#edit: up an hour later fixing my mistakes

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

If you are up for it could write more Justice League x Assistant reader?

That scenario did things to me honestly, and I can't find anything similar 😭

Maybe reader calls in sick and the each JL member goes to check on them unanounced (reader never told them were they lived but of course they'd know *sideeyes batman*) which end up on all the members questioning and pointing at each other *cue spider man meme*, because why are you at my darling's- I mean our Assistant's house!

Reader kicks everyone out except the gourmet chef batman brought to cook reader some chicken soup.

A Day in Life: In Health and Sickness

Synopsis: A day in life were you, the Justice League's assistant, find out that sickness and a bunch of obsessed superheroes are just too much to bear all at once.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader; Platonic!Alfred Pennyworth

Tw: Nonconsensual (not sexual) touching; A single mention of obscene acts; Kinda breaking and entering; Reader gets physically restrained; Kinda forced infantilization? But not really, just humiliation; Some members of the League might be out of character bc I don't know them well enough; I was sleepy while revising and editing this so I might fix any mistakes I didn’t see later; English is not my 1st language.

Word count: 2,6k

Requested? Yes.

Extra notes: Thank you so much for your compliments and the request!! Your suggestion really gave me inspiration to write as soon as I saw it. It's not exactly what you asked for but I hope it's the same vibe and you like it!! Also I’ve seen all the requests for a part 2 of “He's My Collar”, but as stated here, I didn't answer bc I’m working on it! I just didn't have any ideas yet!

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

Whatever hit you today, it sucks. Yesterday, in the afternoon, you had a mild throbbing in your head, but not exactly a headache, at night, fever hit you, alongside a cough. Medicine helped enough but today you still felt a little warm, your head hurt, your nose was somehow stuffed and leaking at the same time. You've been awake for an hour and still just couldn't get yourself to care for your basic needs like showering and eating, let alone go to work, so you called in sick. At least you would have some piece for a day.

Or that's what you thought, until you heard some tapping on your window, scaring the shit out of you, and saw Superman outside with a sympathetic smile and holding a pharmacy bag, a crate of water bottles and food.

Ugh, of course you couldn't actually have some peace.

You took a deep breath to prepare yourself and got up, walking towards you bedroom window, and tried sticking your head outside, hoping he wouldn't enter your home if you kicked him out before, but before you could do anything else, he supersped inside and suddenly was at your side, making you dizzier.

— Hey! I heard what happened. How’re you feeling? — The alien’s face showcased his concern on his furrowed brows and he took a step too close (any step in your direction taken by one of the heroes was already too close for you), extending his arm forward to place the back of his hand in your forehead. You took a step back but he didn't seem to mind.

— Uh, I'm fine. You didn't need to come here. — Superman shook his head.

— I wanted to help. Here, I brought som- — Doorbell. The hero looked in the direction the sound came from, most likely using his X-Ray vision to look through the walls and doors, and squinted his eyes. Oh boy. — You called someone? — His voice is weirdly calm, contrasting with the way he abruptly starts marching out of your room and to the door.

Earlier you thought the fast exertion of movements would be too great for you, but apparently adrenaline was on your side, enough to follow him around as if you were the visitor inside your own place.

— I didn't. — You respond flatly and holding back a groan from annoyance, since you also didn't invite him.

Superman immediately opens the door as soon as it's within his reach and what's on the other side surprises you more than when you got the job at the watchtower.

— Superman. — Batman didn't seem surprised, but he also never showed emotions other than anger. — (Y/N). This is Penny-One. — He is surely referencing the old man well dressed on his side. — He is here to take care of you. — You raise an eyebrow, almost speechless.

— T-Take care of me? — You helplessly watch them invading your residency, painfully aware there's nothing you can do. Superman crossed his arms.

— This is not necessary, I came here to do just that. — Superman’s protest unfortunately doesn't give you any hint of how this will all turn out, nor does it scare Batman and his friend away..

— You have your own responsibilities. — Batman simply states. — You should go.

Penny-One simply turns to you.

— It's a pleasure, Miss/Master/Mx (Y/N), even in your condition. Master Batman talks a lot about you. — You don't know what to stay and it probably shows, since no one waits much for your reaction before Penny-One is moving towards your kitchen and Batman and Superman continue with their argument.

You just go and sit down on your couch, questioning your life decisions and escape plans, which will have to wait until this damned curse leaves your body (and your home).

Your hands raise to rub your face and maybe give you some clearance, maybe wake you up from this nightmare, but keeping your eyes closed and sitting down only remind you of your condition. You feel worse or is it just your spirits? Either way, you let your body slide down until your side rests on the couch cushions, arms hugging your own body to try to have some warmth back. When did it become so cold?

At least their voices were low, as if trying not to bother you, it's a little soothing, especially with the promise of having food. Your eyes hurt just from staying open so you don't. At some point, some type of fabric is thrown over your body and a hand combs through your hair. You are too weak to do anything.

Next time you open your eyes, it's due to disturbing noises, your head is no longer on the arm of the couch and instead is laying on someone’s bare thighs. A pair of hands is running through your locks, and a really nice smell is in the air.

Did you fall asleep?

That would explain why your head is on fucking Wonder Woman's lap and she is looking at you lovingly. Also the fabric from before is Superman's cape.

You quickly shoot up, although just as fast, four or five pairs of hands, coming from seemingly out of nowhere — startling you even more — push you back down, you don't go without struggle, and soon, all hands disappear, green lights catch your attention and you can't move your body a single inch anymore. Somehow, you ended up restrained by a green and bright cocoon, as if you were soon to be a butterfly, only your face is free. Green Lantern’s construct.

— Hey, hey, calm down, hot stuff. I know she’s scary and you would never want to be close to anyone else but me, but you still need rest. — You're turned to the ceiling against your wishes. For some reason the fact that your whole body is covered doesn't give you the comfort nor the protection it should give you, instead, it reminds you of how vulnerable you are.

Your wide and paranoid eyes try to search for anything, since your head is being held in place. You can see Wonder Woman above you, glaring at something outside your line of vision, you are still in her lap. A bit of Aquaman’s blond hair on the bottom of your vision. And Batman, towering over you and the amazon, just observing as always.

— You can release them now, Green Lantern. — It's Superman's voice.

— He is not going to. — You see Batman saying at the same time another voice speaks the same sentence, making all of them turn in the direction of the sound, somewhere you can't see, but you recognize the voice. — He thinks they're weak and incapable of making decisions. — I'm sorry, who is weak and incapable of making decisions here? — He also wants to prove he is the only one capable of protecting and taking care of (Y/N), and impress them so they will fall right into his arms, call him a hero and give him a kiss… And other obscene things. — Batman smirks. Wonder Woman and another new and deep voice loudly laugh, the masculine voice being more obnoxious. Someone scoffs indignantly.

— Okay. Get out of my fucking head or I will make you. — The Lantern's voice sounds angry and you hear hurried footsteps. They wouldn't fight right here, right?! Right beside your sick body and in the middle of your crumpled apartament… It would make such a mess…

— I wasn't inside your head. Your thoughts were too loud, it's like you are screaming in my ear.

— I will make you scream! — You hear Superman superspeeding, probably getting in between the fighting duo.

— Ha- Green Lantern, calm down. No one will make anyone do anything here.

The agonizing feeling of restriction grows.

— WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE? — You scream in a husky voice, panting right after. Everyone is silent and the next second, the construct moves you around until you're sitting up, back to the back of the couch. You are still being held and manhandled, but at least you're not in someone's lap and you can see something other than your ceiling.

Martian Manhunter is standing a few meters away from you, Superman by his side. Wonder Woman was still sitting beside you and doesn't look like getting up any time soon, Green Lantern makes his way to sit down on your other side, placing his arm around you, gladly you can't even feel it. Batman is still standing on the side of the couch, his cape covering his body. Aquaman is sitting in your armchair, his face laid on his hand, watching amused, if not a bit annoyed.

It's so weird seeing all of them, suited up, in the middle of your living room, and in plain daylight.

— We came here to nurse you back to health. — Wonder Woman speaks.

— Uhh, don't you think this is a little too much? — The heroes look at each other as if looking for the issue.

— I mean, yeah. I could do it alone, but for some reason when I got here, these freaks had already broken into your house. — Freak Lantern says, pointing an accusing finger at the other freaks in question, the trinity, Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman. — Those two came in later. — He nodded at Martian Manhunter and Aquaman, not giving them a single look, his eyes solely on you. Like everytime he insists on overly making eye contact with you, it's a bit uncanny. — Worry not, beautiful. I will kick them out for you. — Superman and Wonder Woman snort at his arrogance.

— You could go with them. I'm fine, I don't need help. I’ve been taking care of myself for years and can still do it. — You've been nice long enough, they crossed the line, they invaded your apartment, which is so unprofessional, and you need to set limits. They just look at you with pity.

— I am are aware of my neglect. — Neglect? — But it's going to be different now that we are reunited… — Uh? What is Manhunter talking about?

— Exactly. History has proven how men are unreliable and indifferent to others. I'm the only one you need, darling. — Wonder Woman caresses your face. — I don't even know what they think they are doing here…

— What are you doing here, princess? Don't you have mommy issues to fix or a guy named Steve Trevor to talk to? — The amazon furrowed her eyebrows and glared at the one sitting on your other side.

— Don't listen to him, (Y/N). I left Steve a long time ago, when I met you. — Girl, why? Go back to your man! Leave me alone! — What about Aquaman? Doesn't he have a kingdom to rule? — The man in question dismissed her answer with a hand movement.

— I’m protecting Atlantis’s future by making sure none of you get any ideas and (Y/N) survives their illness. — Batman shook his head.

— I’ve already made sure they're taken care of. You shouldn't be here. There's more important matters for us out there.

— Then why aren't you there?

Their battle of egos is just too fast for your slowed down brain to process and try to formulate any form of strategy. Before their banter gets worse, the older man from before reappears.

— Your soup is ready, Miss/Master/Mx (Y/N). — Penny-One seems unbothered by the commotion around you, walking in with the source of the heavenly smell. Your mouth waters.

— Let me do it, Penny-One. — Wonder Woman gently offers and takes the bowl from him, along with the spoon. The Justice League makes sounds of disgust when they start watching her spoon feeding you (they wanted to be in her place).

You groan, complain, try to wiggle out of the construct but nothing works, especially with your fatigued and sick state. If you weren't claustrophobic before you might be from now on. You are clearly uncomfortable and practically begging to get out but for some reason they just won't listen. It gets to the point where as soon as you finish your soup — after realizing, again, that with those people it's just easier to surrender —, and take your medicine, Green Lantern’s temper apparently gets done with your whining and resistance, and he simply makes another construct. Now you have a pacifier in your mouth. It's your limit.

They start fighting again because some of them find it degrading, some like to hear your voice even if they know how close to cussing them out you are, and some think it's cute and prefer your quietness over your cries.

You can't move. You can't spit it out. You can't bite it off. You can't ask for help.

Green Lantern is rubbing your cheek while — slightly — mocking you. Wonder Woman is cooing at you, while trying to convince the Lantern to stop with his antics. Aquaman is clearly expressing he is on the Lantern’s side. Batman, Superman and Martian Manhunter are threatening him.

Frustration gets the better of you and the dam breaks loose. Now you are wrapped, with a pacifier and crying. Like a baby. In front of your bosses. In front of people who think you are vulnerable and need them. They're practically keeping you hostage. You didn't want them here. You told them no, countless times, and they just blatantly ignored your boundaries.

You have a pa-ci-fi-er. In. Your. Mouth.

And they are talking. They are ignoring you. They're been doing it for hours. No. Months. That's abuse.

This is the most emotion they ever got out of you and it immediately quiets everyone down. They're just staring at you, shocked. This whole thing is just a shitshow. A disaster. They're a curse. You are cursed.

It's so distracting that it makes Green Lantern lose his concentration, which is what fuels his ring’s power, and the constructs start dissipating.

You immediately get up and put as much distance between you and the team, who all have wide eyes and maybe had just now realized the gravity of the situation, while thinking about control damage.

You are searching desperately for how you could effectively kick them out, while also experiencing just the aftereffects of a new trauma, when it looks like it will get even worse. Flash zooms into the apartment.

— Hey, (Y/N)! Sorry I took so long! Busy Day. N-Not that I wouldn't quit anything and everything just to help you. I just now saw the notification that you took a day off today! W-What… W-What are you guys doing here…? — The speedster noticed after his rambles the he is not the only one in the middle of your living room, and points at the whole team, who is on the complete opposite side of you. They also point at him.

— You’re late. — Batman states.

— Slowest man alive. — Green Lantern calls out his friend.

Flash looks around as if gathering his thoughts and notices your distressed state. He turns completely to them, his back to you and him being between you and his team.

— What did you do to them? — At his demand, all of them start pointing at each other and giving some sort of explanation or their side of the story at the same time, turning it into unintelligible sounds, until your yell interrupts them.

— GET. OUT!

— But-

— OUT!

— But, (Y/N)-

— NOW! GET OUT NOW!

They grumble but comply. Penny-One, who was totally unfazed during the while ordeal, just sighs, and starts making his way with them. Until you take a timid step toward him and stop him.

— N-Not you… I-I mean the soup was really good and I don't think I will have the energy to cook later… I-If it's n-not bothering you… — The older man smiles placantinly at you.

— Of course, dear. I'm getting paid either way, might as well just finish my job here.

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@wandalfnation

[cottoncandytomu]

Scream For Me Doll~ Ghostface!Ellie x F!Reader

🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸

🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸

ITS FINALLY FUCKING HEREEEEEE!!!

(I do not own any of the photos! Just edited them, if they are yours and you want them removed lmk!!)

GHOSTFACE!ELLIE AI AUDIOS HERE!!

Before I even start-

18+ CONTENT MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. THIS FIC IS DEFINITELY NOT FOR MINORS!!

PLEASE READ ALL OF THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU INDULGE IN THIS FIC!!

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to finally finish this fic, I wanted to make it the best I could for you deranged Beauties~. I will say though, I only proofread half of it (I'll proofread the other half later - sorry I just wanted to post it already heeheheh~) so any mistakes I apologize they will be fixed in the future!

Those who asked to be tagged, if you're not interested in this fic in particular or want to be removed please lmk!! :}

WARNINGS!! PLEASE READ!!

This fic IS NOT for everyone, so please if it isn't your cup of tea...move on. Any type of hate sent my way I ask for it to not be anonymous so I can do you the justice and block you straight up. This fic contains the following: (If I forget to put a TW please let me know so I can add it on!!)

LOTS of dark themes, Filthy smut, Knife play, Blood play, Self harm (Ellie's behalf - slightly intentional - she cuts herself on the blade), Degradation (Very minor), Possessiveness, Stalking, Cursing, Deranged reader and Ellie, Mentions of murder/killing.

I think that's it - again if I missed anything please let me know. BUT that's about it folks, hope you Beauties~ enjoy!! (7839 Words)

⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧

The sound of breathing was the only thing to be heard, Ellie’s warm breath bouncing off the flesh of the mask and back into her own. She learned very quickly how to stay quiet in situations like these. Her robe almost touched the floor, flowing right along with her movements. The sun had set hours before, a warm yellow moon took its place. Darkness cascades over the town, it was during these hours where she thrived the most. The shadows made for her stalk within the night, hiding all of her secrets in its shroud. She slowly creeps towards your window, forever thankful that your room was located on the first floor. 

A lot of her nights were spent like this. Reveling in her recent victims over the weeks to then come and celebrate by watching you at your most vulnerable. You weren’t on her hit list, far from it actually. Her obsession for you was different, not one of bloodlust. Although she’d love to see the deep velvet color of your blood drip down your stomach. The tip of her blade digging into your skin, not too hard, not too soft, but enough to pierce the skin. She’d imagine rubbing her gloved thumb across the liquid, smearing it towards your hip bone. Where she’d then grip your waist, squeezing the soft flesh in her palm. 

Her true bloodlust was for the imbeciles who fell into her traps, never clever enough to understand the gravity of the situation they’ve put themselves in. What genius would walk through an alleyway alone after a night of drinking? Or answer a phone call in the deep hours of the night? Only idiots would and Ellie hated the idiots of the world. The ones who deserved to be silenced by her blade, one less ignorant human on this planet. She saw the evils she committed as an act of justice. Just what society needed, one less idiot to exist. But fuck there were so many. That’s why she enjoyed you the most. You weren’t like them. 

The way you were always aware of your surroundings, keeping up on the latest murders of the month. Those murders being her own work of course. She saw the way your eyes lit up at the idea of figuring out who the infamous Ghostface was. You were determined, it was cute in your own way. Ellie was always one step ahead though, she knew about your obsession with the slasher. Being your close friend was her advantage to the game. It was her fun version of tag, except for the fact that you were unaware you were playing it with her. Coming so close to touching her, the tips of your fingers stretched out wide but she was able to run and hide. You having to start all over again just when you were so close. She loved when you got close. 

She’d listen to all the theories you’d come up with about who Ghostface could be. You’ve gotten close a few times, even if it was jokingly pointing the finger at her. You’d laugh off the idea of Ellie being Ghostface. It’s too hard to believe your childhood friend who you’ve spent every waking moment with to be the one. You told her she didn’t have the guts to commit such acts, too blinded by the nurturing friendship the two of you shared. As clever as you were, in which Ellie respected, you always missed that one piece. 

There was a moment that she did want to tell you, to scream it off the rooftops or to stand outside your house with it written in bold letters. Hey, it’s me! I’m Ghostface! Surprised huh? But she knew that’d be too risky, as much as she trusts you with her life she doesn’t fully know if you’d be able to keep this under the wraps. Would you run away screaming, telling the first officer you see? Or is there that slight chance that you’d be alright with it… 

This was another fantasy Ellie loved to live in. You overjoyed with the fact that she was the one. Running up to her and caressing her mask, blood staining the tips of your fingers just moments after her fresh kill. But she knew better. Out of all the secrets you two shared, this was the only one she kept to herself. 

Little did she know you had secrets of your own. Your obsession with the slasher didn’t just end at finding out who it was. You wanted them for yourself. You wanted to trace their mask with your fingers, dragging them down the oversized robe and over to their gloved hand. You dreamt of grabbing that hand that yielded the knife. Tracing it up your chest to your delicate throat. To feel the cool blade against your skin would welcome heat that would pool between your thighs. You wanted them to use you how they wanted, bending at their will, doing whatever for them. It was a fucked up fantasy you couldn’t stop. But did you truly want it to stop? 

You had to bite your tongue every time you talked to Ellie about them. She was intrigued with your theories, always ready to listen in on the newest piece of evidence you brought up. But you didn’t want to face the judgment of her words when you told her the main reason you wanted to see what was behind the mask. You imagined her reaction once. You didn’t imagine it again after that. 

As she peers in she feels her chest swell up. It never felt any different for her, you always made her feel a certain way. Especially during these times. When she had the mask on, it changed her. She became a different person, she felt free. She felt like her true self. It was funny in a way, usually people put on a mask to hide their identity. But it wasn’t the same for Ellie, it brought out the worst in her. She loved every second of it. 

You were fast asleep in your bed, legs in a tangled mess with your blankets. Your brows were furrowed, tightly knit together. She was curious as to what you were dreaming about. Was it a nightmare? Troubles from something that happened earlier in the day? It took everything in her to not climb in through your window, coming close to you to smoothen out the lines between your brows. Her eyes trailed down to your lips, taking in how soft they looked. How badly she wanted to glide her gloved fingers across them. Just to hook them into the side of your mouth and pull back the flesh, making you smile like the joker. 

Her nightly ritual would soon come to an end. Much to her disappointment she had to go back to being the regular old Ellie. The Ellie no one suspected was Ghostface. She took in your features one last time before descending back into the night, the darkness consuming her once again. 

Finding the abandoned shed by her house she shed herself of her shroud and mask, putting them away in her pack. She returned home shortly after, unlocking her door with her key. She couldn't wait to also get some rest. Unbothered to do anything else besides sleep she threw her pack across the room. Flopping into the bed it didn’t take long for her to be whisked away into lust filled dreams of your face. 

The next morning came in a hurry. Ellie woke up in a sweat, the stuffy heat of the summer causing her clothes to stick to her skin. It didn’t help that she fell asleep with her jeans and t-shirt on, too tired the night before to change into something more comfortable. Her hand reaches over on her nightstand, grabbing her phone she checks the time, 11 a.m. It wouldn’t be long until you’re knocking at the door, you both had previously made plans to go out today. Finally having a matching day off you didn’t want to waste it away, even with the stupid curfew in place. Jackson didn’t have much to do but you both made it work. Your favorite spot was going deep into the forest, dangerous yes, but you enjoyed the quiet serene scene. The only sounds being what nature wanted to sing to you that day. 

Today would probably be one of those forest days. The overwhelming buzz of fear that clouded the skies of Jackson was starting to be too much for you to handle. You wanted, no needed, a mini escape from it all. And who better to escape all of it with none other than your loyal friend. She understood how you felt, how sick of the people you were. She understood it all too well. 

Ellie placed the phone back down on the nightstand, rubbing her eyes as she sat herself up. Letting out a sigh she climbs out of bed and goes to get ready for the day. It doesn’t take long until you’re knocking at her door. Toothbrush in her hand she rushes over to let you in. Your soft smile sends flutters to her stomach, precious as always. She sends a smile back your way, standing off to the side to let you in. You were wearing a regular t-shirt and shorts that hugged your thighs just right, she couldn’t help her eyes from checking you out. After you walk in she closes the door and returns to the bathroom to finish getting ready. 

You walk over to the door to the bathroom, leaning against the frame watching her finish up. You gave her a knowing look and she knew what would come out of your mouth before you even said it.

“New evidence?” She asks. 

Your grin widens, “Maybe…”

“Spill, now.” 

This happened often, you’d have some new “gossip” about the killer from your unresting research. While Ellie would sit and listen, wanting to know how close you’ve gotten this time. 

“So you remember a week ago when that random man was murdered?” 

Ellie pretends to think about it for a second. She knew exactly who you were referring to, he was a tough one. His extreme persistence to survive almost caused him to escape her grasp, almost. She nods at you. 

“Well apparently he put up a fight.” 

Ellie’s face cringed, thinking back on the memory. Her expression quickly changed to a confused one, now wondering how you knew about his persistence. 

“I know I know, the only reason I found this out is because of someone sharing some info on Reddit.” She waits for you to continue on. “So their Dad is a cop blah blah, shit no one cares for. But because of this he gets inside info. So get this, they found a piece of the handle to the blade Ghostface used to kill him. There’s some overly complicated science as to how they know he struggled. But the piece of it gives them a slight advantage on what weapon the killer uses. It’s honestly crazy how the knife broke. It’s said that the Buck 120 is very durable, some luck huh?” 

Fuck-

Ellie knew her mistake but didn’t think it would be found so soon. By the time she realized the piece had fallen off it had already been too late. That night she was consumed with the need to see you. Specially after that persistent fuck gave her such a hard time. The stress of it all ate her alive, for once she feared she would be discovered if he was able to escape her grasp. Luckily with one hard strike she was able to finally take him down. Enraged after the fact she kept up the hard strikes at his weak skin. Definitely a blood bath, all the emotions clouded her mind. She didn’t realize that her harsh slashes may be the one thing to bring her demise. When she saw you that night all the stress seemed to disappear. She returned home that night, dread still heavy on her head. Seeing you truly did help her but soon as she left you it all came back. The next morning was when she saw the lost piece in her handle. Cursing herself at her stupidity, it was too late. She never goes back to a kill, no matter how satisfying or difficult. It was too risky, the bodies were found usually a day or so after she ended them. 

Ellie snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of your voice. “Earth to Ellie, you there?” 

She rinses her toothbrush and spits out the paste in her mouth to answer you. 

“Yeah.” She laughs it off, “Sorry. Just thinkin’ about what you said.”

You tuck in your lips nodding slowly at her words. “It’s crazy to think about isn’t it? I’ll find out who it is eventually I know it.” 

“Oh you do now?” Ellie forgets about her previous thoughts. More interested in your words instead. 

“Mhm~ You know how close I’ve gotten.” 

“I also know how many times it’s slipped from you too.” 

“Whatever, I don’t wanna hear this shit talk when I find out who it is. I’ll prove everyone wrong.” 

Sure you will. Ellie thinks, “I’m gonna talk shit regardless. You know this.” 

You laugh at her words, “You’re right. Anyways hurry up, I wanna be out as long as I can before curfew.” 

Ellie finishes up what she has to, not wanting to keep you waiting. As she gets her things together you go to sit on the couch, patiently waiting. After she’s done you both head for the front door. Before you can leave Ellie mutters a hold on forgetting one last thing. She goes back into her room before descending out with her guitar case in hand. You smile warmly at her. You always loved when she would bring her guitar. Playing the tunes you were never tired of hearing. You opened the door for her letting her exit with her case. Following her out you both took off to the calming forest. Letting go of all the troubles that plagued your minds. 

After a few hours you and Ellie made it back to her house. The time spent in nature was a refresher you both needed. Similar reasons neither of you were aware of. The two of you didn’t eat the whole day so you both agreed to get food once settled in Ellie’s home. Not wanting the night with you to end Ellie made sure to invite you over after. She knew she’d be around you. Regardless if you stayed or not. She could either have you here or have you through your window. As much as she did enjoy the latter, she wanted to be around you as long as you’d allow. Even if it was when she was regular Ellie. 

The both of you settled down onto the couch. Ellie loaded a game up to pass the time, knowing you’d enjoy watching her play. Ellie made you comfortable no matter the situation, being in her presence made you feel such a relief. A relief no one could provide in the same way that she can. You were scrolling through restaurants in the area on your phone. Stretched out sideways along the couch. Your back against the armrest and your legs over Ellie’s as she sat regularly. Her arms were resting on your lower thighs, fingers pressing away at the buttons. She told you to pick what you wanted, not caring what you’d order. She’d eat whatever you put in front of her anyway. You didn’t want anything too crazy, just something comforting and simple. Which is why you decided on pizza, can’t get more simple than that. 

“I’m gonna get us some pizza.” You look up at Ellie from your phone.

Her eyes were trained on the screen, “Sounds good to me.” She shrugged slightly, replying. 

“Okay I’ll get us a large and a drink as well.” 

Ellie throws a quick glance in your direction, “My card should be in my pack in the room.” 

“I can just buy it Ellie…” 

“Fuck no.” When she looks back at you, this time she doesn’t break eye contact, “I invited you over to eat so I pay for it, yeah?” 

You didn’t bother to argue back with her, you’d lose in the end. You always did. You mumbled alright and she lifted up her arms so you could slip off the couch. The warmth of your legs were gone, causing her to shiver from the cool feeling of her air conditioner. 

You walked over into her room searching around for her pack. Your eyes scan the room when they finally land on it thrown over into the corner. You walk over kneeling down to open it up, digging through it you suddenly feel a sharp sting on your finger. Pulling your hand back from the pack with an ow you look hold your hand to see blood dripping from your middle finger. 

“What the fuck?” You mumble. 

Instead of making the mistake to dig around unaware again you slowly pull open the sides of the pack, opening it up to peek at what's inside. Your brows furrow at the black cloth harshly shoved in it. Slowly pulling it out to examine it an object flops to the floor. Snapping your head down your eyes widen, You can feel the blood draining from your face. A sharp flutter fills your stomach, it was a mask. But not any mask, a Ghostface mask. Picking it up with your free hand to examine it you now notice the red splatters, it stands out from the contrast of the bold white mask. Is that…blood? You think to yourself, it can’t be. This is a joke, there's no way she’s Ghostface. You smirk to yourself, was she really trying to fuck with you like this? She’s done stupid jokes before but never went as far as buying the costume to trick you. Some tricks, huh. Nice try Ellie. 

Did she really think you were that naive? You were going to get up and confront her when the sting of your finger got your attention again. You almost forgot about the cut, you then realized that nothing in your hands could’ve sliced you like that. Don’t tell me she bought a knife too, oh Ellie-. You reached into the pack again, carefully this time knowing your chances of getting cut again were high. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your throat when you saw the light shine off the blade, she really outdid herself this time. You grasp the handle and bring it out from the bag, it was the exact kind of knife Ghostface used. The knife had the smeared red on the blade as well. 

One part of you couldn’t believe the lengths she’s gone this time to fuck with your “investigation.” But the other part of you couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of her going this far. She didn’t truly know what these things did to you. If it was her, which was a long shot, you wondered how much easier everything would be. Not having to worry about who was behind the mask, not that you really cared, but it was something that crossed your mind. What if it was someone you couldn’t stand, would you be able to still keep up that fantasy of them? Could you still keep it up if it was Ellie? Your feelings for Ellie were that of a roller coaster. In friendship terms everything was smooth sailing, there’s no one else on the planet you could trust your life with more. But when it came to the topic of it being more than a friendship, that was a different story. You can’t say you never had feelings for her, you have. You just pushed them down when you realized how badly it could ruin everything. Plus you had no idea, doubted even, that she liked you the same. So you buried your own feelings deep inside, not daring to let them out again. Sometimes though she’d do things that made you shiver. That would cause those feelings to bubble over again, reaching for nothing but the disappointment you’d give them when you continued to shove them under again. 

Although, to know that she did this all for you made those feelings bubble over again. Could she have a clue about your true intentions of wanting who was behind that mask? Is that why she went this far? To make you believe it? To fall for her instead of the true Ghostface? No, she wouldn’t, it’s just a dumb prank. 

You laughed at your thoughts, going the extra mile once again, your delusions would constantly take control when the masked killer was involved. You twirl the knife in your hands one last time before you decide to put it down. As you check it for the last time your fingers smooth over something rough on the handle. Curious, you look at what the disturbed surface could be. 

As you study the handle your heart drops. No, no, no- this can’t be happening, you think. You can feel the anxiety swell up in your chest. You forget how to breathe, your thoughts racing a million miles a minute. All of the countless hours you spent searching, all of the sleepless nights you’ve had. The endless amount of research you would study, day after day. Stuck scrolling on your computer not resting until you get so close to finding out who it could be. The theories of all the different people you had, you even bought a cork board to help your search. You pulled some crazy shit you kept to yourself to find out where or who they could be. Putting yourself in danger in hopes that you’ll be the slasher's “next prey.” 

All of this for what? For it to be your best friend this whole time. The one person you were so sure of it not being. Fuck you felt so stupid. You grew up with her, you knew her better than you knew yourself. You felt pride in knowing that she would never be capable of such a thing, but she was. And here you are, staring at the handle with the piece of it missing that was just discovered by the authorities. As much as you wanted to deny it you couldn’t. Why did you want to deny it? 

In a way this makes everything easier, your mind travels back to your earlier thoughts. The thoughts of what if Ellie was the killer. But why didn’t she kill you yet? If no one was safe from her slashes then why were you? Question after question filled your head, trying to piece all the evidence together to figure out just what you have missed. While in deep thought you heard a loud thud. Locking in place you slowly turned your head to the sound. 

Ellie stood by the door, frozen. The controller that was once in her hand now faced upside down on the floor. She was wondering why it was taking you so long to grab your wallet. She knew it was in her room, in some pack that she threw on the floor yesterday. She hasn't touched it since. It wasn’t until she started thinking about it that she felt the color drain from her face. She was so exhausted yesterday that she forgot to put her Ghostface pack in the hiding spot she usually does. It slipped from her mind until this moment. Now she’s paying the consequences, walking in on you holding her knife. The very knife you just talked about hours earlier. The single piece of evidence that would be 100% proof of Ellie being Ghostface. 

She didn’t know what to do or what to say. Scared that any wrong move would result in your panic, your screams filling the air as you ran for the door. But you didn’t. You didn’t move an inch, holding the knife in your hand you stared back at her. All of this time it was her, you didn’t want to admit it but you felt a sense of relief. You did it, you found out who Ghostface was. 

You opened your mouth, trying to get something out, anything out but you couldn’t. Caught like a deer in headlights you thought about your next move. As you thought about it, so did Ellie. You weren’t supposed to find out, even if you did she didn’t want it to be this way. She wanted it on her terms, if she were to ever tell you anyway. 

As flustered as she was she managed to speak first, “Seems like all that research paid off huh?” She chuckles. 

Leave it to Ellie to make light of a situation like this, you were used to it though. She always jokes around when shit hit the fan, it was one of the many things you loved about her. You just weren’t so sure if this time was the right time for it. You looked down at the knife again, your fingers gliding against the abrasion.

“It was you the whole time…” Ellie’s eyes widened at your voice, “I busted my ass on research and it was right in front of me the whole time.” 

“Surprise…?”  

You let out a dry laugh at her response, how could you be so fucking stupid. She goes to open her mouth to speak again but you beat her to it. 

“Do you know why I really wanted to find out who Ghostface was?” 

Fuck it. It was out in the open so you might as well be honest. You didn’t know where this confidence came from but after finding out who a serial killer was you realized you only really have two options. She would let you go, which you think is unlikely or she would have to end it right here right now. Killing you to keep the risk of her being found out by the public. You didn’t think she was capable of killing you, you were her childhood best friend after all. 

She stays quiet, letting you continue. You figured you had nothing to lose now, why not let it all out in the open. 

“Finding out who was behind the mask really isn’t all that important to me. Honestly I could give less of a fuck who’s behind it. I just want them for myself. My fucked up fantasy of being with the slasher is all that I’ve been craving.” You sigh, your words becoming just a whisper. “It’s sick… I know.” 

Did Ellie just hear you correctly? Are her fantasies becoming reality right before her eyes? All those nights at your window, watching you, craving you. You writhing under her as she pleased you in the one thing that made her feel like her true self. She watched as your face fell in despair, you were ashamed. There’s no need to be ashamed. 

She wasn’t aware that she said her thoughts aloud, not realizing it until you lifted up your head. 

You looked at her with a shocked expression, “You don’t think so?” 

“How could I?” She starts, “You know what I do. I have no room to judge anyone, plus I’ve wanted nothing more than this.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, did you hear her correctly? 

She continues on, “I’ve been dreaming about this moment forever. I wanted to tell you so many times but I didn’t know how. Your reaction was something I was scared of the most. But now that I know you want this, I’m ready to take the next step.” 

“What is the next step exactly?” You ask. 

Ellie’s soft expression changes in an instant, a smirk adorning her lips. 

“I make you mine.” 

You felt a slight pang of fear but not too much. Her words catered to your sick mind, they went straight to your core. She took slow steps towards you, as to test the waters on how you would react. You didn’t move an inch, letting her slowly make her way towards you. The grasp you had on the knife tightened in anticipation. When she came close enough she reached out to your hands, loosening your grasp from the knife she took it from you. Her eyes leave yours to study the object in her hands, the object she knew all too well. Her eyes darken as she grasps the handle, pointing the tip of the blade towards you now. The smirk never leaves her lips when she drags the tip of the blade lightly up your throat, stopping to tilt your chin up towards her. 

“You want to be mine right?” She asks. 

You bite your lip, “Only if you’ll allow it.” 

It was at this moment that you saw the true change in her eyes. The Ellie you once knew, the Ellie you grew up with wasn’t the Ellie in front of you now. This Ellie was different…darker…possessive. You wanted to know this version of her more than anything, the true her behind the mask. The person you dreamt of having for so long was finally yours and you were hers. It was at this moment that you knew there was no going back, the two of you now becoming one in her secret. You’d do anything for her, be anything for her. She felt the same, all those nights she watched you at your window. She’d get rid of anyone who tried to hurt you in any way, she’d protect you from any danger that dared to wander around you. God forbid she catches the ones that hurt you, they’d regret their last moments. 

Her eyes flickered back towards yours, keeping eye contact for just a moment before trailing around your face. They stop at your lips, how badly she’s wanted to kiss the plush skin for so long. She wastes no time and throws her knife to the side. Grabbing at the sides of your face she roughly presses her lips to yours. Your hands grasp at her shirt, kissing her back with just as much fervor. The kiss was far from innocent, teeth clashing and spit mixing, just how she liked it. She took your bottom lip in her teeth, pulling at the flesh and letting it flick back in place. Her lips lock back onto yours, you pull her closer by her shirt, needing to get as close as possible. 

She pulls back after a few seconds, you let out a whimper at the loss. Your eyes filled with desperation as you stared up at her. She coos at the sight, her thumb swiping the spit across your bottom lip. 

She licks her lips, “You gonna let me have you tonight?” 

You enthusiastically nod your head, “Y-yes.” You’re still shaken up by the sloppy kisses you two just shared. 

“Yeah? Gonna let me try something out on ya?” 

You continued to nod your head, you didn’t care what she did to you. You’d give her whatever she wanted if she asked, she knew this. Yet she still wants to make sure you’re okay with it. She then took your hands in hers, pulling you to stand up along with her, she then led you to the bed. She pushed you back onto it, you flopped onto the mattress waiting for her next move. She admired you for a moment before walking back by her pack, she grabbed the mask off the floor and slipped it on. 

“You want me to fuck you in this mask hm?” She asks. Not giving you time to reply she continues, “How much did you dream about this?” 

Your words were stuck in your throat, it was all too much but it was so fucking good. You had envisioned how your first night with Ghostface would play out. Staring into their mask, their fingers buried in you, giving you the utmost pleasure you craved. But this? This was better than anything you could have imagined. Especially when it was with the one woman you loved more than anything. 

She picked up her knife, twirling it in her hands. 

“I would use this but that persistent fucker had to ruin it for me.” She shook her head, the loose fabric at the ends swayed in the air. “Good thing I got another.” 

She walks over to her closet, digging around until she pulls out another Buck 120. She flips it over, checking out the shining blade and admiring it. She loved nothing more than her ol’ reliable knife. 

“Got this one as a back up, y'know just in case incidents like before happened. A slasher must always be prepared~” 

Her head looks up, the soulless black eyes staring into yours. You can hear the teasing tone in her voice when she talks to you. She’s well aware she has you wrapped around her finger, ready to do whatever she pleases. 

She stalks towards you, “I’m gonna fuck you with this knife now~.” Her hold on the knife now tighter, “Don’t worry baby it’s clean, haven’t killed anyone with this one…yet.” 

Your eyes widened, her words went straight to your core. You couldn’t help the little fidgets your body made as she slowly made her way towards you. You couldn’t see because of the mask but her eyes were trained on your thighs that clenched together in anticipation. You couldn’t help but rub them together, needing some sort of friction to relieve the heat building up between them. 

You couldn’t help but ask, “Which side?”

Ellie groaned at your question, “Fuck baby~ you want the blade? Are you that psycho for me?” 

You didn’t particularly want to be mutilated tonight, even though somewhere deep down in your fucked up brain the thought was there, you just wanted to make sure Ellie was on the same page. 

“Just curious…” You reply. 

She now stood in front of you, knife in her right hand. Her free hand comes up to rest on your knee, pushing it to the side to open your legs up for her. You can hear her heavy breaths through the mask. 

“As much as I wanna see you bleed, I don’t want it that way. That’s what your thighs are for.” 

Her hand strokes down your thigh, stopping midway to squeeze at the flesh. She brings her knife up to your skin, slicing it lightly enough to draw a tiny bit of blood. She flicks up the knife, her skills on display as she scoops the blood onto the blade, bringing it up to her mask and smearing it on the white rubber. She drags the knife down to the tip of the chin, tapping it against it a few times, as if in thought of what her next move is. You whimper at the sting of the cut, little droplets still flowing from it. She reaches up to smear the blood across your thigh, taking her time watching the way the red liquid spreads. 

“I’ve wanted to see you bleed for me so bad. S’Better than I ever imagined.” 

You bite your lip, holding back your whimpers as you wait impatiently for her next move. You wanted her to do something, to do anything to relieve the ache you felt. She turns the knife around in her hand, the grip pointing towards you. 

“I’m gonna fuck you with the handle instead. That way every time I slash someone I have a memory of you with me. It’ll be the only thing I’ll think about with my victims.” 

Her words flooded through your veins, firing up every cell in your body. You didn’t know she had such a way with her words, if she kept going you’d probably climax just from them alone. As much as her words had an effect on you, you wanted her to go along with her promise. 

“Please…just fuck me already Ellie.” You beg.

“Patience Doll~ You out of everyone should know I like to take my sweet time when it comes to my victims. But since you said please, I’ll give you what you want.” 

She sets the knife down next to you on the bed, her hands grip at the waistband of your shorts pulling them down. You were soaked, the fabric of your panties so wet that you could see the outline of your pussy. 

“Mmh so wet for me, all I did was speak to you and draw a little blood.” Her thumb presses into your slit, pushing against your juices. 

Her fingers hook into your panties pulling out the fabric, she then grabs her knife and cuts off your panties. You breath hitches at how close the blade was to your core, any closer and she would’ve cut you. Making you bleed for the second time that night. She chuckles at your reaction then shoves the panties into her back pocket, saving them for later. 

She pushes up your thigh, opening you up for her and lines up the knife handle to your entrance. She teases you, gliding the end of it up and down your slit collecting up your juices to lube up the knife. 

“You ready Doll?” She asks. 

You whisper out a yes as she slowly slides the handle into your pussy, watching you grip onto it. You can feel her push back on your thigh more, making you stretch so she can get a nice view of you. Even though it was happening in front of her she couldn’t believe you were sprawled out before her like this. She’d catch herself staring at her knife imagining how it would look against your skin, how much she craved to slide it through your folds. Now that she was here it was almost too much, but she didn’t let her excitement take control. She wanted to fully immerse herself in this experience, taking all of you in. From the scrunches of your brows to the curling of your toes, she wanted to see all of you. 

She carefully dragged out the knife, her hand delicately holding the blade. She pushes the handle in and out of you, setting a slow steady rhythm. You writhe under her touch, not being able to hold back your moans anymore, the cool handle adding to the pleasure. You grab onto her wrist, holding her tight. You look up at her mask and she catches your movements tilting up her head. You’re staring hard enough to see her eyes through the meshed fabric, seeing the darkness behind them. She’s wanted this just as much as you did and you’re so glad it’s her that’s giving you this much pleasure. As good as it felt you wanted more, the slow pace was killing you. In a way you felt like she was holding back, still too afraid to lose herself, scared that she might hurt you. 

“Ellie…” You moan out, she twists the knife slightly muttering a yes. 

“Please don’t hold back.” Her movements stop and you whine at her, “I want you to let yourself go, let Ghostface come out.” 

Ellie’s hand quivered at your words, were you sure? Once she’s in that mindset she’s gone, she doesn't wanna risk too much. Although her dark thoughts were always in the back of her mind, how badly she wanted to drill her knife into you and watch you squirm at her force. 

“Baby, are you sure? I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.” 

You loved when she called you that, “Yes, I’m sure. I want it this way, I’m begging you~.” 

You gave her wrist a reassuring squeeze and that was all she needed before the light in her switched. The Ellie you grew up with, knowing better than anyone is not the Ellie that’s in front of you now. That confirmation from you was all she needed to let her true side take control. It happened so fast you didn’t know how to react, Ellie had grabbed you and flipped you over. Making sure your ass was up in the air, almost hanging off the edge of the bed. You braced yourself on your hands, an oof coming out of your lips when she pushed your face down into the mattress. 

You felt a harsh smack on your ass, you moaned at the sting it left behind. She kneads the flesh after, spreading you open and admiring you from behind. Without second thought she reaches down to grab the knife, this time firmly grabbing it by the blade as she plunges the handle inside you once again. She wastes no time fucking you hard and fast, her knuckles white from how hard she holds onto the blade. 

“F-fuck Ellie!” You gasp out. 

You’re in ecstasy, loving the way her demeanor changed. She loses herself in you, focused on the handle pushing in and out of you, how your juices cover the handle and drip down the blade onto her hand. 

“You like that Doll? You’re taking this knife so well~ M’so proud of you.” 

Your moans grow louder by the second, you’re not able to hold back anymore, not that Ellie wants you to anyway. You grip the bed sheets tight, your face repeatedly pushing into the mattress at her relentless force. You knew she was strong but fuck not like this. You were never really on the receiving end of her strength to truly know but now that you were you could see why no one stood a chance against her. She slaps at your ass again before she brings her free hand down to rub circles against your clit causing you to cry out. If she kept fucking you this way it wouldn’t take long for you to reach your high. 

“Shit-” You heard her whisper. 

You whip your head to the side to look at her. You can see her head tilt up to look back at you, she suddenly took her hand off your clit to reach up and tear off her mask. Her hair was a mess, tangled and stuck to her face in other spots from her sweat. Her eyes were blown wide, a harsh darkness to them you’ve never seen before and her lips. Her lips were red and plush from how much she bit them at the sight of you. You were a masterpiece to her, this was all she ever wanted. When she pushed her hair out of the way you noticed the blood that smeared along her forehead. She saw your eyes on her hand and gave you a lopsided smile, her hand going back down to rub at your clit once more. 

“Fuckin’ you so hard I cut myself.” She laughs darkly, “You don’t mind right?” 

Well fuck-

Your eyebrows scrunched together at her words, “No!” You moaned. “Don’t mind.” 

You could barely form sentences from how good she was making you feel, she knew this and she reveled in that fact. A cocky smirk on her lips as her eyes watched the way you squirmed and stuttered under her. She could give less of a fuck that she’s bleeding, your pleasure being the only thing that matters. It didn’t take much longer for you to feel the build up in the pit of your stomach, you were close. 

“Ellie I’m so close, please don’t stop~”

“Don’t plan on it Doll~” Ellie replies, speeding up her movements, if that were even possible. 

You bury your face into the mattress but then you feel a harsh smack to your clit. 

“I wanna hear your moans Sweetheart, don’t hide them from me now.” 

You nod your head rapidly, tears are starting to form in your eyes from all the pleasure you’re experiencing. Who would’ve thought you’d be right here, experiencing the one thing you wanted the most, you never thought your day would end up like this. You’re thankful nonetheless, this is exactly what you wanted and you wouldn’t want anyone else doing it to you. 

It didn’t take long until you reached your high. 

“Ahh~ I’m cumming!” 

Your back arched more, pulling at the sheets so hard they come undone from the edges. Ellie doesn’t slow down her movements either, ignoring the pain in her hand she keeps sliding the knife in and out of you. She watched as your juices flowed down onto the blade and her hand, mixing in with her blood. It made her moan out loud, a sight she’d never forget. 

“Mmm cum for me Doll, just like that. I wanna see your juices on my blade.” 

She helps you ride out your orgasm and your legs start to tremble. She chuckles at the state you’re in and slowly pulls the blade out of your pussy, watching your sticky juice strings stick to the handle. You watch her bring up the knife to her lips, sucking your juices off the handle, you whimper at her actions. When she’s done she throws the knife to the floor, her hands back onto you she spreads her blood up your thigh and onto your ass cheek as she gives you one last squeeze. You’re panting as you turn yourself over to lay on your back, she helps you lie down with a dark smile. She loves how she got you to this point, as much as she’d like to do it again she decides to save it for another night. 

She reaches over to give your hand a quick squeeze saying she’ll be right back as she walks over to her bathroom. After a few moments she comes back with a wet towel, a cloth is tied around her hand to stop the blood from flowing. She walks over to you and wipes away all the blood and cum off your body, giving soothing strokes to your skin afterwards. 

“So…” Ellie starts, “You gonna turn me in?” 

You can’t help the snort that comes out of your throat, “Fuck off.” 

“Is that a no, or?” She questions a knowing smile on her lips. 

“I let you fuck me with your knife, do you think I’m gonna turn you in?” 

She laughs at your response, “Just fuckin’ with ya.” 

She climbs into the bed lying next to you, throwing the towel onto the floor, she faces you and strokes your cheek with the back of her knuckles. You look over at her with tired eyes and a warm smile, she really does switch up fast. 

The two of you wrap up in each other's arms for the rest of the night. You ask all about her time as Ghostface, wanting to know every gory detail and she tells you it all. After a few hours of chatting you both lay in silence, content in each others presence. 

Ellie speaks up first, “So…about that pizza?”

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RAVIOLIII!! I hope you all enjoyed my fic!! I thank you all for reading my content! I have more on the way but I will be taking a small break to work on my drag projects I got going on!! As always any feedback is appreciated as I always want to level up my writing. Thank you all for being patient with me!! You Beauties~ have a wonderful day/night!!

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[ellouchi]

One-shot: "Forget me not"- Jimmy (gn/nsfw?)

Disclaimer: unreliable narrator, Jimmy being Jimmy, implied SA in the ending.

Side notes: I knooow I've said I'd post it yesterday, but I was on four hours of sleep and completely exhausted from work so sowwy guys. I've tried my best to fix as many mistakes as I could so sorry again if you see any, I'll probably edit this fic again later but for now... enjoy!

Today, Jimmy would make sure you would never forgot him again.

First he just had to wait until it was the night time on the ship, when it was darker and quieter, without any extra pairs of eyes and ears putting a wrench in his plans. Standing in the doorframe, the man observed you like a beast it's pray — you were writing a report about your performance in the common rooms. You often got out of your own room to sit there, same old walls giving you an eye sore, you once said. You used to turn around, wave at him when he passed by, but now you didn't even acknowledge him when he finally entered the room — Jimmy had to tamper the sudden pang of annoyance that shot through his body and instead appear to be as nonchalant as he could master.

Turned out there really was just a single step between love and hate, Jimmy though to himself. It was a shame things couldn't be the way they were at the beginning.

Before all that, when you first boared Tulpar, you were just a temporary crew member assigned to be babied with until the management decided to throw you on another ship. Something instantly clicked for Jimmy when captain Curly introduced you to the crew, and no wonder: you were smart enough to stick to Jim — not too close to the sun, but not crawling in the dirt.

Jimmy didn't show it, but he quickly noticed how you sought after him more often than the others, turned up to him for advices about work related matters and laughed at his quips and jokes that he made. Hard work really does pay off, Jimmy would think to himself, while laying on the bed with his brand new piloting license gleaming like a precious gem in his hand. Unlike with other people, everything about you felt so genuine, so seamless and easy, Jimmy didn't need to try hard for you to look up to him. He could be himself.

Best thing was, the signs told Jim that the feeling was mutual. You were the first one to greet him with a good morning, last one to part with a good night. Looked at him with shining eyes, smiles lingering longer than they should. If you sitting almost thigh to thigh next to him on the couch wasn't the obvious signal from you, then Jimmy didn't know what was.

Even ship's underwhelming conditions turned out to be a blessing in disguise when the AC system broke down, forcing you to work with your blue jumpsuit peeled off from your shoulders. The man never missed the way you tugged at your yellow t-shirt, suddenly his own coveralls feeling a bit stuffy and uncomfortable to be in. At his playful suggestion for both of you to strip you merely laughed, but never disregarded the idea...That evening Jimmy, however, let his hand and imagination run wild with the thought of your hands exploring everything covered by the pesky blue suit and a plain white shirt he wore.

Problems started to arise when Swansea took a note of your budding chemistry. He usually would run his trap hours on end, complaining about this and that, patronising as ever with his "age and experience" seemingly giving him permission to preach and lecture others.

"If I were a green fool like ya I would stay a mile a way from our "watchful" co-pilot. He's more bark than bite, but all the pain in the ass." Jimmy overheard Swansea call out to you when you two stood together to get the melted sweet treats from the vending machine. Said co-pilot clicked his tongue in annoyance, throwing back a jab at the uninvited mechanic, fortunately prompting a laugh from the old man. Ignorant of both men's concerns you simply chuckled at the sight, not digging any deeper. Despite this, you begun dressing a bit more modesty, robbing Jimmy of the opportunity of gawking at you. That damn Swansea.

Days, turning into weeks passed uneventfully. You concluded your training, which meant now you were officially just another cog in the corporate machine. Same all routine settled on the same old freighter ship, except for a few things. The captain seemed to finally acknowledge his esteemed co-pilot by dropping onto him his own "important captain assignments". Which was false, Jimmy knew Curly was just growing too exhausted to fulfil his daily quota, though the reason eluded him. Another odd thing was regarding you. Jimmy had a feeling he saw you less and less with each passing day, without counting the times you spent actually performing your work. You were the first one to finish the meals, the quickest one to get out from the shower and the space ship manual practically never left your hands. Jim hated it to admit this, but he missed you.

The pieces fell right into their places when Jimmy entered cockpit one ordinary shift to hand in the paperwork he did in captain's stead.

To be frank, Curly was slowly getting on Jimmy's nerves for some time already, this whole "all capable and reliable" act seemingly never ending. However, no feeling of irritation could compare to only what could Jimmy describe as betrayal running through his veins when he saw you bowing and shaking captain's hand with "thank you". His "friend" was standing way too close to you and you — to him, no, straight up leaning in.

Suddenly snippets of you two hanging out in the common room flooded Jimmy's mind, you skipping out of the cockpit with a smile on your face a few days ago, you asking Jimmy out of blue what Curly was like when he was younger and Curly praising you for your efforts during the piloting--

"Am I interrupting something?" escaped Jimmy's mouth faster than he could register. His nails left marks on cheap rough papers he clutched, sweat blurring away the ink, all the boring tedious work done for nought.

"Oh hey Jim. No, not at all. Just helping out our new college with excess workload." Jimmy gaze hardened over the fact that it was Curly who stepped up first to clear things up. "You know how it is with Pony Express: setting high standards with small deadlines and...." Jimmy stopped listening to anything else that left Curly's mouth, his focus shifting entirely to you. You refused to meet his gaze by staring dumbly at the metal floor.

Why were you silent now?

Why did you avoid looking in his direction?

Why did you turn up to Curly for help and not him?

You, who followed Jimmy like a puppy prior, buttering him up with empty talks, asking him a favour after favour. In the end only to abandon him when you raised high enough on the ledder to turn up with your issues to the captain himself. And Curly, whom he considered his closest friend, instead of helping Jim tried to snatch you away. Being well respected captain wasn't enough, he had to lure away you too....

Jimmy should've figured it was all too nice to be true.

The man didn't wait for Curly to finish or you to start, instead he just threw the papers onto the fax machine and waved his hand in dismissal as he left, lessons learnt and mood completely spoiled for the rest of the week.

It hurt. But Jimmy had to keep going forward. Curly crawled back to him eventually like he always did — reminiscent of a dog with its tail hidden between the legs. At least Curly seemed to take the hint and grew distant from you, pushing the professional approach all the way. The captain managed to make amends, he had to, if it meant keeping the peace on the ship.

No, Jimmy didn't care about his friend's betrayal. What drove him up on the wall was your reaction, or the lack of it. Because you pretended like nothing happened, resuming your busy day to day life, but this time avoiding Jimmy almost entirely. Ignoring you in return wasn't an option as the relationship between you two didn't reach the point where you'd feel anxious without his attention. Jimmy felt sick — he grew too comfortable around you and it bit him back in the ass.

Here he was, struggling to keep his composure without hearing a familiar lazy "good morning" coming from you at the dinning table every day. Any attempts at catching your gazes never resulted in anything other than a pit heaving in his stomach. Jimmy begun skipping game nights altogether when you found yourself a new spot at the armchair near the massive screen. The man grew desperate enough to eavesdrop on your unimportant daily chit chats in distant hope to get anything out of them to use. Rummaging through your stuff also proved to be fruitless. Everything to no avail.

Jimmy grew sick and tired of waiting for you to come to him. It was time for him to come to you.

"We've got a fax message from the corporate. You might wanna check this one out."

Luring you out was too easy, the man almost felt bad for abusing your innocence. But it was your fault for being an ignorant fool and trusting a person you slighted. Jimmy never said it was an update about your placement, just a message from the management — everything else was your wishful thinking. You proded co-pilot for any information on your way to the cockpit, but the later remained tight lipped and instead chatting you up about the most mundane things happening on Tulpar. If you hadn't lowered your guard down, you would hear the click of the lock sealing your fate.

"Alright, let's have a look at what those higher ups prepared for me" you said with a sigh, landing on the free seat with a paper in hands.

Jimmy humoured you a little further, standing right in front of you with his arms folded in the waiting stance, observing impatiently how your eyes skimmed through the text.

"Uhh...Jim this is just a general reminder that our haul is reaching it's destination in 30 days."

"I know" he flatly replied.

"Sooo why did you invite me here then?"

"Man, I can't believe some people can be this dense. Goes to show we can't trust others with anything. Even reading the room." Jimmy grumbled, yanking the document from your hands and letting it settle down onto the floor. Suddenly the man buckled over the pilot seat you were sitting on, both strong hands forcing your wrists down on the leather armrests. "Do you still not understand why I've dragged you here?"

This got your full undivided attention — you shrunk in the armchair, trying to slip your arms away from the bruising hold. You were akin to the fish thrown out of water with how your mouth opened and closed, before you gathered back your thoughts to respond.

"W-wait what are you talking about. I don't understand...." Jimmy searched for anything that could resemble a lie in your frighted eyes, but came up with nothing. You really were painfully oblivious to all his suffering this whole time.

"Is it that easy for you to discard people from your life? Hm? Must be nice to go about your day without a care in the world while I'm left to wonder what I have done wrong to be treated this way."

You remained silent, simply staring at the man in front of you in disbelief. God, just why he had to deal with someone as slow as you.

At last it clicked in your mind, your brows knitting together.

"...you don't mean us spending less time together right? Or is it about that one time with Curly? I just have my own work to take care of, and the captain has already told you that we were j--"

A heavy slap landed on you cheek before you had any time to finish. The sting wasn't going to hurt as much as other things Jimmy had in store for you — you didn't know it just yet.

"Don't try to bullshit me now. I know exactly what was your plan from the very beginning" uttered Jimmy, bringing his face right in front of yours. He wanted to see you cry so badly, beg for his forgiveness — Jimmy was almost willing to beat you up with his bare fists if it meant getting what he desired. "If you really think you can screw me up and not suffer any consequences you are dead wrong. I was being nothing but kind and patient, even taught you things no-one else would, and that's how you repay me? By going behind my back to fuck your way up by using Curly? Sorry to disappoint you, but you're not even in his taste."

Once again the man could read complete bewilderment from your facial features alone. Burning pain on your cheek all but forgotten, you raised you face to meet Jimmy's. Tiny drops of glistening tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, you lower lip instinctively bitten and chewed on from the tension. It had to be one of the most beautiful faces you've ever made: full of confusion, fear and submission.

"Jimmy... you got it all wrong, please just listen to me." You've tried, earnestly tried to calm the man down, to find a way out of the situation you were forced into. But there was no reasoning, no bargaining, nothing left.

Jimmy leaned in to where your ear was, letting out hot puffs of air as he spoke. "You had a chance to explain yourself, but you've missed it. Don't forget that you brought this upon yourself. You"

Jimmy saw you gasp in horror before he smashed his mouth against yours with such force your head hit the back on the chair. Your lips have already been parted so he wasted no time tracing your lower lip with his tongue, hot and slick from all the waiting. That wasn't what Jimmy initially planned, but it felt right at that moment. All pent up emotions suppressed for god knows how long suddenly taking a hold of his better judgement. Actually, this would work too — it would make you never forget about him ever again.

You squirmed against Jimmy's hold once again, trying to turn your head away to the sides. Jimmy had to crawl on top of you to secure your head against the leather pad of the seat, fully inserting his tongue to violate your mouth. He lapped at you like a starved man, not caring about his stubble scratching at your skin or about the saliva seeping down your chin.

Jimmy caught a sights of your eyes squeezed shut which he didn't like at all. It seemed like his words didn't get through your thick skull after all, so he dug his knee right into you groin, making you jolt, stilling your struggles momentarily.

"Don't. Ignore me." Jimmy growled staring straight into your eyes. "If you want this to be over then just do what I say. Understand?" he finished, waiting for your response.

If it wasn't for the twisting ache in your throat, you would say something to Jimmy, but instead you gave a jittety nod.

This prompted Jimmy to finally smirk: a dark variation of a smile you were used to seeing whenever the man was about to say something witty. You instantly regretted your choice, cruel hand zipping down the fly of your blue uniform in a swift motion — from your chest to your abdomen, only setting the regret deeper and deeper...

"Then do me a favour and stay still, will you?"

[jetra4ivor]

3-4 of my posts regarding the Minecraft Movie have gone viral. And as someone who has never had a post go viral before I gotta say…

I do not like it.

Maybe on other websites it’s not a big deal, but here on tumblr it is a nightmare.

The biggest issue is that it’s really hard to filter the reblogs and be able to respond to things. If I’m like scrolling down through the reblogs to see what people are saying or writing, the SECOND a new reblog or like comes in tumblr INSTANTLY jumps me back up to the top. Because tumblr wants me to see that someone new is reblogging my posts.

And when you’re only dealing with 1 or 2 new reblogs or likes every few minutes or hours… not a problem.

But when it’s literally multiple times a SECOND? Omg… I can’t scroll down. I can’t keep up. It’s just CONSTANTLY snapping me back up to the top and I can’t scroll through anything and see what people are saying!!!

I was hoping after a few days it would slow down… BUT IT HASN’T. The only way I’ve been able to respond to anything lately is by manually finding the individual posts or reblogs themselves and scrolling through the comments there instead.

The second issue is that tumblr keeps your post as it was reblogged. Even if you edit the post later to fix a spelling or grammar mistake, tumblr keeps the incorrect version of the post if that was reblogged before you corrected things.

And for example, in one of the viral posts my phone auto corrected “Piglins” to “pigeons.” And I didn’t notice it at first until the post was well into being viral and someone pointed it out. But even after I corrected the mistake, it had been reblogged so many times now that the incorrect version is all anyone sees. So I’m still getting people telling me I wrote it wrong LONG after I already fixed it 😭

I post primarily about gay MCSM content. Specifically involving female Jessie and Petra. I don’t generally post about other Minecraft stuff, as I try to keep my blog focused on MCSM related content. I probably wouldn’t mind too much if going viral meant more people saw some of the gay MCSM content I reblog or talk about…

But none of the viral reblogging has transferred over into any of my other posts. Which is sad because one of the viral posts is about people talking about how good MCSM is. After nearly a decade of people talking down on MCSM it’s so fantastic to see so many people stepping up and defending it and saying it was good… but none of that positivity is spreading into any of my other posts about the game!

You guys actually liked MCSM? Please… come into the MCSM fandom! Inject your love of the game into this fandom! We NEED you here! We’ve felt so isolated and small! Where have you all been? Why won’t you join us here and create new art or talk about your favorite characters or moments?

Why hasn’t any of my viral success transferred into more fans of the game joining the MCSM community? 😭 It’s so gratifying to see the love of MCSM in the comments to the Minecraft Movie trailer… why isn’t that resulting in more people coming into the fandom on tumblr?

Don’t get me wrong… it’s nice that people liked some of my posts enough for them to go viral. But the way tumblr works makes going viral really difficult to deal with and I’m not seeing the cross pollination of MCSM fans into any of the OTHER posts I’ve made about MCSM!

I just want more people talking about the lesbian block people! You came here for the Minecraft Movie Trailer dissing… please stay for the lesbian block people!

[the-pen-pot]

Oooh fic writer asks! Would love to know your answers to 8 & 17 please 🙏

Ohhh, thank you, @hagstoned. Here you go! If anyone else is interested, questions are here:

#8 If you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

Hiraeth, probably. It was so plotty that I didn't give Merlin much chance to bring much modern back to Camelot (apart from some plumbing) and I'd love to have him show the others his memories of London and things. In fact I have loads of little ideas for extras to Hiraeth that would take place after the story. Just... no time in which to write them 🤣

#17 talk about your writing and editing process

Sit. Write 🤣 I'm a pantser. Planning is actively detrimental to my creative process. But more below the cut cos it got long:

So what basically happens is, Monday to Friday, I peel myself out of bed, get the first cup oif about eight cups of tea, and then I sit at my computer and write in the morning. This is normally 3-4 hours of writing, in which I manage maybe 3000 words (on a good day it's more, but that doesn't always happen.)

I use 4thewords, which means I gamify my writing. You beat monsters with your wordcount. It's quite good, because even on a bad day you can feel accomplished.

Editing is a five-ish read-through process, with one read through occuring per day (mostly). It's done on printed out copies because I cannot catch mistakes on-screen

Edit 1: Plot edit. Is the story going in the right direction? Am I happy enough with it? (perfection isn't the goal. We are aiming for "good enough" ebcause perfection is unobtainable.)

(It's after this edit that I post chapters in my drafts section on patreon)

When I'm happy with the plot I use an echo checker to highlight words, because sometimes I get one stuck in my head and repeat it five times in a chapter and it makes my writing look weird.

Edit 2: Grammar, punctuation. Hinky wording edit. I'm looking more at the technical aspect and trying to catch as many mistakes as possible ready for...

Edit 3: Print out chapter, mix up the pages so its all out of order. Start at the bottom of the page. Read the last paragraph forwards. Then the preceding one etc. This is the typos edit. It helps me catch missing words etc. It's a bastard. I hate it. I want to skip it every time, but I always end up catching things so I never do.

Edit 4: An all-over edit. Just a straight read-through to check it's as good as I'd like it to be. Look for typos I may have introduced in previous edits.

This is where I post "finished" chapters on Patreon.

Edit 5: Usually occurs a week after edit 4, with my current posting schedule. This is hte pre-AO3 edit. My brain's had time to forget it's seen these precise words in this precise order.

Read through one more time. Invariably find at least one more typo. Cry. Fix it.

Post on AO3

Despite all that, there will still be errors in chapters on AO3 which I will find, months or even years later, and be deeply ashamed of!

[sirfrogsworth]

Most of my photos were from 2012 to 2016. I have learned a lot since then. My photo restoration hobby has improved my image editing skills in general. And I was curious if I tried editing one of my photos from scratch if I could improve upon my original edit from years ago.

This is my friend Nicole.

( @nicolebelongs I hope you don't mind being my guinea pig for this.)

This is just a direct output of the original RAW file. RAW files are typically flat by nature so you have more latitude when processing and editing.

This is my original finished edit from 2016.

I actually made a pretty big lighting mistake when shooting this photo. A beauty dish can cause harsh reflections on makeup and so Nicole's forehead bounced all that light directly into my camera. I was still learning back then and didn't know anything about makeup. All that was required was angling the dish a few degrees up or down, which feels like a pretty silly mistake all these years later.

And here is my 2023 edit. I did not reference the 2016 image until after I finished.

The main priority was the glare on the forehead, but I think this is much more balanced overall as well. I also tried to fix the weird neck shadow and the lack of light in the eyes. I probably should have used a reflector originally, but thankfully Photoshop has a solution to almost any photography blunder. I removed some vellus hairs on the edge of the face, as that is not something you would notice in real life, but the camera and lights can exaggerate them. I'd also like to say I love the new remove tool. Getting rid of flyaway hairs was such a monotonous pain in the ass before and that thing just zaps them with a click.

I am also trying to learn new editing techniques I was never good at. There is a retouching technique called "dodging & burning" that I had trouble with back in the day. Mostly because finding advanced tutorials can be difficult. Much of the content on YouTube focuses on beginner techniques.

Dodging & burning was originally innovated by Ansel Adams back in the days of film. He would block portions of his negatives for a second or two so those areas would develop darker. Or he would let sections expose longer so they would be brighter. It was basically analog Photoshop. You can see a neat video of his darkroom here.

While Ansel mostly did landscapes, portrait photographers of the digital age utilize dodging & burning to help bring out dimension in the face. It's quite similar to makeup contouring, actually. It is very hard to perfectly light every nook and cranny on a face and many portrait lenses are slightly telephoto. Longer lenses compress faces to remove distortion, but you end up losing three-dimensionality as a tradeoff.

My first attempt dodging and burning did not go well but I played with this photo for a few hours trying many different approaches and I think I landed on something I like. But I have been staring at it for way too long, so it is hard for me to look at it objectively.

I do wish we could all look at this on the same display. Green is notoriously difficult to keep consistent from screen to screen.

In any case, there are a dozen subtle things I did with my upgraded knowledge that may not be noticeable individually, but I'm hoping it all adds up to a better finished result.

And I guess we'll see if there is a consensus regarding the dodging & burning. Either good, bad, or just... different.

[m4da1yn]

Sucking My Love || L.U.

I was listening to Lightning To The Nations by Diamond Head while writing this, so it’s based off of that album :)

summary: you get high and suck your boyfriend off to sucking my love by diamond head.

A/N: I edited this 6/26/23, just small grammatical mistakes were fixed. Nothing big.

word count: 1,784

You’re laying with your long-time boyfriend, Lars Ulrich. The two of you were laying on the couch of your living room apartment, your new ‘lightning to the nations’ record playing softly in the background. Lars had gotten it for your birthday a few weeks back because you and him were both avid Diamond Head fans.

You noticed the small baggie of weed sitting on the coffee table in front of you. You and Lars had smoked a few bowls nearly an hour and a half ago, so your high was practically gone. You sat up, grabbing the baggie of weed. Lars noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye and perked up. You lifted yourself up off of the couch and began heading to your bedroom. You didn’t have to tell Lars to follow you because this was a regular thing.

You walked into the dimly lit room, spotting your pipe and lighter. You sat down on the bed. A few seconds later, Lars sat down. Nobody had spoken the entire few minutes, which made it feel like an eternity. The room was awkwardly quiet, so you decided to say something.

“Do you want the first hit, Lars?” you asked, breaking the deafening silence.

Lars shook his head, his brownish hair fluttering. “No. Your idea, you first.”

You smiled at the remembrance of the silly rule the two of you had randomly come up with one night. You reached for the baggie. You struggled opening it, the sweet yet skunky smell of marijuana punches your nostrils. You stopped for a second to smell the bag. That had always been your guilty pleasure, smelling the bag of weed before actually smoking it. Lars laughed into his hands, shaking his head. “Wacko.”

“Stop.” You demanded, trying your best to sound annoyed with him. Your boyfriend knew you all too well, though. He could see the smile creeping on your face.

You began breaking some pieces off of the flower and placing them in your grinder. Once there was enough weed for the both of you, you put the top on your grinder and started grinding up your weed.

The first track of the record comes to an end, ‘The Prince’ next up. Lars began softly drumming the beat on his legs. That was his favorite track on the record.

You put the weed in the bowl, bringing it up to your mouth. You lit it quickly and took a long drag. The smoke pierced your lungs. It took a great deal of you not to cough.

You took another, smaller drag from the bowl. You passed the bowl to Lars. You sat there for nearly 10 seconds before he actually took it because of his leg-drumming.

You smiled. “Lars, you’re such a dork.”

Lars does nothing but smile, bringing the bowl up to his mouth. He took a hit, finishing off the bowl and blowing the smoke towards the window.

Your high began to hit you. You felt that wave of calmness slowly wash over your body. That feeling you loved dearly/ Starting at your feet and then slowly creeping up your legs, your spine, all the way up to your head. You loved this part.

Lars cleared his throat, disrupting you from your thoughts. “Can you put more weed in here please?” He asked softly.

You nod, putting more weed into the bowl. You handed it back to your boyfriend. He took a few drags, finishing the bowl before handing it back to you again. You put the bowl and lighter back on your nightstand.

The two of you sat in a not-so awkward silence again.

Lars scooted over so that your legs were now touching. You could feel the heat emitting off of his hands as he began tapping along to the song on your thigh. It was purely innocent in his eyes, however in your eyes it was all but. “D’ya wanna go watch something on the television?”

You knew what he said but you failed to actually hear. Your brain was absolute mush. The dirty thoughts began flowing. Any and all coherent thoughts of yours were now just floating around, somewhere above your head. Somewhere you couldn’t see them.

All you could think about is where else you wanted those fingers.

You couldn’t do anything but nod your head. Lars stood up, sticking his hand out for you to grab. Butterflies began dancing around in your stomach. You intertwined your fingers together, pulling yourself up from the bed. You followed him out to the living room, hands still intertwined. Even something so simple as holding hands with Lars was enough to make your heart skip a beat. ‘The Prince’ came to an end. You knew exactly what song would be coming next. Sucking My Love.

You had an overwhelming urge to give your boyfriend head to this song, it’s been a little fantasy of yours since you had first heard it. The moaning part in the middle was… Well. Crazy hot.

You and Lars sat back down on the couch, practically the same position as previously. He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned the tv on. He began flipping through the channels, trying to find something that you both liked.

The thoughts began racing through your mind again. All morals you had were now on Mars. You cleared your throat. “Lars,” you whisper.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television. “Hi baby,”

You paused for a moment, analyzing the side of his face. Your boyfriend was pretty, no doubt. The next thing that came out of your mouth wasn’t something you’d typically say. “I want to suck your dick.” You whispered, scooting closer to him.

You knew he didn’t hear what you said because if he did, he wouldn’t have stayed in the same position for as long as he did. “Say that a little louder, I can’t hear you when you whisper.”

“Shut up. Kiss me.” You pulled your hand away from his. You wrapped your right arm around the back of him, snaking your hand down the front of his body. You used your other hand as support on his jaw, planting wet kisses on the side of his face. He immediately dropped the remote on the floor, moving his hair out of your way so you’d have better access to his neck.

You follow his cue, kissing his neck and trying to find his sweet spot. He had let you know that you’d found the spot when he let out a low groan.

“You are really horny, aren’t you?” He laughed slightly, trying not to groan. You smile against his neck.

Lars stretched his body out, revealing his happy trail. You remove your hand from his jaw, sliding it slowly down his body, stopping at his waistband.

You stopped kissing his neck and began kissing his lips. You moved your legs so that they were on either side of his legs, grinding on his pelvis ever so slightly. Lars bucked his hips upward. He was just as needy as you.

Lars slipped his tongue into your mouth. He slid his hand up the back of your shirt, unclasping your bra. You attempted to take it all the way off whilst still kissing, but was failing. He helped you slip the bra all the way off, throwing it somewhere on the floor. The two of you continued kissing whilst helping each other undress, only disconnecting lips for no more than 5 seconds when it came to taking your shirts off. The only item of clothing left was Lars’ pants.

You pulled away from a needy Lars, getting off of his lap. You sank down on your knees in front of him, grazing your fingertips across his thigh. Lars stomach churned from the slightest touch of yours. It made him feel absolutely pathetic.

He spread his legs so that you were more comfortable. You felt around his boxers, looking up at him with a lewd smirk on your face. Lars wished that he could take a picture of you like that, an actual picture. It was turning him more than he’d like to admit. His dick was throbbing through his boxers.

He lifted his hips up slightly. You slipped your pointer and middle finger underneath the waistband, not rushing to pull them down. His heart and his dick were throbbing with anticipation.

You pulled his boxers down, letting them fall to his ankles. His hard dick springs up, hitting his crotch area. You’d seen his dick many times before, but this time.. this time seemed different. You were taking it in, analyzing it. His pubes were nicely trimmed. He wasn’t too big, wasn’t too small. The perfect size for your liking.

The anticipation left your body, being replaced with another feeling. Something stronger, something that made your stomach feel funny. You couldn’t quite name the feeling, but shit you sure could feel it.

You spat on your hand, wrapping it around the base of his dick. The other rested on his inner thigh. You brought your mouth to Lars’ tip, giving it a harsh lick before putting what you could fit comfortably in your mouth. Lars had to cover his mouth with his hand or else he’d moan.

You started sucking him off. Lars’ hand naturally flew to your hair, gripping it. He was so turned on at the moment.

He bit down on his bottom lip, “Ohh, fuck.” He groaned.

You were also incredibly turned on. Your cunt was clenching around nothing. You wished that your pussy could be filled with something- anything. his fingers, his tongue, his dick, a sex toy. It didn’t matter what it was.

You pushed your head all the way down to the base of his dick, earning a loud moan out of your boyfriend. His moans were like a trophy to you, like you’d just won a race and this was your first place prize.

He assists you by gently pushing your head up and down. Tears started forming in the corners of your eyes from all of the gagging- you didn’t care at all. Lars used his free hand to wipe them away.

“You’re doing such a good job baby,” he moaned. “Y’gonna make me cum, fuck”

His words encouraged you to keep going. You kept sucking him off, earning more moans and groans from him as he came closer to finishing

“Babe, babe, babe, stop. Stop, get off. Gonna cum- fuck- oh shit-“ he moaned, his other hand flew to your head involuntarily, grasping at your hair. His hips bucked up causing the tip of his dick to hit the back of your throat.

You felt it. With his dick still in the back of your throat, you felt his warm, salty cum spill down inside of you. It coated the back of your throat.

Lars aimlessly jerked his his up into you, looking to thrust deeper inside of you. There was no where else for him to go, yet he couldn’t stop his hips from jerking. If he were to keep going, he’d overstimulate himself; but he couldn’t fucking stop for the life of him. He already felt pathetic enough due to how quickly he came just with your mouth.

You stood up on your knees so that your face is level with his face. Your spit and his cum were dripping off of your chin in strings. Neither of you bothered to wipe it away. You touched your nose with Lars’ nose, who was still breathing heavily. If you listened hard enough, you’d hear his heart beating.

“Holy hell,” Lars panted.

my first fic i’m posting plz be nice 🥲

edit: i’m going to write a part 2 eventually. them being completely naked will make way more sense when i write it HAHA!

[marsamongthestars-blog]

Something I’ve struggled with as long as I’ve been writing has been keeping a writing routine. Sure, I always have plans to stick with it, but life gets in the way and sooner or later strict routines and schedules make writing feel like a chore!
Now that I’m finally working on my final manuscript, I’ve picked up a few tricks to keep my mind fresh and my writing practice more enjoyable.
1. Set aside time each day to write
Recently, I’ve been spending an hour or two in the early morning writing. I find that it’s easier to focus on my work during this quiet part of the day before my mind is filled with stress and distractions, and knowing that I only have a few hours before I need to leave the house fuels the fire.
2. Choose one day every day to edit your work
Every Friday I sit down and edit all of the chapters that I wrote throughout the week. Because I don’t work on Fridays, I have all day to take my time fixing any mistakes, checking my pacing, and reworking anything I don’t love about what I’ve written. Having a dedicated editing day makes it easier to focus on getting the words out while I write without worrying about small errors.
3. Dedicate a Cozy Writing Space Where You Feel Comfortable 
This has been among the most important things I’ve done for my writing practice so far! Setting up a space with a comfortable chair, plenty of elbow room, a nearby outlet, and plenty of space for blankets, pillows, and candles has taken some of the discomfort out of the hours I spend at my keyboard.
While not everyone has the time, room, or budget to dedicate an entire room or section of their house (I certainly haven’t always been able to do this), it can be as simple as a little extra back support and a breakfast tray to rest your laptop on in bed.
4. Keep the Works of Authors Who Inspire You Nearby
This one is as simple as it sounds. I have lots of books in my house, but I keep the works of my favorite authors and a few of their biographies on their own shelf near my writing space to keep me motivated. If I’m feeling especially in my head, sometimes it helps to picture my own book on the shelf beside them.
5. Make Writing a Part of the Day that You Look Forward To
Never let writing become a chore! Make it an enjoyable, peaceful release. For me this looks like a warm drink, a comfortable outfit, and a few quiet hours that I get to spend alone with my story.
What does your routine look like? I’d love to hear everyone’s process and how you keep up with it!

[sky-drgn]

Wanting To Forget

Genre: Angst with a happy ending Pronouns: you/your; implied fem reader, use of she once Warnings: Character Death(s), small spoilers for romantic ending and engagement event, please let me know if I missed any Words: 3,339 Notes: I apologize for making you look at my absolutely terrible attempt to make a banner. Please send me asks about the ending. There was only so much that could fit in with out it being out of place. Edited to the best of my ability, there still might be mistakes, lemme know and I'll fix them ^-^ Completely inspired by this poll!

King Chevalier didn't know how it came to this. No, he knows. Chevalier can not forget, after all. He can't forget anything. Never so much did he want to. He wanted to forget that day, that week. Oh, how he wanted to forget. 

He wanted to forget the bone-chilling news that you had successfully been assassinated. That he wasn't there to save you, to protect you, as he promised himself he would be. 

It was a quiet afternoon; with Chevalier and his brothers away at war, the castle seemed empty. The usual bustling atmosphere the king and the princes had around them was gone. Despite the war going on beyond the borders, it was peaceful within the kingdom, the castle. Your day went on as usual. Work with Sarial in the morning, lessons on how to be the Queen with the same man in the afternoon, and early evening you put those lessons to use by organizing your fiance's paperwork. Late evening, after dinner and retiring to your room, you’d often find yourself doing your own studies on how to be Queen. During this time, the maids or Rio would bring a cup of tea to help you relax. The days were long and felt even longer without Chevalier by your side, not knowing if he was safe. You knew he would be; he didn’t earn the nickname the Brutal Beast for nothing. But an enemy that got not only Jade but Obsidian to ally with Rholidate and Benitoite scared you. The enemy had to be a great one if it brought all four kingdoms together. 

“Here you are, My Lady.” Your most trusted maid said as she put down your evening tea. “Rio has gone out to greet the messenger. He should be back with news of his Majesty and his brothers before you retire for the night.” 

“Thank you so much.” You said, gladly accepting the claiming tea. “I’m not sure I’d be able to sleep without knowing what the messenger had to say, no matter what.” 

Rio knocked on your door just under an hour later, but it was too late. You were already gone.

King Chevalier, his brothers, allies, and troops were returning to their kingdoms, but the trip home was long. It could not be made in one day. They set up camp for the night and would be home by mid to late afternoon the next day. While no one wanted to be out an extra day, they knew it would be best for them, their troops, and their horses. What no one expected - or wanted - was to see an exhausted Rio riding up to the camp by the time breakfast was over the next morning. 

It had been Nokto who greeted Rio and Leon who sent Clavis to get Chevalier. He had just finished packing his own belongings. He had heard the commotion outside the tent but thought nothing of it. The serious look on Clavis's face, however, did bring an unsettling feeling. Clavis always wore a smile of some kind; seeing him without one was rare, to say the least. 

“King Chevalier…” Rio said, while uncharacteristically kneeling before him, “Y/N’s been poisoned. She was gone before we knew what happened.” 

Everyone knew that the news was not going to be good news when Rio showed up, but the news of your death shocked everyone. They were expecting bad news if Rio came all the way out here, but this was far worse than they imagined. And then all eyes were on Chevalier. While it was Clavis that had held onto the last bits of his humanity, it was you that helped him unlock the rest, you who helped him become the man he was today. It was never a secret that you were the light of his life. You, who was now gone. 

“The plan stays the same. We return to the castle.” Chevalier said as if he didn’t just hear the love of his life was taken far too soon. But everyone knew that wasn't the case. He moved a little faster as he turned with a flip of his cape, returning to his tent to finish collecting his belongings.

Rio and his horse were allowed a moment to rest and were given some food and water. No one knew what Chevalier was doing in his tent, but no one dared question, especially with the princes staying close just in case.

Upon the return to the castle, King Chevalier was debriefed on everything that happened. The assassin that slipped the poison in your tea was in and out castle quickly and easily. However, they were caught. They had to stay behind to make sure it worked after all. Sariel had them in custody within the hour of finding out you were gone.

Alone in his room, Chevalier silently cried for the first time since he was a baby. You weren’t going to come back to him this time.

Oh, how Chevalier wished he could forget how he failed to protect you.

King Chevalier knew you'd disagree with this. You'd reassure him that he was protecting you, and the kingdom, by being out on the battlefield with his brothers and allied nations. Even Obsidian sided with Rhodolite in this war. You'd tell him he did everything he could. Leaving behind his most trusted to watch over you. Telling him that no one could have predicted the enemy would be able to hire such a skilled assassin to get through all the castle security, the security Chevalier always had for you. Even your own self-defense skill you’d just started learning. All that means nothing in the face of foreign poison. One that wasn’t as obvious as others. One that was given to you by a trusted maid. Said maid was even unaware of the poison hidden in your tea. 

The one rest-assured thing about the news was that you hadn’t suffered. It was quick. And from what the doctors could tell, painless. 

Despite being only two and half months away from being Queen, you’d been given the treatment of one. However, Chevalier knew better than anyone that you’d want things to remain humble. The funeral, while fitting for a Queen, was reserved for family and close friends. No nobilities that would've attended a royal's wedding out of respect and formalities, and no foreign royals that might do the same. It was just Chevalier, all his brothers, Rio, Sariel, the bookstore owner - the man might as well have been your adopted father after all -, and even Chevalier’s grandfather. The older man was surprised to get an invitation. He hated that it was your funeral he was attending and not the other way around, but he was there and did the best he knew how to support his grandson. Meanwhile, the citizens left flowers at the front gates, the bookstore, and some at your house in town. 

It was a heartbreaking sight. 

Following the funeral, Clavis and the rest of the others more or less force Chevalier to take some time to properly grieve. All of his work was picked up by all his seven brothers. Something all had no problem doing. And when it was time for the king to return to his work, the first thing he did was make it so his future nieces and nephews would be ones the future Belle would have to get to know for the crown. Chevalier would not and could not love anyone that wasn’t you, children that weren't yours. He knew that one day his brothers would have children, children that would have every right to the crown. No one was against this. After all, no one wanted a repeat of the event that led to the eight brothers. 

And so the years passed on. To everyone's surprise, it was Luke that was the first to marry and go on to have two kids of his own. While Luke’s oldest was still young, Yves got married and would go on to have three kids. Clavis would marry when Yves’ middle child and Luke’s youngest were learning to walk; he’d have five children with his wife. However, before Clavis could have his third child, Jin would succumb to the same illness that took his mother. Clavis worked tirelessly to try and find a cure, Chevalier giving him some help with both the research and his regular work. Chevalier would also remind his younger brother to spend time with his wife and two kids. Jin passed without having kids, and not long after, Licht joined his eldest brother after receiving a fatal injury on the battlefield. Leon was grateful that the oldest twin was able to attend his wedding only months prior. The head of the domestic faction would go on to honor his late younger brother when his only child was born a year later. Before that, however, Nokto would formally take a few mistresses, in which he’d at least one child with each. He would find a way to honor his late twin in his own way. 

Chevalier watched his nieces and nephews grow and mature. He watched as some of them decided the throne wasn’t for them; they wanted to be able to support their cousins in their journey for the throne. Others left the castle to find their own path in helping their kingdom outside the stuffy castle walls. Chevalier, as the king, gave them permission to do so and was proud of them as their uncle. He knew that that was what you would want. To support the family he has left, to keep his heart and not lock it away. 

The king would watch when Luke fell ill with the same illness their father had. While he had more years, Jin did when they realized he was sick; after his youngest got engaged, he too would pass on. Leon would be able to see his grandchild be born, but not their first steps; a new strong poison - much like what took you - would take him as well. That was a shock to everyone; Leon had built resistance to poisons in his lifetime. Unfortunately, recovering from a bad cold and advanced age did not help him in fighting off the poison. Yves would live until all his grandchildren were born, the youngest just barely young enough to remember him; his cause of death is unknown to everyone. 

Nokto was not fortunate enough to have a good relationship with his children; their family dynamic was unique compared to that of his brothers. Despite their mothers knowing - and explaining to their children - full well what they were agreeing to when they agreed to be Nokto's mistresses. The few women had the situation explained to them several times with plenty of time to back out, but they all agreed. Still, their children didn't understand, and so it strained their relationship with their father. Still, Nokto was there for them, and they knew he would always be. That was until negotiations went wrong, and a miss-fired gun would take Nokto from them. Clavis would comfort them and tell them their father was with his twin and the rest of his brothers. That it was alright to miss him even if they never spent as much time with him in life as they could have. Clavis explained that Nokto always understood where his children were coming from and that he was never upset or angry or anything bad; he was glad that everyone got along - at least better than he and his half brothers. This did bring Nokto's children comfort.

And then it was just Chevalier and Clavis. Most would say they had the most stereotypical brother relationship, equally hate each other while equally caring - in secret. Though, it was less of a secret after your passing and with the years going by. Clavis would occasionally have no choice but twist the knife, asking his brother what you would think of his actions, what you would do. Chevalier would scowl at him; how dare he say your name, but Clavis was right, of course. You would be disappointed in some of his actions, the lack of heart in his actions, and the remainder from Clavis helped him keep his heart, even if hurt. 

It hurt remembering your smiling face. Remembering your first kiss, your first time. Remembering when you came back to him after a year of separation, the warmth of your skin when you hugged him tight with the separation over. How gorgeous you look in your engagement dress, the kiss on his cheek after your engagement ceremony. Remembering how gorgeous you looked when you tried on your wedding dress for the first time. The wedding never got to happen. 

Chevalier wasn't one to visit graves, he saw no purpose, but yours he found himself several times over the years. As per usual, it was Clavis's suggestion. It had been your first birthday since you'd been taken from him. Clavis took off early to make you a “cake” to leave at your grave. Slight jealousy flared up within him, and he ended up going sometime later. There at the grave was a misshapen cake. Chevalier wasn’t sure if it was edible, but he left it knowing that Clavis worked hard on it, knowing that someone else would come to clean it or an animal would come to eat it. Still, though, he wasn’t sure what to do here. He never visited a grave just to visit. Remembering something once told to him, he spoke to your grave about the major things that happened since his last visit, about the books he’s read and which you would have enjoyed.

Visiting your grave site became more and more often as he allowed his nieces and nephews to take over some work. Once he stepped down as king, it was a weekly, then an almost daily thing. The brothers that he had left found this very uncharacteristic of him. However, what else would he do with his time? When he was younger, it was studies and reading, then it was work and reading, then it was work, reading, and spending time with you, but then it was back to work and reading. Without work, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. Sure, there was handling the Michel manor work, but that didn’t take up nearly as much time, nor was it a daily thing. Clavis found it sweet and incredibly sad. 

The daily trips turned back into weekly trips as he aged, and his health slowly declined. Before he knew it, he was bedridden, much like his late grandfather. Chevalier was able to get out of bed to do some activities, but making the trip down to the graveyard wasn’t one of them. He didn’t feel bad about this. Despite all the years that had passed, he still didn’t see the significance in going. There were bits and pieces of you all over the castle. His private library, your old room, the gardens, his room, and much more. All of them had your touch. Much of the things you’d left in his room have remained exactly where they were, and he only added books to your shelf in his private library, only the books he knew you’d enjoy. Even without going to the cemetery, you were with him. Even bedridden, you were with him. In the same room he always had, in the room the two of you were supposed to share - did share on many nights.

However, he did make one last trip to the graveyard on the anniversary of your death with the last brother he has left. The one that’s always been by his side. Clavis.

Clavis would see him back to his room and sit next to him. His wife, kids, nieces, and nephews are nearby in the castle. He’d make idol chatter with his older brother. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was talking about. 

“Thank you, Clavis,” Chevalier said, interrupting Clavis’s random talking. “For everything over the years.” 

Clavis was stunned, speechless, to say the least. Never has Chevalier thanked him.

Despite all pain and heartache remembering you brought Chevalier, he was glad he never forgot you. 

A few days later, a funeral was held for former King Chevalier. He had peacefully passed in his sleep with Clavis by his side.

The ringing of the bell alerted the black-haired bookstore worker to a new customer. Looking up, he saw one of the usuals approaching. They went to the local university and often studied in a quiet area upstairs, often with the owner's third “son,” as they went to the same university. The black-haired male wasn’t sure how they studied together, having two different majors, but it kept the hellcat out of his hair, so he didn’t care. 

“I believe Clavis is still in class if you’re looking for him.” The male told the customer. They were dressed in fine clothes, with their rather high-quality backpack resting on their shoulders. Being from the upper class had its perks. “He should be back in an hour if you want to wait upstairs.” 

“Actually, I’m here to meet Chevalier. Do you know if he’s here yet?” 

“He’s in the back. Boss made him his own little library back there. It’s around the corner.”

“Thanks, Sariel!” 

Sariel watched you go around to Chevalier’s private area, wondering when the two of you had met. Chevalier is two years ahead of you and Clavis and doesn’t come to the bookstore too often anymore. 

“Rholidate’s Fallen Rose.” You said, approaching the blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty. “That’s one of my favorites.” 

“I didn’t expect a simpleton to enjoy such a tragic book.” 

“The tragedy added to the beauty of the story. I’m surprised to see you reading it, though. It’s not actually a romance story.” 

“Am I only allowed to read romances now?” 

“I’ve never seen you read anything else before, with the expectation of things for your job, but that’s different.” Putting your bookbag down, you picked a book off the shelf and sat down next to Chevalier. Having taken a romance book yourself.

“Could say the same about you,” Chevalier said with a short chuckle. “I thought you were going to work on your paper that’s due in two weeks.” 

“You’ll help with it later, won’t you? We don’t get to relax like this often. I want to be able to take the time while we have it.” 

Chevalier said nothing, just smirked as he wrapped his arm around you. You two had been dating for just under a year. Between his work and your university work, it had been hard to find time for dates or just being together. So much so that not many people knew the two of you were dating. Chevalier’s mothers and younger brother know. Your adoptive father and the important people in your lives know as well. There was no need for grand declarations or for the entire country to know. It was just the two of you, happy and in love.

That love would be shown to the rest of your families and friends two years later. After a quiet and heartfelt proposal came a beautiful wedding. Chevalier looked as handsome as he always does with a white tuxedo with yellow accents and a tie. Your own outfit fit for royalty highly based on what was supposed to be Belle’s wedding dress from Rholidate’s Fallen Rose. Really the entire wedding felt like it should have taken place within the book. Although it was scalded down from what would have been that neither you nor Chevalier was royalty. It felt perfect. Like all the puzzle pieces finally came together. Like coming home after a long, drawn-out battle. It felt like everything was going exactly how it was supposed to. 

In the warm embrace of your lover, as the day of your wedding ended, the two of you knew that you would love each other in all of your lifetimes.

IkePri Mastelist

[sidhewrites]

Chapter 11! We got hot plot! I am so keenly aware that this is a first draft and going to be edited so heavily once it's all on the page! One of the major notes I Have for myself consistently is to make Kaz more active in causing the plot to happen overall. Right now she seems to be a bit more of a pinball protag, so I'm going to have to do a lot of fixing in later drafts.

I also realize I'm seriously lacking tertiary/background characters? Kaz and Josie need friends lol. Now taking suggestions for other weird gay college kids that live in generic college town usa

Project Info

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For the record, this is every bit as always as we both thought it would be. Josie and I sit at a very deliberate distance from each other on one of the brightly colored benches in the university’s student lounge. It’s a thoroughly modern building with glass walls and a wealth of amenities, but there aren’t many students to be found on a Friday afternoon, likely preferring to spend the start of their weekend having fun, or at least away from school. 

As a peace offering, I get us both cans of coffee from a vending machine, and hold one out for her as I flop down onto the bench across from her. 

“Do you drink anything other than coffee?” She asks, but takes the can anyway. Her fingers brush against mine, and we both freeze for a moment. 

I employ my usual method of smoothing out an awkward moment by saying something very smart and witty: “Sure. Sometimes I drink pure espresso like it’s a vodka shot.” 

For the record, I’ve only ever did that three times in my life, and every single time I told myself I’d never do it again. 

I push myself as far away from her on the small bench as possible while she sets up her laptop on the table in front of us, carefully avoiding looking at me. 

Half of me wants to call the whole thing off. I say I have to be somewhere else that I forgot about until just now, or just say fuck it and outright apologize for agreeing to meet in the first place. But the other, louder half of me is determined to be civil and polite and prove that we can get through a single half hour video like adults. 

I am keenly aware of the space my body takes up as she pulls up the Haunted Archivist’s website. My fingers grip the cold aluminum of the coffee can, my feet sweat in the socks I’ve worn all day and the work boots I wear everywhere. The sports jersey I’m wearing rubs against my skin, and I try to focus on that instead of the way Josie’s choker bobs with her throat when she swallows or the way her auburn hair falls over her shoulder. I don’t look at her stomach hanging over her waistband or think about how much I want to grab her, and how easily I could pull her towards me and lose myself in her. 

Before I know it, I’ve downed the whole can of coffee. 

“This was a mist—“ I say, right as Josie says, “Got it! Ready?”

She flushes for a second then, and leans back. “Oh, sorry. What was that?”

“This was a mistake,” I say again before I can help myself. 

A flash of fear and pain darkens her expression, so I act without thinking, and hold up the coffee. “This. I’m gonna regret it in about an hour.”

Relief floods Josie’s body and I see her almost sag with relief as she nods. “That’s for certain. Ready?”

She starts the video, and the Haunted Archivists begin with their usual affair. Shots of past videos flash across the screen as they introduce themselves and what they do, followed up with talking heads of Lourdes and Mick introducing this month’s subject. 

I glance over at Josie as they run through a list of noted ghosts in town, and she mumbles under her breath when she forgets a few that only a small group of locals know. 

Elitist, I think fondly. 

They start with the Barkeep, then the Kramer twins and the Librarian, running down the list until it’s time for their last and most exciting overnight investigation in the graveyard. 

Mr. Ngo appears on the screen, doing an interview in his office as he introduces the graveyard and its history.

“Yeah, boss!” I say, pointing at the screen. “If he’s not watching this right now, I’m going in tomorrow to show him.” It’s my day off, but I don’t even care. He looks great, even if he did ultimately forego the cowboy hat. 

They show my interview next, and I immediately want to crawl into the nearest hole as it plays. 

“Aw, you look great,” she says, which does nothing to help. 

It’s a mercy when they finally move on to the actual investigation of the graveyard, and we watch as they set up various tools and equipment to detect ghosts all over the graveyard. The entire event looks much more interesting on camera than it did in real life, and I wonder if [something about the magic of movie editing]. From my point of view, they had wandered about, spent a lot of time not talking, and wrote down a lot of notes. But in the video itself, [something else]. Even the ouija board session looks cool and dramatic in the video, and I’m half lost in the story, ridiculous pad it is.

And then Josie pipes up: "Wait. Rewind a bit?" Her face is pale as she presses the arrow keys back to the moment right before Renfield knocks over the ouija board, and presses play.

"Is anyone there?" Mick asks again. "Anyone want to talk to us?"

The planchette moves to YES.

"Who are you? Is this Lucille Blue?"

The planchette circles the board senselessly and moves back to YES.

They ask Lucille a few more questions before the voice over narrates, "It was at this time we heard yelling off in the distance. Fortunately, nobody was hurt. Unfortunately..." Renfield bursts through the scene, knocking over the board, with me hot on his heels.

Josie taps the space bar again. The video pauses, and she looks up at me with wide eyes.

"What?"

"Didn't you see the video?"

"Yeah. Millions of people just saw me embarrass myself on camera. What's your point?"

"They didn't say goodbye."

"What?"

"The Archivists. They didn't say goodbye before ending the session."

I snort, taken aback. "Well, they didn't exactly have a choice."

"That's bad. If they don't say goodbye, then the ghost is released into the world. It's not tied to the ouija board anymore."

I press my lips together, fighting hard not to laugh. She knows I don't believe in this stuff, but she still seems to expect me to react to this like it's a life-changing calamity. "Josie...

"No, Kaz, I'm serious. They opened a door into the afterlife by inviting anyone to the session, and then didn't close it properly."

"You realize how you sound right now, right? There's no door -- or a metaphysical door," I rush to add before Josie can interrupt. "They were moving the planchette on their own. You know that, don't you? It wouldn't be good content if they don't have something to show for it."

She shoots me a glare.

I feel my jaw tighten, and my brows raise in disbelief.

[They argue.]

"Enough. I don't want to hear it," she says, and stands. "I've got to do some research."

"I'm not letting you into the graveyard after closing," I call, and huff as Josie all but slams the door behind her. I don't mean to antagonize her like this, but we've had this argument a hundred times over. Josie believes in the supernatural as much as she believes in the weather app on her phone. I, meanwhile, have a bit more common sense, and know that a 30% chance of rain means nothing in the middle of summer when we don't see a single cloud for weeks on end. [Find a way to make this less clunky]

[Transition. Something happens. Josie corners Kaz at work. Josie is bringing up the idea of reaching out tot he HA, bringing them back, then...]

I don't even let her finish. "Absolutely not."

"But--"

"I know you're a fan, but this is so wildly inappropriate. I could lose my job over this, and Mr. Ngo would lose any chance of follow ups. Do you know how much they paid for film permits here?"

"Seriously? You're worried about money?"

"A lot, Jo."

"Come on--"

"That money is helping us pay for [something important.] We can't risk losing out on future [whatever]."

Josie shot me a look. "You're just saying no because I'm the one asking you."

"Josie." I mean, she's a little right. I don't want to admit it, especially because I would never agree to this kind of thing anyway unless it was directly from Mr. Ngo, but there's a special sort of vindication in being allowed to refuse Josie this thing that's so incredibly important to her, and is so incredibly out of the realm of realistic expectations.

[Arguing.]

I storm off, leaving Josie in the student union alone, and make a beeline for home. I don’t even think about the route I take until I’m halfway through the graveyard, fists clenched and half blind as the sun sinks further below the horizon.

I can’t help but notice a flower pot besides a grave. The flowers are wilted. I’ll have to replace them on my next shift.

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[konigbabe]

Hi. Just curious, how do you edit your work? I see a lot of writers say that editing takes them a lot of time and I just don't understand why?

Hello ♡ I don't know about anyone else but this is my editing process ⁀➷

I start by writing a rough draft in my Google docs. It usually looks somewhat like "He did that, you responded with that." and add all the dialogue I want. Also try to write as much "flowery" sentences I can think of during writing (Like "The scene is drenched in a potent blend of Satoru's possessiveness and desire."; metaphors, euphemisms, vivid imaginery etc.)

I leave it be for a few hours (or days sometimes); ocassionally adding sentences or paragraphs during the day when something pops in my head. After that, I sit down, open the draft and get to reading!

During reading, that's my main editing point - I fix grammar, change prose, add or delete what I need. It usually takes me few hours until I'm satisfied (I also get bored halfway thru so I usually split this part into segments as well).

I sometimes repeat No. 3 few days later if I don't have a posting deadline to add and change it up a bit more. It helps when there's no pressure on when to post.

After everything is done and written and I am convinced that this is what I want to release, I use two "apps" for finishing touches.

First, I run it through grammarly. It's not completely reliable and does try to correct the way I write (exclusing "is", "are" and other words for example...) but it sometimes points out mistakes that I managed to overlook.

Then I copy paste it into the Hemingway Editor. It's a web app and gives you suggestions on how to "improve" the text. Looks like this:

I only look at the number of adverbs and try to alter the text to get as close to the suggested number as possible. I also try to keep my grade between 6-8 but my main goal is the adverbs.

6. Then I copy paste it to my Tumblr's drafts, add all the tags, warnings and other necessities and post!

EDIT: Forgot to mention placeholders!! When I'm writing and can't think of a good description, I like to add something that could easily be found with CTRL+F (like ***, or @ or any other specific symbol that won't normally appear in the story/writing) and then when I think of a good enough description, I simply search for the placeholder and replace it with the text!

Hope this helped!

[star--nymph]

midnight, skin, pain, and mistake for our beloved eury?

Of course my love!! One Eury ramble coming up!

oc asks: not-so-nice edition

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

Eurydice has odd sleeping habits. Prior to the Inquisition, she had never slept alone or on an actual bed--she used to sharing a fur pelt on the ground or in her aravels, snuggled next to one of her siblings. Between the distrust of her surroundings and a new environment where she was expected to sleep in a cold bed alone, she didn't sleep much. She slept fretfully, got up early, stayed awake for days, and would only rest in places where she could easily curl into a ball and hide. At first, her favorite places to rest were the stables with her mounts or on the rafters of the towers in Skyhold. Later, when she learned to trust, people could find her resting near Bull, Sera, or Vivienne. She only really started trusting bed when she became involved with Cullen. Funny because when she's with loved one, she tends to sleep deeper and becomes difficult to wake up. It's hard to get her out of her nest blankets once she's deep in there. As for what keeps her up at night, there is plenty. I mention the distrust during the early days of the Inquisition, but I didn't mention Eurydice being wary of entering the Fade through her dreams. I've mentioned this before but Eurydice has a personal rage demon that has followed her from childhood; it meets her in her dreams and tries to 'comfort' her. For the most part, she is able to avoid its temptations, but there are nights where it drags out her insecurities and trauma--sometimes conjuring memories of her father--and she wakes up in a panic. Its best to avoid the Fade when it acts up, which means she doesn't rest. But will she admit to any of that? No of course not, she simply didn't feel like resting any more. There are other things to do, like work. Later on all this gets exuberated by the addition of the voices from the Well of Sorrows. At that stage, she would enter into a near delusional state and be inconsolable. What she does when no one is awake is usually explore Skyhold--or, if she's in a fit of hysteria, it would be more akin to haunting the fortress. She walks among the towers and battlements, into the depths of the palace, finding new secrets. If she has the energy, she'll stable up a mount and ride out of Skyhold. Maybe work in the guard or in her workshop decoding artifacts she's found. Anything, really, to avoid being still and hearing something from deep inside her that might be frightfully true.

mistake: What's the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?

Eurydice has made plenty of mistakes but I don't think she often dwells on them more than she has to. She's a present thinking person, so if she does something wrong, she tends to just accept it is what it is and move on. If there was perhaps any mistakes she holds against herself, it's the ones that her father's has condemned her for. All the little things of being wrong, being heartless and cold, 'deliberately' disrespecting him, being unable to emote properly or act happy or look at him, for being empty and stupid, and a mistake--those are what she wishes to fix. Anything to make him forgive her and call her 'his jewel' again. But Eurydice can't fix any of that because she doesn't know how to. Even when she mimics her sister, when she tries to play the part of the good, beautiful child for him, she seems to fall short. So why try? She'll move on one day, when she's far from him, but those 'mistakes' are what haunt her even when she's in Skyhold. After all, if her father could see her as the empty doll she was, then one day all those who claim to love her will see it, too. One day, if she doesn't fix this mistake, they'll hate her as he does.

pain: What's the worst pain your OC has ever felt? Do they have a high pain tolerance?

I'd say when Eurydice turned her arm to ice and snapped it off so she could throw it at Solas, but I don't think so. I think when Samson carved his sword into her face and took out her right eye, that was worse because there was more of a psychological. Fact was, the arm needed to come off because it was killing her, so removing it and living without it was easier. But losing her eye and having her face permanently scarred? That broke her. So much of Eurydice's self worth has been tied to her beauty--all her life all she ever heard was 'at least she's beautiful'. Even if there was something 'wrong' with her head, it was her beauty that made her worth it. Samson desecrated her face as he had desecrated her people's temple, and neither could be return to what they once were. Imagine waking up to the screams of your ancestors in your ears, a dull pain where your eye, and when you look into a mirror, all you see is mutilation. In one short day, Eurydice had lost her religion, a piece of her culture, her eye, and her self worth. It took her weeks to recover and more to learn to live without her right eye, and even longer to live with the voices and accept her new reality. And all that time, she cast out all she loved and would have let herself waste away. That is true pain. Eurydice's pain tolerance is pretty high but I wonder if it's because she dissociates from it. There are times where she has been injured and she simply doesn't realize it until hours later, and even then she'll push on. At least physically, she doesn't seem to notice. Other pains, like auditory or when her hair is yanked, she'll feel right away and they're both heightened--if they overwhelm her, she might be pushed into a meltdown. Other times, however, she has been known to ripe out her hair when she's in stressed state and doesn't notice. So. Perhaps its all very touch and go?

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

Eurydice doesn't grapple with anything inside her: she grapples with nothing inside her. Not a beating heart or a brain. She picks at her skin on her chest and wonder if she beats it hard enough, it'll crack and all she'll find is a black hole. All her life, she's at best a beautiful doll--one that didn't have the ability to make her own decisions. At worst, she's this hollow thing meant to be puppeteered by those around her. And she's tricking everyone into thinking she's a real person with real feelings and attachments. One day, what if, they see that crack insider her, they watch it crumble, and they'll look inside her body and find nothing? Will they be disgusted? Or will it confirm what they always assumed about her? Eurydice doesn't face any of this, not head on. She runs, far into the forest, into the swamps and bogs and ruins, inside a cave, hiding behind elven remnants, and telling herself its better that way. She is not meant for this world; she'd rather watch from a distance and let it all burn. Don't look too closely or touch her. She doesn't want you to see what's not under her skin.

[alchemistc]

👓💛🔮 for the writer asks, please!

👓What helps you focus when you write?

-Clean organized workspace, Earl Grey tea, lavender and cedarwood candle, atmospheric background noise (if it has lyrics I'm fucked for focus)

The fic I'm working on right now already has it's own pinterest board and a whole ass playlist of atmospheric yt sounds. Maybe once artist claims are done for SBB I'll post a teaser of them.

💛What is the most impactful lesson you've learned about writing?

Ooooh, this is rough, but I think, honestly, the one piece of advice I only decided to take in the last year or so has helped me enjoy writing so much more: If it doesn't fit, or you're getting stuck: just Fucking Delete It And Start Over. If it's a word, a paragraph, a phrase, and you're deliberating too much or waffling or it's causing you to stare at your gd cursor but you still like it - Ctrl+V it into a new tab and then get rid of it. Move on. Come back to it and see if it's still something you need.

The number of times I've left a "scrap" of writing in a draft on G Docs or in my phone notes and then either found a better place for it, or been inspired by it to write something else entirely, AND gave my brain the audacity to move past it and keep going has been amazing.

That and [ELEPHANT]. If you're blanking on a word but the flow is there, keep those juices going and just bracket an filler word in there. Ctrl+F that bitch later when the juices aren't flowing so well.

The point is - don't get caught up on the details. Don't let yourself get stuck. A draft is a draft for a reason, and even me with my "reading it on ao3 and catching spelling mistakes 6 days later" laissez-faire attitude about editing, There's Always Time To Fix It.

🔮Any advice for writers working through burnout or writers block?

See above, but also - put it down. Walk away. Change your scenery, take a walk, actually touch some grass.

For burnout, literally put it away. If you're in a spot where it's just not working and you're spinning your wheels and shit's just not hitting, or you're sad or annoyed or beating yourself up or you're just fucking tired, take a nap and get back to it.

For a lost muse - change it up. Drink a different tea, take your laptop outside and sit in the sun, leave the laptop alone entirely and take a hike through the woods. Take a notebook with you when you draw yourself a bubble bath. Disassociate in the grocery store. Rework the scene with your pillow as an acting partner while you try to fall asleep (If you're anything like me, you'll do this for hours bc insomnia is a bitch.)

Most of all - let yourself be moved by the story if it needs it. I used to be a very stream-of-consciousness writer, and have only in the last few years really outlined a whole story before I write it, but the thing that always used to stop me from planning it out is the same thing that held me up once I started - I write where the words take me, and if you limit yourself to the story you started out with you might miss some happy accidents.

Thanks for the questions!!

FANFIC WRITER ASK GAME

[gremlinshatephilosophers]

I’m an old school believer that some tasks are designated for computers, but lately I think I’ve been editing better on my phone? Like I write fics on my laptop (in bed under a million blankets because I’m perpetually cold of course) but I always get a bit stuck after an hour or two writing. And now I go back to the phone at night when I don’t wanna be blinded by my laptop screen. It started with little edits because I know when I write at night I have a slightly different mood and energy that sometimes I need to put in writing before I forget in the morning. But today I wrote a few hundred words on my phone and it felt very wrong yet it 100% forced me to finish the story.

For some things i have to use my phone anyway (pound symbols and accent marks and such) but the dark mode in the app helps me see it better. The different aspect ratio really makes mistakes and odd phrasing stand out. And honestly? On my phone I’ll just type something for the sake of it or delete it or whatever and it’s fine in my head. It doesn’t have to be perfect, I’ll fix it later. And so I end up actually getting a baseline down in places where I’m stuck.

[billconrad]

118 Lessons My First Book Taught Me

At an early age, I had ideas floating around my bonkers mind and recorded a few precious gems for school projects. It was typical of a young boy building a race car, going on epic adventures, saving the world, going into space, inventing something extraordinary, starting in a rock band, or meeting a beautiful woman.

Most plots faded into obscurity as I grew, but one refused to die. So, on January 09, 2011, I did something about it. I began a journal of my inventions, ideas, thoughts, and essential things that needed to be recorded. I dedicated one section to plots that could become books. Why? I classified a book as an invention. Yeah… Typical engineer.

At that time, I was unemployed, and a few months later, another company hired me. It has always been a dream to start a company, and at this new job, an opportunity presented itself. A coworker was starting an internet marketing company and asked for my help. I worked long hours and spent thousands bringing his vision to life. The company folded at the eleventh hour because he had a mental breakdown. Bummer.

The next time I was laid off, I did not want to start a company because of the bad experience. So, I turned to my journal of inventions for inspiration. I settled on the get-rich-quick concept of writing a book. I discussed this with my wife, and she replied, “Let’s see what you come up with.”

I had five stories that I thought were book-worthy and began with my second-best concept because I wanted to gain experience before tackling my favorite plot.

My first word was recorded on August 16, 2016, at 3:15 pm. The words came out easily because I mentally worked out the plot for ~15 years. About two months later, my first draft was done. Yay? I immediately concluded it was too short. So, I added scenes, pumped up action, and jammed in a side plot. Did I enhance the character/scene descriptions? Err, moving on. I learned the following from this first draft:

1) A normal person can write a book. Translation: A person does not need an expert author. 2) If you know the subject, writing a book is easy. 3) Follow your dreams because writing is fun and rewarding.

So, I had a book in hand. Now what? Obviously, I read it. Eww… needs some work. My second lesson should have been: “Writing a lousy book is easy.” So, I spent the next six months self-editing. During this time, I learned:

4) All that junk I added to puff out the pages was useless. Always stick to the central plot. 5) Self-editing is essential; it eats up lots of time, but correcting mistakes is also crucial. 6) I did not think through the story, meaning there were logic holes. They were tough to uncover and fix. 7) I had many writing ticks, like misspelling the same word (homophones). 8) I learned five years later to write down a list of “things to check for.” I wish I had that back then.

Approximately three months into self-editing, I realized my book needed outside help and asked my mother. She became my beta reader, coach, idea springboard, and helper. Together, we worked for four months, and I learned:

9) It is essential to have another opinion. This is in addition to a grammar/writing opinion. I needed a story/plot/character opinion. 10) LISTEN when somebody takes the time to explain your flaws. 11) It is ultra important to think about the reader’s perspective while writing. 12) Treat negative comments like gold. It is so much better to fix big problems before readers see them. I had to create second editions for my first and second books to correct apparent flaws. I can track these flaws back to my mother’s comments. 13) My story development process was fundamentally unsound. (This was later fixed by beginning every book project with an outline.) 14) I did not know what to ask my beta reader to look for. Now, I know my writing/story issues and ask her specifically to inspect these areas.

Yay, I had a book! But I knew my grammar was subpar. So, I sought out an editor. It was simple. I did an internet search and picked one. And quick as a fiddle, the editor returned my work with many suggestions. During this time, I learned:

15) Indeed, my grammar was shockingly poor. 16) Editors are not magic ferries; they can only do so much with flawed work. 17) Because I had only worked with one editor, I felt the edited book was the best possible result. 18) While I was not satisfied, I felt ready to proceed. This was a mistake. I should have self-edited for another two months. Why? Because I was still finding big errors. 19) Overall, I learned I should have done much more work before handing my book to an editor.

I declared my book ready for publishing. Yay! And there was more good news. I had an easy plan for success. I would email copies of my book to hundreds of publishers, and one would buy them. Easy money! A fast two hours revealed:

20) Publishers do not call books “books,” they are manuscripts. What? 21) Publishers do not accept “unrepresented” manuscripts. Meaning they do not have a place on their website to submit books. In fact, they warn you that they will destroy all books sent in the mail. Harsh! 22) Publishers only accept books from book representatives.

A book representative is a person with inside publishing contacts. The idea is you pay them, and they read your book. If they like it, they will take your book to a publisher. I quickly learned:

23) Book representatives charge $2,000++ (non-refundable) to look at your book. 24) They want 10%+ of the profit. 25) They rarely take on new authors. 26) From their websites, they were an arrogant bunch.

I was not about to give some random jerk a dump truck full of money without any guarantee. So, my effort came to a halt. In desperation, I asked my editor if she knew any representatives. She did not but knew somebody who did. This is how I met Bethany, a “self-publishing helper.” Her business takes care of the process between a first draft and getting it self-published. I called Bethany, and she explained that it was possible to create your own eBook and print-on-demand books, which could be uploaded to Amazon. They would put the files on their site, and their customers would purchase them. She explained this path was more straightforward than traditional publishing. The author had more control, and the chance of success was higher. Before meeting Bethany, I incorrectly thought:

27) Only publishers create eBooks. 28) There was no such thing as print-on-demand. 29) Self-publishing means paying a printer, and you sell the copies. 30) Amazon only deals with big-time authors.

So, I paid Bethany to take me under her wing. The process began with her quickly reading my book to assess what I had produced. She pointed out several flaws, and I worked with an editor she recommended. This editor taught me:

31) There are major differences between editors, including style, attitude, approach, interaction skill, and talent. 32) One editor will catch one thing, and the other will not. 33) There is no universal standard for editors to follow, which means that editors will disagree on what to change and how to change it.

This last lesson was a tough pill to swallow. To this day, I have difficulty knowing what to do when an editor, beta reader, copy editor, myself, Grammarly, ProWritingAid, and books like The Chicago Manual of Style disagree. I later learned that editors range from exceptionally talented to deplorable. I am still looking for one. (The second editor I used was exceptional, but she passed away. Bethany recommended two other editors for my following two books, but I was unsatisfied.)

Then Bethany hit me with a whammy. A book description sometimes called the blurb, is what you see next to the book you are about to buy. I incorrectly thought:

34) The book description is a simple summary and easy to write. 35) Amazon takes care of the book description.

I honestly thought Amazon was 100% responsible for this task. I could not have been more wrong. My mother, Bethany, and I spent three agonizing weeks creating something usable. This included printing it on 11x17 and redlining. During this time, I learned: 36) A book description must be an advertisement, a hook, and easy to read. 37) It must not contain the slightest error. Meaning it is a flawless gem! 38) It must have less than 30% of the plot yet describe the overall concept. 39) The hook better be fantastic. 40) This is the hardest part of writing a book. 41) When I read flawed book descriptions, they stand out like searchlights on a moonless night. 42) After publishing, I changed a sentence about every six months. 43) Four years later, I paid a writer specializing in book descriptions to re-write it. 44) I was never satisfied with the result.

Bethany did not like my original title, A Graceful Interview. The logic behind that title was simple: the lead character’s name was Grace, and I love puns. We brainstormed twenty titles and whittled it down to Interviewing Immortality. In that process, I learned:

45) Titles are ultra important. 46) Do use the title of an existing book, movie, song, or other popular thing. 47) Be edgy, but not cute. 48) Be powerful, but not overwhelming. 49) It’s got to make sense. 50) Do not be insulting, but push the boundaries. 51) It is a title. Translation: It better explain the book.

The next part would be easy because I had an ace up my sleeve. I have been doing technical graphic design for years and had a book cover. Bethany laughed at my childish attempt. She knew a professional book cover graphics designer and insisted I do some background research. The process is all visual learning. Bethany instructed me to study hundreds of random book covers for common elements. Next, I studied hundreds of books in my literature category, books in other categories (to identify the difference), award-winning covers, advice from professional cover designers, and visual sites for inspiration. Then, I studied bad book covers and looked at books with low reviews. Eventually, I saw the pattern. This includes the type of font, the colors, the image, the intent, the message, the overall goal, the overall look, and how the cover ties into the story. When Bethany and I were satisfied with the pre-concept work, she sent it to her professional cover designer. He took the basic concept and presented four rough drafts. I liked one and have since received many compliments. Here is what I learned:

52) There is so much more to a book cover than meets the eye. 53) Unless you are a graphic book cover designer, always hire a professional. 54) This is a game of 1%. Meaning that a tiny improvement is a big deal. 55) A book cover is the primary advertisement tool. Meaning, it better be fantastic. 56) Now, I see tasteless book covers everywhere, and I know readers can (subconsciously) spot a lousy cover.

Bethany told me I needed an endorsement. This is when somebody like Oprah Winfrey says, “I read Bill’s recent book and it was excellent!” I am a nobody, and I do not know anybody famous. Paying somebody famous was out of the question, and this became a dead end. The next best thing was to pay for a professional review. There were hundreds of people waiting to accept my money, but I found huge issues:

57) The professional reviewers were nobodies. 58) Their websites looked tacky, and it was clear that the only people who visited these sites were authors looking to have their books reviewed. 59) Readers never go to these sites because each book only gets one review. This is in contrast to a site like Goodreads, where each book gets many reviews. 60) The reviews were poorly written. 61) The authors using these sites were nobodies. You will never see an author like Tom Clancy paying them for reviews. This fact should have told me something. 62) The sites did not guarantee a positive review. 63) Their prices were outrageous. 64) Yeah, I still needed one.

I found a site that only wanted $99. The result was a so-so review. Clearly, the reviewer skimmed the book and altered a canned review because it read like other reviews on their site. I put the best excerpts on the back cover. Later, Bethany transferred the review from their site to Amazon. I learned:

65) Endorsements or professional reviews are not necessary. Save your money for more important things. 66) Other authors disagree with my opinion. They think that having a professional endorsement is the best marketing tool ever. 67) On the second edition, I deleted the endorsement from the back cover.

Now, I only had two steps left. Formatting the book and putting it on Amazon. I learned: 68) It is essential to use a professional eBook/ print-on-demand formatter. There are so many little tricks to getting an eBook to look good on the multiple eBook readers. A professional format is even more critical for print-on-demand. It takes an experienced eye to set it up properly. 69) The first draft of the formatted work had many little issues that needed correcting. 70) It is essential to have somebody with experience in uploading an eBook and print-on-demand book to Amazon. Many little options that must be selected appropriately. They have since made the process easier. 71) When I read the print-on-demand book, I found many apparent errors. Correcting them was expensive. I should have spent two additional months self-editing.

And then it was done! I released my first book. What was that like?

72) I felt fantastic. I was a published author! 73) My friends congratulated me. 74) My parents were overjoyed.

How were sales? Except for my mother, ZERO!!!! This taught me:

75) A big letdown followed my quick high. 76) I thought Amazon would have done much better promoting my work. In fact, I learned that Amazon puts ZERO effort into attracting readers of new books. 77) I incorrectly thought that a large class of readers would seek out new creations. 78) My biggest mistake was that a good book would market itself. Yes, I was a bonehead.

To increase my sales, I signed up for Amazon’s KDP Select. From the information on the Amazon website, there were three huge benefits. The first is better ranking, meaning that they promote your book. Second, Amazon Prime members can download your book for free, meaning you get a lot more sales. Third, you can offer promotions like giving your book away for free (to all readers) to generate buzz. This will lead to many positive reviews! I leaned:

79) Better ranking? Yeah, right. 80) Only eight people downloaded my book, and I did not get a single review. 81) Authors cannot put their books on other platforms as part of the KDP Select agreement. 82) Amazon often checks other sites for your eBook. They will permanently kick you off their platform. To continue selling on Amazon, you must start with a new identity, book title, and pen name. 83) KDP Select has nothing to do with print-on-demand. 84) You must sign up for six months.

But there’s more! When you opt out of KDP Select, you are out. Right? When the six-month period was over, I opted out, but I was secretly still in. I found this by going on to my wife’s Amazon Prime account and saw my book available for free. I emailed Amazon, and they told me about an obscure second website’s location to commit to being unsubscribed from KDP Select. I did this, waited a week, and my book was still free on Amazon Prime. I then went on the Amazon help site, and after an hour, they did internal stuff and confirmed I was off. I checked the next day and was off. To be sure, I waited a week, and, of course, it was back on. It took over a month to be 100% certain I was off. To be sure, I asked them to email me a letter stating I was indeed off and that there would be no penalty if I popped back on. Jerks! When I published my second book, KDP select was default selected. When I uploaded my third book, it was selected, but in a hidden area. This shady practice should tell you something: Avoid KDP Select! Because of the dismal sales, I entered a new phase: self-promotion. It began with begging my friends to post reviews. I do not like pestering people, and this task was difficult. Here is what I learned:

85) I had only three friends willing to write reviews. 86) Positive Amazon reviews are critical. 87) Do your absolute best to avoid negative Amazon reviews.

I then began contacting authors and asked them to exchange reviews. I learned a lot:

88) Not all authors consider review exchanges ethical. Yet, I find these upstanding authors are blind to the reality of modern publishing. The world is not ideal, and you must hustle to get ahead. That’s life! 89) During my exchanges, I met several great authors and became pen pals with two. 90) Several authors gave me writing tips and pointed out critical flaws. I learned many valuable lessons. 91) Most authors willing to participate in this effort are new to publishing. Their books range from dreadful to fantastic. 92) All big-time authors have no interest in review exchanges. 93) It is essential to go into a review with the attitude of looking for the best parts of their book and pumping them up. You cannot have the attitude of “If it is a bad book, I will write a bad review.” Why? Bad reviews only lead to problems. 94) There are professional sites that offer review exchanges. I have strong words of advice: a. Some exchange authors have unrealistic expectations and demand lengthy reviews of their worthless books. b. Not all authors are aware of what they have created. I encountered one that had a ghostwriter do the entire thing, and the “author” was stunned by my basic review. I do not think he read the first chapter. c. Most new authors do not have good techniques. d. EXPECT a lot of AI-written junk. This is the new reality of books. Learn to love it:( e. Only agree to an exchange for a book with at least 20 reviews. By then, an author should know their book is a stinker. f. The administrators of these sites are idiots. g. The “help desk” employees think “customer service” is a four-letter word. h. Amazon will eventually find these professional exchange sites and shut them down. I have no idea what punishment they will inflict on authors.

The next phase of my self-promotion process was to create a website. Many great website hosting companies have online free website building programs—for example, GoDaddy. Of course, I chose not to use a free online website builder. Why? I am old school and wanted to make a site on my computer that I could endlessly edit offline. My other motivation was that if the hosting company did not work out (like upping their cost), I could move my website, which I worked on for thousands of hours, to any web hosting company. Yes, I am a control freak. So, my quest began. My first stop was buying the latest gold standard for website development, Microsoft Front Page. To my utter shock, it is no longer supported. What the heck? Well, there is still the silver standard Corel website creator. Wow, it has become awful. So, I went through every program, including Adobe, Google… Pure junk. (How do big companies make their sites? All these years later, I still do not know.) Fortuitously, I found a free program called Rocketcake (and then paid for the professional version). It was easy to use, fast, and produced excellent results. The downside is the lack of power. (It did not support splashy features. Only basic website stuff.) But there was an exciting upside. It generates efficient webpages that display lightning fast. There was another benefit to Rocketcake that no other online website builder had. It (accurately) showed how my website looked on mobile devices. I then tweaked my pages to display on all platforms correctly. GoDaddy and other online-generated web pages look awful on small devices. (I have not checked recently, but I see many pages that do not work well on my phone.) Do people browse on their phones? Hmm. Perhaps there was some logic to my decision. Then, I needed a hosting company and found WHP. Incidentally, WHP is the least expensive, and their service is decent. Coincidence? I might have been onto something.

Creating a website taught me:

95) An author needs to have a dedicated website. This is the central hub of your marketing empire. 96) Keep the site current, and post often. 97) Using a canned solution like GoDaddy locks your hard work into their platform for life.

My next marketing phase was writing articles (blogs) and posting them on multiple sites. Here is what I learned:

98) Writing articles sharpens writing and generates ideas. 99) It is a good creative outlet that brings back the joy of writing. 100) I explore various ideas and have learned a lot, especially about myself. 101) You must write articles with a long-haul mindset. The effort will be successful, but success is a long way off. 102) Articles generate contacts and expand marketing. 103) Find every possible site that will accept your post.

I tried to locate book promotion sites and learned:

104) There are several free book-promoting sites. Make sure you create a separate email account for this effort, like Yahoo mail, because this email address will get lots of spam. I have found the free sites to be marginally successful. 105) There are hundreds of paid book-promoting sites. Tread hyper carefully! a. At their core, they are spam generators. I do not want people getting spammed by my books. b. They never define Return On Investment. This means that if I spend $X, they promise $Y sales based on Z prior marketing campaigns. c. They never show proof of what they claim to do. “I tweeted to 10,000 people!” Who? When? Do you have an electronic log of your posts? Are these people even people? d. They often use big concept words like “branding” and get quiet when you ask about real marketing terms like Return On Investment. e. In my discussions with other authors, they unsuccessfully tried a few of these sites. f. They make shady claims. “We adjust the Amazon algorithm to make your book appear first.” So, they hacked Amazon? Umm… g. They often want to be paid to redo what you already did. Like having their “professional editors” update your work. You know my book has issues without looking at it? Umm… h. There is a business here, but I have yet to figure out an angle to start one. Perhaps it has something to do with YouTube influencers.

This is what I should have done:

106) My biggest lesson was to begin all book projects with a thoroughly vetted outline. Then show it to somebody. This is a six-month process for me. 107) I would have put more effort into writing with the reader in mind. My original goal was to write a story “I wanted to read.” The result did not challenge the reader. 108) I should have done more research into publishing and marketing.

A common question is: “How did you find your voice?” From a young age, I knew how to write a story. My first and subsequent books only refined my story-telling ability. So, this does not get a number because there was no lesson.

This is what I did right:

109) I took the leap. Meaning that I set a goal and achieved it. 110) At every step, I applied maximum effort. 111) I did not compromise quality. Granted, my first edition had many glaring issues. 112) Besides adding extra junk to make my book longer, I stayed true to my original story. This choice validated my accomplishment. 113) Even after all these years, I still like my story. So, indeed, I created something special. Well, at least to me.

This is how my first book changed me:

114) My grammar, spelling, and writing have dramatically improved. 115) I now can spot flaws in other works from a mile away. This is not necessarily a good thing. I recently put down a book because the writing was terrible. The content was excellent. 116) Movies and books have become less enjoyable because I get too deep into analyzing the plot and characters. 117) I sometimes look at people as if they were characters. Yes, this is creepy. Don’t tell anybody!

Bonus:

118) Alright, I must admit this. When I spot a big mistake in other people’s work that I know how to fix, it gives me a rush.

It has been quite a journey, but should I have gone down this road? Some dreary days, like when I get a bad review, the answer is no, but the rest are a resounding yes.

You’re the best -Bill December 04, 2024

Hey, book lovers, I published four. Please check them out:

Interviewing Immortality. A dramatic first-person psychological thriller that weaves a tale of intrigue, suspense, and self-confrontation. Pushed to the Edge of Survival. A drama, romance, and science fiction story about two unlikely people surviving a shipwreck and living with the consequences. Cable Ties. A slow-burn political thriller that reflects the realities of modern intelligence, law enforcement, department cooperation, and international politics. Saving Immortality. Continuing in the first-person psychological thriller genre, James Kimble searches for his former captor to answer his life’s questions. These books are available in softcover on Amazon and in eBook format everywhere.

[frameacloud]

This survey is off to a good start! Some observations and fixes as it enters day three:

The survey received 300 responses within its first 24 hours, wow! The response to the survey itself has been overwhelmingly positive, and the stories shared in it are wonderful. This is the first formally-designed, in-depth survey of these experiences, so I expected it to be small, short, and just a starting place, but it's revealing so much more. Some responses bring up aspects of the scope of these experiences that this survey's questions didn't get into, so they would be great to get into in later surveys.

I found and fixed one glitch. (Okay, Dragons found it, and my boyfriend Page fixed it. Thanks!) If you got an error when you tried to write a list of your other alterhuman identities, now you can edit your survey response to write what you wanted in that field.

One respondent just reported that part of the form was cut off when they viewed it on their mobile device. If you reach the question about therapies and can't see the option to answer "it helped," try editing your response on a device with a larger screen. I'm going to look into if there's a way to fix it, or a work-around for folks who don't have another device. Will it let you tap and slide to scroll to the side?

One respondent pointed out that a question about certain other physical conditions needed to have an option to say intersex, and that's right, so I added that! Adding an option to a survey this late is bad and to be avoided, because the first few hundred respondents didn't have that option, so my data about that answer will be incomplete, but leaving it out would have been a real mistake. Intersex inclusion is important. If you responded already and wanted that option too, I hope you'll edit your response.

A bias emerged that nearly everyone who chose to take this survey are folks who experience these sensations. That means one thing this survey won't be able to tell us is how common these sensations are in alterhuman communities. Many therianthropes and otherkin don't have these experiences, and I want to hear from them too. That won't eliminate the survey's bias, but nonhuman phantom limbs aren't a required or definitive aspect of these identities.

Surveys of alterhuman communities get nearly all of their responses from people in their teens or twenties, even though our communities have a wide age range. The younger folks who started the therianthrope and otherkin communities in the 1990s were in their teens or twenties back then, so they're around their fifties now. They're still therians and otherkin, they just spend their free time in different places. The age bias in surveys is because of where the surveys get shared. If you know any older therians, otherkin, alterhumans, or nonhumans-- even if they different use words for it-- who would be interested in this survey, please tell them about it, so that it will show a more realistic age distribution.

Shout-out to the reblogger who said they'd wait to fill out the survey for when they turn 18 in a few weeks. Thanks for respecting ethical survey standards so carefully, and happy birthday!

The purpose of this survey is to collect data about the experiences of people who feel sensations of nonhuman body parts, for example, wings or a tail. Some call these supernumerary phantom limbs, phantom shifts, otherlimbs, or astral limbs, though you may have other preferences for the words you use for your own experiences. If you haven't had those experiences, you can participate in this survey too. This survey was made for people who call themselves otherkin, therianthrope, furry, or any other potentially alterhuman or nonhuman identity. If you don't describe yourself with any of those words, you can participate in this survey too.

The survey will take you about 6 to 15 minutes. Everyone age 18 and up is welcome to fill out the survey at the below link, until it closes on July 6, 2024:

Survey Link

Who is running this survey and why: The person running this survey is Orion Scribner (they/them), an otherkin/therianthrope who has been making projects about these communities since 2005. I will use the results in my panel at an Internet-based convention later this year (OtherCon 2024), and in other future research projects.