forgiving, and more, than him? He would always be there for her and she knew he would keep his promises. Children or not, he would move heaven and hell to make it at least a possibility for her, because he cared about her and knew it was something she wanted one day.

“You may regret saying those words Mateo, because I don’t ever plan to let you go in anyway.” She said feeling much more confident and relaxed than before.

He smiled himself before hugging her again. “I’ll hold you to it. And for the record I for one would never be put off by this potential…If that’s the way things turned out to be I mean.” He stated, hoping she would catch the meaning.

Her eyes shined, “That is something that is very good to know, just in case of course.” She said and winked at him.

Mateo turned a brilliant red before moving on to encourage her further. “Elena have hope. It isn’t set in stone. I know that things will work out for good. You deserve this happiness in your life.”

She took a deep breath before taking his hands. “Whatever the case, I know you’ll be with me and that is more than enough to give me strength and hope. But just so you know, I am happy. I’m happy with you.”

The two stared at each other deeply. No exact feelings were stated and yet there was a new air around them; an understanding. As they faced each other, they knew that together they could face anything. They would always be together and nothing would change that.

“Mateo! Can you please wake Luz?” Came the voice of the Queen of Avalor. She was pulling her robe on over her nightgown and began to brush her hair by her vanity.

“You got it mi amor. By the way, you look beautiful as always.” He said, sneaking a kiss on her cheek as he went to the small crib located in their room.

As she brushed her hair, she watched her amazing husband tickling their daughter to wake. She could hear her little squeals and laughter and the sound never failed to make her heart melt. The sight of her daughter, which she never thought would happen, and her husband (who was still her best friend) was perfect. She had hope and like Mateo promised, all worked out for good and he had more than proven that he would never, ever leave her side.

#Elena of Avalor #eleteo #elena castillo flores #eoa #mateo de alva #mateo #elena #fanfic #romance #angst

24 notes · View notes

lavenderbones22 · 6 years ago

Text

Teenage Tricks- Ben Hardy

Summary: Eighteen year old Ben is about to take the next step in his relationship but there's one problem, he has no idea what he's doing.

Requested: 'Heya ! Could you exchange the role and write some smut about ben being a virgin and making love with the reader who is not ? I always wanted to read one like this, please add some fluff with the smut '

Word Count: 3142

-------------

He was good at a lot of things like rugby, drama and getting drunk with his mates on the weekend but there was one thing that Ben wasn't so good at. Well, saying he wasn't good at it was a bit of a stretch because the truth was he had never actually done it. Sex, that is.

There wasn't even a reason as to why he was still a virgin at the age of eighteen, he just was. Most of his mates had lost their virginity (a few he suspected were lying but he had decided not to push them on it) but that still didn't make Ben feel like he had to conform.

He even had a girlfriend.

They'd been together for nearing two months now and things were going well. She went to the school down the road and was still seventeen, eighteen in the autumn. He'd seen her one day when she walked into the donut shop he sometimes hung around with his mates after school and knew then that he had to get to know her.

It was the way she spoke, how she walked, the words she used to describe the things she loved and Ben hoped that one day in the not so distant future, he too would be on that list of things she loved.

She always wore her hair straight even thought it was naturally curly and she loved to wear frilly socks with her school shoes. She was endearing and she had Ben falling head over heels quicker than he was willing to admit.

They would make out in the back of his car on Thursday afternoons when her mum was working and Ben would drive her home. He'd park in the carpark of the abandoned theme park fifteen minutes away from their school district and lose themselves in one another for a little while.

She'd sucked his dick endless times and he'd eaten her out so much he'd often find himself daydreaming about doing so in the middle of class. And although they'd gotten to know each other in those sorts of ways, they had yet to actually see one another naked.

She hadn't said as much, but she had suspected that he was a virgin.

It wasn't one thing that had made her think that, but just a combination of a bunch of things. He'd never spoken to her about previous encounters with other people but Ben was annoyingly aware of her ex-boyfriend. She had also tried a couple of times to take things further, asking him things like if he had any condoms or which position he liked the best when having sex but he always avoided the questions or changed the subject.

She had been trying to ask him for a couple of weeks now, never knowing how to bring it up but it was a Friday night at his house when she decided to finally broach the subject.

"Ben?"

"Mmm?" He looked over at her, they were watching Wedding Crasher's and snuggling on his bed. His parents were out at a function, his siblings off with friends.

"Can I ask you a question?"

His heart skipped a beat at her words, he knew the question she wanted to ask him and he knew it had been a long time coming.

"Erm, sure." He shifted away from her slightly, her heart sinking as he did. He was uncomfortable, she could tell.

"Please don't be upset with me for asking this," she began, fiddling with her fingers in her lap as she watched him violently try to avoid her eye contact. "Ben, erm, are you a virgin?"

Silence.

She watched him, her wide eyes waiting on his reaction to her question. His shifting gaze, deep breaths, messy hair that had become of his hands running through it nervously. He was moving about uncomfortably on the bed until he finally climbed off the other side. "Ben wait!" She leaned forward trying to grasp his arm but he was quickly out of reach. She could feel herself about to cry, she hadn't meant to upset him, it was the last thing in the world that she wanted.

"How long exactly had you been waiting to ask me that? Huh?" His walls were up and this defensiveness was unbecoming.

He was stood on the other side of his bedroom near his wardrobe while she sat on her knees in the middle of his bed.

He had to admit though that she looked fucking beautiful.

She started to stress, not knowing what to say next. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ma-"

"Stop." His rudeness took her by surprise, but needless to say she had stopped speaking.

He didn't know what overcame him, he suddenly had this intense feeling he couldn't describe. It was something conjured from the anger he felt about her asking him that question but also the deep desire he had to just fuck her and fuck her hard.

"Ben?" Her innocent voice filled his head, bringing him right back down to reality and in that room with her.

She portrayed the innocent school girl act pretty well but he knew her better than that. He knew how thirsty she was for his cock and he was ready to give that to her.

"I am a virgin," he started, walking closer to her. She swallowed hard, she hadn't seen him like this ever before and it was making her nervous...and horny. "You want to change that?"

His voice had deepened tremendously as the lust and hunger consumed him, his eyes turning nearly black as he mentally undressed her. He felt himself getting hard under his joggers so he decided to palm himself, giving her the message loud and clear that by the end of the night he would no longer be a virgin.

She was shocked and confused with his sudden turnaround. Was he serious? Or was he just trying to act tough in front of her because she'd brought it up.

"Ben...we do-"

"I want to," he spoke confidently, sauntering closer to her slowly. "I've been wanting to for a while actually," his voice was softer now as he realised what was about to happen.

Her huge eyes that he always likened to that of an anime character stared up at him and that moment just confirmed this whole thing for him; he was going to make love to this girl no matter what.

"That is if you do, of course," he was a gentleman and although he was fairly inexperienced and she was not that didn't mean he could throw away his manners.

"Of course I do Ben," she smiled sweetly. "I want to feel you in a way no girl has before," she leaned up on her knees, he stepped over to the bed. "I want to be your first."

He gulped. "I'm a tad nervous," he chuckled.

Her soft hands ran up the sides of his neck and she kissed him gently. "Don't be, it's just me." Her hands left his neck and fell down to his chest, stroking it through the black jumper he was wearing, returning the smile he gave her.

"Just because you're a guy, that doesn't mean you should be questioned for your reasonings behind this," she mused, moving her fingers down to the hem of his jumper and inching her fingers under neath it. He was watching her, she was focusing on the task at hand. "So I'm not going to ask you why," she looked up at him. "I'll just guide you through this and I know you'll do an amazing job!" She kissed him once more and pushed his jumper up his well defined chest.

Ben hadn't felt this loved in a really long time, possibly ever, and his heart warmed with every word she was saying. She was so kind and had a heart of gold; he truly thought that he was falling in love with her.

But he knew he was going to the second he saw her.

His t-shirt had gone with his jumper, leaving him in front of her bare chested. Sure, she'd seen his chest many, many times but in this capacity and before they were about to do this together, it felt different and turned her on so much more.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him back onto the bed with her. She could tell that Ben was nervous but so far he was doing a good job at composing himself.

He laid her down gently onto the pillows and connected their mouths. They lost themselves in a hot, passionate kiss for a few minutes, hands wandering each other's bodies, warming each other up. He was on top of her now, her top was off leaving her in her bra and leggings. He was biting and stroking her neck with his tongue, her sweet, girly moans falling into the bedroom.

He was so glad his family wasn't home.

Ben had watched enough porn videos to have a fairly good idea on how to fuck a woman well enough to make her come. He didn't expect to get it right the first time but he sure as hell was going to try.

"Take these off," she instructed him innocuously. Ben didn't hesitate, he pulled his joggers and his underwear down his thick thighs and off of his legs, throwing them to the end of the bed. She swallowed excitedly as she stared down at him standing in front of her. He definitely had the equipment, he just needed to learn how to use it properly.

All of the fears he had harboured about not being good enough at it, not knowing how to do it properly, being judged, they all had gone away and the feeling he felt most was excitement. The arousal was flowing rich through his veins unlike anything he'd ever felt before. His hands bracketed her small waist as his mouth met hers, sliding his hands up and down her sides stroking her gently while they kissed hotly.

She indicated with her eyes that she wanted her pants gone, so Ben happily obliged. Her pussy never ceased to amaze him; all pink and luscious there waiting for him. He considered himself the luckiest guy in the world to get to lose his virginity to the hottest girl in town.

Leaning back over her, he kissed each of her nipples followed by a twirl of his tongue around the bud of each. She moaned, running her hands through his blonde hair. He sat back, leaning on his shins, hands firmly placed on each of her breasts, massaging them. "I love your hands on my tits baby," she cooed. It was the bit of her lip that had nearly done him in mixed with the way she eyed him like he was a meal she was about to devour. Because yeah, he was.

"Can we swap?" she leaned up on her elbows, eyeing him then his cock. "I want it in my mouth first."

So they swapped spots, Ben now laying on his back while her lips wrapped around the head of his dick. He loved it when she gave him head, she was so damn good at it. After swirling her tongue around his head, she took him fully into her throat making him groan in desire. Bobbing her head up and down, she used a few upward strokes where her mouth couldn't reach; he was simply too big for her to fit inside of her mouth completely. She looked up at him while she continued to run her tongue around his length, her saliva making his dick nice and slippery.

He nearly came right then an there at that sight. Those huge eyes looking at him the way that they were, it was almost too much. Almost.

She loved watching him reacting to her, his inner battle with trying to hold on but desperately wanting to spurt out all over her hand, in her mouth. His head had fallen back now, groans emanating from his pink lips. She felt everything so deeply, the muscles in her pussy clenching with want and anticipation at the idea of him being buried in there finally. The veins on his abdomen that lead to his pubic region were engorged with blood and while she pumped him with her hand, she leant up and licked along each of those veins. She ran her finger along one of them, dragging it down and swirling it around the head of his dick, pre cum making it glisten in the light of his bedroom; he had such a nice, fat cock.

It was the thought of him penetrating her in a few moments time that made her exceptionally wet. She reached down between her legs and started to stroke herself. Her clit, dipping her fingers occasionally between her folds. She was so turned on she didn't even know how to handle it.

"Fuck," he moaned, having caught sight of what she was doing. Beating the tip of her tongue on the tip of him whilst beating her fingers against her clit. "Playing with your pussy, naughty girl."

She giggled, pulling away from what she was doing for a moment. "I just needed stimulation," she kissed his tip. "I just need you to fuck me," her voice vibrated against him, the feeling was mental.

"Climb on then," he told her.

With a grin from ear to ear, she straddled Ben's hips. She would start them off so he could get used to the feeling then when he was ready, they'd swap spots.

"Ready?" she asked him, her hand around his cock ready to line up at her entrance. Ben nodded, he was beyond ready at this point.

She sank down onto him, their moans and groans mixing together at the feeling of them finally joined in this way. The only word Ben could say was fuck, over and over again. He hadn't ever felt anything like this before; she felt amazing.

"I'm going to start moving now," she told him once he was inside her. He stretched her wider than she had ever been before, her ex boyfriend only being half of his size, so although it was new for him, this was new in a way for her as well.

She started sinking up and down on his cock, palming her breasts as she did so. He felt so fucking good inside of her like this. Ben's hands eventually found their way to her waist, guiding her in the direction he wanted her to go; he was getting the hang of things and fast. Moving her hips in circles created an intense sensation deep inside of him. Her loud moans only escalated what he was feeling, watching her too didn't help. She was amazing, so confident and comfortable in her own skin. She had a light sheen of sweat covering her milky skin but he thought that it only made her look sexier. He liked knowing he was the cause of it.

"I can't believe I waited so long," he breathed.

"It's okay baby, it's happening and it won't ever stop."

Leaning back with her hands on his thighs he began thrusting up into her. "Oh fuck Ben," she cried. "Y-yeah, keep going like that." It was a divine feeling and it was bringing her closer and closer to her orgasm. She hadn't told him yet, but her favourite way to be fucked was hard and she lived for the feeling of a dick ramming inside of her relentlessly.

Her voice became higher the harder he fucked her. Her fingernails were digging into his thighs but the pain of it only turned him on further. His cock kept sliding in and out of her pussy, the sounds of her wetness indicating just how fucking much she was enjoying this. "Ohhh yeah, fuckk, oh god, Ben..." she brought her eyes back to him, they were nearly black. "I'm gonna come."

He couldn't believe it. He'd actually managed to bring her to the point of orgasm the first time they'd made love. He was so proud of himself!

"Come on baby," he coaxed her. "Just let go."

Previous to this he hadn't been sure what he thought about dirty talk. He'd thought he would feel far to awkward to say those sorts of things out loud but in the heat of the moment the words just literally came rolling out of his mouth.

Her wails and cries let him know she was coming and what a magnificent sight it was. She writhed around on top of him, trying to grab at anything she could while continuing to roll her hips around him. The feeling of her tightening around him though did spur on the beginning of his orgasm.

"Fuck babe," he exhaled. "I'm about to come too." Her eyes lit up, she had finally arrived back down to earth.

"I want you to come in my mouth," she spoke quickly as she knelt up, letting him fall out of her and she proceeded to crouch down and pump him the rest of the way to his orgasm. It was her mouth, as usual, that ignited it. His hot come running down the back of her throat as she caught every bit of him. She never liked to waste anything and he always found that so hot.

It was then that he realised.

"Fuck," he sat up abruptly. "We didn't use a condom."

She chuckled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm on the pill," she said casually.

"Oh, good." She smiled at him and kissed his lips gently.

"You did so well," she spoke against his mouth. "You're quite good at it, I don't know what you were worried about."

Ben smiled and they both laid back down against the pillows, her on his chest as he ran his hand up and down her back. "Thank you for being patient with me for all this time," he said. "It couldn't have been easy."

The girl shrugged. "It wasn't too bad,"she admitted. "I knew your hormones would take over your decision making eventually," she laughed.

"But seriously," he looked down at her as she looked up. "You are an angel...I love you."

She gasped. No one had ever said that to her before. "Ben," she whispered.

"It's okay, you don't have to say it back," he interrupted her. "I just wanted you to know is all." His hand was slow up and down the bare skin of her back.

"Don't be silly Ben," she ran her hand up his chest, sitting up and looking deep into his eyes. "I love you too," she finally told him. "I have for a while now actually."

His face was like a child on Christmas morning, like he'd just won the lottery and in a way, he had.

He had the girl, that was all that mattered.

TAG LIST: @galileoqueen-mama-mia , @fuckinghurricanesoul , @spidreling , @screaminggalileochickenwrites , @softbenhardy , @meraki--mai , @mortifiedmoon , @ziggysstarrdust , @tanya-is-dead

A/N Hope you guys enjoy this one! In case you hadn’t seen, my inbox will be closed for a few days while I whip up some of the requests you all have sent in. Keep thinking though, I’m loving everyone’s ideas! Also, if you want to be added to the tag list please let me know :) xo

#ben hardy #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy smut #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy one shot #queen fanfic #smut #fanfiction #bohemian rhapsody #inbox closed

542 notes · View notes

ofphcenixes · 5 years ago

Text

( ooc note about why i am the absolute worst ! )

this is such a random note i know, and admittedly i’ve spent the entire day composing this. so if it’s a little disjointed or illogical, i want to apologise in advance ! however i have included this nice gif of luke - it doesn’t have anything to do with the post, just thought it would make it more appealing dkjfgdf. admittedly this is going to be a bit of a Long Boi™, but it is kinda.... relevant if you’ve ever tried to write/plot with me, or are wondering what’s going on with nate. behold, all your answers are below ! i’ll put a tldr at the bottom plus a nifty little vine compilation for anyone that reads this but, please don’t feel pressured to do so ! ya girl is just a Mess dkfjgd.

the first thing i want to address is the elephant in the room; nathaniel ballantyne. i know a lot of people are curious about his fate, his place in the plot drop, why he vanished so much earlier than everyone else. is he actually guilty ? is he a martyr ? is he a red herring ? well, here’s the tea on mr nathaniel ballantyne:

he is on indefinite hiatus.

a lot of people probably wonder why. i will get into the specifics of the why in a little bit (when i said this was a Long Boi i was not kidding lmfao), but basically... he’s a very difficult character to write. i am not a veteran rper, and in all honesty, i can count on my hands the amount of rps i’ve been in. and there are only 5 characters i’ve ever written about and cared enough to remember. one of those is nate. for those of you that know him, he is a strange and eccentric character. entirely up his own ass at times, pretentious as hell. but he, to me, was a character i grew attached to. he was different from people i normally write, and despite how abstract he was, he was.... realistic to me. my deep rooted attachment to him is why it took me so long to see how hard it was for me to write replies with him, to understand the guilt i felt any time i plotted or wrote with him, and the fact he was so mentally taxing it would take five times as much time to write a reply for him than it would any other character. but the sad truth is, even though i only felt guilt related to him, even though i haven’t had muse for him honestly for months now, i kept him. because i love him, even if he isn’t loved by many others. and so part of the reason he is now where he is is the simple fact that i know he didn’t mesh with the group, and that’s okay ! he was a very difficult character to reply to, and now that he is gone, i feel that burden of guilt lifting already.

as for his plot related departure, the truth is i didn’t have the heart to kill him off, hence why he kinda is just out there in a weird in between space dkjfgdf. and ( as i’ll explain below ) if my life ever does even out at any point, i really want to bring him back should there be space for him. so this indefinite hiatus was made for many reasons, and it absolutely broke my heart to have to get to this point. i love nate, and i am going to miss him. and i hope that in due time, i will have the capacity to bring him back soon ! but in case i don’t, i just want everyone to know that i appreciate every second i spent writing with you all on nate, and that the time and effort people poured into him means the world to me. and i’m so, so sorry to the people who are disappointed in me for this, because i know there are probably a few. i have let so many of you down, and honestly this is a burden i am going to carry for a very long time. i am going to message people tomorrow when i am more Coherent so, i promise to do my best to atone for this kgdf.

but to segue into that a little more ( oh look, another elephant in the room ! what is this, dumbo 2: electric boogaloo ), as an admin, i know there are expectations we are supposed to meet. examples we should set. precedents we have to lay down.

and i know i have disappointed every single one of you in this rp.

from my slow ( to non-existent ) dash activity, for the anxiety that has left me unable to reply to dms or reply in the main group chat, to even the fear of godmodding in ask memes on a thursday. i know this seems perfectly illogical to most, and again, i completely understand the disappointment that so many of you feel towards me. and it’s that very disappointment which djkgdf ironically has made it harder for me to get on and be the admin that you all deserve.

the real difficult thing about all of this is, i love veritas. and for those of you who were in veritas 1, would know that this is not who i usually am. this experience is not representative of the person i want to be, nor the rper that i usually present myself as. but as to avoid going into too triggering content and bothering you all with tmi details about my life problems lmfao, please rest assured that these past few months have been. absolutely brutal for me. from almost losing my opa to illness, from ongoing family issues and expectations, being kicked out of home among a list of other shit, my mental health has been as low as gfkdgdf it has ever been in my life tbh, and it’s been the hardest thing in the world to get on. all my attentions with veritas has been in the main, as the main is a very taxing job ( as you know, we are very plot centric ! ) and i would more often than not get so worn out with being an admin, my characters fell by the wayside. not to mention, as sort of dkfgjdf touched on before, i have massive anxiety when it comes to messaging people. why ? i don’t know. especially as i have wanted to plot with all of you extensively and deeply since we opened, and reading every single app made my heart beat a little faster with joy. i am so honoured to be an admin here, and each and every one of you are such an incredible writer and person that i can’t help but feel overwhelmed and guitlty about how much i have let you all down. especially for those who sent me dms that i either forgot about or never replied to because i got so anxious, i feel so guilty every day about it all and i just wish i could go back in time and change it.

and the reality is, if i wasn’t an admin and co-creator of this group, i probably would have dropped out a long time ago, give the space to someone worthy, and i wouldn’t be filled with so much guilt. but the truth is, i am a selfish person dgdgdf. veritas has been that sort of dkfgjdf good, steady thing in my life that i looked forward to, and i couldn’t bear the thought of losing that. each and every one of you create the fabric that is this amazing atmosphere, and even though i’m less seen and heard compared to most others in this group, being part of veritas gives me a sense of belonging. and in a strange sense, a home. yes, i know i was selfish, and yes, i should have handled things much better than i did. but you all need to know from the bottom of my heart how sorry i am for everything that has transpired. ):

but i think the worst part of it all is that, my beautiful co-admin maaria, and my best friend. among letting you all down, i know i have let her down the most. and i just want to take my soapbox moment for a second here and really put light into how much maaria has done for this group. especially when my own life has been in shambles, and knowing she’s going through her own problems, she always provides for you all. she is always here, always online, always around to make you laugh or smile. she provides for all of us, and is honestly a miracle worker. i don’t think i will ever deserve her forgiveness for everything, but i hope she knows how loved she is, and i hope you all show her your sentiments too ! she is the heart of veritas, and fdjg she means the world to me, and i just really want her to know that.

but that was. a lot of emotions and obviously i haven’t talked about everything in my life ( i do not want to bore you and honestly i don’t wanna make y’all sad dkfjghdkfjgdfgdf ) none of this really means anything if things aren’t going to change. so get ready for some Bullet Point Action because here is my proposal:

nEw SkElEtOn: although nate is on hiatus and sorta just gonna, float out there in the void of time, and even though i really want to bring him back soon i don’t know if/when i will, i have felt immense guilt for hoarding his spot in this rp for someone who could be more active. hence, a solution: a new skeleton ! as i am not comfortable with nate’s skeleton being open, we have created a new skeleton with connections to all nate’s old connections, which should hit the main very soon !

new discord: this is probably unnecessary but dfkgjdfg i have a lot of anxiety about discord. when i get a new message i’m always like ??? AAH A GHOST. idk why. and because of that, i skip a message once, and now there are so many unanswered messages i have a heart attack every time i open my app. so, to prevent that, i am going to make a new discord account ! ( lilacrps #i forgot the number lmao ). i will be adding everyone as Friends and if you’ve ever sent me something i never responded to, or for some odd reason you wanna talk to me, a human mess, please know now that with a fresh slate i will ensure i can reply to you. i am not gonna let my anxiety win this time.

schedule: part of my issue is that i dfkjgdf always felt pressure to do everything all the time and then when i couldn’t, i fell under pressure. so dkfgjdf i am now having designated plotting and reply days ! so even though i hope to be far more active in both regards, i just need people to understand things won’t be instant, but i am holding myself accountable not only for myself, but for the rp - as that is what an admin should do.

this got super long and i highly doubt anyone is actually gonna read this lmao BUT. the main point is - i love every single one of you all so much, and i can’t apologise enough for how much i have let you all down. i know we all feel it, and i’m more than happy to accept my flaws and how blatant they’ve been in the past few months. so this is my pledge to every single one of you that i promise to do better (and if i don’t, you can kick me out dkjfgdf).

TLDR: I have been a terrible admin and friend, and I’m here to say sorry. With a new discord and personal plotting schedule, things are going to change.

If I can’t cure my depression, maybe I can cure yours.

#( ooc ; i have the power of god and anime on my side ! )#tw: depression #tw: mental health

13 notes · View notes

illlicitaffair · 6 years ago

Note

‘ i need you. ’ / @ skye :'))))))))))))

x. send ‘ i need you. ’ for my muse’s reaction

SOME PEOPLE ARE JUST BORN EVIL – it was a thought that rattled her mind for countless nights after she found out he had betrayed them. That simple line of thought had given her justification in her hatred toward him, && then he had to ruin even that. She hadn’t paid it any mind at first – in fact, if she was honest, she had IGNORED all of his excuses, instead focused on keeping her nausea at bay while her stomach SANK. It wasn’t until it was all OVER – that she had locked herself in her room, her knees drawn close to her chest that she had the capacity to reflect on everything he had told her, staring at a picture of him like it held all the answers. Grant wasn’t BORN evil – he was shaped into it, by no means of his own. Skye was beyond aware that not many would get it – not many were able to see through this LENS a life like theirs granted them access to. He swore the things he had done were FREE WILL – && it would be easy to accept that, to let himself talk his way into his own grave. Here’s the bitch – she knew what it was like to want nothing more than to have a family, to feel like she mattered somewhere, so much so that she would have done ANYTHING for a family to take her in && keep her longer than thirty days. So was it his CHOICE or was it DESPERATION that Garrett manipulated ? && why couldn’t it just be as simple as his choice to pull the trigger to write Grant Ward off ?

Chocolate doe hues strain against the light emitted from her computer, her body STIFF from hours spent in the same position – not that these beds did anything for her. She wants to say she can’t remember the last time she’s had a decent night of sleep – barring she can, at the very cost of her dignity. There has to be some sort of RULE against cuddling after HATE fucking your almost ex boyfriend, it’s quite possibly rule number ONE. She’ll blame it on enervation – both physical && mental that wrecked her frame but allowing herself to melt against him, her limbs putty molding to his making it all the more difficult for her to claim that EACH time they did this it DIDN’T MEAN anything. The ends justify the means right ? Except she wasn’t that girl. Was she ? Before her thoughts are too LOST on the moment, his presence startles her, her laptop slamming shut, striving to hide it – one of these days, she was putting a damn bell on him. ❝ GOD, Ward – cough or something. ❞ He comes && goes throughout the days, chasing endless leads through the tangled web he’s woven over the years && EVERY TIME the door unlatches while he departs she pretends not to notice when his eyes linger on her, as if she could ignore the quakes that ran down her spine. Skye is SKILLED at pretending, she had fooled him once hadn’t she ? But she has her limits, && exhaustion grips her CORE at every soothing wave that rips through her when he mutters her name with a voice from a man she THOUGHT she knew.

They say the STRONGEST love is born from pain && if that were the case theirs could be undeniable. Pushing herself from her seat, she steps around him – nearly groaning as she stretches her body out – she figures with the way he’s looking at her, that they’ll be on the move soon enough, but REALITY has a funny way of setting in. The next words that fall from his lips are ones that have her FROZEN – her lips parted as her lungs struggled to take in the air they desperately needed. ❝ OH – ❞ The witty remark doesn’t roll from her tongue promptly, the attempt to make LIGHT of the situation takes too long && she feels all it does is intensify the awkwardness that had occupied the space between them. ❝ Wow – I didn’t know NEEDING something was in your programming. ❞ Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest – as if that was enough protection to keep him from her HEART – as if he hadn’t already broken through her ribs && claimed it as his own. She NEEDED him too – in ways that she didn’t UNDERSTAND, in ways other than what she had led him to believe. In some – twisted sense, they were STILL a team, how they had gotten back to that point was lost in translation somewhere between empty space in front of them && the road travelled behind them. Biting down on the corner of her lip, she shifts her weight – now wasn’t the TIME to get into this with him, she wasn’t READY to let him back in, not YET. && she didn’t have the words to describe what he was to her, if there even were any. Reaching out, her fist collides with his shoulder, another LAME try at bringing back some sort of normalcy, her eyes pleading with him to let her off the hook. ❝ SO – you ready to blow this popsicle stand or what ? ❞

#unworthyheart #&. 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗉𝗎𝗓𝗓𝗅𝖾 ( SKYE. )#&. 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝗇 -- 𝗂 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 ( SKYE ft. UNWORTHYHEART. )#&. 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 -- 𝗐𝖾'𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 ( SKYE ft. WARD. )#&. 𝗂 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾'𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 ( ANSWERED. )#&. 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 ( SKYE ROUGE AU ft. UNWORTHYHEART. )#( just. )#( sets self on fire )#( she'll prob make out w/ u later bc of this )

2 notes · View notes

topweeklyupdate · 6 years ago

Text

TØP Weekly Update SPECIAL TRENCH EDITION (10/6/18)

Ya’ll have had time to listen to the album. Some of you have it memorized already. So let’s pick apart Twenty One Pilots’ latest project track-by-track, explore the new themes and sounds that the band is exploring in this era, and also catch up on all of the latest news to come out in just the last two days.

This Week’s TØPics:

A Complete Look at Trench

My Blood Music Video

Twenty One Pilots to Return to the American Music Awards

New Interviews About the Album

Picking Fights with Gaga? (Not Really, No)

And MORE!

Track Analysis:

Before we get started, we should acknowledge Trench’s wonderful liner notes, which besides boasting some stellar artistic design reveal a great deal of important information about this album. First, the overall cohesion of the album, like with all of the band’s albums save for Blurryface, can be attributed to the shared vision of the same production team on every track. The impact of Paul Meany on this entire album should not be understated: Paul co-produced every track save for “Levitate”, which he is instead given main credit for with Tyler listed as co-producer. He is also given writing credit on half of the album for his arrangements, again including “Levitate”. We musn’t forget the other heroes: the album was mixed by Adam Hawkins and mastered by Chris Gehringer. Also, the “thank you”s are both touching and occasionally very funny (“And to our haters, we know you liked stressed out.”)

I’ve already expressed my thoughts and reactions to the four previous singles in prior updates, so feel free to look back at them to fill in the gaps.

“Morph” starts us off real strong with an absolutely stellar groove (thanks, Paul). Lyrically, the track features Tyler ruminating on death, considering its inevitability, worrying over its proximity, and questioning what comes after. It’s the most he discusses faith on Trench; Tyler considers looking “above” for answers a “blind belief”, but he still chooses it anyway, with some reservations. Ultimately, Tyler resolves to “morph to someone” else, to stay on the defensive against the insecurities leveled at him by Nico and keep moving forward. The song also features a “Judge”-esque shout-out to our boy Josh Dun within the stellar ending run- fitting, considering just how good his drums sound on this track in particular.

“Chlorine” is a definite highlight off the album, as it constantly mixes up flow and structure while never losing it’s laid-back psychedelic groove and its consistently excellent metaphorical examination of Tyler’s strained relationship with fame. I’ll be singing that hook forever. And the bridge. And that ending break-down that definitely sounds like a No Phun Intended sample. This thing’s a bop, potentially the best track on the whole project- and that’s really saying something.

“Smithereens” is an odd duck that feels like it doesn’t quite fit in on Trench but is nonetheless a very sweet and enjoyable tune. I mean, it’s love song that snuck onto this album that’s literally about writing a love song and sneaking it onto an album; I have to commend Tyler for being ballsy, clever, and artistic with his grand romantic gesture. I also have to commend Mr. Meany for sneaking that beautiful woodwind section in.

Before I even heard the album, I knew “Neon Gravestones” was going to be the stand-out track for a lot of folks. Rock Sound had promised that this would be the song that saves people’s lives, and hopefully it will. Tyler’s spoken word musings regarding celebrity suicide were always going to be controversial, and publications like The Atlantic and Alt Press have already questioned exactly what he means to say with the song. As someone who just recently lost a loved one to suicide, even I’ve struggled with this song’s message somewhat. Does Tyler disrespect the memory of those that have passed by telling us not to glorify them in death? It skirts close to the line a bit, and he certainly could have gotten a bit more specific in how he suggests we should react. But he reigns it back from the edge, as Tyler so often does when discussing mental illness, by placing the focus on his own lived experience. “If I lose to myself” is the most gut-wrenching lyric Tyler’s written in ages, and it really sells that this idea is something that Tyler truly wrestles with in dark moments. We really do have to de-romanticize suicide if we want to have a chance against it, and I’m proud of Tyler for taking those steps in a public way that can also help others. And the production? Simply bone-chilling.

“The Hype”, aka “Wonderwall” meets “Bittersweet Symphony”, is another highlight. Simple lyrics, sure, but comforting ones. Particular praise goes to the ending, when the echo effects layer onto the vocals and the ukulele comes into mix. One of many great “night-time driving down the highway” songs on this half of the album.

“Cut My Lip” is pretty easily my least favorite song on the album, which is not meant a harsh criticism at all. The overall vibe is very enjoyable, and I especially love how Tyler says “contusions”, but the song is just twice as long as the lyrical content actually warrants. It really is largely saved by Josh’s intricate drumming and Paul’s intervention with the reverbing psychedelic synths: it sounds just as sick as the rest of the album in those respects.

The last two minutes of “Bandito” may just be the best part of the entire album; Paul (I assume it’s Paul) really outdid himself with that composition. The rest of the song is great, too, with “I’m still not sure if fear’s a rival or close relative to truth” in particular standing out as an all-time Tyler Joseph lyric. I can’t wait to hear this live... God, I hope this is played live...

“Pet Cheetah” is... weird. But with a name like that, we expected as much, and it only makes all the more sense when considering the subject matter: writer’s block. Tackling that subject head on really seems to have given an extra boost to Tyler’s creative energies: his rap verse is straight-up fire in terms of both wordplay and passion. All in all, a fun curiosity to come back to when we want to remember that time Tyler wrapped about naming a cheetah after acclaimed British action star Jason Statham.

“Legend” is one of those songs that really is beyond criticism by virtue of its subject matter: Tyler mourning the loss of his grandfather. I do wish the song was given a bit more polish around the edges, but it still boasts a gorgeous horn section, and the rough sound helps demonstrate that this was a deeply personal project that we’re privileged to be able to hear at all.

“Leave the City” is the perfect ending note for this project. As Zane Lowe said, it never fully reaches the crescendo it seems to be building to, and all the better for it. The inclusion of a call to “stay alive”, now directed inward toward Tyler himself, remains a powerful rallying cry of hope, even while it expresses a sense of resignation to knowing our personal battles may never end. There’s no clear answer, only the promise that we are not left alone to face what the future holds. And that’s enough.

Taken all together, Trench was not the album I was expecting, and not at all in a bad way. There was relatively little in the way of “Jumpsuit”’s harder edge, nor was it as obtuse and concept-dedicated as the initial marketing had indicated. But it was still incredibly daring and ambitious, tackling song-structures and concepts that few pop artists (if we can still call them that) would dare approach. While I would have loved an album much more strictly dedicated to telling the story of Dema, I don’t know if most people would have, and that kind of railroading would have prevented Tyler from getting as personal and deep as he does here. There are ideas and individual lyrics on this project that have left their mark on me like few pieces of music have since... well, Vessel. It might not match that album in my own heart, but it might also objectively be the best thing they’ve ever done.

Major News, Releases, and Announcements:

Shockingly, we’re not even close to done. As reported in the last update, the album’s release was accompanied by the release of an all new music video for “My Blood”. Unlike the prior three videos, this narrative takes place completely outside the world of Dema and Trench, featuring two rebel brothers dealing with all that suburban teen white boy angst (been there) and attending a real funky Halloween party in skeleton onesies, all leading up to a satisfying Fight Club revelation.

The video is also the first one since “Tear In My Heart” to not be directed by Mark Eshleman or Andrew Donoho. The Clique’s new friend Tim Mattia has been directing some major music videos since 2012, including Troye Sivan’s Blue Neighborhood project, Fetty Wap’s “Trap Queen”, and major singles from The 1975, Zedd, Chris Stapleton, and many more. You can definitely tell the difference from the aesthetic (particularly Tyler and Josh being relegated to a glorified cameo). Still, it was a refreshing change of pace, and I look forward to seeing if it helps the song pick up any momentum at radio.

Upcoming Performances:

American Music Awards, Microsoft Theater, Los Angeles, CA

Capacity: 7,100

On Thursday, we reported that Tyler and Josh would be signing copies of Trench in Hollywood this coming Monday. Turns out they weren’t just looking for some California sunshine- they’ll be performing at the American Music Awards. This marks their first professionally filmed performance this era and their first award show performance since... well, the last AMAs, where they put on a stellar show. Current reports state that the band will be playing “Jumpsuit”, but I would not be at all surprised if they mashed it up or tried to do something clever and attention-grabbing. Whatever they play, seeing the boys back playing live will certainly do wonders for promoting Trench- and it will definitely make me happy.

Other Shenanigans:

Oh, we’re still not done. Irish radio station Today FM aired an interview they held with Tyler back on the Complete Diversion media day. The interviewer is brilliant and asked a bunch of thoughtful questions that show that he’s done his homework and cares for the band and its fans. Highlights include:

Tyler says that he doesn’t want to talk too much about the “easter eggs” of the marketing campaign (probably referring to dmaorg.info) because he feels it might take away some of the punch.

Tyler shares some very wise words about being aware of the cyclical nature of mental health and self-improvement. He didn’t end the album with a definitive answer because he has recognized that, in our individual journeys, we regularly get sent back to Square 1 and then are left all the more discouraged because we feel the effort is futile. Tyler suggests that awareness that will happen in advance- and that we are all doing it together- will help us to get back to the place we fell from more quickly each time.

Tyler says that it’s incredibly “heavy” to hear fans say they saved their lives, and that he’s tempted to brush it off rather than deal with that weight. However, they recognize that their platform has given them a responsibility to serve their audience.

When confronted by the possibility that folks wouldn’t like the new imagery, the band had to fall back and just do what they thought was cool. They were so relieved by how well the Complete Diversion show went and how receptive everyone was to them.

The band will absolutely be moving forward with this Trench story- it’s not done yet, not by a long shot.

Australian music site Music Feeds also published a text interview with the band that’s another must-read:

Tyler discusses how Trench is largely meant to represent the “space between spaces”. He was particularly feeling strange about leaving Blurryface to approach this new album, so he channeled that struggle with finding yourself in a liminal space into the music.

He’s hinted at it in the past, but I believe this is the first time Tyler bluntly says that Blurryface is Nicolas Bourbaki.

Tyler jokes that they filmed in Ukraine because the workers don’t take lunch breaks and it saved them money.

Tyler says that all of the songs on the album “completely destroyed him”, but says that “Legend” was the hardest of all because of the subject matter and how he was still developing it as his grandfather passed.

Josh is looking forward to playing “Morph” live because of how different the drum pattern is from their previous work.

Tyler’s still listening to a lot of Death Cab for Cutie, while Josh is mostly just listening to podcasts like Lore.

“You can’t touch a hole.”

Also, in case you missed the title image, the band made a cute joke about A Star Is Born, whose soundtrack is increasingly looking like it will knock Trench away from a #1 debut. Some Lady Gaga stans are mad about it, I guess, but come on, that picture is hilarious.

Listen. We’ve been here for a long time. You’ve done a lot of reading of my inane ramblings. I was going to sum up some of the early reviews for the album, but I think I’m going to save that for the next time. Hopefully I’ll be able to include the opinions of a certain Melon... Catch you Friday.

Power to the local dreamer.

|-/

18 notes · View notes

darkcivet · 6 years ago

Text

Of Unsound Mind

A GaaSaku Fanfic

Alternate Links: FF.net & AO3. Pairing: Sakura/Gaara. Summary: It's only when her life has crumbled down around her that Sakura finally finds some kind of peace. GaaSaku. Modern AU. Rated M just in case. Warning: Psychologically dark elements. (No blood or gore.) Sexual themes.

There were many words used to describe Sakura Haruno during her fall from grace.

Anti-social. Cynical. Violent. Bossy. Obnoxious. Friendless.

And those were the friendly examples.

There was also, whore, bitch, psycho, tight-arse, freak, and various interpretations of the hysterical woman stereotype.

It was depressing enough to be called these names, and more heart breaking to embody them. But the worst part was that they came from people she’d never have suspected. From people she loved and had trusted for years. Some hadn’t even waited until her anger had reached its crescendo before writing her off.

She’d lost her cushy office, her friends, her aghast family, and all hope of returning to her former life; Sakura was at least grateful that her OCD meant she had a decent amount of money saved up for this seemingly unending rainy day.

It was in moments like this, that she took pride in her tight-arse ways. It was a cold slap in the face in the wake of the reality of her responsibility to clean up her mess.

And somehow, sitting on a chair, next to others arranged in a dysfunctional, sparsely spaced circle and being lectured on the meaning of her anger issues did not strike her as particularly constructive. But Sakura had no intention of reacquainting herself with her inner demons, so she had to try to put it behind her.

For years, she’d built a damn in her mind to keep her inner, sanctimonious persona quiet, but it had all come crashing down several months ago when she’d been tossed aside for a more available girlfriend. A seemingly innocuous event that many others went through and came out the other end unbroken, but not Sakura Haruno. She snapped like a proverbially twig over a roaring fire. It was like letting a beast out of a cage that had been perfectly crafted to contain it. White hot rage; she had no control of herself, and for a short while, all Sakura knew was the burning, angry harpy that lay within her mind.

The need to make someone bleed for it.

Now, she had no-one. No friends. No family. No glimmer of a hopeful future. Her inner had driven them all away.

That was why she was here of all places. A group anger management session; the judge had been clear that evading these weekly torture sessions would land her back in Konoha Psychiatric Hospital. She couldn’t go back there. Everyone there was crazy. It would drive her insane.

“Let’s begin, shall we?”

Doctor Kato – possibly the hospital’s most likeable tight-arse. She was always friendly enough to Sakura, but the pinkette could never fully respect someone who played by the rules so religiously. Squashing herself inside a tin can and answering, “how high?” whenever her superiors said, “jump”. It boggled the mind.

She sighed, sitting up straight in an effort to not be called out. Again. Today was her first session in a group and this whole anger management thing was just another part of her community service – though the question of who she was supposed to be helping right now, was anyone’s guess.

She forced herself to listen as Shizune Kato started her morning sermon.

“Anger management is the process of learning to recognise your anger for what it is and control it. Anger is an emotion we use to mask feelings of fear, inadequacy, guilt, confusion, depression, hurt, or loneliness. It is not uncommon for us to fall into this trap when we feel too helpless to do anything else.”

Sakura rolled her eyes and regressed to slouching in her chair. Shizune tended to drone on about the definition of things. As both a Clinical Psychologist and a nationally recognised motivational speaker, she was the enemy of succinctness

Sakura smiled at that.

She’d been acquainted with the brunette for years, but never truly known her. Despite her pleasant yet oddball nature, Shizune wasn’t the most charming person Sakura had ever met, especially one-on-one. They’d both been mentored by the great Lady Tsunade Senju – an actually motivational person who didn’t like to get up on podiums and talk about it.

Sakura interned with Tsunade straight out of high school; she’d been interested in psychology for years, because of her inner, fascinated with the inner workings of the human mind. Keeping her inner quiet helped her pass as “normal”, but she always got the impression that Tsunade knew her favourite protégé had issues.

Their bi-weekly “let’s build a snowman” sessions were a dead giveaway.

“Sakura?”

The pinkette snapped out of her internal musings and rattled off a few facts about herself while keeping it impersonal. Shizune gave her an odd look and Sakura sat up straight again, suddenly self-conscious.

But she couldn’t help but lose focus again as the brunette pointed to each of her patients in turn, asking for introductions. Even though this was her first group session, she knew some of these people anyway, from her time in hospital. There was the girl who’d run over her boyfriend when she found out she was pregnant. The older man who beat up the teenage boy who was screwing his trophy wife. Another girl who blamed God for her voices and repeatedly stole from and trashed her family Church. Not to mention the guy who attacked a mime because he wouldn’t give him directions.

Some Sakura knew only by face, but it was a safe bet they were all violent in some way.

But there was this one guy that everyone seemed to be giving a wide berth. He had this dark aura around him, like a solid barrier made of hate and bloodlust. His blood red hair seemed to finish off the look of death and wrath nicely. Not to mention that he was the only person she’d ever seen with a kanji tattoo on their forehead of all places.

“Gaara?”

Sakura watched the others suddenly become uninterested; she imagined Shizune only called on him because those were the rules.

The redhead grunted out his name and something inaudible; she caught the words, “temper”, “family”, and “fucking”. Shizune didn’t press any further.

Sakura couldn’t take her eyes off Gaara as the introductions continued – some clearly more enthusiastic than others.

Based on appearance alone, she gathered he fit into the goth stereotype, but she’d never been much of a profiler. Her field of study was psychiatric rehabilitation and Sakura had just been promoted before her life went to shit. She was rising fast for someone her age. And enjoying the perks that came with a higher paying job.

‘I miss my office.’

She blinked heavily as Shizune started talking again.

Gaara swivelled in his chair suddenly and unintentionally caught Sakura’s eye. Though clearly startled by her attention on him, he didn’t look away. She felt her face warm under his stare. She’d heard that, during his first therapy session, he threw a chair out the window and broke the psychiatrist’s teeth when the man had tried said “hello”. They said the shrink needed counselling after that. Though plausible, she highly doubted that had happened – he wouldn’t have been considered for group sessions, if he was that easy to rile up, surely.

“Who wants to talk about why they’re here, first?”

Shizune’s voice snapped Sakura to reality and she tore her eyes away from Gaara to listen to the pregnant girl whine about men and how unfairly the “quacks” had been treating her, but she could still feel his eyes burning a hole in her.

His dark aura shifted, and he seemed a bit content then, to Sakura. She chanced a look at him; he didn’t look ready to kill her. His reputation had to be wrong, then. She had to remind herself how easily rumours could get out of hand.

Unlike her therapy companions, Sakura had a degree in psychology. She had a many great deal of things that were no longer important anymore. Like people in her life.

“Sakura?”

She mentally cursed herself for not paying attention and sat up straight, realising she’d slumped again. “Y-yeah.”

Shizune smiled at her. “Why don’t you share something more in depth with the group.”

She wasn’t here for her health, that’s for sure.

Sakura cleared her throat, avoiding Gaara’s gaze; it was getting unnerving. “Um. I’m doing these sessions as part of my community service.” At Shizune’s insistent look, she added, “I... uh, had a breakdown.”

“That blows.” One of the girls gave her a sympathetic look.

Sakura just stared back at her. The old her would’ve smiled back and maybe engaged her in conversation; the new and improving version didn’t have the energy for that shit.

“Moving on.”

Shizune rounded off the session and they started to file out. Sakura noticed that Gaara wasn’t asked to add anything more in depth. She sighed and stood, stretching out her muscles and keeping her attention settled solely on herself; a certain redhead was still staring.

“Same time next week!” Shizune called.

Sakura hurried out, unwilling to remain under such close scrutiny any longer.

This group therapy thing was going to be exhausting.

.:.

“Got a light?”

Two weeks later, Sakura decided to bite the proverbially bullet. He’d been staring at her on and off, and she had finally worked up the nerve to approach him. In between bouts of self-loathing and therapeutic jogs along the beach, she’d been keeping up-to-date in the world of mental health. Call her an optimist, but she figured it would help her get back into it once all this community service was over.

It beat picking up rubbish – that was on her morning schedule.

Gaara was Shizune’s problem case, but Sakura wanted to reach out to him. She wanted to see if anything she did or said could make a difference. This would go a long way to seeing if she still had what it takes to be a Psychologist. Obviously, it would be in a non-professional capacity, so she couldn’t be reprimanded for it.

In her planning stages, Sakura noticed he took the time to smoke both before and after the sessions, like he was bolstering himself for battle and then rewarding himself for not annihilating everyone. That was a start. So, she used their common ground to start a dialogue.

Without removing the cigarette from his mouth, he looked up at her question, stared at her for a second, and then nodded his head. She swore to herself up and down that she would quit these disgusting things one day. But that day was not today.

He tossed a red lighter at her and grunted out, “this is going to kill you. You should give it up.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes until after he turned away. “I will if you do.”

He didn’t respond.

They’d just spent an hour in a gruelling session, so he clearly needed to unwind.

Sakura took a seat two feet from him, overlooking staff parking; they were far enough away from the front doors of the hospital to not be called out, but she somehow figured Gaara was less concerned with that rule and more concerned with solitude.

She stayed quiet, settling in and lighting up. He didn’t ask for the lighter back straight away and she waited until she was ready to leave before returning it. Gaara’s pale fingers stretched out to grasp it, and she made a note of how he deliberately avoided her touch, before standing to leave.

Slow and steady; she didn’t want to startle him. It was a good start. His moods during the sessions was always dark, but some days he was clearly holding on by a thread. For all the darkness and chaos that stormed inside Sakura’s head, she had a feeling what he kept bottled up inside was worse.

.:.

The following week, Sakura beat Gaara to his usual smoking spot, prior to their weekly torture session. She didn’t light up during the six days they had off and felt no urge to do so until she drove into the Konoha Hospital parking lot and remembered what she was about to do.

Yeah, the dark aura around Gaara still intimidated her. And the mindless prattling of her fellow therapy inmates made her want to slap their heads together and tell them to grow up. The redhead continued to stare at her during the sessions and then ignore her when they fell into silent, mutual cancer inducing stupors. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help herself.

One month on from their first interaction, she decided to finally break their monotony of silence.

And then chickened out when his head snapped around and he stared at her, suddenly, like he knew it was coming. Jade orbs stared blankly at her and she summoned her courage, mentally berating herself. She’d come this far.

“I was thinking...” Sakura drifted off; his eyes widened, and lips twitched. The cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth jerked with the movement. “...of smoking something a little stronger next week.”

He blinked slowly, almost owlishly, and then looked away from her. She almost continued talking several times, waiting for him to respond.

“Don’t do that.”

“I just–”

“You’ll just get sent back to the loony bin.”

And that was the end of that.

Sakura felt herself flush with anger; she wanted to rant and rage at him, tell him he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing instead. It wasn’t her intention to fly off the handle at him. She just needed to focus. The object of her rush of anger sat quietly as she calmed herself.

And just like that, she was calm again. She sighed, put out her cigarette and turned to face him. He was looking back at her, those intense eyes curious; she almost forgot what he’d said to annoy her. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.”

It took a few seconds to sink in, but before she could formulate a response, he stormed away from her and back toward the front doors. A full ten seconds later, Shizune’s voice drifted over to her and Sakura knew she’d lectured Gaara on the rules involving smoking near government buildings. There was no way, however, that Shizune was brave enough to confiscate them.

Sakura joined them and was both annoyed and confused when Gaara pointedly ignored her for the first time in weeks.

‘Men.’

.:.

Sakura arrived early the following Wednesday, and sat in her car, writing in her journal. She wanted to get down everything she was feeling before heading in there – last week, Shizune had suggested this when the pinkette let it slip that she’d almost lost her temper again. She hadn’t had a black out in almost two months. She was getting better.

But Gaara’s attitude was not conducive to her mental health.

The worried look on Shizune’s face bothered Sakura too – she’d figured out that two of her patients were smoking together, outside the hospital and wasn’t amused. That dark aura around Gaara was more powerful than Shizune’s disapproving glare, but the brunette’s made Sakura feel guilty. That was nothing, however, compared to how Sakura was feeling now.

Tsunade’s car was in the lot, today. She was here.

‘Did Shizune go running to shishou about my fascination with Gaara?’

Sakura was torn between annoyance and happiness; it wasn’t their business, but it had been too long since anyone cared if she got herself hurt. Was she supposed to feel angry or comforted? Maybe both? She was a red-faced child wrapped in a warm blanket brandishing a bloody knife with one hand and nursing a cup of hot cocoa with the other.

She wasn’t crazy. She knew she wasn’t. The dark voice inside of her was quiet and she hadn’t lost control in so long. Sakura felt like everything was falling into place. The only hiccup was where Gaara fit into everything. Anyone with eyes could see he was worse off than her – he may never get better – but she didn’t know his history. She didn’t know how bad off he was.

She had to find out, if she had any hope of putting her fascination with him in the proper context.

The tap on her car window startled her, but somehow, she wasn’t surprised to find Gaara’s questioning stare on her; rugged up against the cold, his red hair poking out from under a black beanie, and his breath fogging up her window. She took a moment to truly appreciate how good he looked before he indicated wordlessly behind him – toward their usual smoking spot – and she nodded in acquiescence.

Sakura smiled after he turned to lead the way. It seemed she wasn’t the only one that look forward to these morning rituals.

.:.

An hour later, Sakura was trying to sneak glances at Gaara while pretending she wasn’t interested in doing so. Tsunade had taken over the group today, with Shizune nearby taking notes, and the busty blonde was currently questioning Gaara – in a way that no-one else had the balls to do so.

Everyone else normally avoided looking at the emo boy who had a reputation for trying to kill people for looking at him wrong, but today they were staring unabashedly as he was questioned. Like he was an animal in a zoo. His simple, clipped responses delivered in angry undertones that promised pain and retribution didn’t deter Tsunade; his audience was hooked on every word.

When the blonde finally relented, everything went deadly quiet and Sakura found herself alone in watching him. Shizune and Tsunade conferred as the session came to an end and the pinkette forced herself to not get up and follow Gaara as he stormed out.

Murmuring broke out, but she ignored them, making her way over to Tsunade. The blonde hugged her.

“Sakura, it’s been too long.”

She smiled. Her first real smile directed at anyone but Gaara for a while. “Yes, shishou. I’m glad to see you.”

She wanted to question Tsunade – she undoubtedly had information on Gaara that she needed.

Shizune would be against it – that girl had never met a rule she didn’t worship – but Tsunade was the type to indulge her pupils, be they present or past. During her internship with the busty woman, Sakura had often had access to information she wasn’t supposed to know. She trusted her. She knew she wouldn’t repeat anything she read or heard. It was a level of trust Sakura had never had before and was sorely missed in her life.

That “I have no-one” voice in her head was sounding further and further away the longer she felt the warmth of her mentor’s smile on her.

‘How could I ever think shishou would turn on me?’

They both understood mental illness and didn’t judge it.

Tsunade spoke before Sakura had a chance to ask her; that mind reading thing of hers was still annoying, after all these years. “If this is about your sudden interest in a certain redhead, you know I can’t tell you anything.”

A bubble of annoyance swelled in Sakura’s chest, but as her mentor made a show of shuffling her papers, the pinkette forced herself to calm down. Shizune sat nearby, finishing off a few notes; when she was done and left to find something to eat, Tsunade indicated to Sakura to take a seat.

“I want to preface this with I understand,” Tsunade said. “Gaara’s a good-looking boy and you’ve always had a thing for the emotionally closed off type.”

“Shishou–”

“Let me finish.”

Sakura nodded her head, admonished.

The blonde pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’ve been through so much lately and your life has become a black sinkhole. You’re so cut off and confused; you know you are,” she added, when the pinkette huffed in annoyance. “It’s understandable to find comfort in a kindred soul. But Gaara’s different than you. You should be more careful with him.”

Sakura frowned. “Why?”

Tsunade lowered his head to whisper and the pinkette leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s in his file, but you didn’t hear this from me.”

Sakura nodded; her heart pounding in her chest. Doctor-patient confidentiality was still a thing between doctors, but Tsunade loosening her tongue was motivated purely on a personal level. She’d always thought of Sakura as the daughter she never had.

“What he has is a touch disorder; his anger manifests similar to an extreme case of Skin Hunger.”

Sakura nodded, understanding. Skin Hunger was a yearning to touch, basically; if Gaara’s anger was connected to this, she assumed it meant he lashed out when touched. All awhile craving that touch.

It was interesting.

“Don’t set yourself up for failure with him.”

Sakura frowned. “What do you mean?”

“All I’m saying is that whether your interest is professional or personal, don’t get your hopes up. So far, all observable outcomes from people trying to get close to him have resulted in some form of violence.”

“I already understood: you’re saying he always attacks people who touch him.”

“Or it manifests itself sexually.”

Her eyes widened. She didn’t need to know that part.

Sakura was already checking Gaara out every time he passed in her field of vision. She didn’t need to know that an accidental touch on her part could end with her flat on her back and screaming his name.

She was definitely going to make a point of not touching him.

“He is not a rapist, Sakura, I assure you.” Again, Tsunade was reading her mind. “I spent six months working with him after I was asked to profile him; he’s capable of a great many things, but he isn’t capable of that.”

‘No... he’s not going to force me.’

Sakura knew that, despite her initial concern. He was the type to make her want it. Badly.

‘He already has.’

She closed her eyes for a second, just absorbing everything Tsunade had told her. Her attraction to the redhead had started without her really noticing and escalating into full-blown, make-out session with herself.

It gave her goose bumps and made her never want to go to bed fully clothed again. And strangely, gave her a desperate craving for cheese and ice-cream.

It boggled the mind.

“Then why is he here, among people?” Sakura realised the answer the moment she’d finished asking but had to hear it.

“This is the only thing keeping him out of jail.”

Anger management for most people was a program with steps and slogans and learning about yourself.

And that annoying prayer circle thing.

For people like Gaara, it was avoiding the worst-case scenario of getting locked up and never seeing the light of day again. She felt sorry for him, though she was sure he wouldn’t appreciate it.

Sakura was torn between continuing her curiosity driven desire to crack him open and give him his space, so he could get through these sessions untouched. She really wanted to pick his brain.

(Must be the therapist in her.)

“Lady Tsunade!”

“That’s my cue.” Tsunade hugged her former apprentice. “Just be careful, Sakura.”

“I will. I promise.”

Sakura stayed in the chair for a few minutes before remembering she was technically standing Gaara up and rushed out to find him. He was leaning against the building, his hands in his pockets, eyes closed, and no cigarette to be found.

She hesitated to disturb him, but as her feet carried her over to the enigmatic redhead, he seemed to come to life and turned to face her. The look he gave her was new; she wasn’t sure if it was calculating or distrustful.

Had he heard her conversation with Tsunade? No... he’d have been too far away, and they were whispering. But her shishou had questioned him pretty intensely and Sakura stayed behind to talk with her afterward. Perhaps he just put two and two together. Her mind went back to what Tsunade had said about being his therapist for a while.

‘They already know each other.’

Maybe he wasn’t as bothered by the questioning as she’d thought.

“I’m not a good person,” he said gruffly. “But I won’t hurt you.”

‘Is there anyone around here that can’t see right through me?’

“Okay...”

He sighed.

They shared sessions once a week, and every time, Sakura followed him outside afterward to ask for either a cigarette or a light. He would grunt one-word answers to her questions and then take off on his Kawasaki without so much as a glance in her direction. But today had gotten under his skin, apparently.

He watched her, waiting to see if she would flee from him.

She gave him a small smile. “I was thinking...”

He scoffed. “You do too much of that.”

“...that maybe we can do an experiment.”

He didn’t ask for clarification, but the question weighed heavily in his eyes.

“I... think maybe we could do that thing Shizune suggested last week. Together, I mean.”

She was too cowardly to put it into words, worried he’d hear the hope in her voice. Basically, Shizune had suggested to all her patients to let their anger out on something constructive – kind of like kickboxing or tae kwon do – in a controlled environment, with a partner. Sakura tried to school her features so Gaara didn’t think she was excited by the idea of getting hot and heavy with him. His calculating stare pierced right through her and he raised a non-existent eyebrow.

“If I let my demon out, it will break you in two.”

He really knew how to end a conversation.

.:.

“You ever tried to kill yourself?”

Every week she asked a question, he answered it, then he asked her something, and the cycle went on. It was the only experiment she suggested that he would go along with. Now, with only one more shared group therapy session left, Sakura was feeling the deadline to break through him fast approaching; the end of having him in her life.

She thought of the craziest question she could conjure; the rumours of his violence having escalated to murder lingering on the edge of her mind. And the question blurted itself out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Gaara didn’t look offended though, just nodding his head slowly. After a minute, he asked “you ever killed anyone?”

“No.”

She came close once, though. It wasn’t something she was particularly proud of. It was a line she didn’t want to cross. Even in her darkest moments while her inner was in control, that last breath and final punch to the gut never came. She never did it. It was why she’d been carted off to the loony bin rather than jail.

Sakura was not grateful to her inner, but rather grateful it at least wouldn’t do that.

“It’s almost the same thing,” Gaara said. “Except the pain isn’t yours.”

Her heart was racing now, but she just had to know. “What does it feel like?”

Sakura had no idea what she was expecting from him – perhaps, “horrible” or “it feels like dying”. She held her breath, waiting.

“Only an idiot would ask that.”

She seethed. “Fuck you. It was just a question. Why are you such an arsehole?”

He reached over to her and she stiffened. Gaara gave her a wry grin and plucked the unlit cigarette from her fingers without making physical contact; so absorbed in their game, she hadn’t remembered she was still holding it.

“It’s my turn to ask a question.”

She huffed. “So, ask.”

“Why are you such an arsehole?”

Sakura sighed. She rubbed her forehead and groaned. His light chuckle startled her. “What’s so funny?”

He waved her cigarette at her patronisingly. “I don’t think you understand the rules of this game.”

“I don’t like this game anymore.”

“You don’t like to lose.”

“What? I’m not losing.” She frowned, realising her slip. “This isn’t a competition.”

He just shrugged.

Sakura glared at him; as usual, he was unfazed. The nerve of him! When he continued to ignore her heated glare and put her smoke in his mouth, she growled. “Fine. I’m an arsehole because it keeps people away who I don’t want to deal with.”

He stopped flicking his lighter to stare at her. “And that’s all?”

“No.”

He gave her a Cheshire grin. “Why else?”

“Why else?”

Gaara nodded and inhaled; shuddering and closing his eyes for a few minutes. He looked like a satisfied cat that had just dismembered a bird. Or maybe a whole flock of them. She could just visualise the speck of blood on the corner of his mouth while his tongue darted out to taste it again.

She shuddered, then shook herself, almost forgetting to answer his question. “I don’t like that goody-two shoes act. I used to play it all the time. It’s annoying. Why are you so pushy?”

“It’s fun. Why were you in the loony bin?”

Sakura bit her lip to keep from snapping something inappropriate at him. It wasn’t until she regained control from her inner that she’d been locked up. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t a game. She’d have thought he, of all people, wouldn’t make light of that.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

She offered a small smiled. “No, it’s no worse than me asking you what it feels like to kill someone. I shouldn’t have asked it. I just...”

“Wanted to know.”

“How do you read me so well?”

Gaara shrugged. The truth was, it was like looking into a mirror – one with pink hair and a cute little nose, but a mirror nonetheless. She was a version of himself without the need to tear things apart. He loved that.

Sakura fiddled with the hem of her shirt. She wanted to avoid that murder question, but she didn’t want to ask anything trivial. Everything seemed bland by comparison.

“Why... when did you start smoking?”

He snorted. “Lame.”

“Stop telling me how stupid my questions are and answer me.”

Gaara stared at her blankly. “I was thirteen.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “My turn.”

“Sorry.” Again.

He nodded but said nothing. After a few minutes, she started to fidget. As soon as she opened her mouth to tell him to ask her a question, he spoke.

“When did you start smoking?”

“Talk about lame questions.” She giggled when he glared at her. “Fine. I was nineteen. But I don’t smoke often. Never have. Uh... why–”

“No more simple questions. I’m bored.”

She bit her lip. “I noticed you don’t touch people.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Can I touch you?”

He didn’t stiffen like she thought he would, just stared at her – almost unseeingly. “No. Why do you want to?”

She blushed. “Uh... because...”

He rolled his eyes.

“Craziest place you can imagine having sex.”

“On a plane.” Gaara held her gaze unblinkingly. “The last time you had sex?”

“Uh.” Her face must look like a tomato by now. “Um. Maybe... a year ago.”

Gaara had put out his cigarette (her cigarette, the thief), and was leaning closer to her. She could feel his breath on her skin. She had to get the topic away from sex before she touched him and let him crawl inside her. And die. She would literally die.

“Uh...” She cleared her throat. “Where else in the world would you rather be right now?”

That was a safe topic, surely.

“Inside you.”

‘Fuck me.’

She stuttered. “What happened to you not wanting to touch me?”

“I never said I didn’t want to.”

“I thought–”

“Doctor Senju filled your head with the he can’t touch people routine?”

Sakura growled at him. “Are you accusing her of lying to me?”

“Just skirting around the truth.”

“She warned me to be careful with you.”

“Kittens aren’t supposed to be masochists,” he snarled.

“I’m not a cat.”

“Yes, you are.”

She frowned at him. “What’s gotten into you?”

Gaara smirked devilishly, his fingers now tugging at the top button of her shirt. She made no move to stop him, but Sakura had gone stiff, terrified of the animalistic look in his eyes.

He stood, leaning over her, and shoved her backwards; she’d been sitting on the edge of a concrete garden, hedge flowers at her back. Gaara held her down, climbing over her; she spared only a momentary thought for the fact that her shirt was getting dirty and was laying at an odd angle before gasping. His hand was on her throat; his body encased hers. Fingernails scraped along her neck; not enough to bleed but enough to hurt.

“Do you ever dream of me?”

Gaara was continuing their game, even as he nipped her throat and settled between her legs.

“Y-yes.”

Gaara shifted his weight on her to kick her legs apart. “Is this what you wanted?”

She licked her lips. “Y-yes.”

He chuckled when she groaned. There was a sharp pain along the back of her legs from being held down like this, but she ignored it. What she really wanted suddenly scared her. “Wait.”

Gaara growled; his grip on her throat tightened and Sakura gasped for air. “No more waiting. He wants you.”

Sakura coughed and spluttered. “He?”

He added a little more pressure but eased enough to allow her airflow. “Yes. He’s been thinking about you hot, wet, and wriggling underneath me.”

“Are you...”

It suddenly clicked. Sakura had an inner – a voice that spoke to her and lashed out. A female voice. It wasn’t inconceivable that Gaara had something similar. From her one-on-one sessions, she’d begun to unravel her inner; to see the reflection of her psyche for what it really was. But clearly, Gaara hadn’t made that leap into redefining himself. He still thought of his inner voice as something separate from himself. Something that can’t be overcome because it had a mind of its own.

She pushed her pity down and shifted into medic mode. He needed her more than she needed him, right now.

“You can pull away if you want.”

It pained her to deny herself something she had grown so desperate for, but maybe taking it slow and letting this come more naturally would be good for her, too. Sakura had no doubt they would progress that far eventually, but in the bushes, just out of sight of the hospital entrance, was not the place to have sex with him for the first time.

They had time.

“Gaara.” She reached up and touched his forehead. The complicated kanji felt just as smooth under her fingers as the rest of him did. Almost like it wasn’t even there. “Push him away.”

He growled down at her, almost like that persona was speaking through him. “I will fuck you. I don’t play games and I don’t fuck around. Next time you push me, I’ll push back. This is your only warning.”

He shoved her again, and then jumped up, moving away from her. But he didn’t go far before half turning to frown at her. “If you do that again, he’ll kill you.”

She swallowed heavily, watching him through her blurry vision as he limped away from her; whether he was in pain from something he did to himself or being so turned on, she couldn’t tell.

She’d pushed him too far. She knew it.

And if it wasn’t for the fact that he had already proven himself to be possessive, Sakura would worry about never seeing him again.

No.

He wasn’t done with her yet.

#MultiSakuMonth2018 #MultiSakuMonthD19 #MultiSakuMonth #GaaSaku #Gaara x Sakura #Sakura x Gaara #darker than I expected but only psychologically #again my moodboard skills leave a lot to be desired

101 notes · View notes

lokilickedme · 7 years ago

Note

Hello My Lady! Just because you asked, here are my faves of yours: #1 King (no surprise here), #2 Jack (too crazy not to love, and the stream crossing of pretty much all your stories is genius) #3 Chem/BD/TTW/TKH/TWK/can't remember them all. They're all special in their own way! Can't believe it'll be 3yrs soon since I started squatting your page!!! God time goes by fast! I'd like to add a special mention for the Muse Meetings, sooo funny, and a Golden Snowflake to Aleks. Cute little bumkin.

Thank you @fudgemuffinanon! Dear god, has it been that long? Seems like I joined up last year…*sits here blinking at my posts from 2015, wondering how that happened*

**LONG TEXT POST COMING UP**

You drew the lucky straw today my darling, I’m feeling wordy and in the mood to share. A lot of people have asked me over the last couple of years how some of my stuff came about, and you mentioned one that gets a lot of asks.

Lemme tell you something about the Muse Meetings. Way back in 1998 when I got my first computer, one of the very first things I ran across by way of internet fanfiction was a little something called The Very Secret Diaries penned by a writer named Cassandra Claire (who is now professionally published under the name Cassandra Clare). The Very Secret Diaries (which are hilarious, btw) woke something up in me - mainly because, as a lifelong writer who had never allowed anyone to read 95% of my work, I finally realized that yeah, there were other people out there whose brains deviated from the standard in the same way mine did. Her writing style back then (in the Diaries specifically, I’ve never actually read anything else she’s written) was very similar to the way I wrote, and those Diaries were exactly the sort of silly, ridiculous, irreverent thing I’d scribbled in my notebooks for most of my life. And people liked it, she had a huge following based on just those out-of-context glimpses of her characters’ personal thoughts. She was writing behind the scenes thoughts of characters, things that would never make it into books, and it was brilliant. That was the kind of stuff I loved to write but had never given myself permission to show anyone. She was showing hers to people, and they were loving it.

Which gave me the inspiration to not only put my work out there in the public eye for the first time ever, but to stick with my personal writing style (which I’d always assumed wasn’t what other people wanted to read, based on the books I’d been exposed to most of my life). Not change anything. Just do me. And doing me meant writing silly nonsense if I wanted to.

So - The Very Secret Diaries are more or less the inspiration for the Muse Meetings, or at least the official written version of them. I’d always imagined dialogues with my characters outside the confines of whatever story I was working on, but never thought anyone else would be interested in seeing me write it out.

The Diaries made me realize different. Not only were her characters yammering and complaining and snarking at each other (both out of character and in), they were doing it in exactly the way I’d imagined my own characters interacting in the real world. I loved it. Seeing someone else do what I’d always done in my head - and do it in an official, out-there-in-the-public-eye capacity, was a revelation. Finally I was able to give myself permission to write the way I wanted to, without restricting myself to the styles and methods in the books in the family library. It had always been in my head, but now it didn’t have to stay there. I could write proper stories, but I could also write what was going on in the other room, where the reader seldom gets to peek. And other people besides myself might like it because hey, there’s precedent.

That was freeing, and I am grateful to Ms Claire for that.

So, a little history that leads up to how and why I finally started writing out the Muse Meetings:

My first fandoms that I wrote for online were Harry Potter and Star Wars (Kenobi specifically). And yes, way back then (late 90′s - early 2000′s) there were already muse meetings among my characters. I’ve been doing these for a long time, and I wish the out-of-character stuff I’d written back then still existed (my HP stuff bit the dust when The Restricted Section shut down, and my SW stuff was on FF.net for a little while but honestly I don’t remember my user ID there or the titles of the fics, though I have searched…so they’re most likely lost as well). It’s sort of a shame because there were some old Anakin/Obi-Wan muse meetings that you guys would have loved…and the stuff between Remus and Sirius while we were hashing out what was going to be in their next chapter? It still pains me that it’s all lost, but maybe it’s for the best. That was nearly two decades ago, we move on to bigger and (hopefully) better things.

After my urge to write HP fic fizzled out I stopped writing for a while, but there were always muse meetings going on in my head for stories I scribbled mentally. To me they’ve always been more fun than the actual stories, which explains my love for gag reels and behind-the-scenes featurettes for movies (I watch those first, always).

And then I found AO3 - funnily enough, I discovered it while searching the internet for one of my lost HP fics - and I decided to start writing in earnest again. With all those thousands and thousands of fics and endless fandoms, it seemed like the perfect place to indulge my need to share what went on in my head. And as I settled into the MCU and my stories started to grow to include multitudes of characters, those impromptu staff meetings with my muses kept being called to order. Stuff that my characters would never say in the context of their stories got said. Scenarios that were too ridiculous to waste time writing were played out. Arguments and fights and bantering between characters who, in the restrictive confines of their own tales, would never in a million years interact…now they were throwing poptarts at each other (and occasionally knives) while the side characters wandered out of the room to watch TV or raid the fridge or sat in horror as someone’s until-now unassuming wife brandished a melon baller as a weapon.

It was messy and fun and was by far my favorite part of the writing process.

That’s what eventually became the Muse Meetings. You want to know how they escaped my head and became an official thing?

Well I’m gonna tell ya lol

One of my very first friends in here, the fantastic @elvenfair1, was one of my first readers at AO3 and she told me I should post links to my fics at this site called tumblr to bring in a bigger audience. So I opened an account here, followed her, posted some links as suggested, and she and I began messaging back and forth pretty much every night as we wrote our respective fics, bouncing ideas off each other and discussing plot points and brainstorming for character names. And as my characters sassed me and refused to cooperate with what I wanted them to do, I would tell elvenfair what was going on in my head with my dumbass OCs and OFCs and we’d laugh and gripe about trying unsuccessfully to reel in our unruly muses.

And then one night back in 2015 she said “You should post this muse stuff, it’s hilarious.”

You know what the first thing I thought was? Cassandra Claire did it 14 years ago and people loved it. So yeah, I can sure as hell do it if I want. If nobody is interested in it, at least it’ll amuse me and elvenfair and that’s cool enough.

And so I did. I started posting them in here first, then as people started requesting them more I eventually moved them to AO3 in a more structured format. And now you guys have multiple Lokis hurling curses at a bartender and viciously baiting a hapless movie star while teenage versions of two other attendees flirt with unsuspecting OFCs, with an occasional appearance by Thor dropping hints about future chapters and looking for fruit roll-ups. It’s messy, but it’s fun and I’ve always enjoyed writing it as a way to let my brain decompress, especially when one of my “real” stories has hit a roadbump.

Since then I’ve seen countless other professional writers doing the exact same thing - J.R. Ward even posts her own version of muse meetings on her official website AND has a published book (her Insiders Guide) that is almost entirely nothing BUT muse meetings. It’s surprising how many writers actually do this and I sometimes wonder if authors like Poe, Steinbeck, Vonnegut, Tolkien, Gaiman, McMurtry didn’t do it themselves (I’d bet money on McMurtry). Just goes to show there’s not an original idea anywhere in the universe…no matter how much you might believe you came up with it first, someone out there has been doing it for a long damn time before you - and a million more will do it after you :)

Anyway, I haven’t written any muse meetings in a while but they still go on constantly in my head. I get asked about once a week to go back to doing them, and one day I will, when I have time for it. My actual fics are struggling for writing time as it is and I made a conscious decision to weed out the unnecessary stuff in favor of “real work” (yeah right lol)…but yeah, the Meetings are still one of my favorite things and I won’t stop doing them permanently - they’ll be back.

So thank you Cassandra Claire for inspiring me to let them fly…if it weren’t for those whacked-out Diaries, the Muse Meetings would all still be in my head with only one person (me) laughing at them.

#fudgemuffinanon #long post #it's been a while since I got to talk to an adult IRL due to the kids being sick #so here have all the words at once lol

19 notes · View notes

hong-kong-art-man · 3 years ago

Photo

“The Artistic Lawyer or the Lawyerlike Artist?”

(acknowledgement: Interview of Hong Kong Lawyer, publication of The Law Society of Hong Kong, with Maurice Lee) (by Sonali Khemka)

There is a widely accepted theory that people are either left-brained or right-brained, meaning that one side of their brain is dominant. If you are mostly analytical and methodical in your thinking, you are said to be left-brained. If you tend to be more creative or artistic, you are thought to be right-brained. In Maurice Lee’s case however, the equal dominance of both sides has shaped him into the person he is today – a lawyer with the soul of an artist.

Writing Right

Lee enjoyed writing from as early as his teenage years, when he would take part in and win several writing competitions in high school. Encouraged by these victories, he applied for an after-school-scriptwriting class organised by Hong Kong TVB in 1978 – a class that only had twenty spots and over 3,000 applicants. At the age of seventeen and still in high school, Lee managed to bag a place as the youngest member of the class. “The classes were intense. They were held five times a week in the evenings and for three hours each,” he recalls. His immense enjoyment of the activity and aptitude for it led him to not only complete the course but also work part-time as a scriptwriter for TVB for few years after graduating from high school. At the time, his heart was set on becoming a professional scriptwriter or director.

However, the left side of his brain nudged at this point and Lee was tempted to pursue a university degree and career that was more academically sound and commercially viable. “My family told me that if you are in the creative field in the early 80s, you will face a very rocky path with many ups and downs. But if you are a lawyer, you have a safe landing,” he shares. After an internal battle between the left and right side of his brain, Lee eventually accepted his place in The University of Hong Kong’s School of Law. Not keen on giving up on his creative side, he continued working as a part-time scriptwriter for TVB throughout his four years in law school, focusing primarily on hour-long dramas and eventually switching to comedy. “I was good at writing dramas, but the producer told me I was not emotionally mature for the material in the drama shows,” he recalls amusingly. “I wasn’t at the appropriate age to write about passionate love affairs and dramatic struggles, so I switched to comedy,” he adds.

Lee’s creative career has taken different shapes and forms – a result of his willingness to not over plan and make the most of any worthy opportunity. In the mid-1980s, he wrote as a columnist for local newspapers, contributing 500-word prose pieces in Chinese on various topics and in the 1990s, Lee even garnered a fair amount of fame as a program host for a talk show for Commercial Radio Hong Kong. Around the same time, he was invited to write fiction literature by Cosmos Books and channeled his very own John Grisham by opting to write legal fictions. His present creative career, which commenced around six years ago, stems from an invitation from two online news platforms – HK01 and Orange News – to write critiques on different forms of art and culture, varying from movies and plays to visual arts and cultural trends. He supplements this with his own Facebook page, named “HKArtMan” where he shares his views on the same in a personal capacity. In addition, Lee also takes on the role of performance organiser when time permits and has previously organised a play and a concert – something he believes Hong Kong is in more need of.

Hong Kong’s Art Scene

Lee believes that prior to the 2000s, the city’s art and cultural scene was plagued by apathy and was a severely overlooked area. In the 2000s, Lee feels the situation has improved but not enough. “There is more curiosity and awareness, but people do not do enough to support the development of art and culture. There is too much financial reliance on the government only,” he shares. “Hong Kong is in a serious need for rebranding,” he adds. “We are currently just a financial center – like Zurich or Luxembourg and relying too much on old industries like logistics and trading,” he explains. Lee envisions a Hong Kong that is on par with global cultural and financial hubs like London or New York City and believes moving towards intangible assets or intangible intellectual property such as the arts is crucial. “We need commercial energy to be put into the art and cultural circles and more money from private companies and investors. That way more people will feel encouraged to pursue artistic careers because they can earn a decent income, which will in turn drive Hong Kong’s art and cultural scene,” he shares. His ultimate dream is what he calls an “Art Economy for Hong Kong,” an environment whereby art becomes more than just a leisurely activity and can be pursued as a commercially viable career.

In order to help realise his vision for a more art-savvy Hong Kong, he plans on putting together a concert and a musical for export to the Greater Bay Area (GBA) next year. “If they are staged only in Hong Kong, there can be less than five shows. However, if I export them to eleven cities in the GBA region, I can stage sixty shows – it makes more sense as an economically sustainable activity,” he explains. Lee believes exporting Hong Kong’s artistic talent is key, if financial prosperity in the arts and cultures is to be achieved. He recalls Hong Kong’s former status as “Hollywood of the East”, a time when films made in the city were enjoyed fervently beyond the borders. Similarly, he is hopeful that other forms of home-made art will also someday be appreciated in different markets.

Critically Creative

For Lee himself, he is content with how his career and personality have shaped out to be. “People tell me as a lawyer I talk like an artist, and as an artist I talk like a lawyer,” he shares. “As a lawyer, I am more sentimental, humanitarian and expressive and as an artist, I always have a mental framework. Artists can be quite unorganised. I am very organised. I put bits and pieces under different headings and am good at fulfilling long-term artistic projects because as a lawyer you are always handling long term cases. You have to be systematic and strategic,” he explains.

Lee encourages lawyers to pursue a creative side too, albeit on a personal level – something he believes would only make them more professionally sought-after. “People think lawyers are checklist animals, I think they are more than that. There is a lot of creativeness and criticality involved in being a lawyer when we handle a case and we should keep those sides alive,” he shares. “There are two minds in demand nowadays – the creative mind and the critical mind. No matter what profession you are in, you should have both,” he adds. He is aware that evolving from executors who merely follow instructions to critical thinkers who ask questions and initiate change can cause adverse reactions – “People find this type of person to be very maa faan (annoying/troublesome), they know too much and ask too much,” he shares with a grin. “But it is important to stand out, both minds will help each other,” he adds.

As a consumer or spectator, his favourite types or forms of art include ballet, paintings by American artist Edward Hopper and the diminishing art of Cantonese opera. “I admire ballet because it is so physically challenging and difficult. I like paintings by Edward Hopper because they make me feel sad – his pieces are very poignant. And I treasure Cantonese opera because it is sadly disappearing. They use old Shakespearean style Chinese dialect which might someday vanish completely,” he explains.

Having enjoyed a rewarding career so far, with ups and downs, with legal wins and creative commendations in abundance, Lee has a particular memory that still lingers vividly. “Fifteen years ago, I was the Vice-Chairman of the Hong Kong Arts Development Council. At that time, the famous movie director Johnnie To and I organised the first outdoor media art exhibition outside the Hong Kong Cultural Centre in Tsim Sha Tsui. The idea was to do some artistic projections on the external wall of the cultural centre and these projections were shut off by 11:00pm. I was at the exhibition till closing on the first day when a young boy came up to me, shortly past 11:00pm. He was 14-15 years old and he begged me to allow him into the exhibition area. He said his family is poor and he works at McDonalds at night. He lives in Tai Po and has come all the way to Tsim Sha Tsui to view the exhibition because he was so interested in what it might be like,” Lee recalls. Moved by the young boy’s passion and determination, he allowed him in as an exception. Till this date, Lee wonders what became of that young boy and whether he ended up pursuing something artistic. “I was so touched and amazed and I wonder how many boys and girls or men and women in Hong Kong have that kind of passion for something non-commercial, something artistic and spiritual,” he muses. If it fortunately turns out to be that the boy is one of our readers, Lee would be delighted to hear from you.

The Law Society of Hong Kong Journal

MLee

中文版 Chinese Version:

https://www.patreon.com/posts/wo-de-2021nian-53673006?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copy_to_clipboard&utm_campaign=postshare

"Youth Dance" Acknowledgement - 中國有嘻哈 official https://youtu.be/PNlC__GiqaY

Movie: “Time” Trailer Acknowledgement-安樂影片 Edko Films Ltd https://youtu.be/g0TT_mwq-DI

Interview of Petrina Fung and Patrick Tse Acknowledgement – ATV 亞視數碼媒體 https://youtu.be/BJnMtmaLzwQ

0 notes