#AND IT'S HARD BECAUSE I WANT TO WRITE
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HAHA BARELY ANY TIME LEFT IN JULY AND I'M STILL PROCRASTINATING DRAFTING HAHAHAHAHA
#my toxic trait is that I believe I can do whatever I want which is LIKE REALLY UNTRUE AS OF LATE LOL#my pain has literally been SOOOO BADDDDD this whole month that I'm fatigued alllll day (but worse than usual)#AND IT'S HARD BECAUSE I WANT TO WRITE#BUT IM TIREDDDDD#and no one is helping me <3#tysm to the doctor who literally told me there's nothing we can do for my pain <3 noooo there IS#it's called - LISTENING TO ME!!!#anyway lol not my first rodeo <<< how did I not have harrison say this in BB (unrelated srry)#but going to try to draft something <3333
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so on the subject of the "Crowley is secretly Revaan/Laverne/Levin/please Twst give us his name" theory, I think my feelings are best summed up as "I don't really buy it, but it's funny". like, in all seriousness, I'm not opposed to it; I have enjoyed the writing in Twst so far and I'm willing to trust that whatever happens will, you know, make sense and not be terrible. but I'm just not really convinced by the current evidence! maybe that'll change once we learn more, we'll see!
with that said, may I propose a few alternate theories about the possible Crowley/Revaan connection:
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#on this installment of things nobody asked but i'm going to talk about anyway#disclaimer that this is mostly a joke please don't get mad at me#(legit no shade to anyone) (speculation is one of the fun things about an ongoing fandom and you never know what'll turn out to be true!)#more seriously i do think there may be some connection that just isn't clear yet#but the more little breadcrumbs we get about what revaan was like the more i think crowley just doesn't act like him#i adore crowley don't get me wrong#(yes he's a dipshit. this is a feature not a bug.)#but like.#not to harp on the scene about lilia's nrc invitation (i am absolutely going to harp on it)#i do not believe that crowley would go through the trash to fish out the pieces and put them back together and save them#just because it was lilia's. just because lilia might want it again someday.#crowley can ✨yasashii✨ all he wants but we know what he's like#and i REALLY do not believe that lilia wouldn't recognize him. i didn't believe it before and i extra don't believe it now.#then again i do tend to be incredibly off about speculation so! who knows! i will trust the writing for now!#i do 100% believe that meleanor would fall in love with the world's biggest dumbass and then double down super hard. that part tracks.#that said i have decided that ambrose being revaan is actually the funnier option just because it would make crowley SO mad#it wouldn't make sense for him to be mad about it and that would just make him madder
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New AU idea:
Sirius and Regulus are the new kids in school (Muggle AU) and no one knows anything about their past but there are rumours that Sirius has full custody of Regulus and that they live alone - the rumours vary between "they live in a cardboard box" and "they have a whole batchelor pad mansion" type place.
Then, there's Remus who doesn't have any friends and doesn't really want them. He sort of talks to James because they were childhood friends but drifted apart in highschool, sometimes James will ask him to go to parties with him (because James wishes they were closer friends again) and Remus always agrees because he feels he owes it to James because he thinks the reason they drifted was his fault. So whenever he goes to these parties, he always reads a book in the corner and just doesn't interact with anyone ever.
Meanwhile, James always goes with Peter and he tries to talk to Remus but he has a feeling Remus doesn't really like him anymore and he's really insecure about it. He just assumes the reason they drifted apart was because he was too loud for Remus. So, he spends most of the parties they go to with Peter getting drunk.
But then. One day, the Black Brothers show up at a party and everyone is so interested to see if they can get anything out of them whilst they're drunk because they're so mysterious. However, what they don't know is that when Regulus and Sirius get drunk, they don't just spew their secrets to the whole world, they dance. So. They end up dancing on the table together (and look really sexy whilst doing it). And James walks into the room and his eyes land on Regulus and that's it. He has to find out more about this mysterious guy, he just has to know his favourite colour and his favourite songs, his hobbies and his least favourite food. Regulus meets his eye too and just thinks "bet", because he knows he's sexy and he knows he can pull that.
Then, there's Remus who is just trying to read his book in peace, but then there's this loud guy dancing on the table, stomping his army boots and belting Queen lyrics so loud he thinks his eardrums will burst. So, he slams his book shut, looks up, and he sees Sirius and realises Sirius is already watching him, Sirius was just trying to get his attention because whilst everyone else in the room was already looking at him, the quiet boy in the corner was too busy staring at a book. Remus doesn't like Sirius, he thinks he's hot, but he hates the way he saunters through the school halls as if he owns the place. He hates that Sirius can speak to James at school so easily even though they barely know each other and Remus has known James for years. But at the same time, Sirius has a room full of people to look at, and he's looking at Remus. People don't usually notice Remus, so he's intrigued.
Sirius, on the other hand, finds Remus just as mysterious as Remus finds Sirius. He wants to know all about this boy who comes to parties only to sit in the corner all night and not talk to anyone. He wants to know all about the boy who sits in front of him in history and dutifully scribbles down all the notes. He wants to know all about the boy who always seems to be angry at him, even though they've never spoken before.
Edit: Soooooo I'm writing it.. but don't expect it until at least next year 🙃
#I really want to write this now#but I'm writing AATT#and I don't want to stop because I'm invested in writing that right now#sighs#writing fanfiction is hard guys#marauders#marauders era#regulus black#james potter#sirius black#remus lupin#jegulus#wolfstar
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doodles some of my favs from One Piece because after two years I'm finally almost up to date with this anime😭
#what a journey it was haha#I thought about giving up a few times#especially at the beginning#but damn#I've already watched over a thousand episodes somehow#It's hard for me to say exactly what I think about One Piece#Sometimes I didn't like the series and sometimes it touched my heart#There are things I have to complain about One Piece#but if I turn a blind eye to certain things#I had quite a lot of fun#Overall I think I could write a whole essay about this because there's a lot to break down xD#but nah I just wanted to throw in some fanart of characters I liked#One Piece#OP#Luffy#Nami#Nico Robin#Portgas D. Ace#Yamato#Trafalgar Law
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Publishing has always been a fucking nightmare, but now it’s a layer of hell. It’s not enough that writers be good at what they do. Writers have to maintain an active social media presence and cultivate a following. Be available.
They have to be conventionally attractive enough to look good enough to see on a screen, aesthetically pleasing, kind, funny, up-to-date on trends, socially aware but not so controversial that they turn off a brand from California from slapping their discount code on a video promoting a book.
They have to do all of this with no media training, with little help from the companies that are supposed to be doing this for them.
Of course, a lot of this isn't possible for say, the 40-something mother of two who teaches English at a school and writes on the side. She’s boxed out of an already complex industry that already has enough walls.
On some level, I think authors have always marketed themselves a little, but we’ve reached such a crazy point where we’re demanding the author become the influencer. Accessibility in publishing has narrowed from an inch to a sliver. And that inch was hard enough to get in as is.
#This is about traditional publishing but there’s pretty privilege and ageism in self publishing too#I can’t think of the last time I saw an up and coming author recording videos who was over thirty#And frankly that’s a shame#It could be that I’m not looking hard enough#but it’s more likely that algorithms are trained the way they are#truly I don’t think they should have to do any of that at all#And forgive me but (and I know it’s rich because I’m an artist on a platform) but art shouldn’t be at the mercy of an algorithm#Now there’s also something to be said about self publishing becoming easier and easier to achieve success in#And doors opening because of influencer status is real and makes publishing wider in a way#But that doesn’t mean it’s accessible#I’m not gonna plaster my health issues over the wall but that life is certainly not accessible to me!#are you healthy enough to write and make sure people on social media still want to like your stuff#are you mentally well enough to be your own pr#I’m sure people who have studied this have more to say and have said it better but this is what I’ve observed#writing#publishing#publishing industry
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cant stop thinkin bout charles and erik readin together on the couch but instead of reading with him charles is listening to eriks thoughts while he reads. Live mind commentary ……..
#xmen#cherik#charles xavier#erik lehnsherr#snap chats#the rare time i post an idea of mine only because i really cant think of a way id draw this#usually i hoard my ideas cause i like surprising you guys but this aint really one i feel like drawing so. For You my friends#like i COULD but. idk just isnt particularly something im itching to draw it just seems cute#but anyways no chat let me cook alright hear me out cause i talk in my brain all the time while i read#sometimes i stop reading just to think about a bit i read yeah#i want charles to listen in on all of eriks side comments or observations he makes while reading something#like if he wanted to charles could read the whole book in less than five minutes- maybe shorter than that#and that aint fun that aint cool …. so time for Audible: Husband Edition. With Commentary#ITD BE SO COZY just hangin out by the fireplace …. maybe its snowin outisde … if snow even exists anymore atp#a light fire cracklin and the study SEEMS totally quiet otherwise and yet…..#charles has been locked in to erik’s off-the-cuff literary analysis and mild comments for the past twenty minutes. its simple but its bliss#charles doesnt have to worry about being seen as invasive .. he doesnt have to suppress his powers …#the rare occasion erik lets charles into his mind for somethin so innocent .. ive made myself sick i fear#see now i wanna try writing a fic but 1.) have written in years 2.) id have to really think hard on how erik would commentate on a book#hm…… actually i do wonder what erik’s commentary on The Fable of the Bees would be …..#IN ANY CASE. maybe - at the very least- i can draw cherik by the fireplce someday ….#thatd be cute … hm …. depends on if i get in the mood for it down the line#anyways i have to drive back to my dorm !!! boo !!!! so good night everyone !!!!!
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Run, Rabbit
König/Reader
Wordcount: 3.8k
Warnings: 18+, Violence, Injury, Smut, lightly noncon but in the way that you're fighting it but are down, König being insane
No use of Y/N
Summary: You're on a solo mission in Romania, and König goes hunting
A/N: "Oh look another predator/prey coded Konig fic how original" SHUT UP I KNOW
AO3: Run, Rabbit
18+
You’re in the forests of Romania on a solo mission, snooping around an abandoned military base that’s been the location of some suspicious activity, according to your sources. You find the ghost of the for-hire group Kortac in rat-chewed maps and files, faint footprints in layers of dust, but the trail has long gone cold, the building slowly being reclaimed by nature. The trees show no sign of the changes of autumn, but it's in the air, the late summer whisper of a chill in the breeze. You take your time picking your way along the overgrown roads, enjoying the tranquility of the forest. The extraction point is ten clicks west of your position, but you’re content with your steady pace, the sun still high in the sky, shining brightly through the thick foliage, and the hike is an easy one. Your meager findings are carefully folded in your bag of gear, your gun snug on your hip. Ten meters to your right, a red deer raises its head up, watching you warily, before bolting away into the trees. You smile to yourself and raise your face to better feel the sun.
You hear the crack of the shot and drop, but not quickly enough. Your ears ring, your shoulder burning agonizingly, like someone’s pushing a hot poker against it. You fight against the nausea and pain, willing yourself to move, scrambling into the brush for cover. The shot came from your six, and you grapple for your binoculars, trying to locate the shooter on the hill above you. You recognize the mask first, the bleached tear tracks down an executioner's hood, the hulking form of the figure wearing it unfortunately familiar. König is standing casually, seemingly unafraid of any return of fire, staring down like he can see you through the trees. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle instinctually as he begins to move, a sauntering pace down the hill like the slow lope of a wolf. You drop down again, ignoring the pain in your shoulder as you crawl through the underbrush.
Nestled low on a hill, large body half buried in the underbrush, König watches you through the scope of his rifle, toying with the idea of killing you. He recognizes you from the files he’s seen on the 141, but there was nothing left at the base for you to find, no reason to draw suspicion and attention back here. You were harmless like this, and magnetic, head tilted towards the sun, your face lit up in a wash of gold light that plays up the color of your hair. His finger brushes lightly across the trigger as he contemplates his options. He rolls his neck loose before glancing through his scope again.
You stop behind a small boulder, pressing your back to it, breathing heavily, and pull your radio off of your hip. “Bravo Six, this is Bravo Seven Four, over.”
The crackle of the radio is a relief, Price’s voice faint but firm. “Go ahead Bravo Seven Four, over.”
“Enemies one; direction east of my grid two hundred meters, injury sustained, six clicks out of extraction point, over.” You peek out from behind the rock, but can't see anything, so you continue your crawl, waiting for a response. The birds have stopped singing, a deadly quiet that warns of danger.
“Stay calm Bravo Seven Four–” Price’s voice is cut off by the sound of another bullet whizzing near you. You can’t have your radio giving away your position, and the squad is too far away to reach you before König could. You grab your radio and quickly press the button.
“Bravo Six, silence, meet at extraction, over.” You turn it off, not waiting for a response, and tuck it back into your belt. Ignoring the growing burning in your shoulder, you move as quickly through the underbrush as you can. You need to cover more ground if you’re going to make it out of here, so you weigh your options, propping yourself into a low crouch, scanning the woods behind you. You can’t see or hear anything. You inhale deeply, then break into a sprint.
The cracking of branches is faint, but König is listening for it, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he searches for you. He immediately changes directions, moving towards the noise and quickening his pace. If you want to run, he’s more than happy to indulge you, relishing the adrenaline of the chase. Your trail is clear, broken branches like a beacon beckoning him closer. He spots blood on one of the low boulders, and swipes it up on his gloved hand, smiling under the mask.
You're hyper aware of your disadvantage, the sounds of snapping branches as your pursuer draws closer, the sluggish flow of blood down your shoulder from where the bullet grazed you. Your lungs burn, head woozy as you run hard, branches scraping at your form. You risk a look over your shoulder, searching for König behind you, and your heart drops when you miss a step.
All of a sudden, you're falling, hands stretched out in front of you as you tumble down a steep hill. You hear and feel the snap of your ankle in your boot, a whimpering sob yanked from your chest as you finally land heavily in some thorn covered bushes, branches scratching your body even through the thick fabric of your uniform. You pull yourself out, ignoring the pain as thorns drag against your face, drawing blood, then scan yourself quickly, the prognosis bleak. You can't run, not with what is definitely a broken ankle, and your shoulder is still oozing freely, but you won’t go down without a fight. You drag yourself through the dirt using your good arm, stopping periodically to listen to the sounds of König moving through the trees. Your entire body burns, and you fight against the growing fatigue that’s threatening to overwhelm you, trying to hold onto your quickly waning adrenaline.
The sound of breaking branches draws nearer. He’s moving faster, heavy footfalls that make your leg muscles twitch with the urge to run. König whistles, high and loud, and you reach for your gun, cocking it as quietly as you can, turning around to face the direction of the noise, crouching low. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear creeping in, the weight of your situation crashing down on you.
“I heard you cry out,” a voice rings through the trees. There's something light in König’s tone, like this has all been a game of tag. “You can't be too far.”
Then the only sound is the breeze, rustling in the leaves. Blood from a cut on your forehead drips into your eye, and you resist the urge to wipe it away, scanning your surroundings as best you can without moving.
The unwelcome feeling of the muzzle of a gun presses against the side of your head, and your body shudders involuntarily.
“Drop your weapon, Häschen,” König murmurs. You comply immediately, tossing it at his feet, unwilling to argue with a Beretta at your temple. The large man quickly kicks your gun into the bushes. “Sit up,” he commands, and you move slowly, trying not to aggravate your broken bone.
The small shack hasn’t been used in a while, the table in the center of the room is covered in dust, and spiders have made their home in the corners, spinning silvery streamers that hang down, brushing against his helmet. König places you lightly on the small bed in the corner, stooping over uncomfortably in the low room. Your hair is full of sticks and leaves, your face scraped and bleeding. He needs to look at your shoulder, and the ankle you’d been hovering over protectively, but work comes first. You’ve thrown him off, his fingers tingling where he held you to him, the phantom pressure of your head on his chest as he carried your unconscious body through the woods haunting him even now. He grabs your gear bag, dumping it unceremoniously onto the table, pulling your medkit to the side before rifling through the papers you’d found. The information was outdated, but he shoves the papers into one of the pockets of his pants for disposal later regardless.
You knew he was large, but kneeling at his feet he feels like a goliath, towering over you, the gun held in his grip looking comically small in his giant hands. He holsters it, and you get a stupid, moronic, brilliant idea. In a quick motion, you’ve ripped your radio off of your belt, pressing down on the button and bringing it to your lips. “MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY–” König slams the heel of his palm into the back of your head, and the world goes dark.
He doesn’t bother stripping you properly, just takes his knife and slices it up through the collar of your shirt, baring your shoulder to him. His eyes, unbidden, trace the line of the now exposed column of your throat, and he swallows loudly in the quiet of the room. König draws his attention back to your injury with some difficulty. He barely even grazed you, the puckered wound bleeding sluggishly, and he quietly gloats at his own aim. When he pours alcohol on it, you awaken with a hiss, throwing your arm out hard in his direction reflexively before your brain catches up with you. He deflects you easily, wrapping large fingers around your wrist, enjoying the feeling of the delicate bones, watching with silent smugness as your confusion reads clear on your face.
“Guten tag,” he says, pleasantly casual, as though you’ve run into him at the grocery store. Your head is pounding, and you’re thrown, trying to grasp your surroundings. Your shoulder is burning, and you’re suddenly aware of the air on your bare skin. You rip your hand out of his grasp, pulling yourself as far away from him on the small bed as you can manage. He tilts his head, studying you.
“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice hard.
König gestures with the alcohol he’s holding. “I’m patching up your injuries.” His voice is low, his accent curling around the syllables of his sentences like smoke.
You blink at him, utterly disarmed. “Why,” you pause, biting your cheek as a wave of pain radiates through your ankle, “Are you patching up my injuries?”
“Would you prefer it if I left them?” He volleys back lightly, tilting his head.
You don’t say anything, staring at him with suspicion. He’s got you cornered, quite literally, and there’s no way you can get away from him with your ankle like this unless you can get your hands on a weapon. There’s a knife tucked in your boot, but you can’t exactly pull it out subtly. His beretta is on his hip, his rifle is leaning against the table, but you’d be lying to yourself if you thought you had a chance in hell of reaching either before he could.
König takes your silence for compliance and goes back to dabbing your wound with alcohol. You flinch when he places his hand on you, and he makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat. “Such a nervous little rabbit.” The mask conceals his expression from you, but you can hear the frown in his voice.
“You shot me,” you respond dryly. “Doesn’t exactly foster trust.”
“Just a scratch. I could’ve killed you, if I wanted to.” He shrugs, a casual movement that’s unintentionally intimidating, your eyes on the way his shoulder muscles move beneath the layers of clothing he wears.
You spend your time with large men, the boys of your team all averaging above six feet, but König is just startlingly gigantic. You scan his torso, eyes tracing across the wide planes of his chest, lingering too long to be decent. You catch yourself and drop your gaze down to your hands. “If you don’t want to kill me, what do you want?”
“I want to know what you are doing here.” His tone is still pleasant, but interrogative. His fingers are deliberate, surprisingly gentle as he bandages your shoulder, but there’s an unspoken thread of tension in the air.
You’re much more docile when he patches up your ankle, an uneasy truce between the two of you. You sit still as he splints it, legs draped almost intimately over his lap, his large fingers curled around your injured leg, gentle pressure holding you steady as he works. He adjusts his hold, squeezing lightly on the meat of your calf, and your breathing stutters. His eyes flick to yours, something dangerous in their expression, and you hold his gaze as you deliberately drag your uninjured leg closer to you, your boot trailing across König's upper thighs intentionally. His eyes slip close at the sensation, just for a moment, and that's when you act, yanking your knife out of your boot and sinking it into his thigh and launching yourself to the floor. He lets out a snarling cry, and you scramble up, your vision going white from the pain of your ankle, but you push through it, sprinting out of the shack.
“Chasing shadows.” You respond, your voice equally mild. You know he looked through your pack and probably found the papers. You wonder if he thought it was ironic that you came sniffing after KorTac, just to run right into him. You certainly did.
You can't run properly, reduced to a hobble that's made all the more difficult by the fact that you're on uneven terrain in the quickly growing dark. You need to figure out your location and find a way to contact your team, but you’re disoriented and disarmed. You haven’t made it more than a few meters when you hear the sound of the front door slam open. You pick up the pace, trying to put as much distance between you and the very angry Austrian hot on your trail.
“Häschen,” König’s voice rings through the trees, and a trickle of fear runs through you. You duck behind a tree, pressing yourself against it firmly, trying to blend in with the darkness.
“Always trying to run away,” he snarls, shoving his body against yours. He thrusts his uninjured thigh between your legs, pinning you further, and you let out an unintentional gasp at the sudden pressure of hard muscle against your core. König instantly pulls away, his eyes shooting down to your ankle with concern, before dragging slowly up your body, his gaze accusatory.
He can hear you breathing, light and quick, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the heavy sound of his footsteps as he closes in on you. He whips around the tree you’re cowering against, and you try to bolt, but he wraps his fingers around your bicep, yanking you back, slamming his hands above your head, trapping you against the tree.
“You like this,” he says, and you shake your head desperately.
“I don’t–” he interrupts any denials you might have, deliberately grinding his thigh in between your legs. You clench your teeth against the noise it draws from your throat.
He leans impossibly closer, your noses almost brushing through the hood he wears. “Did you like the chase as well?” His voice is a husky rumble, full of heat, and you have to bite back a whine. “I liked the chase.” You realize the hard length against your stomach isn't his Beretta, and an unwanted spike of arousal shoots through you in response.
“You’re insane,” you snap, grappling for some semblance of control over the building pleasure in your core. König pulls away from you abruptly, and you flush at how wet you are, soaking through your underwear.
“How about a game, Häschen?” his voice has lost its edge, back to the pleasant tone he used in the shack, and your head spins at the sudden change. “I'll give you five minutes to run or hide, and if you can make it ten minutes without me finding you, I’ll take you to your extraction point myself, safe and sound.”
Your heart races. You don’t trust him, but there's no way you'll get another chance to get away from him. “And if I can’t?” You ask.
You know you’re fucked, but you scramble through the darkness as quickly as you can, trying to find a good place to hide. If your ankle wasn’t broken, you’d climb a tree, but you’re stuck searching for ground cover, listening with mounting paranoia to the quiet noises of the forest. You’re a celestial body pulled unwillingly into König’s orbit; collision unavoidable.
He says nothing, just purposefully presses his hard cock against your center. Traitorous want flows through you.
You hear him coming, branches breaking as he stalks towards you. You stand as straight as you can, letting him approach you, his eyes bright in the dim of twilight. When he comes within range, you lunge for his gun, almost succeeding in yanking it out of the holster before he grabs you around the waist and pulls you to the ground, pinning you roughly beneath him.
Even as he manhandles you, you're hyper aware of the delicate way he avoids putting any weight near your injured shoulder. He's got your legs splayed around him, but he's careful, adjusting you just so, keeping your ankle tucked safely away, angled so he won't jostle it. His hips press obscenely against your ass, and you can't help arching your back into him, begging for his cock even as you swear at him.
“Get the fuck off of me,” you spit, and he just laughs, an off-putting, mean sound, before reaching around and ripping open your pants. The button pops off, and the zipper teeth split forcefully apart as he shoves a hand into your underwear.
“Complain all you want, Häschen, but you're soaked for me,” he coos into your ear, roughly rubbing your clit. You moan at the contact, and he moves his hand lower, pressing his palm against your clit before shoving a finger into your wet center, roughly splitting you open. You gasp at the sudden stretch, König giving you no time to adjust as he pulls his finger out for a moment and plunges it back in, moving in and out at a punishing pace.
“Tell the truth.” He orders, adding a second finger. He curls them, stroking your inner walls, bullying you open until he finds the spot that makes you see stars. “Say you want me to fuck you.”
You're beyond words, making a derisive noise that transforms into a whine as you move your hips back, driving König's fingers deeper, your ass rubbing against his clothed erection. All you can focus on is the press of his body against yours, his fingers unspooling you, pulling you apart as he pants along with you. The tension is building, the knot in your stomach tightening as König forces you closer to the edge.
He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you devastatingly empty and unsatisfied, and you let out an anguished whimper despite yourself. He pushes your pants roughly down around your thighs, and the purr of his zipper opening makes you clench reflexively around nothing.
He presses right against your entrance, a breath away from splitting you open on his cock. You shove your hips back, trying to fuck yourself onto him, and he pulls back. “Say you want this,” he demands.
“Fuck. You.” You snarl, even as your thighs tremble. He drags the head of his cock up through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, and you gasp.
“Such spirit,” he murmurs. In a single motion, he sinks into you, splitting you in open, pulling the air from your lungs.
He thrusts into you fast and hard, like he wants to tear you open, and it hurts, even with how soaked you are. You cry out, trying to squirm away from the pain. His fingers find your clit again, his breath hot in your ear. He dwarfs you, your legs shaking from pleasure and the weight of him on top of you, pressing you into the dirt.
“You wanted this.” His voice is a panting snarl, his talented fingers stealing your senses as he forces you closer to your orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the forest air as he pounds into you without mercy. “Say it.”
“I want this,” you whimper. You feel the shocking whisper of his lips against the junction of your neck and shoulder and realize with a start that means he’s not wearing his hood. All thoughts are shoved out of your head as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and you wail as you snap, the sensation dragging you over the edge, your body trembling as you cum. His thrusts become sloppy, his cock twitching inside you as he shoves his hips against yours, filling you up. He stays like that, flush against you, as his dick softens, keeping you full and trapped under him.
You lay in the dirt panting, hollowed out and raw. There are pine needles prickling against your skin, soreness awakening in your limbs as you come back to yourself. König climbs off of you, still cognizant of your injuries, and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a lover, the brutality melting into tenderness like watercolor. His hood is back in place, and the world comes crashing down around you as your senses return, the weight of your actions pulling you down as regret and shame bubble under your skin.
The walk to the extraction point is silent. König holds you cradled against his chest; your hand fisted in the front of the vest he wears. His thigh burns, his entire body consumed with exhaustion, but he clenches his jaw against the pain, focusing instead on your face, turnt up towards him, open and vulnerable, eyes rimmed with red. If he was a better man, he'd be sorry.
König notices your eyes glazing over, the warble of your chin, and reaches up a large hand to cradle your face, wiping away tears you didn't realize were threatening to fall. “Hush bunny, you did so well,” he croons down at you, his saccharine actions thrown in high relief against how violently he handled you before. “Such a good girl for me.”
He sets you down gently on a large rock, and pulls your knife out of a hidden pocket, his hand raised in a placating gesture as he slowly places it beside you. It’s still got his blood on it, dried to rust on the tip. You don’t reach for it, pulling your uninjured leg up and wrapping your arms around yourself. You look even smaller than you did before.
He straightens his spine against the odd sensation in his chest. “Tell your captain to keep a closer eye on his men,” He orders, then reaches out a hand, hovering just above your cheek bone. Neither of you bridge the gap.
You watch him disappear into the trees, the shadows swallowing him whole, the sound of a helicopter in the distance.
#konig: i showed minimal restraint when causing u bodily harm y wont u let me hit#part of me didnt want to post it because its simply so unoriginal but thats kind of how tropes work fun fact#I also just hate how it turned out eventually I'll rewrite everything but for now I'm just sorry#foreplay is actually shooting someone nonfatally btw#and reader has a pain tolerance like a mother fucker because this is poorly written fanfiction#I cannot write smut I literally wrote everything but the sex and then sat on it for weeks I have such a hard time with it#konig x reader#konig fanfiction#konig x reader smut#konig x you#cod konig#konig/reader#cod x reader#konig cod
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Wait, what’s going on with Embers???? That fic has been on my read later list since 2021, what’s happened with it???
Brief overview, then I'm likely never touching this topic again, because this is not a Drama Blog:
Context: Embers is a super old AtLA fic that was written during the early fandom days, read widely at the time, and was the origin of the widely-used fanon name of "Wani" for Zuko's ship (kind of by default that it was one of the first popular fics to give his ship a name, I think?), even though most fic writers don't seem to realize it's from there anymore.
"What's Going On": I used to include a link in all my stories to it, because I believe in crediting other writers for borrowed elements, and I was using "Wani" in all my fics. But BOY did I not want to be sending readers that way anymore, so I've adopted a new name for Zuko's ship, and removed all Embers links.
None of the criticisms about Embers itself are new; I'm assuming they date back to when the fic was being written, because this isn't an "it aged badly" thing, this is an "actually yeah this gets worse the longer you think about it and I shouldn't have ignored my bad feelings just because some of the worldbuilding was interesting" thing.
An Incomplete List of Why I Made the Change:
I don't actually like the story that much anymore, and don't want to rec it
I tried to re-read it recently to see if some things were as bad as I remembered and it turns out they were So Much Worse Oh Yikes. More specifically, the treatment of Katara and Aang and their respective cultures has... rather a lot going on. One example: The Fire Nation and Air Nomads are both given multiple backstory elements in an attempt to make the average Fire Nation soldier's participation in the genocide/war in large part the fault of the Avatar and the Air Nomads themselves, and also fully justified from the Fire Nation perspective. And I do mean fully. One of its core tenants is "People from the Fire Nation (and only people from the Fire Nation) who don't follow orders Literally Die, therefore murdering pacifists and babies and continuing the war (and their regularly scheduled war crimes) is the only thing it is physically possible for them to do". I cannot emphasize enough how literal that is.
Also the name "Wani" means "Alligator" and is... objectively a pretty lame name for Zuko's ship? Where's the personality, where's the deeper meaning, where's the resonance with Zuko's themes? @tuktukpodfics initially thought I was calling the ship "Wanyi", and that's what I've switched to, because it is Objectively So Much Better. In their words: “Wànyī (萬一): Literally ‘one in ten thousand,’ ��perchance.’ Used grammatically in Chinese to mean ‘what if’ or ‘just in case.’ I think a ship called ‘The Perchance’ is perfect for a boy clinging to false hope.”
TL:DR; I don't rec Embers anymore, because I don't actually like the story anymore, and there are things about it that get worse the more I think on them. I've removed links to it and renamed Zuko's ship to "Wanyi" ("The Perchance") because our boy deserves a ship name that reflects his character arc.
#for the record if you ever find something kind of rancid in my fics#do please let me know#EX: I've rewritten scenes to be better Actual Blind Rep for Toph based on blind reader feedback#and I'm debating how hard it would be to ignore/re-write the canon issues of Water Tribe sexism (for the Southern Tribe at the least)#because that is a common complaint I see from the people who's RL cultures the Water Tribes was based on#probably I can do more interesting things with that going forward#in other words justice for Hama and Hahn#at least the show itself made Hama excellently complex#anyways back to doing actual writing#please no follow up questions#though I will say anyone who wants to update their own fics to use Wanyi (or any other name): go for it!#all you need to do is plop your chapters in a word editor and find/replace the ship name! it took about 40 minutes to do literally#all of my fics and I had some other editing to do besides! it'll be even quicker for you!#let's sink the Wani#avatar the last airbender#atla#Zuko
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In Stars and Disco
(Disco side of the swap)
#in stars and time#ISAT#Odile#Siffrin#Isabeau#Mirabelle#Bonnie#disco elysium#The origins of this crossover came from my playthrough journal in which I wrote down “I think Siffrin should play disco elysium”#Something about failing forwards in general - but some scenes would *shatter* them. Maybe in a good way.#I think they would get to the first dream and need a few months before picking it back up again.#I am not sure if the developer of ISAT has played dDisco Elysium but Odile & Siffrin as a duo have strong HBD & Kim vibes.#Which I am so here for. Accidently or purposefully - it scratches an itch I never thought I would get scratched again.#Both are really good games with gutpunching writing and I want to spread the word. I am doing my part!#Yeah I put Bonnie as Cuno. I know exactly what I'm doing.#Isa is Titus - hard to tell because I gave up on drawing the hat.#This AU in any form is really fun to write comics for so I will be back.#Thanks to all the ISAT fans who have been really friendly so far! Hello hello!
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cw: implied sexual trauma, panic attack, intimacy struggles
You don’t notice it happening until it’s buzzing under your skin. Loud and unavoidable, the only thing you can pay attention to is the irregular flutter of your heart and the way it seems that all the air has been vacuumed from the room—
“Hey.”
You blink, and Katsuki is no longer above you. He’s not touching you at all—you turn your head to find him next to you, propped up on an elbow and only worried.
“Too much?”
The panic flares at the question, because what if this is the last time? What if he’s tired of this?
Your exhale is shaky—your laugh is forced and sounds out of place. “No, it was fine, I just—“
“Oi—“ he says, gently, “tell me the truth.”
The truth burns your eyes and keeps them on the ceiling, away from his. You nod, helpless and resigned to whatever comes next.
“What’s goin’ on in your head?”
You feel the tears spill over before you can catch them. You swipe them away with the back of your wrist. It’s still numb. “I’m just sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin it.”
He grunts a little in acknowledgment—a displeased, ugly sound—and then there’s movement that finally draws your eyes to him. You watch him cover himself with your duvet—all the way up to his chin.
“S’it okay if I hold you?”
He reaches for you and you let him pull you in. His hands stay above your shoulders and pointedly avoid your neck—cradling your head, letting you hide in the curve of his throat. His pulse is steady and constant against your forehead—or you imagine it would be, if it wasn’t muted by the fabric.
“Nothin’ is ruined,” he murmurs against your hairline, “s’my job to keep you safe.”
Your chest shudders against the cushion of the blanket and you feel a little guilty about crying all over it but Katsuki keeps you there, tethered to him. The ringing in your ears subsides, just a little. Just enough to hear the panic in your own voice.
“I promise I want it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m sorry—“
“Hey, hey,” he shushes you, careful not to tighten his arms around your shoulders. “Nothin’ to be sorry for. S’too much today—that’s all.”
It’s quiet, then, save for your sniffling. He keeps his mouth pressed to your hair, and his arms wrapped around you. There is a noticeable absence of his fingertips tracing along your skin—you don’t feel them there at all, and it’s on purpose. He’s considerate and it makes you anxious.
“Can hear you thinkin’.”
“I just—“ you inhale, trying to be brave, “I don’t want you to leave. I know I can’t—give you this—“
“Oi,” he gruffs, a little sharply, “I don’t give a shit about that. M’not a barbarian.”
You feel the expansion of his lungs as he draws in a slow exhale, and lets it out against the crown of your head. “Don’t think so little of me,” he murmurs, tone laced with hurt.
“You’re right,” you whisper, because he is, “I love you.”
“Love you.” He kisses it into your skin, soft and barely there. “Always will.”
#i have beat this horse to hell but I really do love writing about struggles with intimacy#because ~i~ struggle with intimacy and I write for me ya know#but idk i think it would be hard for him!! he just wants to care for me and keep me safe and i have a tendency to self sabatoge.#if you can believe that.#he just wants to help and he knows that what happened before him is not his fault of course. but it upsets him when I project onto him#which is like. a very human thing?#i have been thinking about that post from the other day a lot about believing the people that love you#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou hurt comfort#bakugou comfort#bakugou fic#mha fic#bkg it’s the little things
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my favorite thing ever is if sam and dean somehow get through their entire lives without crossing the line into sexual acts, until they move into the bunker.
like maybe sometime from s11-s14, they've been toxic codependent freaks since childhood but they haven't kissed, fucked, or done much else beyond a slightly-longer-than-normal hug after a near death experience.
but one night they're in the dean cave watching reruns of some show from when they were kids, both slightly tipsier than they'd like to be.
sam of course being the lightweight of the two, gets touchier and cuddlier in the darkness of the room, just the two of them, and all is right with the world.
sam doesn't know what comes over him, but he looks at dean, the light from the tv illuminating his face, and leans in. surprisingly (or not so much), dean follows suit.
their lips press together, ever so lightly, just a graze at first because both of them are still hesitant. but after a second or two, dean takes the leap and fully leans in, reaching up to rest one of his hands at the nape of sam's neck and the other on his hip. sam grips onto deans flannel, fearful that he'll pull away.
it's as if the final puzzle piece is falling into place. dean feels at peace for the first time in over a decade, and sam is overwhelmed with emotion, his eyes welling up as he reluctantly pulls himself away.
"dean," sam chokes out.
"sammy..." dean pulls sam even closer, pressing him up against his front, and brings his right hand up from his neck to push some of sam's bangs out of his eyes.
"i-i'm so sorry, dean-i didn't-"
"sam, sammy, shhh. it's okay, i know. you don't h've to say anything, i know." sam's eyes are shining with unshed tears, and dean notices he's ever-so-slightly shaking, so he pulls him in for a second sweet press of their lips, this one only barely longer than a peck.
"it's just you and me, sammy. we don't have to talk about it."
sam closes his eyes and leans his forehead against dean's, bringing both of his hands from dean's chest to cup his cheeks, "are you sure, de?"
"why didn't we do this sooner?" dean asks as he leans in once again. sammy is dean's everything, the one person that he would choose over everyone and everything. their lives are already fucked up, so why not one more thing to add to the winchester resume?
it's the most natural thing in the world; they already own every other part of each other, so sharing a kiss or two here and there is rightfully the next step.
but of course, it doesn't stop at kissing. sam and dean curl up next to each other on the couch for the rest of the night, and they haven't slept in separate beds since.
#i genuinely do not know what this is#its so bad#i did not proofread#sorry if this doesn't make any sense i just wanted to put soemthing out#but i do love when they are just so casual about escalating their relationship#and ofc im sneaking in sammy with watery eyes#because i need him to be crying and pathetic 24/7#omg who said that??#supernatural#spn#wincest#weirdcest#gencest#sam winchester#dean winchester#samdean#also dialogue is so fucking hard to write omg
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my very specific prediction for the upcoming AITA video: he'll open by explaining that last week on the gaming channel he had an 'AITA' moment himself [insert clips from the dan eye incident here]
then he'll lead into the vid by saying something like "and that inspired me to ask you all for your 'am I the hole' moments", and only then will he bring up that this time, he asked for specifically dating/love-related stories, leaving us to piece together that the intro is a dating/love related story via the maxim of relevance
#val comes out of hiding#comparing the intro and the rest of the vid like pointing out congruent angles in similar triangles#it's perfect bc it's not a hard launch but it could be. if you wanted to write a formal proof explaining why#we've had tons of phan 'proof' essays. where's the phan 'mathematics/logic-style formal proof' doc hmmmmmm#he modus on his ponens til they conclude. or whatever#dnp send you a hard launch confirmation in the mail after you successfully defend your proof#please ignore that grice's maxims are not formal logic they are pragmatics i'm trying to be funny#pragmatics my beloved cover your ears i'm so sorry#phan#amazingphil#fun fact. this post took me like 1+1/2 hours to write because i got lost in the Linguistic Rabbit Hole again whoops#ling shit
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happy new year Ego!!! Just wanted to let you know that I absolutely adore your twst fanart and the tags are just an absolute pleasure to read! You are my greatest inspiration for my personal twst art and I just wanted to thank you for your wonderful masterpieces <333 if possible, may I ask what are some of your headcanons for the diasomnia family? If not for diasomnia then any other characters are fine as well!
thank you, and happy new year! 💚💜💚 that is amazing to hear; it's always a little bewildering but super flattering that other people like my silly little doodles so much!
I don't think I really have any really solid headcanons and also canon keeps validating me left and right (FLUFFY DOMESTIC DIAFAM IS REAL). mostly just kind of...impressions and general thoughts, if that makes sense! lately though I've been kind of obsessed with thinking about Lilia's hair, and specifically when/why he ended up cutting it. (l-look, we're bouncing around the timeline and I gotta make decisions about these things when I draw, it's relevant) (I mean I would probably be weirdly fixated on this anyway, but.)
I think I've settled on the idea that he kept it long until he went to NRC, partly because 1) I like drawing The Ponytail, and 2) I think he thought of NRC as a chance to reinvent himself a bit! he gets to go and be a wacky carefree teenager for a few years and have fun! (officially he's there to keep an eye on Son #1, but how much trouble could he get into, really.) so he gave himself a Cool Teen Haircut to go with his fresh new Cool Teen Persona!
also maybe he had some reflection on his hair's troubled past with three kids...
...and had to weigh his vanity versus the fact that he was going off to be around hundreds of kids on a daily basis, and. the choice suddenly seemed obvious.
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 part 6 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 part 6 spoilers#this is my blog and i'm going to write a million words about lilia and you can't stop me#but anyway i do genuinely get the impression that he's using Pretending to Be a Teenager as a chance to be even sillier than usual#he's a very silly man he's just being EXTRA silly#supported by his recent birthday card where he says he was specifically trying to cast himself as an adorable little brother-type#because he wanted the other students to give him free shit and save him seats and things like that#it worked for about a week before he turned out to be way too good at stuff and everyone just kind of ended up in awe of him instead#and he was like DANGIT. I'VE RUINED IT FOR MYSELF.#(then he and epel went on to talk about their hypothetical vtubersonas because the birthday cards are INSANE but anyway)#i'm bad at headcanons :( sorry!#unless it's dumb things like...what pokemon they would have or whatever#(malleus would have some kind of special fancy-colored dragapult) (but i digress)#i have a hard time putting things into words. just know that i love the grampa bat and his weird kids very much.#my brain is also still kind of fried from the last couple of weeks#i am however starting 2024 off the way i intend to continue it: in deep contemplation of anime hair#(sorry if these look weirdly aliased) (i realized about 3/4 of the way through i was using the wrong brush and i didn't want to restart :U)
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Speaking of your new and improved canon: what is the story behind Tony being somewhat chill with Bucky? Is he actually?
started writing LoF when i was being nostalgic for 2012 where the Avengers Tower fics were at its height of writing so in my world there is no divorce arc. I have no idea how to elaborate on that other than Tony having Peter around changed shit up because having a kid changes your world perspective a lot
#in other words#i didn't expect LoF to get this big#and it wasn't going to be posted but really just shared with alighterwood when i first wrote it#so i didn't expect to have to come up with a reason#just like how in the DC world the Bats are in a state where they're not fighting and Bruce isn't written like an asshole#our Marvel buddies got the same treatment#i have avoided going into depth about why the Avengers are still chill with each other because i just wanted to write them being happy#decidedly hard to be happy if i write the civil war arc#maybe one day i'll have an in universe reason but this is the actual one#it's probably a plot hole but it's a harmless one so we just put a slab of wood over it and say “yeehaw brother i reckon that's right”#erinwantstowrite#ao3#ao3 fanfic#leap of faith ao3#thank you for the ask!#leap of faith catch me if you can
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This AV Club comment is making me so desperate to write a romcom, you have no idea.
#adventures in writing#the trouble is that the idea begins and ends with 'romcom!'#the same way my desire to write mysteries would be 'they solve a mystery!' and i'd have no idea what the mystery was#there's this idea that keeps niggling me#from back when i was just braindumping potential elements i might want to make use of in an inklings story#and looking back at it later the list elements of 'arranged marriage' and 'rom com' stuck out#as well as a world that involves politics and mermaids#and my brain keeps trying to tell me this is a viable idea while providing zero plot or characters#see the thing about rom coms is that they require detailed characters who need their own arcs#the thing i'm bad at!#so it's hard to fulfill this writing craving because all my brainstorming instincts to start with the plot work against me here
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hello today my thoughts are consumed by Spite flirting with Emmrich and Lucanis to rile up Rook. Even better with a Rook without Spirit Sense, so they can only gauge what's going from the occasional lapse of Lucanis' control over Spite and the blushing, near-stuttering messes they become. Especially during meals with the whole Veil Guard. Spite learning some sense of subtlety through osmosis, so he starts with compliments. Granted, Spite's "subtle" compliments are typically ones without expletives, so they are still intense and heated and, if they catch Emmrich at the right time, enough to make his voice stutter.
He starts by stating the things Lucanis already likes about Emmrich. Things that they both hold in high on the list of things they appreciate about Emmrich. Flirting on Lucanis' behalf, if you would. "Lucanis loves your hands, professor," paired with just enough power exerted to force Lucanis' head to tilt in the direction of Emmrich's hands, baring his throat just enough that Emmrich can see it bob in a swallow as Emmrich finishes cutting himself a bite. "He would very much like to see those hands wrapped around something else. He made a new set of choking cords just for you. Did you know that? He made them in Mourn Watch colors."
Spite letting Lucanis retreat into his coffee, purring lowly as Emmrich's face starts to flush. Waiting until Lucanis is almost done with his drink to say, "He likes your boots better, though. He would very much like to be under them." Emmrich and Lucanis having to wave off concerns of the other Veil Guard members as they both choke, Rook glancing between the two curiously. They might not be able to hear what's going on, but they've seen the signs before. They settle more comfortably to watch the display like a sporting match.
And when Spite starts complimenting Lucanis, oh, the man nearly has to excuse himself to run his head under water, he's burning up so badly. "I like how I can feel every muscle working when we're in combat together. I like seeing your blood bead on the little cuts I make for you. I love the thudding of your heart, the feeling of your adrenaline. I like the way your brows scrunch and then get soft whenever you smell coffee for the first time. I like when you eat sweet things for me."
Spite having a little tally going, one on each thigh, for every time that he makes Lucanis and Emmrich stutter or pause during the initial flirting phase. Low little murmurs of, "That's another one," and "Oh, that one got Emmrich good." Emmrich realizes what the count is for soon enough and tries to focus more on paying attention to conversation at the dinner table, but if Spite hates anything, it's to be ignored (though he does appreciate the set of the professor's jaw, and the thudding pulse of Lucanis' heart, the heat in his blood).
If Emmrich is going to ignore him, then he'll simply up the ante. If Emmrich doesn't want to listen to all the things that he and Lucanis want him to do to them, then they'll talk about their collective favorite subject: Rook. "Look at their mouth--isn't it pretty? It'd look better full of our fingers. You should let me take over, Lucanis--I'd have them begging for it faster than you could blink. Do you think they'd lay in our lap again? I liked when we did that. Oh, maybe they'll sit in it. You liked that idea, I felt it. Emmrich, what do you think? What position do you like Rook best in? We like the sight of them on top of you. We want to see it again. Don't you want to see it again?"
Lucanis and Emmrich slamming their hands on the table, the same conclusion reached in equally frantic manners. Neve asking with a teasing smile if something is the matter, or did their conversation about Dalish alchemy really bore them to tears? Emmrich and Lucanis gritting out in the same breath, "It's Spite."
"Just tell him it's not his turn. Works for us." Taash comments, though they're grinning. They can smell how worked up these two are, and was placing bets with Davrin and Harding about which one would crack first.
"Spite," Rook scolds, but it's all grins. Their eyes are shinning, leg bouncing underneath the table. "You know you can always talk to me if you want something. No need to bully poor Emmrich and Lucanis."
"Do not encourage him," Lucanis begs, knuckles going pale from where they grip the table. Emmrich is truly struggling to regain his composure, trying to assemble anything resembling a calm front. But Spite takes the opportunity to take over, forcing Lucanis' body to relax. Digging his hands into his thighs instead, feeling Lucanis' body shudder with the ache. "I was simply telling Lucanis and Emmrich how much I appreciated them." Deceptively coy, but the sharpness in his grin gives it all away. "How much we appreciate you."
"Get a room already," Taash yells, sweeping the pile of coin she earned towards her plate.
"Well, Rook? Shall we get a room?"
#welcome to my mind palace shit is getting good here#I JUST THINK SPITE COULD BE AN ABSOLUTE MENACE (POSITIVE) IN THIS POLYCULE AND I WANT HIM TO BE#HE KNOWS EMMRICH CAN HEAR HIM WHEN HE'S CLOSE ENOUGH. SO IF LUCANIS WON'T LET HIM YAP TO ROOK HE'LL YAP TO EMMRICH INSTEAD#as for the betting party davrin despite all his bickering with lucanis thinks that he'll hold out the longest every time#taash eventually gets banned because they deem their improved sense of smell as cheating so they're the ringleader who takes a cut#Neve is also betting but she and Bellara have something called Class and do it subtly#Bellara is just internally writing the dialogue and is going to publish the spiciest serial that's ever been seen once this is over#Harding tends to support Emmrich because he is much better at hiding it#But sometimes he'll make that surprised pikachu face and she'll start sliding coin to taash#emmrich volkarin#emmrich x lucanis#emmrich x spite#emmrich x rook#lucanis dellamorte#lucanis x emmrich#lucanis x rook#lucanis x spite#rook x spite#headcanons#dragon age the veilguard#davg#veilguard
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