#i just wanted to brain vomit all over the page and that i did

[covenofagatha]

Saw you're taking requests and decided to toss one your way!

Agatha x reader, reader has had a really tough day and Agatha helps put her into subspace to relax. Some soft!dom Agatha with a splash of praise, degradation, mommy and maybe some size kink? And of course some fluffy aftercare after reader has been thoroughly fucked out of her mind❤

Hope you enjoy! (Disclaimer: I've never written subspace before so hopefully I did it justice, along with everything else you wanted)

Bad day

When Agatha comes home to find that you had a bad day, she takes it upon herself to make you feel better

Word count: 2600

Warnings: praise kink, degradation kink, subspace, size kink, mommy kink, oral, strap-on, aftercare, smut, and fluff (I may have missed one)

You’re on your last nerve when you get to your afternoon class on Wednesday. 

Your car didn’t start in the morning so your girlfriend, Agatha, had to drop you off at work, which you’d never complain about, except she had still been asleep when this happened so you were almost late because she had to get ready. 

And then work was awful. You had a shift at the popular retail store in town and it seemed like every customer who came in was on a mission to personally ruin your day. 

From dissatisfaction with the prices to vomit all over the restroom floor, it seemed like nothing could go right. 

Agatha had been at work herself so you had to call one of your college friends to give you a ride after. 

And now you had to sit in a class on Personality Theory for the next three hours and listen to your professor drone off on tangents. You would be getting your tests back from last week though, and you were hoping you had done well. 

“Alright, before we get started, I’ll go ahead and pass out your exams. Once I call your name, you can come up and look at it,” your professor says and you anxiously tap your fingers on the desk while you wait for your turn. 

Finally, he says your name. Butterflies in your stomach, you walk to the front to look and it’s like you’ve been punched in the gut. 

There must be something wrong, you don’t understand how you missed this many. 

Red ink stains the page and you have to clench your jaw together to keep your composure. Tears prick at your eyes as you hand the exam back to your professor and head back to your seat, burning with shame. 

It seems like it’s just one thing after another. 

You barely pay attention for the rest of class, head spinning with thoughts of how bad you did, how everything sucks, how you just want to go home. 

Agatha texts you a few times during the three hour time span, just checking in on you, but you don’t even respond. She always says that you get too wrapped up in your own brain and you know she’s right. You do let her know that you won’t need a ride home, not sure you could take the older woman’s softness right now. 

You just want to take a shower and lie in bed. 

Class finally ends and you order an Uber instead of asking a friend to take you home. When you get in these moods, you don’t want to talk to anyone. 

You grunt in response to the driver’s question of asking how you are and then the rest of the ride is spent in silence. It’s not often you get in such a foul mood, but when it does, it’s tough. 

When you make it through the front door of Agatha’s home, you immediately collapse on the couch and breathe in the blanket that still has her scent. She’ll be home soon and now you just want her to give you a big hug and tell you that everything will be alright. 

You hear keys jingle in the front door maybe ten minutes later and you sit up on the couch expectantly, heartbeat picking up. You’ve been with Agatha for six months now and she still managed to have the same effect on you that she had at the beginning. 

“Hey, baby,” she calls out, seeing the lights on, and she makes her way to the living room to find you swaddled in her favorite blanket on the couch. She frowns, instantly able to tell something is wrong. Usually you get up to give her a kiss. “You okay?” 

And then it’s like a dam breaks. You start sobbing and telling her all the things that have gone wrong that day and she instantly sits down next to you, engulfing you into a hug and whispering that everything will be okay. 

She lets you cry for a bit, hand stroking your hair, making soothing sounds. Eventually, you calm down enough to take slow, shaky breaths. 

“I’m sorry, doll. Sounds like you had a rough day,” she says, pressing a kiss to your head and wiping the tears off your cheeks. You nod in agreement. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

You shrug while you think about it. And then you lean in and chastely kiss her lips. 

When you pull back, she’s smirking. 

“You want mommy to help you?” She coos and instantly, a fire awakens in your belly at the use of your favorite name for her. Your head bobs up and down eagerly but she tuts and grabs your jaw to hold it still. “Words, baby.” 

“Yes please, mommy,” you whisper. No one can make you feel as good as Agatha can. 

“Good girl,” Agatha hums and the fire gets worse. “What do you want?” 

You squirm on the couch, just looking at her, begging with wide eyes. 

“Why don’t you show me what you want?” You whine and grab her hand and bring it down to your shorts. “Oh, do you want me to touch you?” 

“Please,” you force out again. “Touch me, mommy.” 

Her grin is wicked as she lays you back down on the couch, positioning herself so she’s holding her weight above you. Your noses are almost close enough to touch. 

“Does my little baby want me to reward her like the perfect little angel that she is?” Agatha purrs and you gasp, feeling your head start to get fuzzy. She plays with the waistband of your shorts and your hips buck up involuntarily. You make a sort of strangled noise from your throat – all you can do, really – and she shushes you. “Just relax, doll. Let mommy take care of you.” You whimper as she kisses your nose and moves down your body to undress you. 

You feel like you’re on a different planet when Agatha pats your waist so you can lift yourself up for her to take your shorts and underwear off. 

“There we go, so good for me,” she says, leaving kisses against your thighs. You moan, senses heightened. You babble something incoherently and you can hear her chuckling at you. “Baby, you’re absolutely dripping for me.” 

Her fingers move up and down your slit, collecting wetness, and sounds are pulled out of your mouth by her administration. 

“Does that feel good, hon?” 

Your head lulls back on the couch and you try to say something to affirm her question. 

“Aw, is my little baby in subspace right now?” Something in the back of your mind tells you that you must be, but you’re too blissed out to answer. 

And then her tongue is on your pussy and you couldn’t say a word even if you tried. If you didn’t already feel like you were floating then, you sure do now. Your back arches off the couch as she sucks on your clit but her hands come up to hold you down. 

“Be a good girl for me and let mommy do all the work.” 

Your moans get louder as she keeps eating you out and you’ve never felt this good before. It’s like all your worries and stress and frustration that built up over the day are melting away to leave you in a puddle of pleasure. 

“Mommy, so close,” you slur, hands digging into the couch beneath you. Her teeth scrape against your clit and she moans into you and it sends you into an explosive orgasm. 

You’re not sure you’ve ever cum that hard. 

She licks you through it and you have to pull her away after a while because you become sensitive. 

Agatha comes up to kiss you, long and hard, and you can taste yourself on her tongue. 

“Do you want to try something new tonight, baby?” She asks once she pulls away and you nod eagerly before even asking what it is. You trust her more than anyone. “I’ll be right back.” She gives you one last parting kiss and quickly runs upstairs. 

She’s up there for a few minutes while you lay on the couch, still in a trance-like haze. 

And then she comes back down and your mouth falls open. 

Attached to her hips is the biggest strap-on you’ve ever seen. She must have just bought it. You had gotten to where you could take the toys you had pretty easily, but you are certain that this will stretch you out so much more than them. 

“Mommy,” you whisper, eyes widening as she comes back over to the couch. You can see that she’s holding lube in one hand. 

“Mommy wants to see if your tiny, little pussy can fit her big cock,” she says and a thrill runs through you despite yourself. “Might have to work you up to it.” 

Your legs part without thinking and she laughs. 

“So desperate for me, aren’t you? My perfect, little slut.” You gasp at the words, feeling yourself get even more wet. 

While you loved the praise from her, degradation almost turned you on more. 

“You have to relax, baby,” she reminds you, moving to kneel on the couch between your legs and pushing them even more open. She rubs your clit and slides two fingers in easily. You grind up on her fingers, trying to pull them in more. “Look at how well you take my fingers. So good for mommy. You can’t get enough of them, can you?” 

You shake your head and groan when she curls them just right. 

“Such a good whore for mommy,” she sighs. “Can you take another?” 

“Please,” you gasp out, walls clenching around the two already inside you. She pulls them and you feel empty, but that feeling is quickly gone when she pushes three in you. The stretch feels so good and your hips meet her every thrust, the pleasure in you already growing. 

And then it’s gone. Your head flies up to look at her wrapping the hand wet with you around her strap and coating it. And then she opens the bottle of lube and pours a hefty amount in her other hand to also stroke the toy with. 

“Are you ready, baby?” 

“Go slow, mommy,” you tell her, even though you know that she will. “You’re so big.” 

“You’re going to look so pretty, sweetheart, stretched around my big cock,” she says and positions the tip at your entrance. “Like a little, perfect slut. 

The first push steals all the air from your lungs. 

“Fuck,” you groan. You’ve never been so full in your life and you barely have any of it inside you. Agatha doesn’t move, just rubs small circles on your thighs and waits for you to tell her you’re okay. 

It takes a few moments for you to adjust. It’s definitely easier in the headspace that you’re in right now. 

“Okay,” you say and Agatha obeys, slowly moving forward inside you. She stops when your breathing gets strangled and doesn’t move again until you’re back to normal. 

“God, your little pussy looks so good taking my big cock so well,” she grunts once she finally bottoms out. If your mind was clearer, you’d tease her about the size kink she so clearly has. “How are you doing, baby? Can I move?” 

“Please, mommy,” you beg, still feeling euphoric. Every drag of her cock against your walls now feels like heaven. She smirks and starts to move.

She starts slow at first, just short, slow strokes to make sure that you’re still comfortable, and then she starts to really fuck you. 

The pace Agatha sets is rough and bruising and you can hear the wet, squelching sounds that the toy makes as it pushes back inside you every thrust, a mix of your wetness and lube. 

“Mommy,” is all you can pant as she fucks into you over and over again, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her. 

“So fucking good, sweetheart, you’re taking my cock so well, such a perfect slut for mommy,” Agatha mutters, never slowing down once. If you were already in subspace before, you’re not sure you have a word for what state you’re in right now. There are not even semblances of thoughts in your head, there is only Agatha and the pleasure she is giving you. You can’t even remember what you were in such a bad mood about earlier. 

She reaches down to rub your clit again and you hear someone moan obscenely loudly. 

You think it might have been you. 

All you know is that you’re getting so close again you can taste it. She seems like she can tell because she somehow speeds up, which you didn’t think was possible. Little gasps are forced out of your mouth with every push and your walls are tightening so much around her that it makes it hard for her to thrust. 

“So good, baby, you’re taking me so well,” Agatha chants, a hand reaching up to play with your nipple under your shirt. “So perfect, such a perfect slut, my perfect good girl. Cum for mommy, cum all over mommy’s big cock.” 

She angles her hips just right and rubs your clit hard and you spasm, back bowing off the couch. You’ve never felt pleasure this extreme; it feels like you’re having an out-of-body experience. All the tension in your body is gone and you pant heavily as Agatha pulls out of you. 

“You okay, baby?” She asks and you wheeze a laugh. 

“M’okay,” you say happily, a slow smile spreading onto your face. You can feel your head clearing with the loss of her touch. 

“Let me get a washcloth, alright? I’ll be right back, I promise.” She gives you a kiss on your head and she’s back in what seems like seconds with a warm towel. You wince at the feeling of it between her legs but it helps. “Do you want to move to bed?” 

You nod, but you’re not actually sure if you can stand up based on the jelly feeling in your legs. Agatha seems to understand this without you saying anything and she scoops you off the couch bridal style and carries you up the stairs. 

You giggle and burrow your head into the crook of her neck, breathing her in and feeling her against you. 

“You did so good, baby,” she whispers. 

“Thank you, Agatha. I really needed that.” 

She pauses for a second in the hallway to peck your lips. “I know you did. I’m happy to help, sweetheart. Whatever you need.” 

Once in the bedroom, Agatha helps you into some comfy pajamas and makes you take sips of water from the bottle on her nightstand. You lay down and she pulls the covers over you both, pulling you close to her so she can wrap an arm around you. 

“You’re so perfect, baby, you know that?” She murmurs. “I love you so much.” She kisses you softly, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair. 

“I love you too,” you mumble in-between kisses. No one has ever made you feel more loved than Agatha. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she continues and you blush. “I know you had a hard day today, but tomorrow will be better. You’re so strong. You’re my perfect girl. I love you.” 

And she keeps whispering the sweetest things into your ear, and you drift off to sleep in her arms, feeling like nothing was ever wrong. 

[kerorowhump]

isn't it extremely fucked up how even though he says this was a joke right after this truly is the real words he would say to them if he was about to sacrifice himself to protect earth and humans to which we can infer also that 1 he's grateful for the knowingly limited amount of time he had with them and that he was able to be their friend (specifically fuyuki) so he is aware at the Very Least on a joking level that this is a chance which time will inevitably run out 2 he feels on some level guilt for his being a "freeloader" and living under their roof and obviously more in general getting them involved in the invasion stuff he can't walk out of, so in the back of his mind somehow he's trying to make up for and remedy this fact 3 most importantly, despite KNOWING that his position is fickle and he would've been required to choose sided eventually and lose all he has as he feared, he's not sacrificing himself by being platoon leader, because he also got to achieve happiness under this plan and within this platoon.

see, I say that because not too long ago I even discussed with friends that keroro was sacrificing some of his own happiness doing something he very extremely doesn't wanna do anymore (invasion) not only because he has to but also because it allows everyone around him to thrive in these conditions even if HE doesn't. they're all happy to be on earth, keroro is super lax with the way he treats them, barely scolds them for real or perceived mistakes

["you went a bit overboard" he says as he's literally dying buried in snow. great boss!]

(and when he does "scold", it's more average bickering what they do, and he doesn't come out on top a lot or anyways lacks that aura of respect you'd have to give any other military superior which allows for a more relaxed environment where they can thrive as themselves. you ever seen ofmd? think stede). and consistently ive seen so far that keroro is willing to put his life on the line for the mission and also step up when it comes to protecting his teammates specifically, but I think he's like, aware of what being a leader entails. and I know he does because he had this fuckin SPEECH ready to drop, joke or not!! like he pondered this stuff, he knows how he feels about the situation and... he concluded that he's happy the way things are. and that may be why it's so hard for him to commit to something and he's kinda stuck between sides, because it's not like keron bad earth good to him

he likes keron and he likes earth and while he's allowed to live in a way that allows him to betray neither, he's happy. that is his goal, so that makes sense. he's not without guilt and shame for his choices, but he's grateful they led him to where he is. a still moment in time where he can pretend he's on the right side on both parts.

I mean... IS that why he wants to be included with them as family so bad?

is that why it hurts when his teammates lose faith in his leader abilities?

could that be why he has semi-frequent (I would say...) breakdowns about the state of the mission despite not being motivated to do it, because this fickle balance he's created still hinges on it, let alone his reputation? HQ loves to remind him so. to tell him to hurry up.

it's all about enjoying the time you have with the people you love, and also give them a chance to find their own happiness in a way they couldn't have under normal keron rules. taking the brunt of everything that might go wrong for this.

but he's happy because they are, because he was able to achieve this, because he loves them, because he could at times believe they love him back, like he always wanted, I think, despite the circumstances that he's the reason for. it's a burdened happiness, hence why he also needs to apologize in the same breath, "for all the trouble he caused".

maybe in an ideal world there is no invasion, and he really could've gotten to be just that pleasant and cheerful freeloader alien, no guilt attached

but if that's the price to pay for having met the hinatas and having been able to give everyone in his platoon a second chance at a peaceful life, I believe that makes him happy. a peaceful life with the people he cares about, even if just for a while, and he's well aware of how fragile it is.

he really is often like "is the invasion all you can think about?" but then it's always weighing on his mind as well. it stings when that costs him the respect of his peers. it stings when that causes the hinatas to doubt him even when he's innocent.

but what choice does he have?

[thegnomelord]

Thinking of flying as a dragon with dragon Price

Price knows that after the loss of his wing he's never flying again, not on his own. But the sky still calls for him like a mother for her lost child, for a grounded dragon is a dead dragon, regardless of if he still breathes or not.

His body still craves the freedom of flight despite what he says of being over it, every flight in the helicopter or plane feeling twice as wrong as it did before, deadened nerves gnawing on his brain until they force the atrophied remnants of wing muscles to twitch every time he jumps out of the plane. He resigns himself to just watch the other fliers from the ground, you often finding him on the roof of the base watching the birds whenever the phantom ache of his lost wing returns.

And an idea comes to you.

Price just grunts when you wrap your arms around his pudgy belly, forcing his remaining wing to spread out so you can press your chest against his back.

"Need somethin'?" He grumbles, stuck between wanting to lean in to feel your warmth and pull away, what dragon would even want a flightless wyrm like him?, never noticing your arms lock in place.

"Yeah," Your breath fans his ear, lips kissing the skin. "Want you to fly." He can feel you grin.

"What nonsense are you-" Your wings spread out before he can finish and with a strong gust of wind and a beat of your wings you're shooting up into the sky with him in your arms. "- oh you bloody wanker!" He screams, the cigar slipping from his claws as he scrambled to hold onto you, wind blowing in his face.

You laugh as you soar through the air, "Relax!" You yell over the screeching wind, holding him tight.

And Price doesn't know when it happens, but his body calms down, adrenaline settling to sleep like a worn out beast. The wind fluttering his wing membrane feels nice, the sensation of the sky yielding beneath his flapping wing forcing a shiver down his spine, doesn't even notice when he starts purring.

You grin when you feel his chest rumble beneath your hands, dipping and diving through the sky and Price recognizes your movements — he spent decades practicing the same arial moves to woo future mates. And he can't help but smile, eyes closing and allowing his body to remember what it's like to fly.

----

Idl this came to me suddenly and I word vomited all over the page :/,

[magiccath]

Every Word

Tenth Doctor x GN!reader

Summary: In which two idiots who believe their love is unrequited finally admit their feelings for each other

A/N: My old account got accidently deleted so I'm using it as an opportunity to rework some of my older fics.

Sometimes, you were so distracting to the Doctor. Often, you weren’t even trying to be. You just were. Your existence was enough to make him forget what he was doing. Like, right now. 

You were sitting in the TARDIS control room, a book in hand. You leaned casually back against the console, one foot crossed over the other. You bit your thumbnail anxiously as your eyes darted across the pages. Whatever the story was, it had you fully engaged. 

He loved how focused you were - like the book was the most interesting thing in the whole ship. Your head was bent over the pages, causing your hair to fall in your face slightly. He had to resist the urge to reach over and brush the strands away from your eyes. 

He was supposed to be fixing the console. Even if he wasn’t doing that, he should be doing things that weren’t staring at you. He couldn’t help but feel that it was wrong, looking at you like this. He shouldn’t be as enamored with you as he was. 

He ran his hands over his face, tugging slightly. He needed to snap out of it. You shifted slightly, the motion causing his eyes to wander back to you. It was so hard to look away. 

Sensing his eyes on you, you peeked out from behind your book. The Doctor turned a deep scarlet and whipped his head away from your direction, pretending to act busy. You chuckled lightly to yourself and returned to your book. 

The Doctor couldn’t help himself, his eyes drifted over to you again. And again. 

“Doctor?” You laughed when you caught him again. The man blushed and rubbed his neck anxiously. 

“Yes?” 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, setting the book down. The Doctor looked at you, confused. 

“You’re staring,” you elaborated, narrowing your eyes. 

He shook his head vigorously, mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear.  

“Do I have something on my face?” you rushed out, raking your hands across your face. 

“No, no,” The Doctor blubbered, “you look beautiful. You always look beautiful.” 

He regretted it immediately. He really shouldn’t have said that. 

You raised your eyebrow inquisitively. The Doctor was prone to rambles and word vomit, but they usually didn’t involve him calling you beautiful. This was uncharted territory, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t interested.

“I mean, you’re just naturally a really gorgeous person. More stunning than any star I have ever seen. Very possibly the most beautiful creature to exist. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone or something that matched your beauty,” the words came out in rushed clumps and you had to bite back a laugh. He was tripping over his words in an attempt to save face, but really he was just digging himself into a deeper hole. 

He averted his gaze and tugged at his hair. You found that he usually did that when the cogs in his brain were racing to keep up with his babbling mouth. 

“What I’m trying to say is there's nothing wrong with your face,” He gasped desperately, putting an end to his ramblings. 

You giggled quietly, trying to hide your laughter with a hand over your mouth. The Doctor chattered on all the time, but it was extremely rare you got to see him this flabbergasted. If you didn’t know better, you would think that he might actually have feelings for you. Ones that weren’t of the friendship variety, that is. 

“Thank you,” You grinned. The Doctor could feel his hearts melting. The minute you flashed him that smile he knew he was a goner. He loved your smile and even more, he loved being the cause of your smile. 

“You’re quite handsome yourself,” you smirked before walking to the other side of the room, averting the Time Lord’s gaze.

You didn’t want to ever admit out loud that you found the Doctor attractive. It’s not that you were ashamed of it. Practically everyone fancied the Doctor, he was just that kind of bloke. Rather, you couldn’t imagine him viewing you as more than a companion. But the way that he had been rambling on only a few minutes ago suggested otherwise…

The two of you never really bantered like this. Is that what this was? Was the Doctor flirting with you? The mere thought of it left you shaky and breathless. It felt too good to be true. 

The Doctor was shocked by your compliment, the words leaving him motionless. His reaction left you scared that you had gone too far, so you busied yourself with the numerous buttons on the console in front of you. Idly, you traced your fingers across them. 

“Really?” The Doctor asked, wide-eyed. You smiled to yourself. He could be so daft sometimes.

“I suppose so,” you said, finally lifting your eyes to meet his. Your words made the Doctor light up, a wide grin quickly taking over his face. 

“I’m quite fond of you, y’know?” You blushed, turning your head back towards the console. 

“I’m quite fond of you as well,” He said, moving closer to you. 

“Insanley fond,” you added. “You might even be my favorite person,” you shook your head.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, taking your hand in his. 

“I am?” You asked, genuinely shocked. 

“Of course! Have you met yourself?” 

You threw your head back laughing, the action making the Doctor smile to himself. 

“I love you,” he smiled adoringly, his wide toothy grin igniting a warmth in your stomach. You blushed and looked away, his gaze feeling insanely heavy.

“I- I mean... Uh,” He stammered, suddenly embarrassed by his confession. 

“Me too,” you interrupted his bumbling thoughts, looking up at his tall form. The Doctor stopped his blubbering and looked down at you. He swallowed anxiously, the action making his Adam’s apple bob aggressively. His eyes darted across your face, settling on your lips multiple times. 

“As more than a friend,” he whispered. 

“As more than a friend,” you repeated with a smile.

The Doctor's eyes darted from your eyes to your lips and back, silently asking for permission. You nodded gently, the motion hardly noticeable. It was all the invitation he needed to grasp your face in his hands, delicately leaning in. He hovered for a few seconds, still giving you time to pull away. 

You sighed with frustration, grabbing his tie desperately and using it to pull his lips into yours. 

The Doctor was stunned at first but quickly relaxed into the kiss. His hands draped around your waist, gently pulling you closer to him. 

Your own hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling with the messy brown strands. You sighed deeply, the warm feeling in your stomach spreading across your body. 

The Doctor smiled against your lips, unable to contain his joy. 

After a moment, you pulled apart to gasp for air, your breaths coming out in quick pants. With red faces and lips plumped from the kiss, you smiled at each other before letting out a lighthearted laugh. His thumb trailed lightly across your bottom lip, the gesture gentle and loving. You ran your fingers along the seams of his suit, tracing the familiar lines. 

Still not getting enough of you, the Doctor plastered kisses across your face. He kissed your cheeks, forehead, chin, and collarbone lightly before landing on your lips again. This kiss was softer, more delicate. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. You let out a relaxed sigh and danced your fingers across the nape of his neck. 

“I meant every word,” He whispered, which made you laugh. 

“So did I,” you smiled up at him, before pulling him back in for another kiss.

[truths33k3r4]

(Warnings for this chapter are at the bottom of the page to keep from giving away spoilers.)

CHAPTER 8 - Deceptive Answers

Don cringed as he thoroughly sprayed down the empty trash bin, acting as if the fragrant, lavender scent would banish the acrid stench back to the pits of hades from whence it came. After the third round of air freshener, he slowly backed away from the bin with a cautious frown.

He proceeded to spray it down four more times.

Why did it have to be vomit…

As he walked to the kitchen sink he gently pulled off his latex gloves, neatly folding and placing them on the counter as he began to run the tap. After years of learning about germs and how to abolish them, he knew well that it didn’t matter if you washed them with hot or cold water. But even with this knowledge, it still brought him a slight ping of delusional comfort envisioning the hot temp burning the germs right off his hands.

That’s definitely normal.

He didn’t care all that much for the gooey sensation of the soap when it first puddles in his palms, but with a few quick scrubs, the sticky texture expanded into soft peaks of foam. The warm water mixed with the luscious suds did wonders for his dry hands. Thanks to the colder weather beginning to creep into the city, his home’s air had been stripped of its moisture. As a result, the skin of his hands and ankles cracked like the barren grounds of a scalding desert.

In other words ew.

With the last stage of washing his hands complete, drying them and folding the washcloth over the railing near the sink, Don began the trek back to his office. As he neared the doorway of the brothers’ bedroom, he paused.

Just move quickly. No big deal. Just ‘ninja’ your way around. Get to your office without attracting any unnecessary attention. Orrrr getting involved in any more emotional drama… Easy.

With a quick inhale, and his face tightened with concentration, he slowly took one silent step after the next, continuing his way down the hall past the bedroom. As he crept, little pieces of whispered conversation fluttered past his ears.

“...Lotus, what are you talking about?” 

Don instantly recognized the soothing tones of his oldest brother.

 “You are free. You made it out. We saved you. Shhhh, it’s alright.”

Don’s brows creased together as he paused to figure out what had happened to spark such concerned words from Leo. Going by what he said, the eldest wasn’t referring to Lotus being sick. The word “free” especially intrigued him. He continued to stand frozen as he leaned closer to the doorway, his curiosity now overriding the mission to get to his office.

“N-no… No, They…They’ll never go away…” A small voice cried in muffled whimpers.

Don’s mind began to process Lotus’ words one at a time; Every vowel and every fluctuation were filed into neat shelves in his brain.

Who’s “they”? Going by how we found her, she must be referring to the scientists at the lab, right? But what does that have to do with her being sick? Did those physician abominations give her something to make her ill? 

“Who, Lotus? Who won’t go away?” Leo gently whispered over Lotus’ smothered sniffles.

Don leaned closer. No verbal answer was given to Leo’s question, the silence only being filled by the frantic shuffles of sheets being pulled back and forth. 

“I.. I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it. I c-can’t.” Lotus pleaded as her voice continued to crack and splinter under the weight of whatever was haunting her mind. “I just c-can’t.”

Don’s posture physically slumped as he listened to the fear-stricken shivers of Lotus’ voice. The way her words jittered and broke in shards sounded all too familiar to him. She was so scared, but there wasn’t anything physically present that would make her react that way.

That left whatever was plaguing her to be something lurking deeper. Don couldn’t help the defensive snarl that escaped his teeth.

It has to be nightmares… That’s the most reasonable explanation for such behavior.

He knew that well, being reminded every night of the horrors he and his twin were forced through. Even though they were home. Even though they were safe. Even though it made no sense that the past has such power over the present.

And now he sees he’s not the only one.

How long was she there?...  How long did she live under the microscope of Specter’s prying eyes?

Don failed to suppress a shudder through his body as he was forcefully pushed into his own memories of the nightmare laboratory. His hands instinctively rose to cling to his shoulders, rubbing them down in an attempt at comfort. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, willing his mind to forget all those horrific memories that plagued him, but it was all for naught.

His twin’s screams echoed in a terrible chorus that consumed all his thoughts. 

A sickly, neon green glowed through the barrel of a syringe.

His chained wrists ached and burned from being yanked through long corridors.

His terrified face looked back at him through the reflective surface of dark-tinted lenses.

His body shook violently as an electrode was pressed into the left side of his head.

His vision erupted in white static when the nurse pressed the button.

NO! STOP IT- NOW!

IT’S OVER. STOP LETTING THIS GET TO YOU.

IT’S OVER.

Don gulped down the dread and anxiety clogging his throat, burying it deeper into the places of his heart he dared never to go. The chill of his memories forced another shudder to claw its way up his spine, leaving him gripping tightly to his arms and shaking his head. His legs shivered and buckled underneath him as if the weight of his memories added to his physical mass.

It’s over. That’s enough.

Don leaned and used the wall to stabilize himself, relying on the firm surface to steady his rampant thoughts as well as his shuddering body.

Just move. One foot in front of the other. 

With a withered sigh, he pushed off the wall and continued walking, blocking out the rest of the hushed conversations escaping the bedroom.

 I can’t deal with that right now. I just can’t.

Leo’s got it. He can handle it.

With his mind completely focused on simply reaching his office, he didn’t even attempt to sneak past the bedroom. It didn’t matter if they saw him, anyway. This was one of those pesky things that he just… couldn’t fix. 

So why try when it’s a waste of time? When there are others who are far more equipped for such a task?

Soon after, he finally reached his office, carefully closing the door behind him as he walked toward his desk. With a sigh, Don flopped onto his computer chair, causing a quiet squeak to fill the compact room. He leaned into the firm cushion of his chair as the whispered hum of the computer filled his ears. For a moment, just a small moment, Don took the second of mental silence to look around his room.

His gaze immediately rose to the high school certificate hung proudly on the wall closest to his desk. He remembered how excited he was to have such an accomplishment under his belt at the young age of sixteen, rubbing it in Raph’s face with a smug grin. His twin nearly shattered the frame before Leo and Splinter intervened. 

So much has changed.

As his eyes began to wander again, he suddenly caught sight of a small, blue sticky note left underneath the frame of his certificate. Don leaned and squinted his eyes as he read,“Please remember to drink! -Leo”. 

A cozy warmth filled Don looking at the note left there by his brother. It embraced his heart and settled his mind, leaving the faint feeling of a grin growing on his face. Don turned to his desk and took a good swig from the glass of water left there since that afternoon.

His eyes continued to wander, soon catching sight of his calendar and notes posted on the wall near his door. He again squinted his eyes, and even fixed and cleaned his glasses, but that all proved to be useless. He still couldn’t read very well, and it was beginning to drive him crazy.

With an annoyed growl, Don scooted and rolled his chair closer to the wall. He would have to figure out his sight problem some other time, no matter how many sparks of dread began to pop in his stomach at the thought of his vision once again failing him.

Shaking his head to repel any more worthless memories from entering, he once again gazed at the notes neatly stacked on the wall. Most of them were just phone numbers of the “co-workers” from his job. 

But then he finally saw his calendar. And the warmth that once thrived inside him vanished instantaneously. 

Leo’s words echoed back to him as he began looking over the wrong amount of days crossed out, reminding him just how much time he had lost.

“Eighteen days.”

For eighteen days he didn’t help his family.

For eighteen days he didn’t keep up with the repairs of his home.

For eighteen days he didn’t show up to work.

For eighteen days his family tirelessly searched for him.

For eighteen days you failed them. Weeks of worry, dread, and longing plagued your family all because of your absence. Did they even have fresh food this whole time? Did they have to resort to drastic measures? Did they have heat? Did any of them sleep? 

Don crushed his head under the clutches of his tightening fingers. 

How much pain did he inflict on his family all because of his carelessness?

Don hunched over in his chair, pulling his legs up to his plastron and pressed his head onto his knee caps. He squeezed tighter and tighter until it hurt.

How could I let this happen?

Why did You put me in this family if You knew I would FAIL THEM?

He pressed his head further into his knees. His arms clung tighter around his legs. His lungs begged for oxygen that he couldn’t supply. 

“Why?...” He whispered brokenly.

Just at the moment he felt his head would burst from the pent up energy and pressure, a soft *ding* sounded from his monitor. He couldn’t recall what he had been processing on his desktop, so he slowly lifted his head from his knees, gazing over to his computer as he dropped his feet back to the floor.

Then it clicked in his brain, and he shot his legs out to propel himself off the wall to his desk. After slamming his hands against the ridge to keep from crashing into the small table, he took a millisecond to gather his completely shattered mental state so he could focus on the task at hand. 

This was something he could fix.

His fingers comfortably found their rhythm clacking on the keyboard as he finally opened the files coded into Lotus’ implant. He was surprised to see so many, at least a hundred or so lined up in neat rows. Each one was labeled similarly, with the title “SUBJECT 19- PROCEDURE #”. 

As curious as he was to begin looking deeper into those files, one in particular caught his eye, labeled two simple words:

“SUBJECT INFO”

That should be promising.~

With his mind made up, Don swerved his mouse and clicked. The file opened to reveal many different types of documents: Blood types, heartbeat readings, and many more medical related data.

If Don weren’t so disgusted by what these felons had done, he would actually be quite impressed with how well organized all the information was. 

He pushed that feeling aside as he continued scrolling.

“MEDICAL HISTORY”...

“DIAGNOSES”...

“TREATMENT PLANS”...

Holy French Toast there’s SO MUCH… I’m gonna need weeks just to go through this all!

“MEDICATIONS”...

“TEST RESULTS”...

“PROGRESS NOTES”...

Down, down, he continued searching through them, just trying to find the end of the treasure trove of knowledge about his family’s new guest.

“IMAGING AND DIAGNOSTIC REPORTS”...

“IMMUNIZATION RECORDS”...

And then his cursor finally stopped. And at the very bottom of the list lied what he was searching for:

“VITAL RECORDS”

There you are.

Don clicked the file as he hunched closer to his monitor, the feelings of anticipation and dread filling him as he wondered what he was going to find. Lotus would finally get some semblance of answers about her past now. And from what he’d seen of the wounded girl, he knew she needed some good news.

The first document to pop up on his screen was a newspaper clipping.

What? 

The article showcased some kind of vehicle, flipped over and ablaze on the side of a dirt-paved road. All the dates on the paper were crossed out, as well as the last names of anyone involved. The cover read in bold letters,

“FAMILY OF FIVE KILLED IN UNFORTUNATE CRASH”

Don’s head cocked in utter confusion as he began reading through the article. He began clicking his tongue as all his concentration zeroed in on every word of the story before him. 

Somehow this connected to Lotus. And he was going to find out how.

The article stated that during a particularly rainy, spring night, a family of five, (husband, wife, and three children), slid off the road and flipped their car over. When help finally arrived, as well as the Press, the car was being swallowed by unrelenting flames. Only two bodies were retrieved, that of the husband and wife. Their names were Frederick and Jess, but their last name was crossed out. 

All that was left of their two toddlers and baby were scorched car seats. 

Don backed away from his monitor in horror, covering his eyes with his hand and sliding it down to his chin. The images of the husband and wife’s bodies hidden under sheets made his stomach tighten with sorrow. He squirmed in his seat, both guilty and grateful that he had never seen or heard anything about this tragedy.

All it took… was one thing to go wrong.

… And then… everything was gone. Everything. That poor family…

The rest of the article continued on to review the woe of their family’s relatives, as well as the following funeral that would occur at a later date. (A later date that was meticulously scratched out to be indecipherable.) 

Why is this in her records?...

After finishing reading through the article, he moved on to the next document in the file:

A birth certificate.

Don muttered an annoyed growl as he noticed that this document had been thoroughly crossed out too, with the only things left reading:

Alexis?... Is that Lotus’ birth name?... But… this is an official document by the State of New York- 

A human certificate.

Don’s brain whirled all this new information around his mind like an indecisive tornado. Nothing was making sense. No puzzle pieces were lining up. How could he be given so much information and none of it is useful?!? Here he thought those psychos with medical degrees were organized and thorough in their research- Here he thought he was finally given a buffet of answers ready to be feasted upon at a moment’s notice. How wrong he was to think this would be easy.

If he’s learned anything in his sixteen years of being a teenage mutant ninja turtle, it was the fact that easy never seemed to be an option.

His shoulders fell as he let out a sigh filled with disappointment. None of this would make Lotus feel better… If anything, it could make things worse. 

If these documents are true… 

Don pushed away from his desk, dropping his head onto the rim of his chair as the weight of the answers given to him pressed further into his mind. His chest ached and his head spun with the implications of the documents.

Was Lotus born as an actual human? 

Did she truly once have a family? 

And how did the newspaper article connect to this?

Was she in that crash? Did she escape the fire? 

Instead of clicking into place and revealing the steadfast truth, all that these answers had done was scatter the pieces of this mystery further apart, deepening the chasm that remained of Lotus’ past.

That's it for this chapter!! And now all of you get to really see the base mystery of my story. :) Hopefully these small pieces of the past will help you theorize what you think happened to Lotus and who you think she is. :) I was ECSTATIC to show you all this chapter. I'm honestly quite proud of how it came out, and I am so excited to delve deeper into the mystery of Lotus' past.

Feel free to reblog and share this!

BIG THANK YOU to @poetique823 for helping me and encouraging me through this chapter! Also apologies for uh... breaking you. XD

@writer-in-wonder, @allyheart707, @oddartistl3, @risebabyx2, @joyjoygorl, @carrots-bear, @howtotrainyourdragonprince, @jasminegazer, @indieyuugure

If you want to be tagged in the next chapter, please comment down below! :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

(CW- Implied past deaths, trauma, mention of medical trauma!)

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[detransdamnation]

This month of October is my detransiversary… or at least, I think it is. I’m always all brain-fogged around this time of year. Still weird to think I’ve actually forgotten when, exactly, I threw in the towel. It’s always the things you say you’ll never forget that slip through your fingers so seamlessly, you don’t even notice. How fallible even the landmarks are.

Either way, it’s officially been three years since I last took my hormones. And just typing that out was enough to reduce me to tears.

Thoughts of what I could say on this have been swimming in my head for a while. I know how influencer-y that sounds. But writing into the void helps me cope—in case the chronic word vomit splattered all over my archive weren’t enough of a hint—and I feel frustrated because lately, every time I try to find a way to describe what it has been like to be me, even within the context of Word documents no one else will ever see, that normally-innate ability of mine to get it all out on a page just… eviscerates.

Up until now, at least. Kind of, sort of. I’m jumping at the opportunity because it took over a year to finally show itself.

Despite what my absence here—and this post—probably insinuates, I’ve been doing better than bad overall. But I’ve also been carrying this crushing weight that no matter how good I feel, it will never be good enough for me to not feel dysphoric, or sad, or filled with regrets—and somehow, this has only gotten harder, as opposed to easier, for me to reconcile as time goes on. I don’t think I was wrong to have been at least a little optimistic that maybe things would get better overtime. Guess I’ve learned yet another lesson.

Things haven’t gotten better. All the pain still remains. I do deal with that pain better—but I’m also not one to believe that being able to say “I’m used to it” is a sign of true genuine progress. If I think too hard about the state of things, I can feel the reopening of that wound in the pit of my stomach. It makes me nauseous and afraid. I will shake until I can barely feel my body and yet no other time will I be so painfully conscious of it. My dysphoria has evolved to mean more than merely just “wanting to be the opposite sex,” an evolution so major I almost question if “dysphoria” would be the correct term to describe what I feel sometimes. Regardless, it somehow feels even more sinister when I think too hard about it. There are the rare times I’m actually kind of okay sitting with the idea of just existing as I am… and then I re-remember how most of the physical effects of my hormones never really did subside, not to the extent most people would notice, and I start to long for what I had before the fix that fucked me up.

Except I didn’t “have” anything. I was a child when I started my transition. That childhood self is the only semblance of a “before” I will ever have. I will never know who or what I could have grown into without all this. Though a large part of me thinks it wouldn’t have mattered because detrans or not, I’m certainly something… and I’m not proud of it. No one would be. No one is. And I hate that I still crave that approval from others because it was part of what drove me to transition as that godforsaken teenager. In that respect, I don’t think I’ve grown at all. It makes me wonder how much I would put up with just to feel loved. I’ve already seen how far I will go. I didn’t re-make the mistake of viewing detransition as the antidote to all my troubles, but it’s times like these I wonder… maybe detransition itself is just another ugly representation of a cycle I have found sick comfort in, no hope of getting out. Maybe I will forever be chasing unattainable wishes all to spend years thereafter missing what never was, when I once spent years dedicated to ensuring what could have been would never ever become.

And I will feel disgusted with it. I might even look down upon others who go down the same path, when I’m in my worst of states. But the most I will ever do to “help” myself is pour my heart out onto a page—and I put “help” in quotations because sure, I’m getting all off my chest, but at the end of the day, I’m still sitting on my ass straining my neck to soak up the blue light. I’ve come to pride myself on my introspection, but rarely do I ever feel motivated enough to use that introspection as motivation to actually do something good. It seems all my major life changes present themselves in the form of “snaps,” some sort of external trigger leading to action that’s almost impulsive… and then I just get used to whatever sort of muck I land myself in until the next snap comes along and inspires me to pull myself out. And I will feel disgusted with how long it took me to finally value myself. I’ll pour my heart out and then shrug my shoulders. It’ll happen again. I know it.

But this won’t be news to anyone who’s been here for a while and that’s one of the main reasons why my page has been marred by distance. I feel like I’ve already, by and large, said everything I could say re: detransition, how it concerns me and my experience, specifically. It feels pointless to keep beating a dead horse, especially online. I used to humour how I’d keep on doing it, anyway… I don’t regret it—I needed that release—but the thought of continuing just feels different now. I guess if I had to analogize it, I’d use the acceptance phase of grief. It’s my reality, but I can’t change it any more than I already have—and there comes a point where talking is only dwelling…

…or inciting controversy, which I feel like I do just by existing. That’s a self-centered way to phrase it, and fairly, it stems from a perspective just as much—but it is what I feel and it is the prevailing reason why I have fallen into such a funk. I’ve almost come to consider the very word “detrans” to be an oxymoron I use only since there’s not really any other term that accurately encapsulates this experience. But that’s a long story. I share its conclusion only so that maybe someone else who feels the same way may come across this and know they aren’t alone in feeling it. That’s ultimately why I made this blog and keep on coming back: connection. And in the case there is nothing to connect over, understanding.

It felt so good to get into this flow state again. I hope they will soon be as fruitful as they used to be.

[shion-yu]

Day 6: Dizziness/Vertigo

Cliff and Elliot again, being angsty and mushy in love newlyweds. 1,769, CW mentioned vomit/clean up. It has a slightly abrupt end but I was like, I either end it here or write 5 more pages of dialogue, lol. @sicktember

Shortly after Cliff and Elliot finally had their wedding, Cliff began having terrible migraines. They had been a problem for a long time, but they increased dramatically in frequency that fall. They worried, of course, that Cliff was having a relapse of sarcoidosis or it was permanent damage from the coma, but his brain scans kept coming back negative. It could just be stress, the doctors said. Try to take it as easy as possible.

Cliff felt as if he'd been taking it easy forever, though. When he married Elliot, he’d wanted to contribute to their life together, and that meant working. Elliot made plenty for the both of them to live comfortably on, but that wasn't the point. The point was Cliff wanted to be useful in their partnership, and he hated feeling like he couldn’t be. He tried working part time as a receptionist at a hotel for a while, but they soon let him go after realizing how many sick days he needed to call out. Cliff didn't blame them, but it stung. It felt like another failure, like dropping out of law school.

Pushing himself was an equally terrible option though. The migraines not only left him feeling sick, but they sometimes triggered seizures too. The seizures were horrible, and Cliff was frankly terrified of them. They gave him a feeing of impending doom, and then he’d lose all control of his body. Afterwards he’d panic, disoriented and unable to form words as he desperately grasped at whomever was around him. His lungs would hurt from the way his body had forced all of his air out of them and the tiredness and pain in his entire being was overwhelming. 

He hated living like this. But what other choice did he have?

At least he had Elliot, but at the same time Cliff loathed to be entirely dependent on his husband. Elliot was preparing to go on tour in January, and Cliff didn't want to hold him back. He deserved to go out and be brilliant as he was meant to be. Elliot had already suggested Cliff live with Shu, or Elliot’s parents, while he was gone. Cliff brushed him off and told him he'd be fine, even though he silently worried he wouldn't be. What if he had a seizure and he couldn't get help, he worried? What if he was too sick to get himself out of bed? There were so many what ifs to obsess over when Cliff permitted himself to. 

Things changed so quickly there was no real way to prepare for them. That was the scary part. Like today, Cliff woke up with a horrible migraine. As usual he immediately feared it might trigger a seizure, but Elliot was doing a promo with Vogue today and there was no way Cliff could call and interrupt. He had the phone number of several back up people: the home health nurse was technically the best option, but Cliff always felt like a bother when he called. Ryo, Alex, Shu, Matt, Elliot’s parents, and even his own father were all people he could trust to get help too, but he wanted to bother them even less than the nurse.

So instead, Cliff simply hoped it would go away. He crushed up his migraine medication and pushed it through his tube, then hooked himself up to a continuous feed of water for the hydration. Rest was all he could do then and he lay in total darkness in bed, trying to sleep and swallowing down waves of nausea. The vertigo was especially bad this time, and Cliff felt as if the bed were a boat bobbing on an angry sea. 

Around lunch time Elliot called him. The sound of his phone ringing pierced Cliff’s brain like jagged daggers scraping themselves over flesh. He struggled to make it to the edge of the bed and threw up into the trash can, hoping blindly that his aim was decent enough not to leave sick all over the rug. His phone went to voicemail; Cliff hadn't managed to pick it up on time. He fumbled to call Elliot back, squinting at the phone screen which seemed painfully bright. He couldn't read any of the words right now, his vision blurry with tears, but he managed to find the button to return the call. The phone rang but there was no answer. Elliot must have gone back to work, Cliff thought. It was okay. Really, it was better this way because he knew Elliot would worry and race home if he knew Cliff was feeling so sick and Cliff didn’t think he would have been able to hide it in his voice. It was why he hadn’t tried harder to answer on time.

So he held on, fighting bursts of nausea as the world spun around him at breakneck speed. At some point Cliff had to pee and stumbled to the bathroom, gripping onto anything he could reach for dear life. He managed to relieve himself, eyes mostly closed, and was washing his hands when time seemed to stop. Confused, Cliff opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. The water running over his fingers wasn't moving, as if frozen. He blinked, and then time hurried to catch up to the present just like a VHS on fast forward. 

He didn't know how he ended up on the floor, it happened so quickly. Cliff stared at the ceiling, dazed, head throbbing. He'd never noticed how uneven it was, the outdated popcorn ceiling the landlord had put in. It hid the fact that it sloped downwards right where the door was. He closed his eyes. Elliot would be home soon - or at least eventually. Cliff didn't know when, but he didn't have the energy to get up. And so he lay there, half asleep and shivering, swallowing down mouthfuls of nausea, until he finally heard the front door open. 

“Cliff? I’m home.” 

It had to have been hours later, although maybe it was only minutes. He opened his mouth to call for help. “Elliot?” Instead of a cry, it came out a whisper. He could hear Elliot opening doors, looking for him. “I’m here,” he tried again, but the sound didn't leave the room. It felt like another hour before Elliot finally found him.

“Cliff!” Elliot was suddenly kneeling at his side, a look of panic and horror on his face. Cliff realized at some point he must have vomited again, as Elliot grabbed the hand towel off the rack and quickly wiped up a patch of sick on the floor so he didn't sit in it. “What happened, baby? I’m here,” Elliot was saying. He already had that desperate, teary eyed look that filled Cliff with guilt.

“I don't know,” Cliff said weakly. “I think I fainted.” He jammed his eyes shut again, this time because Elliot was quickly multiplying into two, then four, then eight copies of himself. 

“God, why didn't you call?” Elliot asked, his hands all over Cliff trying to assess the situation. “I should've known when you didn't text me back, I’m so stupid...”

“Don't say that. You're not stupid,” Cliff mumbled. “E? I’m so dizzy.” 

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

Cliff’s eyes flew open and he grabbed Elliot’s forearm to stop him. “Don’t. Please, don’t. I’m just dizzy. And probably dehydrated. Just help me get back in bed. Please?”

Elliot bit his lip, trying to judge whether Cliff was telling the truth. It wasn’t as if Cliff hadn’t fainted before. Throwing up wasn’t that irregular of an occurrence, either. But it was more about how he had found Cliff: in such a scary, startling position on the floor. The amount Cliff was speaking - and making sense - was the only thing reassuring him at the moment.

“E?”

“I’ll make up my mind in a few minutes. Let’s get you in bed,” Elliot sighed. They both knew then that unless Cliff suddenly passed out again that he had won - but getting back in bed without incident was a small test in itself. 

Cliff let Elliot basically lug him to his feet then half carry him back to the bedroom, where Cliff realized he, in fact, had not aimed perfectly earlier. “Sorry,” he said. “I had my eyes closed.”

Elliot shook his head and helped Cliff around the mess and onto the mattress. “It’s okay.” He eased Cliff onto the pillows and brushed his sweaty hair from his eyes. “You don’t have a fever.”

“I know. It’s just a migraine. A bad one,” Cliff said. Elliot went to the bathroom and came back with two more washcloths - one to start cleaning the floor with and one for Cliff’s face. “How was the interview?”

“What?” Elliot asked, concentrating on cleaning the floor now. 

“Vogue. How was it?”

Elliot paused, looked up from his position on the floor, and suddenly laughed. “I already forgot about it. It was great,” he said, shaking his head. “Baby, you really scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Elliot said. “Are you still dizzy?”

Cliff stopped himself from nodding, because it would make that dizziness worse. “Yes,” he said. “Very. I’m sorry you went from Vogue to vomit on the floor.”

“Thus is marriage,” Elliot shrugged. He finished cleaning up, washed his hands in the bathroom and then returned to Cliff’s side. He stripped his clothes off down to his underwear and crawled into bed next to Cliff, wrapping his body around Cliff’s and resting his head on Cliff’s shoulder. “I’ll call the doctor in the morning,” he said quietly. He reached for Cliff’s hand and intertwined their fingers, closing his eyes. “I’m tired, Cliff. I wish I didn’t have to leave you. I worried all day.”

Cliff squeezed Elliot’s hand, guilt and affection mixed into one complex emotion that choked him up. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t help it,” Elliot said.,

“I know. I’m still sorry,” Cliff said. Elliot nuzzled closer. Cliff rested his other hand in Elliot’s hair, rubbing and closing his eyes. “I love you. Thank you for caring.”

“Of course I care,” Elliot muttered. “But what will you do when I’m gone for months?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Cliff said. He managed to sound more confident than he felt. “Maybe I’ll be doing better by then. Become a roadie. I’m still your biggest fan, you know?”

Elliot huffed out a quiet, exhausted laugh. “Shut up.”

Cliff smiled and kissed the top of Elliot’s head, smelling his sweaty, coconut-scented shampoo curls. “I love you,” he said. “And we will figure it out.”

“I know,” Elliot said. “We always do.” 

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

The Best Place To Be

Fandom: Elvis Presley, American Actor, Elvis Movie 2022

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader

Characters: Elvis Presley, Reader, Jerry Schilling, Dr 

Word Count: 2660  // Rating: Mature

Summary: Tours are well oiled machines but what happens when there’s a spanner in the works

Tags/ Warnings: Request, Requested Fic, Kisses, Established Relationship, 70s Elvis, Elvis on Tour, Tour Schedule, Ill Health, Abdominal Pain, Fever, Nausea, Vomiting, Hospitals, Planes, Fear, Arguing, Angst, Love

Notes: hope whoever requested this likes it. also if you ask me something the surgical nurse in me will always go to something surgical. I have no apologies. 

Elvis Tags:  @literally-just-elvis-fics @caitlin1996

Request from anon:  Could you do one where the reader isn't feeling well but doesn't tell Elvis and she faints?

‘Our only duties, as far as I could gather. Our only duties, our only-’ I mumbled, trying to get the words on the page in front of me to stick in my head though I wasn't having much luck. The book in front of me had been laying in my lap for the past twenty minutes but I had barely made it through two sentences as every time I did a familiar wave of pain flowed through my abdomen making the words melt from my brain. I was sitting in the dressing room, trying to ignore the hubbub that came with the preshow, and trying to distract myself from the pain I had been having on and off all day.

I didn't have time to be ill. Ten cities in ten days meant that for the foreseeable future, my life was a blur of cars, planes, hotel rooms and show venues and though I wasn't working I was still expected to be part of the team. To show up, grin and bear it until we were safely back in Memphis and I could have time to slow down. It wasn't that I didn't want to know what was wrong. I just didn't want to cause problems. When it came to Elvis the goal was clear. Keep him well, keep him working. With me? Who knows. I could be shipped off to a hospital in a state I didn't know or forced to go back to Memphis. I didn’t want that. Or worse. Elvis would insist the tour be rejigged, which meant I’d be receiving the Colonel’s wrath. No, I knew what I needed to do. Hang on and wait it out.

But it was hard, especially as another wave of pain flowed through me bringing with it a round of nausea that made me feel as though I was going to hurl even though I knew full well there was nothing left in me to throw up. I clutched my stomach and closed my eyes, trying to breathe through the ordeal going on inside me.

'You falling asleep on me?’ came a familiar velvety voice which made my eyes snap open. Elvis had come out of the bathroom and was giving himself a final once over before he had to head to the stage. As he fiddled with the cuffs on his suit he watched me in the mirror awaiting my response. ’M'tired,’ I said. It technically wasn't a lie. I was exhausted. Whilst he’d slept soundly on the plane I’d been tossing and turning, unable to get into any position that seemed comfortable. Throw in a day of driving, prepping and general busyness I wasn’t the most spritely. Elvis moved towards the couch I was sitting on and captured my chin with his fingers, tilting my face upwards as he leaned down and kissed me. 'Well don’t be calling it a night just yet,’ he smirked, pulling back, 'you know I love it when you’re watching.'

I nodded and smiled though I could feel uneasiness building inside me. That was the other problem. Though I wasn’t officially a member of the crew I did have a role. I was an unofficial mascot. Someone he needed to get him through the touring schedule. He liked having me by his side, watching every single show and being honest with him about it. I calmed his pre-show jitters and helped him ride his post-show highs but the thought of doing that tonight seemed like a mammoth one. I was comfortable sitting on this dingy little couch in the dressing room and I wasn’t sure how well I’d fare standing at the side of the stage amidst the heat and the noise. Elvis didn't notice my reluctance as he moved to check his hair out in the mirror, in fact, he didn’t have much chance to do anything as there was a knock at the door and Charlie appeared.

'Ready to go boss?’ he asked. Elvis turned and nodded, walking towards me and holding out a hand to help me up from the couch which I did so with as little wincing as possible. He didn't let go of my hand until we were out of the dressing room but before he did he brought it to his lips and kissed my knuckles gently. Then he was lost to the flurry of the crowd. I filtered back allowing his entourage to walk with him, firing questions at him as they walked in step. I could feel myself shrinking backwards, trying to ignore the dull ache in my stomach which twinged with every step. The coolness of the stadium’s corridors was a welcome relief to the warmth I was now feeling in my cheeks from exerting myself just a little but that quickly fizzled away as we walked out into the auditorium and I felt the Phoenix heat melded with the warmth from the stage lights and the thousands of bodies crammed inside waiting with eager excitement.

As the sound of CC Rider echoed out the crowd started to cheer and Elvis limbered up, taking to the stage to rapturous applause. I watched him go, feeling the same awe and pride I felt every night even though I had seen the show a thousand times before. Yet that feeling was only fleeting thought as my discomfort returned almost immediately. I moved myself to a secluded corner, resting against trunks that held equipment in order to keep myself upright. That wooziness from before was present again but I kept myself focused, watching Elvis as he moved around the stage entertaining his fans. I don’t know how long I managed to stand there, focused on the show before another wave of pain hit.

'Are you okay?’ Jerry said as he appeared at my side. As I turned my head to look at him my vision faltered, blurring his face in front of me before it focused back in sync. 'I’m fine,’ I said. 'You don’t look good,’ he said. I moved to wave him off but as I took my hand off the trunk I stumbled, not having realised how tightly I had been gripping it to keep myself upright. Jerry’s hand caught my elbow steadying me. 'Okay you need to sit down,’ he said. I could feel his grip tight against my elbow as he waved to one of the roadies for some help. ’M'fine,’ I said, though my voice sounded as if I was hearing it from underwater. My vision blurred again accompanied by ringing in my ears as I felt a searing pain ripple through my abdomen.

And then nothing.

As I came to I could feel myself being gently deposited down onto a soft surface and I cracked open my eyes to find Jerry watching me with concern as he placed me on the dressing room couch. He moved out of the way, though he perched on the arm beside me as Dr Nick appeared in his place.

'That was some drop,’ he said as he gestured for me to offer him my arm, which I did obediently. 'What happened?’ I asked. 'You went white as a sheet and then hit the deck. Scared the crap out of me,’ Jerry said with a frown. 'Sorry,’ I mumbled sheepishly. 'Your blood pressures down a bit,’ Dr Nick said as he took the cuff off my arm. 'I’m fine honestly,’ I said, attempting to sit up though it was done with a wince as I felt searing pain. Jerry and Dr Nick pushed me back down gently. 'Have you got pain?’ Dr Nick asked. 'A little,’ I said, though he looked at me skeptically, 'okay a lot.’ 'Since when?’ he asked. 'Last night,’ I said. 'Where?’ he said, his hand following mine as I placed it gently on my right side. 'Does that hurt?’ he asked, pressing sharply on my side, making tears sting my eyes. 'Yeah,’ I said, trying to breathe as steadily as I could. 'Any nausea or vomiting?’ he asked. 'A little of both,’ I said, 'but I haven't eaten anything today so the nausea isn’t that bad.’ 'That’s not exactly a plus,’ Jerry said. 'Any fevers?’ Dr Nick said. 'I don’t think so,’ I said watching his face closely as he frowned, 'why what is it?' 'I think-’

'Where is she?’ I heard Elvis’ voice say panicked. He burst in, followed by several guys offering protestations but he wasn’t listening to them. His face was frantic as he came in quickly kneeling by my side as he placed a hand tenderly on my cheek. 'Are you okay?’ he asked, worry in his big blue eyes. 'I’m fine,’ I said though he only took that in for a millisecond before he was looking for a second opinion. He glanced at Jerry who shrugged and then at Dr Nick, 'what’s the matter, Dr Nick?' 'Well it could be a couple of things,’ he said, 'I wouldn’t want to say for definite but she’s got pain and vomiting-’ 'They said you passed out,’ Elvis said quickly. 'It was nothing,’ I said as Dr Nick continued, betraying my denials as he said, 'she did but I think that was more due to her being weak from not eating today.’ 'You’ve not eaten anything today?’ Elvis said. I could see the cogs whirring in his mind as he tried to think about every moment we had spent together and whether or not he recalled what I had consumed. He’d been bleary-eyed this morning at breakfast drinking his coffee and reading his paper whilst I pushed pancakes around my plate. And lunch was on the go as always, easy to hide if needs be. 'Didn’t feel up to it,’ I said. He seemed to take my answer on board but there was something behind his eyes that I didn't like. Anger.

'So what doc?’ he said turning to look at the older man who shrugged. 'Like I said I wouldn’t want to say for sure without tests but that would mean going to the hospital,’ he said. 'Then that’s where we’re going,’ Elvis said matter of factly. 'But we’ve gotta leave and the tour-’ I started to protest. 'Will wait,’ he said looking pointedly at me before he stood up. I could feel the shift in his mode. He was the boss now, looking at the guys who were lingering by the door, 'get a car to take us to the hospital and call ahead. I want a room sorted for when we get there.’ 'What about Dallas?’ Vernon asked with concern. 'Keep it on the books for now. Have the plane on standby so it’s ready if we can make it,’ he said, 'and let the Colonel know.’ 'He’s not gonna be happy about it,’ Vernon said. 'I don’t give a rat’s ass what he’s happy about,’ Elvis said. Vernon nodded and scuttled out the door. A few of the boys lingered too making him glare at them, 'haven’t y'all got things to be doing?'

There was a murmur of agreement as he looked down at me that feeling of disappointment not waning though it softened a little as I felt a pain flow through me again and moved to clutch my stomach. He turned away, mumbling, 'Isn’t there something you can give her?'

'Yes, yes,’ Dr Nick said turning to his bag of tricks and rummaging around in it until he produced a vial of something and started drawing it up. I glanced at Jerry, the only one who hadn’t left and he smiled at me for a moment though it was pulled away from me as Elvis said, 'Jer.'

I watched Jerry jump up obediently and go to his boss. They talked in low whispers for a moment before Jerry clapped him on the back and headed out the door offering me one more smile as he did. As he left Elvis turned around and came and sat on the coffee table beside the couch watching as Dr Nick finished up what he was doing. The pain was eased now, whatever he had given me working instantly though it hadn’t done much for the nausea.

'I’ll ring ahead to the hospital,’ Dr Nick said, 'hopefully we can get some scans arranged for as soon as we get there.’ 'Thanks, Doc,’ Elvis said glancing towards the door. Dr Nick followed his gaze and then nodded subtly. 'Right, I er, I’ll leave you to it. Not too long though. The sooner we get her there the better,’ he said. 'Right, right,’ Elvis said. I watched him as he watched Dr Nick leave the room. Then his gaze fell on me. There was an ounce of compassion behind his gorgeous blue eyes but I could see the tension he was holding in his jaw and it was enough to make me feel like I was a naughty schoolgirl.

'E,’ I mumbled trying to get out words even though I didn’t have a plan for what I was going to say. 'Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked. 'What?’ I said feeling whatever I was going to say suddenly not compatible as a response. 'You didn’t tell me,’ he said, 'you’re in this much pain. Hardly eaten anything, heading for hospital and I’m the last to know.’ 'You had a show,’ I said. 'When did it start?’ he asked pointedly. 'E,’ I said guiltily. 'When did it start? Because I can bet it wasn’t when you were at the side of the stage,’ he said. I looked at him for a moment and then looked away feeling enormously guilty.

'Last night,’ I admitted. Elvis scoffed. 'So you did have time to tell me,’ he said shaking his head. 'When?’ I said, 'we had places to be. Venues, cars, hotels, planes. There was never a right time and I didn’t think it was that serious-’ 'But you didn’t know that!’ he said his voice louder than intended, 'you could’ve…I could've lost… you don’t know what it is. You can't take risks with your health baby.’ 'Elvis,’ I said sadly. I could see the anguish in his eyes as he said it, catching himself on the idea of losing me. He was always so protective over those that he loved, especially when it came to their health. Losing his mother so young made him careful. I had just been so focused on making sure I was doing the best thing for him I hadn’t thought about what he would actually want.

'Honey…you need me to tell about this stuff. No matter what,’ he said. 'What about your tour? I mean we’re going to be at least three hours behind and that’s if they can figure out what it is right away and the Colonel’s gonna hit the roof-’ 'I don’t care about that,’ Elvis said coming to kneel beside the couch and placing his hand on my cheek. 'But-’ 'I. Don’t. Care,’ he said watching me closely. I hesitated for a moment taking in his look of concern and allowing it to soothe me just a tad. 'Good,’ I giggled, making him watch me with amused concern until I explained, 'you can be my buffer from when he shows up shouting the odds.' 'You think I want to incur his wrath?’ he chuckled his anger and frustration disappearing, 'ain’t having no one in that room except medical professionals.’ 'Not even you?’ I asked quirking an eyebrow. 'I’m the exception,’ he said as he helped me sit up. There was a dull ache inside me now though it was nothing as it had been before. 'Maybe we can play doctors and nurses,’ I giggled as he pulled me up to standing where I clung to his side. 'That sounds like a plan,’ he said leaning down to place a kiss on the top of my head. I didn’t feel 100% right but beside him was the best place to be.

[romanarose]

Ive seen TF boys on your page and I wanted to know you thoughts on how the moonboys would comfort and help a bulimic reader?

Hi love! Happy to give you come HC's for this <3

My inbox is currently closed as im working through old requests/ working on writing fics, but I wanted to do this one bc its a very important subject to my heart, with how bad my bulimia permanently destroyed my disgestive system and teeth

Moon Boys with a Bulimic reader

Warnings: Bulimia, vomit, food restriction, binging and purging NSFW refernces (bc its jake)

Steven Grant

He had to stay late tonight at work, some of his students were a little lost on the subject matter, so he held a study session before finals to allow everyone a chance to clarify. He had felt bad for missing dinner, of course, but he brought cake back as an apology

When you didn't answer, he saw the bathroom door was closed, and just figured you were in there bathing as you often did after diner

when he comes to the door to say hello and let you know there's cake, he hears you crying, and quickly opens the door, knowing your history with mental health problems and worrying you hurt yourself or were going to. He saw you crying against the wall, not even looking at him, and saw remnants of throw up in the toilet that hadn't all gone down with the first flush, he initially thought you were sick

"oh darling, here, let's get you to bed. Is it your stomach-" He paused as he saw your hand, red and scratched knuckles covered in throw up. Oh.

"I'm sorry" you cry "I'm fucking gross"

"No, no darling, you're not, here" Steven gets a wet towel and gently cleans your face and hands, as well as any mess you might have made. He washed his hands, then went to scoop you up. "C'mere love, lets rest, yeah?" And carried you over to the bed, not mentioning the cake he brought. Laying you down with a blanket and your favorite stuffed animal, he brought you water and asked you to drink it, knowing how purges dehydrate. He had read every book he could find on eating disorders, the health effects and treatment. He knew your addictive personality made things worse, harder to break out of habits.

"How long had this been going on again?" he asked

"Today was the first relapse" you answered, but he gave you a look like he didn't believe you "I swear! That's why I was crying... all the progress went to waste" You lip quivers trying to get the last few words out

Steven sits down with you, holding you tight, assuring you that this didn't detract from your progress, that progress isn't linear, and you are still his strong, beautiful girl.

He holds you tight that night, they two of you whispering with the sheets pulled over your head like children staying up too late at a sleep over, whispering about how much you loved each other

Will keep a careful eye on you, and definitely takes over the cooking to make you nutritious food, oh you want to help! Even better, love

Marc Spector

When you first approached Marc about going to the gym with him, he was elated! He was so excited about showing you around, teaching you how to use equipment, and of course spending more time with you!

So you started going with him every time he went, he even bought you cute workout clothes. That might have been a bit selfish on his part. He like checking you out, and he liked the way men stared at you, until they realized you were with him. The caveman part of his brain loved posturing, and he especially loved how you only ever had eyes for him, no matter the stronger, fitter men and women there.

Then you got really into it. Marc thought this was a bit odd, but was happy to spend the time training you.

First warning sign was when you started drinking protein shakes in lieu of breakfast. Not the end of the world, you were never a huge breakfast person. But when you stopped eating lunch in favor of the shakes, he confronted you. You insisted they were just easier, and tasted so good, you just preferred it.

Then there was the day he had to take you home early from the gym because you weighed yourself and found you hadn't lost weight, and you began crying, no matter how much he tried to explain that you were gaining muscle, which is denser than fat, and he was so proud of you for how much you could lift now!

You stuck to the treadmill and elliptical from then on, which Marc hated. He'd run with you for a bit, but then opted to do weights. although he stayed nearby in case anyone caused you problems, he missed working with you. He couldn't even really focus, watching you strain yourself and look miserable

The last straw was when he went to bring you water, and you refused to stop or slow down. In the middle of a argument while you ran, he watched your eyes go blank. Thinking quickly, he pressed the emergency button and caught you as you fell, the treadmill only managed to give a few rug burns on your legs and knees.

When you came to in his arms, you were greeted by his angelic face insisting you drink the water he had. He spoke soft, but obviously very distressed. He asked you how long it had been since you'd eaten. The frown on his face was deep as you watched his eyes start to tear up.

"Don't cry, please" you ask.

"You really scared me" He smiled at you.

Marc drove you insane after that. "did you eat today?" "what did you have?" "did you eat all of it?" this man did not know the meaning of sublty

He babied, and I mean babied the shit out of you

Fucker wouldn't even let you ride him

You gotta sit this man down and tell him to knock it off or you're gonna scream

You make a deal. You start going to counseling, he has to start taking you to the gym again (he wouldn't let you go alone, that's fir sure)

He agrees. You focus back on the weights, less on weight loss. (marc took the scale out of the house. You may or may no have found it shattered in the dumpster when you took the trash out. Marc has beef with all scales now.)

You enjoy the weights, you enjoy feeling strong, and you definitely enjoy using it to bring out Marc’s subby side

Jake Lockley

It's hard not to feel sexy with this man

The pet names and compliments are none stop. You've began to wonder if he forgot your actual name.

During sex, he takes the term body worship to a new level. This man's mouth and hands are e v e r y w h e r e

Why are his hand's all over your arms? Why is he kissing your calves when he's got your feet over his shoulders? Why does he suck hickies between your thighs? Why does he bite and squeeze your hip dip? you'll never know, but you love it

But you and him both know that sometimes, eating problems aren't about body image, but about control, and compulsions. And a little bit of body image because fuck, who doesn't struggle with that sometimes?

When he sees the warning signs, you hiding your body from him, not wanting to eat with him, generally being distant again, he always asks. He doesn't come on as intense as Marc with his protectiveness, but he will mentally keep track of your eating, and try to coax you into eating something if he see's you sipping meals. He has deficiently taken your car keys once, not because he was trying to keep you home, but because he didn't think you were safe to drive the busy streets.

Buys you literally anything he thinks might help. If its not about your body necessarily, he'll get you whatever you think might help you feel in control. Wanna craft? He'll build you a shelf and buy you all the fucking yarn in the world. Wana have a lil world you can control? Every sims pack you can imagine. Cat? Plants? A lizard? Fuck it, yeah, he'll buy you a lizard. Coolest lizard ever. He'll take lil charizard on a walk with you if thats what you want

All the boys

You're getting vitamins

And water!!! If you're throwing up, you're going to at least stay hydrated.

Bathroom lock is either taken out, or there's a spare key. Not out of control, no, they know you'll find a way to do it if you really want to, but in case of emergency

Will encourage therapy and medication, if you think it's right for you, maybe at least to try for a bit?

Never, ever, shame you for how you feel or act. You can tell them if you are having urges, need a distraction.

Steven and Jake make sure to keep Marc's protective nature in check, to make sure you aren't deterred from talking to them.

constantly shower you in praise and love and compliments

Always always always tell you how proud they are of you, even if you relapse, bc look how well you were doing! That means you can absolutely do it again!

I hope this was nice! I really love these 3 and I feel they would all be so supportive (even if marc might be a lil much sometimes XD It's okay, we love him <3 )

not tagging anyone today, but please be sure to comment/reblog if you liked this!

[according2thelore]

thank you so much for the tag in that post!!! i immediately forgot every fact about myself unfortunately BUT i have two follow up qs for y'all.........

MERLIN! i am also obsessed with merlin and btw if you have a merlin account you are OBLIGATED BY LAW to tell me. constitutional amendment from the obama era. i think the merlin <--> supernatural pathway is all about duty by the way. and also gay sex.

also charlotte consider this ask your one drink please 🍷 and DO TELL!

haha, that's so fair! we love follow-up qs!

lizzy:

uh-oh! by law you say?? i'm sweatin'...i also love merlin! so much! i cannot shut up about it, and i have written/continue to write for merlin under a different account...but i fear i might have to break the law on this one. and it's strictly for the reason that i have Very Normal friends not familiar with fandom that follow my writing/keep up with my other ao3 and if they find out i shake the boys from spn between my teeth like a dog, i would have some massive explaining to do. obama's gonna come break my door down 😔 i am kissing you passionately in apology! but i think folks like my merlin work pretty okay! my biggest merlin fic is around 100k hits, which blows my mind with violence each day lol

you get it!!! you get it so hard!!!!!! what drives me crazy about merlin and spn is the inevitability of it all. they are soulmates, and they are fated to be joined, but at what cost? literally what cost? they are opposed forces, hunter and hunted, but a bond of love and forgiveness and belonging that keep them tethered beyond separation. it's the continuous loss and torture and fear and not leaving! they don't want to leave! their lives would be easier if they didn't love each other, but they can't stop. and they HAVE SEX! one of the things that sticks in my brain so hard about merlin specifically is the lengths that merlin goes to protect/save uther for arthur's sake. like that level of devotion, even at the betrayal of self, is BARK INDUCING!!! i could write forever and ever amen about merlin, so if i don't stop now, this entire post will just be me yapping and yapping.

charlotte:

oh my god WELL a few moments stand out from that day. first, lizzy and I were THE ONLY ONES TO DRESS UP after lizzy explained that people dressed up at cons (this was my first con ever—baby’s first!). Also me when I lie lol there were a couple sexy castiels but I digress. (lizzy note: there was also a billie and death cosplayer that blew my fucking mind my beloved <3)

second, literally everyone at our con had already met the boys. like. a girl pulled out a BINDER with like 4 m&g photos per page and just kept flipping through it. so while we were nervous wrecks all day, everyone was mysteriously so…chill?? like we picked up food on the way there and barely ate any of it since we were making ourselves ill.

waiting in line?? girl embarrassing you wouldn’t have wanted to see us because we were HYPERVENTILATING. as soon as we cleared the doorway and saw jared, he made eye contact with us and kept glancing over the line to check when we were coming up (because of our slay niche fits) and as soon as we did, he said the episode BY NAME and told us we did a great job. (lizzy note: he was very excited and also his hand is as big is my waist i blacked out the whole thing if i didn’t have a pic i wouldn’t think it happened)

that man’s chest and arms. gigantic. bigger than my head. he was as solid as a piece of marble. we were like what the fuck. took our picture and NO JOKE we had to sit down on the floor in the hallway. we called lizzy’s mom. we bragged to the barista in the convention center, who was also very excited. we vomited and threw up because misha was next but in character and costume and let me just say

that man’s hands were FRIGID.

I’ll say it!! (looking at you lizzy who doesn’t remember it smh.) his m&g was slay ish because he was just smoldering and barely said anything (LMAO our man was tired and they were running 2 hrs behind). but! hilarious. I have both of the pictures hanging in identical frames next to each other in my first grown up apartment and it looks like the same photo at a first glance. it is the second most expensive thing on my wall (my diploma taking first 🤧).

and that…that was a glorious day. we’re trying to go again since jensen was sold out so we can complete the trifecta 🫶

-charlotte (& lizzy! hello! 2-for-1!)

[instructionsnotincluded]

how did you go about writing and uploading ur first fic? did it take a while until you first uploaded it? i’ve been trying to write something for a while now but i haven’t gotten very far (the ideas are all in my head just putting them on a page is seemingly impossible hahaha)

and also generally what’s your usual writing process? just word vomit and edit later or do you have more of a plan going in for what you want to happen this chapter?

I uploaded my first fic years ago to fanfiction.net and then never updated it again. Then after years went by, I uploaded another fic, posted about ten chapters, and then vanished. Then another fic with about five chapters, and never went back to posting my writing until I posted Snow On The Beach last year.

So, we can ignore all those other ones. Haha! For Snow On The Beach, I wrote for about three or four months before I posted. Mainly because I didn’t want to abandon yet another story. I told myself I was doing it for me, that if no one read it, great, I still had fun along the way and I was going to finish it.

I never planned much for all my previous stories. I wrote by the seat of my pants and I think that’s why they were never finished. I lost steam and forgot where I was and where I was going. I started an original work before the pandemic, and after shopping it around to many editors, and having no luck, decided to shelve that and start a new story during the pandemic. I ran into some writers block with it and that’s when I discovered the world of OBX, binged all three seasons after three came out, and then decided JJ needed a love interest! Hello, Audrey!

When I first write a new story, I normally write the scenes that are stuck in my head. For Audrey’s version, that was JJ and Audrey’s first kiss, the Pogues finding out about them, the first time they have sex, and the final scene when John B and Sarah are presumed dead. From there, I based an outline on the show with everything I wanted to include and then worked to fill in the blanks with my original plot’s outline, and then started writing. I write mostly in order and take the story in acts. I typically have a rough idea of how many chapters are in an act, and I know where I want the act to end, so it’s filling in everything in between from there. For me, it makes it less overwhelming and less daunting.

Sometimes my outline is a detailed Trello board with in-depth cards of everything I want to happen and the order I want them. Other times it’s a Google doc where every line is a plot point with random thoughts in between. Sometimes I scribble in a notebook because all of that is too overwhelming.

Outline wise, I like to follow the Save the Cat! method. I think it makes the most sense to my brain, and then I lengthen or add in beats/points because it’s fanfiction and if the story goes over 40 chapters, or is a little on the long side, no one is upset about it, hahahaha.

For fan fiction, I write and edit and then write and edit, etc. For Wild Winds, I already have 10 chapters done and ready for editing, but because I’m using it as a way to help my brain relax from the other two stories, I’m not editing them until after I update chapters for the others. For my original work that I am slowly working on, I’m just writing/word vomiting and then plan to do a huge first edit after the first draft is complete.

I think whatever method works for you and your brain is amazing, this is just works for mine. (At the moment, I fully expect it to continue to change!)

I hope I answered your question! Let me know if I didn’t! I tend to ramble… 🤣

[eorzean-capitalist]

Hypergraphia.

I've been on a journey since Nov. 1st. A wild one.

I decided this year to do NaNoWriMo again. I've completed it two other times, albeit a very long time ago. 2001 and 2003. I've tried a few other times, but never successfully and it's been a very long time since I've thought about trying again.

But hey, I've been off antipsychotics for 6 months now. I figure I can write again. Maybe sustain enough of a momentum to cross the finish line again.

If I knew then what I know now, I may have decided not to. Maybe I would have anyway. Hard to say.

I did some prepwork. Decided I wanted to write a ghost story about a house haunted by the ghost of a disabled girl, killed by her father in the 1940s. I was calling it Astrid's Attic. Made a basic outline. Created and fleshed out some characters.

But then Nov 1st rolled around and I found myself staring at a blank google doc with no idea how to kick it off.

I had music on. A Skid Row song I used to like back in the early 90s was the next track. And I dunno. It was like lightning struck. A memory from my childhood roared back to life and the words jumped onto the page.

Only it wasn't Astrid's Attic. All that prep work, the outline, the idea of it, just vanished as I drew from ancient memories of a 14 year old in the early throes of mental illness and the storm of adolescence.

I'd started this strange world of psychics and secret societies. And a fake rock band was my vehicle at the time to tell the tale. The characters were an amalgamation of the bands I listened to at the time. Rock and metal from the 1989-1991 era.

But this time, I wasn't 14 and struggling to find the right words to convey the thoughts in my brain. I wasn't writing with pen and paper, filling notebook after notebook with whatever my brain was vomiting up with the limited vocabulary and writing skills I had at the time.

Now I'm several decades older, I type something ridiculous like 160 words a minute, and I know how to craft a narrative.

So 12 days later.... I'm over the finish line and my brain is not done. Oh no. By the end of November, I dropped everything into a word calculator. Over 200k words. The main story doc itself, and miles of notes and brainstorming I did over the month as I worked out the details.

Hypergraphia is a weird thing. A blessing and a curse. Because since embarking on this journey, I can't do anything else. I can't think of anything else. My days are either spent writing, or thinking about writing.

I could put a stop to this. I've already told my therapist what's going on and we're trying to figure out how to contain it. Direct it. But it's really gd hard. I could go back on a low dose of antipsychotic.

But I don't really want to. At least, not till the boys' story is finally told. The demon sleeping in my memory since 14 finally exorcised.

I think I owe younger me that much, at least.

[bi-bats]

hello!! i was just wondering, since the damitim fic is ongoing, does this mean know yourself updates are slowed/paused? (not a complaint i’m loving both!!)

Hiya!! Sorry that I never give easy answers 😂

So yes, Know Yourself updates are slower (not paused or on hiatus!! I am working on it still), but it's not because of the DamiTim fic.

I've been writing Know Yourself for over a year now (even though I haven't been posting it that long) and I'm just struggling with getting the words on the page to be what I want them to be. The plot is sorted out and I'm content with what I'm going to make happen, but also when I think about the fic my brain starts to feel the way my eyes do when I stare at a screen too long 😂 so I'm trying to be patient with myself and let myself take my time with it instead of pushing something out that I'm really not happy with, because 1) I think it'll show, 2) I'll just burn myself out, and 3) if I treat it like a chore it'll never get finished.

Also I've realized (post-jaytimweek) that I prefer writing in present tense, it makes everything feel more natural to me and I can control some writing things like timing and flow a little better and I WROTE OVER 100K WORDS IN PAST TENSE FOR THAT FIC AND I'M NOT FUCKING SWITCHING NOW!!!! SO I GUESS I GOTTA FINISH IT IN PAST TENSE!!!!

And also we're at the point in the plot of Know Yourself where I'm really stepping on the gas on the number of things happening per chapter, and the chapters are overwhelmingly long. And I would love to simply be more brief, but everything happening is relevant to the plot, so. Sigh.

Now, the DamiTim fic.

That one is just going up because that fic is happening to me. I can't prevent that fic from occurring. I would love to think about something else, actually! That boy is so unwell! But that's what I'm feeling inspired about and lately I've only been able to write when something worms into my brain and I have to put it on the page immediately no matter where I am or what I'm doing (I have a newish manager who doesn't know how to write a schedule, so I'm currently on day 7 of a ten day stretch of work where I only had one day off, which I had to spend doing all my chores and then hosting D&D. So basically, gone are the days off where I could just sit at my computer and write for a day 😭😭😭).

Also, Ive been having problems with Know Yourself since May, but the DamiTim fic is just fucking pouring out of me fugue state style. My brain hasn't latched onto DamiTim and released Know Yourself in favor of it, it's that the claws of Know Yourself began to unsink from my flesh like, 2 months ago and DamiTim saw its chance. Like, this isn't about to be a cute analogy, but I feel like I'm vomiting out the DamiTim fic because it's a virus. It can't be in my brain anymore okay? I need it out. And it feels like a shame to have like, almost 40k words of it written and just sitting in my drafts when I could be updating it (which I'm sure you appreciate if you're loving that one too 😂), and it has the added benefit of yall knowing I haven't abandoned the fandom/preventing yall from thinking that something horrible has happened to me!

Tldr/to reiterate: yes I'm slowing down on Know Yourself, but it's not because of any of the other chaptered fics I'm working on.

Anyways, sorry this got long and ranty, I think I needed to vent all this out anyways so thank you for giving me a chance to do that!! And also thank you for phrasing your ask the way you did, I really appreciate you specifying that you're not complaining 😂 this is a valid question (that did not upset me but could've if the phrasing was different) and I didn't feel pressured so thank you!!! Ily anon 💕💖💚

[transitat]

Fic Tag Game

I was tagged by @beri-allen. Thanks!

How many works do you have on Ao3? 14

What's your Ao3 word count? 51 699

What fandoms do you write for? Currently only Wednesday, but I used to be really active in the Harry Potter fandom in middle/high school.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 1. Biology Lessons 2. I Dig You (Up) 3. Read the Fine Print 4. Payback Is a Bitch 5. Window Shopping

Do you respond to comments? I did for a bit but I honestly don't know what to say other than "alkjsjdf thank ily" and I feel super awkward. I love you all and your comments make my days brighter <3.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Why would you ask me, a porn writer, this... I Dig You (Up), 100%.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I'm a porn writer, they all have ✨ happy endings ✨. I'd say Biology Lessons.

Do you get hate on fics? No hate so far, just one very very horny man who described what he did (in detail) while reading the fic. I deleted that comment after vomiting in my mouth a bit.

Do you write smut? What kind? Yes. And yes.

Do you write cross-overs? I've never been interested in crossovers. And I usually only fixate on one thing at a time.

Have you ever had a fic translated? No. Let me call my waifu real quick to see if she's interested in some translation work lol (we're both professional writers/translators)

Have you ever cowritten a fic before? No. Hmu tho 👀 

What WIP you would like to finish, but doubt you ever will? I'll finish all of them... eventually. I will!

What's your all-time favorite ship? Let's go back to my roots: Wolfstar (Sirius Black x Remus Lupin) from Harry Potter. I've been in love with Remus since I was 9 and I love angsty relationships. I've had a thousand OTPs in my life, but they're my forever one.

What are your writing strengths? I will literally write 10k in one go.

What are your writing weaknesses? If I don't want to write, I will not write. I've literally stared at blank pages for months. But it's a cycle, I know I'll be back on my bullshit in no time.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? Depends.

First fandom you wrote for? Harry Potter, closely followed by The Mortal Instruments.

Favorite fic you've ever written? I'm so so happy with Stuck in the Middle with You. It was a literal 6k word vomit that came out fabulous. I have to say that Heaven's a Place on Earth with You (a short Attack on Titan thing I wrote like 10 years ago) has a special place in my heart.

What fic would you want to rewrite one day? Frankly, all of them. I'm impatient and publish first drafts and I think they deserve some reworking. They're fine for now but if I ever want these to become a portfolio, they'll need some serious editing. This might be the right time to confess that all my fics are written by a possessed author, reread for typos once then published as they are. Y'all are tapping directly into my brain here.

I've been out of order for so long idk what's been going on/who's done this already. I tag @suchaladyy, @nonamemanga, @cupoteahatter, and @wincestation

[panther-of-shadows]

I finished The Faithless (Magic of the Lost #2), and finally I'm saying here what I haven't before. I've been biting my tongue, expecting -and hoping- the book somehow would get better, that Touraine's toxic hypocritical attitude would get better in time. It didn't, it only got worse. And man, bite my head off if Luca doesn't deserve someone acknowledging everything she was, thought and did. Acknowledging her identity. She deserves better than fucking martyr-syndrome Touraine. Aranen told her near the end "you deserve better than her [Luca]" and no, ma'am. No, I can't shup my mouth anymore, because Aranen got it backwards.

I recognize a toxic, abusive relationship when I see one because I've lived through a couple of them myself; however, what I didn't expected in this context was for the slave soldier to get abusive with the princess of the empire that had colonized her country. And it breaks my heart that no one in these stupid books noticed the actual problem behind Touraine and Luca's "relationship". No matter what Luca's intentions are and neither what she does or does not, every action of hers is something suitable that Touraine can wield and does wield to attack her. Their relationship works like this: Touraine puts a weigh on her shoulders and then, looking twice, complains and gets irrationally mad about said weight as if she wasn't the one who placed it there, lashing out at Luca. It. Doesn't. Make. Sense.

I could point out a thousand different moments and evidence to argue my opinion, but I'm deeply tired of the same shit after so many pages. The thing is she stripped Luca of everything she used to have, leaving her with nothing but emptiness, misplaced guilt and sorrow, by making her feel responsible and holding her accountable for every event that has occurred since their first encounter until Luca wouldn't make a decision without Touraine's approval as her confidence evaporated into thin air. What's even sadder: Touraine isn't the only character treating Luca like she's the culprit of all evils - little reminder: her uncle has been on the throne for over 20 years now, and the proletarian people of Balladaire thought fit to blame the princess for their horrid situation so much they even sent a girl to murder, not the duke, but HER.

And this is how you break a person, from the inside, with blame, undervaluing and disregard as your tools. The worst part of it all is that it's not even written on purpose to put the focus on one real issue or to mess with the reader's moral compass (as Tamsyn Muir does in TLT, which is done with so much taste), it's fucking 'romanticized', it's presented as something supposed to be cute and adorable, something to aspire to, the culmination of love, and I just want to vomit your toxicity out of my brain, CL Clark.

Dear writers out there, if you're going to create a character to be a veiled victim in the name of "romantic love", just don't, let them be. They may be fictional, but they deserve better. We deserve better. It's not okay to be beaten emotionally over and over again in the name of love. It is not.

[distantlcnds]

new book, who dis? ft ari x isaac

warnings: none word count: 663

Ari squirmed in her seat, her fingers dancing rapidly over the keys before her. She could feel him moving, his silhouette in her peripherals though she kept her eyes on the screen. “Isaac?” He paused on the other side of her, head tilting as she cursed under her breath in something other than english. She didn’t feel his eyes on her though and she sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just– you read now?”

“What?” she blinked, brow furrowing despite the soft chuckle that escaped her, “I read. Maybe my choices are a little unorthodox but…” Ari trailed, waiting for the volley. The little back and forth where he or anyone really would chide her for being a dork. But instead she was met with silence, the sound of her game bleeding into the sound of flipping pages.

“Yeah. I’d say The Crying of Lot 49 is unorthodox for you,”

Ari felt her cheeks warm, pink no doubt staining them as she broke concentration, her character dying almost instantaneously. “Y-yeah. I found it at that little second hand shop. The one near the community center. I had some time after the halloween festival so I went, you know, browsing,” 

Again there was silence but this time she was watching him, thumbing through till he hit a spot and her heart seized. “Which one is she?” he asked, voice so casual you’d think they were discussing the weather. Ari’s back straightened, chest tight, scoffing as she turned back to the screen.

She reset, fingers back at it, despite him standing there. Waiting. She hated when he was like this. Like he was just…judging her. And for what? Reading? What did it matter why she’d sought it out? And that question. She knew what he meant. What was he expecting? A number? A name? Still. He was quiet, playing the game they knew she always lost. God, she hated losing.

“She’s– not any of them. She’s not part of that,”

“Then why highlight quotes in a book you’d never read?”

“Quote. A quote–” She waited for him to tell her nuisances didn’t matter. He didn’t have to. Her jaw flexed, swiveling in her chair again. She chewed her lip, wondering what exactly he wanted out of this conversation. It did tell her a few things though. Dickie hadn’t blabbed and that Isaac was genuinely curious. Any other time he’d be making some snarky joke and then they’d laugh. He’d move on and they’d pretend like whatever it was hadn’t happened. “She mentioned she was reading it. For class. The quote was interesting and I– I um, wanted to understand it better,” Ari shrugged, releasing the tension from his gaze with it. It was sincere. She had just…she wanted to know more about it, even if it was just some book she didn’t know if she loved. It wasn’t as if she ever gave her much to go on. Not about those sorts of things. Passing by that shop, seeing books in the window. It just– made her think of her. What harm was there in that? 

He watched her for a moment longer, like he had some weird little privacy window into her brain and Ari wrinkled her nose, about to break the silence again, when he hummed and shrugged. “Ok,” That was it. He sat the book back in its spot on her desk, a sigh passing his lips before lamenting about his latest snag in psych class and how his partner was some sort of neanderthal. There’d be more eventually, Ari could tell. It lingered in the air like smoke, thinning, but still there. Yeah, she recognized it for what it was and she was grateful. Cause yeah, this way she could figure out how to say things without just…word vomiting it all. Till then though, she humored him, offering up a sympathetic ear as she booted up her game once more. And things were as they always were when she focused on someone else.

Easier.