#it would help to feed my brain with words and read something myself but i have no idea what

[olderthannetfic]

Hi OTNF and everyone,

I am finding that it's harder and harder and harder to get into anything - book, show, movie... most things seem, you know, to just not be doing it for me, be it fanfic or original stuff.

In part, I think, it's a general restlessness and that it's become harder to give anything enough time to get into the stories, the characters, the settings, the narrative voices... I guess you can call it attention deficit on my part, just a need for stories to deliver those sweet, sweet hits quickly, but they're not.

I'm not currently ficcing but I did for years (might again in the future, who knows), and it's made reading, specifically, harder. It's like I've become more aware of what goes on behind the scene, I guess? I feel like I can see the writer giving up on a sentence, skipping a scene because fuck this, trying hard to not repeat a word although it's the only one that fits, etc.

Or maybe it's just the *everything* around us in the world that is weighing on me too much? I could say it's adult life, but then again I have more free time than most (and boy do I need hours of doing nothing to survive the other hours), and no family/partner (all that would put even more pressure on me): what is wrong, to make everything so UGHHH?

I feel like I'm stuck in a rut with a brain moaning feed me, feeeed me, and whatever I try to give it, it spits everything out. (Yes, I've tried hobbies, and nothing sticks there either. I've never really found rewards or satisfaction there, so...)

Decades ago as a kid, I was a voracious reader, although studying literature took the pleasure of it away from me. It took time and discovering fanfic that brought me back to reading, but at the time the internet was starting to be a thing, too, and it can't have helped the attention thing. AFAIK I'm not ADHD but then again, I couldn't get a proper diagnosis (the therapists I saw were either dismissive or just about The Talking, which was pointless for me).

I just wonder how it all disappeared, you know? Sometimes I find something that catches my attention for a while - a book (but I read quite quickly when motivated), a fandom... but it's been a while now, and it's just so frustrating! When is it going to come back? Will it ever? *gulp*

I know that books were escapism when I was a child, and then fandom was escapism, but at the moment I find myself grabbing at air and my empty hands are mocking me. Give me my escapism baaaaack!

So, uh. Anyone here with me?

--

Yes.

I felt like that during part of lockdown. Anhedonia is common in those kinds of circumstances.

Getting your mojo back is certainly possible, but you may need to go see a professional about depression and have some chemical assistance (yes, even if you don't feel sad per se), or you may need to change your lifestyle to one that doesn't have the thing causing you to need eleventy billion hours of downtime.

Aside from serious interventions like that, you can consider a social media detox. Remove every source of doomscrolling and time wasting of that type. When the attention span is zero and nothing brings joy, the tiny and useless hits from finishing a game of solitaire or seeing one more instagram post become very attractive. This is a trap. It will suck what little energy and joy you have and make your muscles flabby for the work of getting into an in-depth book/hobby/experience.

I know the feeling of being able to see how the sausage is made, but... well... first, being in a better mental state will make that matter less, and second, reading prose that is more competent will make that less of an issue. A lot of mainstream tradpub genre fiction is not, in my opinion, very well written these days. Obviously, people are still enjoying it, and that's fine, but if you're noticing writers fumbling around, it might be time to check out some literary fiction or some other category known more for prose quality than anything else.

It's also important to have some structure and some things to look forward to. Even if you feel tired, overwhelmed, and busy, sometimes, the answer is to do more... But it must be things that are distinct and significant and that get you off of the couch, like going to one museum every weekend.

I saw some advice once about this kind of thing that phrased it as "One big adventure; one small adventure."

Every week, you should have those two things to look forward to that matter. Check out a new coffee shop. That could be the small one. Go to an event: a gallery opening, a concert, whatever.

Physical exercise and doing some things that aren't as verbal and conscious thought-involving is important too. Painting is a better hobby for zoning out than writing is. Taking long walks in nature is good for most people.

--

The kind of intense, obsessive love I had for reading as a child and that I sometimes have for fandom requires a lot of attention and some time. It's escapist, but that masks how much work it actually was. It didn't feel like work only because we were in training.

If you've filled your brain and your day up with a thousand petty annoyances or minor and useless attempts to feel something, you won't have the capacity for those deeper things.

Because you are already at a point that's equivalent to a bad sprained ankle, trying to get back to running right now won't work. You have to stay off of the ankle for a bit, then build your strength and stamina back up.

[4plus1313]

A good day for art despite not being on shrooms this time

[uhohdad]

EXPERIMENTAL - Konig Fic Pt 3

Summary: Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology they’ve been developing.

Warnings: Sexual Content, NSFW, bondage, DOM!Konig, size kink, light spanking, unprotected sex, possessive!konig, praise kink, the mask stays on 😈, Reader x Konig, injury, needle torture, PTSD, talk of standard war stuff, Non-con Voyeurism. No use of y/n,

Reader gender/sex is incomprehensible cause I do it for the girls, the gays, and the theys

Word Count: 10,2k

(tbh you probably don’t need to read the first two parts so if you just wanna read this slutty chapter it should be fine lol but if you do i’ll link them)

AO3

PART ONE

PART TWO

NSFW under the cut

You’re praying that he’s getting this.

There’s a million things that could go wrong - Konig not being near his device and you’re just streaming into an empty room. Or Ghost’s device wasn’t the one that was synced with Konig’s, maybe one of the matching copies or an earlier prototype. Or worse - Konig found out about the video and leaves you to your demise as he rightfully should.

You swallow as you watch Mohawk put the his phone away in his pocket, hoping his screen wasn’t exposed to the feed’s camera, “Thanks for making me have that on my phone, by the way. Do you know how many times I was forced to watch this?”

Stop talking about it!

“What else do you want to know?” You’re more willing to give out top-secret government intel than let Konig find about that fucking video.

Ghost senses you’ve been holding back on him, and he tilts his head down to look at you from above the projection, “What’s it do?”

“Everything.” You answer, “Anything I tell it to. It’s like VR.” There’s a bit of a slur to your words. You’re still aware enough to manage the long-con, but your eyelids are getting heavier. Just have to hold out awhile longer, juggle a few things at the same time. Don’t let Konig find out about how you ended up here, but make sure he knows you’re here. Don’t let skull boy and stupid-haircut find about the transmission, but don’t let them lose enough interest to turn the device off. Don’t give away too many government secrets, but don’t give out too little to keep the soldiers from doing anymore permanent damage to your brain.

And manage all of that while coping with the current level of brain damage you have.

They look at each other, trying to figure out if they’re satisfied with your answer.

That’s good. Just keep stalling.

Everything was threatening to crash down around you, but there’s a glimmer of hope so minuscule, you think you could actually pull it off if all the pieces fall together.

You’re no longer giving up.

We can fix this. Fix all of it. Fix your mess.

You’re going to give it a fair shot, you decide, and you’ll leave it up to the universe.

Ghost cocks his head, those intimidating eyes boring into you, “And what things do you tell it to do?” You can tell he’s irritated with the meaningless answer. You steer in the opposite direction.

You give a drawn out hum, “Identify the bad guys. Heat map, heart beats ‘n all that.” You’re trying to keep your thoughts together, but there’s too many to keep up with, and the concussion still has you in its hazy clutches.

Another idea, a back up plan, you’ll call it. You can’t tell if it’s a stupid idea or not, but you’re slipping and fast, “Can I get a smoke? I’m feening.” You give a smile, the residual of the painkillers making it easy to appear unassuming.

“No. What else does it do?” Ghost is straight to the point, and it reminds you of Konig, and you wish Ghost would stop doing that because you’re trying to do something here.

Another drunken hum, “What’d’ya want it to do? I can do it.” You wave your hand at him, casually flashing your restraints so Konig would get a clear view.

Ghost steps towards you and grabs the front of your gown, yanking your face inches from his, “What does it fucking do?”

A proud smile crosses your face, “Not your mom, ‘cause I got that covered myself.”

Mohawk puts a hand of warning on Ghost’s shoulder, reminding him not to get too violent with you.

Ghost ignores the warning, his fist connecting with your temple before you had a chance to brace yourself.

Skull boy packs quite a punch.

You’re reset for a moment, blinded by a bright white and the ring in your ears makes a blaring encore.

You can tell by the warm and wet feeling under your bandages that the gash from Ghost’s gun had split open.

You don’t know how long it takes you to get your bearings, but once you do you’re almost thankful Ghost had rocked you.

You’re hoping Konig can see the urgency of the situation and your injured brain being rattled around your skull gives you an excuse to lie motionless, hindering interrogation. They know you’re not useful to them when you incapable of coherency. It’s why Stupid-Haircut is trying so hard to keep Ghost from injuring you to bad. It’s why they went through the trouble of nursing an enemy back to health. If Ghost turns your brain to soup like you’re so clearly provoking him to do, you won’t be able to tell them what they want to know.

Okay, painful change of plans.

Instead of forcing yourself to stay clear enough to manage all the details through the fog of the concussion, you’re going to force yourself into ignorance by weaponizing Ghost’s temperament against him. It’s in their best interest to keep you cognizant, and it’s in your best interest to get Ghost irritated enough to torture you until you’re unable to speak.

It’s going to be brutal, but you’ve been feeling nothing but pain at the hands of him, and you don’t think you’re far off from the cozy clutches of unconsciousness as it is - that it won’t be long until you’re unable to feel anything.

Always the masochist.

You can’t help but smile, even though it all. A genuine one, toothy and face-wrinkling, one that wasn’t for anyone else in the room, but didn’t care if they saw. It wasn’t a desperate attempt to relieve your discomfort. Not a waste of your precious energy lulling strangers into their sense of comfort. Not a weak effort to influence the opinion of you belonging to whoever happens to be in your vicinity.

You feel like you’re watching yourself descend into madness, powerless against the euphoric feeling that floods through you. Warmth coasting through your veins. You could tell it wasn’t the drugs, the concussion and the growing list of other injuries, or even the idea Konig may be rushing to your rescue any minute now.

It was because in this moment, despite everything that has happened, you can’t help but be enamored with yourself.

You?

Of course. Of course it took these conditions to pull it out of you.

It’s always the hard way with you, wasn’t it?

“If you can’t restrain yourself maybe you should let me handle it.”

“Back down, Johnny.” Ghost warns in that low, cautionary tone that can’t help leave the receiver wondering just what horrible punishment would occur if they pushed. He doesn’t even have to look at Johnny to hammer the intimidation into him. It’s only accompanied by a low extend of arm vaguely in his direction.

Neither you or Ghost noticed the way Johnny’s eye twitched or lip snarled, but he heeds Ghost’s warning.

Ghost’s eyes lock on you, and you think everyone in the room has caught on to the predicament they’re in.

Johnny, who’s been up to speed since the start, walking the tightrope of being respectful to his superior without letting him damage the value of his informant.

Ghost, who’s long lost his respect for you before he even laid eyes on you, and since meeting you has only been sinking deeper into his hatred of you. He’s used to getting information from soldiers. Out of powerful individuals that could handle a hit and that stay conscious during an interrogation session. The ones smart enough not to antagonize and beg for the brutality. Ones that grit their teeth an at least try and suck it up to maintain a scrap of dignity. Not you. He knows he needs your brain but he��d be happy to put an end to all of it, right now. Pull the plug on your project the manual way. If they can’t have it, no one can. Maybe he’d get what he wants along the way if you’re coherent enough to squeak it out, but that’d just be a bonus in his eyes.

And you. Wonderfully brilliant, even if occasionally misguided, and as much as you hate to believe it sometimes, incredibly lovable, even if Ghost is looking at you like he wants to put your head on a stick. But you don’t care about that dummy. No, you’re not even looking at him or his Johnny. Even if he takes your life from you right now, you think you could accept that. Not for any necessarily suicidal reasons, even though the concussion has definitely knocked some dark feelings loose.

You close your eyes, and the smile still hasn’t left your face, even if your sore muscles were pulling on the edges of your headache.

“Too much morphine.” Ghost says, to no one in particular, not hesitating as he forcefully grabs your forearm and digs his thumb into the skin encasing your IV needle.

You immediately hiss through gritted teeth, but he doesn’t hesitate as he takes the beginning of the needle with his other hand, roughly poking around in your arm.

You try to pull away but he’s got a grip tight enough to force your arm extended. You’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

He removes the needle entirely before puncturing you in a different spot on your inner elbow, shaking the needle violently beneath your flesh. You gasp, pulling against his iron grip with what little strength you have.

“Where’d your smile go?” Ghost asks in a neutral tone, his eyes dead of emotion as he removes the needle before stabbing another hole in your arm.

You let out a yelp, eyes screwed shut as your other hand jerks against the restraints. You’re too focused on the sickening feeling of skewered veins to make up a good comeback.

He does it again, and your fists clench and a high grunt escapes through gritted teeth.

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to set an IV.” Ghost says dryly, his eyes cold behind the mask as he thrashes the needle.

“Keep practicing.” You hiss, pitch warbling through the pain.

And he does.

It’s brutal, Ghost flaying the crease of your arm repeatedly. It’s been less than a minute but you’re sure the torture started a lifetime ago. You just have to take it, it’s all you can do. Your verbal stalling wasn’t cutting it, so you’re just going to have to opt for this instead and hope you can piss him off enough to get just a little too violent with you.

When he’s done, he jams the needle back where it was, managing to lay it back in your vein. “There we go.”

You study each other for a brief moment, before he leans in close, so close his projection becomes obscured through your head. You’re eye to eye now, nothing between you two but the mask your nose is almost brushing up against.

He grabs your face, his gloved fingers digging into your jaw with the same force he had held your forearm. He holds your head still and all you can do is look at him, brows pinched in fury as your nails dig into your palms, fists fight the restraints.

His eyes twitch as they flicker between each of yours.

“I am going to ruin you.”

You shake your head in an attempt to free your jaw from his clutches, but his grip is strong and he makes a point of forcing your head still, looking down his mask at you.

“You can give me all the information you like. I’m not stopping until it’s finished.”

Ghost finally lets you go with a rough shove. He takes the device from his ear and his wrist, discarding them both over his shoulder. Johnny catches the ear piece with a slight fumble, and the wrist remote hits the ground with a ting, rattling obnoxiously as it rolls to a stop. Johnny’s got his hands full as he yells but you you don’t bother listening to what he’s saying.

You’re too busy relaxing into the attack as you let Ghost carry you to death’s door.

———————————————————-

Even wincing is painful.

You're finally stirred awake by the feeling of a gloved hand on the back of your neck.

It’s hard to open your eyes, and when you finally do you see him, from the chest up, he looks just like a just a blurry figure. Two of them, actually, doubled vision multiplying the lone man that stood before you.

Even with your damaged vision you can tell it’s Konig, making out the telling shapes of his gear and those biceps you’ve studied so close you could pick them out of a lineup.

The hood that always intimidated you, but now fills you with a comfort like no other. You can see the light of your projection shielding his eyes.

A blinding bright light surrounds him, haloing your vision and it hurts, but you can help but keep your weary gaze fixed on him inbetween slow blinks.

You’re sure you’re dead. That you’re passing over and this is your brain manifesting some hallucination to comfort you as you transition.

You reach out to touch his hood, just to see if you can. You wanted to see if you could feel him, the researcher in you testing the potentials of your delusions. The restraints cut you short for a final time, before Konig quickly cuts your hands free with a knife. He takes your weak extended hand in his and you can feel it.

It engulfs yours, the scratchy feel of his glove wrapped around your hand, and he feels real.

His other hand retracts from your neck and reaches up to turn his projection off to get a clearer look at you. His hand comes back from under his hood and moves carefully to the side of your face, his thumb tracing a bruise on your cheek. His can’t believe what he’s seeing, his eyes darting around to the various injuries plastered on you.

“Meine liebe…”

He says, and you’re not sure if he’s speaking a different language or if your Ghost gave you dyphasia.

“Who did this?” He asks, horrified as he realizes there’s anyone out there cruel enough to do this to you.

You thought his stares were scary before, but the way his eyes glaze and turn cold as they follow the swells and bruises marking your face appears animalistic. It shoots a feeling in your gut so unnerving it confirms that you’re definitely not experiencing some euphoric deathbed hallucination.

When you don’t answer, your eyes just flicking around his features as you adjust, he asks again.

“Who did this?!”

His voice strikes an urgent and menacing tone the second time. On your recording he had been able to see Ghost’s point of view, but not Ghost. A front row seat to watch you get brutally attacked but not being able to identify the aggressor himself.

Always determined.

You reach up with your other hand to your saving grace, and place it on his upper arm, “Don’t leave.”

He hears how delicate your voice is, how you barely have the power to speak. How your hand quivered as you reached out to him, how you had squeezed his arm with what little might you had to encourage him to stay, to join you in a world where your aggressors and injuries didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

And how can he say no to you?

His eyes soften again and you can’t help but smile at the man behind the hood. You’re smile immediately turns to a wince as it forces an uncomfortable tug on your fresh injuries.

“Come here.” He says softly and he picks you out of the hospital bed with little effort. He’s got one arm secured around your back and the other is under the crease of your knees like he’s carrying you from the alter. He tilts you gently so your head can rest on his chest while he carries you to safety.

You’re wondering if you really are dead after all. It’s too good to be true, your plan working and Konig carrying you from the danger like he’s a fireman rescuing you from a burning building. You can discern the capabilities of his muscles as he holds you tight. You’re not even slowing him down, he’s still able to hurry through the hallways, guided to the exit by your device without fault.

The jostling hurts, but he’s doing his best to hold you steady, and being in his arms, resting the less injured side of your forehead against him, makes the pain all worth it.

You can hear the sounds of gunshots in the distance, not even your impaired hearing could muffle the loud pops. They must have had a full team come out to do an extraction. You thought it was a lot of to-do for little ol’ you.

Konig gets you to nearest exit, carefully managing the door as he opens it to ensure it didn’t hit you, and carries you out to the getaway vehicle, setting you down across the backseat like you’re made of glass.

“Liebe, they need me.” He looks back to the building, “Can you stay here?”

You give a weak nod, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

“I’ll be back, I promise.”

And you have his word.

He rushes back into the building while you try and rest in the backseat.

————————————-

The safe house was incredibly depressing. A rundown little two-room shack in the country, decorated with outdated appliances and furniture. The wall paper is peeling from the ceiling and you’re not sure if it was originally a drab yellow or if it had been stained from years of abuse. You can tell no one’s been around to take care of the water damage, judging from the large brown stains spotting the ceiling. There’s a kitchenette in the corner with an oven, a fridge that hums too loudly, and a microwave that appears never to have been cleaned. A worn beige couch outfitted with two dusty orange cushions that sag with age. A few generic paintings on the wall that hardly comfort you. No internet and no cell service, but there is a small box-shaped TV that you’re sure is from the 50s, the picture warped and cloudy.

Base placed you here temporarily until you relocate, your apartment now too dangerous to live in as your address was in enemy hands.

Judging by the way your supervisor spoke to you when discussing the transition, they must be in the dark on what caused the breach.

Your secret is safe for now, but there’s no telling when it’s going to get discovered. Waiting for the truth to come out has left a weight in your chest that sticks around from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep.

They had assigned you a counselor to visit you and help process the trauma of the event, but you don’t trust them enough to give them the full truth. You just tell them about the violence Ghost inflicted, walking through the nightmares that result from it. You haven’t gotten a goodnight’s rest since it all went down, often waking up in the middle of the night kicking and screaming at the vivid night terrors of Ghost at the side of your bed.

Other than your counselor, the base associate that brings grocery to restock the noisy fridge on Thursdays, and the occasional check-up from your supervisor, you’ve been totally isolated from the outside world.

You don’t care about most.

Just Konig.

He had held you in his arms and carried you to safety at the risk of his own life. You knew you didn’t deserve it after what you did, but you can’t help but daydream.

Thinking about the way it felt to have your head on his chest, the cotton of his mask brushing your bruised cheek, his arms grasping you tight - protecting you - it definitely helps distract from the uncomfortable feeling lingering by your heart.

You wondered if he knew, if he had seen himself on Johnny’s copy of the recording, but still was kind enough to do such a favor for you.

Then you really wouldn’t deserve him.

You spend all your time thinking about Konig, bouncing between the depth of your guilt and the highs of the fantasy, just as you have been since you met him.

When he visits for the first time, it nearly triggered a panic attack. You had not been expecting visitors, and you were still haunted by the precious unexpected visitors you had. You’re delightfully surprised when you peek out the window and see Konig, looking nervously at the landscape behind him when you don’t answer right away. Your eyebrows spring up in shock and you let out a verbal exclamation at the sight.

You quickly run your fingers through your hair as a last ditch effort to appear somewhat put together before opening the door, forced to tilt your head back to look at him. His eyes widen at the sight of you, and he moves, almost like he’s about to step closer but stops himself.

You force yourself to contain your excitement at his visit, “Konig, It’s good to see you.” You look down at your clothes, still donned in loungewear, “Sorry about the jammies. Come in.” You open the door for him so he can step in before shutting the door behind him. He takes a few steps into the room before stilling, taking a moment to look around.

“Sorry for stopping by unannounced.” He says, followed by a clearing his throat. His eyes linger on the old beige couch before meeting your eyes again. “I‘ve been worried about you.”

You knew you were unreachable, he couldn’t have gotten in contact any other way, “Don’t apologize, you really have no idea how good it is to see you. I’ve been thinking about how to say thank you, for what you did, but I’m not sure there’s enough words between our languages to cover it.” You put your hand to back of your neck, looking to the floor for a moment before meeting his gaze again. You give a nervous laugh, “So I guess I owe you a bottle of wine, huh?”

You can tell he smiles under the mask by the way his eyes crinkle, “Just doing my job.”

You glance down at the arms that had held you so tight and wished they were wrapped around you again.

“Thank you, Konig. Really. I owe you my life.”

“It was my pleasure.” He says as he gives his head a little shake. His gaze shifts a bit higher, “You’re healing nicely.”

You touch a hand to the gash Ghost had left from his gun. You were most likely going to have a scar, but it had closed and the swelling had gone down significantly, the previous inflamed red now a medium pink. “Ah, well thanks for noticing. You know I made those skin cells myself?”

Huh?!

He tilts his head, “That’s good, I hear store-bought isn’t what it used to be.”

You giggle and roll on your heels a bit, not necessarily at the joke but at the fact that such a normally rigid and imitating man is now being cheeky with you, and it feels so nice to break the tension a bit.

“How are you holding up?” He says, and it reminds of the way your therapist inquires, with that gentle tone that clearly eludes to the incident without directly referring to the incident.

“Uh,” You trail off a bit, touching the nasty bruise on your inner arm, large from the spread of the internal bleeding, but now faded to a healing yellow. “Y’know? It’s actually been,” You let out another nervous laugh, “awful, actually. But that’s alright. Uhm, I think it’ll get easier with time.”

He nods and his eyes dart down to the bruise you’ve been mindlessly tracing with your finger. Something dark flickers behind his eyes but quickly subsides.

“If it’s worth anything, it does.”

You give him a weak smile and you have no way to confirm but you think he does the same.

A silence falls on you both for awhile, both of you picking a random point in the room to unfocus your vision on. The silence doesn’t feel awkward, more like you both were grieving for a minute - or maybe just lost in thought. Even if neither knew what to say to the other, you were still bonding over your traumatic experiences in your own quiet way.

You’re the one who breaks the silence, your voice a bit cracked from your dry throat, “What do you do about the nightmares?”

His eyes leave you for a moment as he considers it. “I leave a book by my nightstand. For some it’s TV, others crossword puzzles. There’s no stopping it. You just have to find what calms you down after.”

You give a nod. You knew there wouldn’t be a magic cure but you still have to take a moment to process that you’ll have to be dealing with it for the foreseeable future.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, “You dream of him?”

You swallow again, trying to make it easier for you to speak but bail, instead slowly nodding your head.

Another silence falls over you both. A longer, more drawn out one. You both get lost in thought for awhile.

When you interrupt the silence again, the words spill out of you fast, coming out in a jumble and before you can stop yourself. He had that effect on you, making you feel so vulnerable and exposed, ready to spill your guts. Deep down you knew that it’s time to rip the bandaid off. Free yourself from the guilt and the constant fear your world is going to come crashing down around you.

“Do you know what I did?”

He studies you, tilting his head, “What do you mean? About your SOS?”

His response tells you that he truly doesn’t know. If he knew what you did, he’d have known exactly what you’d meant. Regardless, you still make a futile attempt to jog his memory, hoping you won’t have to explain yourself, “How I ended up there? What caused the breach?”

His eyes squint in confusion, “I was told we didn’t know how they received your information.”

Your head tilts down in shame, and you have to look away from him.

You take a deep breath and rest your palms flat on your thighs.

“Okay, look, I’ve done something horrible. I have not been very good to you, and… that sucks! Because I really thought we could have been,” You hesitate for a moment, “friends.” You close your eyes and take another breath, “At first I thought I could keep it a secret from you, even if I believe you have every right to know, but the truth is I just can’t handle the guilt anymore. I’m exhausted waiting for the other shoe to drop, okay?”

Konig’s whole body is tense now, standing at attention as he waits for your words. You’re worrying him.

“The day we met,” You’re choking up now, the adrenaline coursing through you, causing you to shake and perspire, mouth dry, “After our day in the shoot house, I forgot to disconnect your feed.”

Your tone shifts from serious to a bit desperate, “It was an accident, I swear, Konig.” You look at him, pleading eyes begging him to believe you, “And I should have just disconnected the feed when I found it, I know,” You’re getting exasperated, “But I’m sick and curious and to be honest I just couldn’t help myself when I saw you.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his spot, and swallows hard. He knows what you mean, but he has to confirm it with you to believe it, “What did you see?”

You look away from him and to the floor. It takes you a moment to work up the courage, “I saw you getting off.” You say it so quietly, ashamed to admit it.

“I shouldn’t have watched Konig, I shouldn’t have. It was wrong and I know it doesn’t mean anything now but I truly am sorry. But I did watch and I heard my name and I’ve been wracked with guilt ever since.“

He stands still, his breathing escalating slightly. He doesn’t say anything and the silence drapes over you both for awhile.

This silence was definitely awkward.

His eyes tell you nothing and his expression is masked by the hood.

You swallow, knowing you owe him the full truth as you force yourself to continue. If he’s already disgusted with you under that hood, this will really put you over the edge.

Your fist clenches, “In a moment of pure stupidity, I kept the video.” You break eye contact for a brief moment before returning your gaze to him. “I sent it to myself.”

“Okay?” You spit, angry at yourself, “I kept it and I’ve watched it so many times because I am just addicted to the way you moan my name, Konig. I’m sorry. I heard it and I needed more. It made me feel so good, and so so terrible at the same time.”

You’re on a roll now, rambling like you’re talking about your research.

“And I have not been able to stop thinking about you!” You laugh a bit, “And I understand how serious this is. So if you want to go straight to head of command and have me discharged, I won’t hold it against you. In fact, if you don’t even feel like filing the report, I’ll pack up my things and leave now, and you won’t hear from me ever again.”

You pause, and he doesn’t fill the silence, so you keep going, the words coming out like vomit, “But there’s something else you deserve to know. When I sent the video to my phone - for personal reasons only, okay?! I was not planning on showing anyone, if that helps. When I sent the video, it opened a vulnerable point of entry for TF-141 to hack in. They… have your video. I’m so sorry, it was a major lapse of judgement, and I overlooked so many protocols, and I put our intel at risk. I put your private moment at risk. I put us all at risk. I-“

You cut yourself off, tears starting to well in your eyes. It was relieving to get it off your chest, but you knew what was about to happen. You knew you were lighting a fuse with one hand and holding dynamite with another.

“I’m so sorry, Konig.”

The tears start flowing and you’re powerless to stop them. You hoped it wasn’t coming off as a desperate attempt to gain sympathy.

For awhile you stand there, eyes fixed at the floor as you wait for his response.

Konig hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything, just stands in his spot, staring.

When you finally look at him, eyes full of heartbreak, he maintains eye contact for a few moments, expression unreadable.

After a moments to process, he uncrosses his arms to dig into his pocket, pulling out the device you had given him on that very first day. His boots slowly cross the linoleum floor and he gently sets your device on the dinky table behind you before removing the wristband and setting it down next to the earpiece without making a sound.

He doesn’t even look back at you before he turns his back and walking out the safe house door, shutting it with a soft click.

——————————————————————

It’s been three days since Konig left you alone in the safe house.

You’re wondering if you should cut your losses and leave. Change your name & get started with a new life.

You’ve already preemptively packed up your things to make it less painful on yourself when your supervisor comes to kick you to the curb.

Even as your life is dissolved and scattered to the wind, you actually feel a lot better than you have in months. Almost like the worrying was worse than the actual consequences. At least now you can live honestly.

Nonetheless, it was still pretty painful. Your latest infatuation finding out how you so deeply betrayed them. Watching him walk out on you had left you sobbing face down in the dusty orange couch pillows to muffle your cries.

It’s late at night on that third day, and you had managed to find some respite with a surprisingly warm shower and losing yourself in blurry reruns of a game show when you hear the light ting of metals.

At first you think it’s the ringing in your ears returning, it had been on and off ever since Ghost concussed you, but you quickly realized by the uneven rattles it had been coming from within the safe house.

Your eyes scan the room after switching the TV off, first starting with the fridge that hums too loud, but quickly dart your attention over to the movement of the safe house’s doorknob jiggling.

Not again.

You try and suppress the flashbacks enough to find somewhere to hide, but the safe house is one big open room with a small obscured bedroom that was more bed than room, and you don’t think the bed is high enough off the floor to crawl under.

So instead you freeze on the dingy couch, your heartbeat deafening in your ears as you watch your doorknob wiggle in its loose hold.

There’s a distinct click and then a long pause. You don’t even see the doorknob rotate because the door gets flung open with such speed and force it slams against the wall and bounces back.

“Konig?” You fear melds with confusion as you make sense of the figure rushing in.

He’s already closed most of the gap between you when you manage to squeak out a more alarmed, “Konig!”

It’s scary to have such a large man charge you, especially one you’re so used to being docile around you, one that usually stands hesitantly by the door until invited closer.

You don’t have a lot of time to think about it. Konig grabs you by the crest of the back of your neck with one hand, his other hand lifting up his mask to kiss you without room for arguing.

You let out a surprised gasp that was muffled by the kiss, and he takes that opportunity to have his tongue greet yours. His grip is tight on the back of your neck, his fingers digging in slightly to stake his claim. The stubble on his chin brushes roughly against your skin as he takes what’s his.

Once you catch up, you close your eyes and try to match his intensity but it’s difficult to keep up.

He finally pulls away, out of breath and letting his hood fall back over his mouth, his now free hand moving to the side of your face, “I’m sorry I left you, mein schatz.” He pulls away from your face slightly with a breath, “I needed to think.”

Your wide eyes flicker between his, mouth slightly parted as you nod. “Yeah,” your voice is breathy, the shock of the kiss having knocked the wind out you, “That’s uh, understandable.”

He brings his face closer to you. His eyes shift, and you see that dark flicker again.

“You have to understand, liebe, your deed will not go unpunished.”

Your brows retract as you swallow at the threat, looking up at him with concern in your eyes and your thighs pressed together.

You’ve been nervous around Konig before, maybe even scared, but you’ve never feared for your safety. Quite the opposite, actually. Such a large, strong soldier on your team gives you a shield of comfort - he made you feel safe.

But the way his voice had lowered and his eyes tinted with something primal shoots a tingle down your spine and raises the hairs on your neck. You’re not sure what he means, but your brain is coming up with ideas faster than you can sink your teeth into the details.

You’re almost ashamed at the warm feeling of arousal that sinks to your lower abdomen.

He kisses you again, this time closed and softer. When he pulls away his face stays dangerously close to yours, “You’ve done a very bad thing, liebe. You understand?”

His voice is low and husked but holds incredible authority. You can’t help but feel like a child being scolded in the principal’s office. You nod slowly, lips pursed and eyes still rounded in suspense.

He brings his finger up to your chin, his face close enough your noses are brushing, “I can’t hear a nod.”

The knot in your stomach doubles and your breath hitches a bit, shaking as you speak, “Yes, Konig, I understand.”

His thumb strokes your cheek, but it doesn’t soothe the mixture of fear and arousal flushing your skin.

“Would you like to right your wrong?”

You take a deep breath. You’re not sure what you’re agreeing to, but you’ve been desperate to fix what you’ve done since the moment you committed it. “Yes, Konig.” You nod your head, “I’d do anything.”

A pleased hum comes from him, and you're close enough to feel the vibration. You swallow nervously, gaze hesitantly watching his animalistic eyes stare down at you like you’re his prey.

“Stay.” He orders, pulling away from you and letting his hand linger on your face for an extra moment before turning away from you.

You obey, both fear of consequence and desperation to please not allowing an ounce of will to defy him. Your eyes are still locked on him as he steps to the dinky little table he had set the device on three days ago.

You had left it untouched, making it easier to swallow by still thinking of the device as his. As if Konig had just left it behind by mistake instead of intentionally returning your property to you.

He took both carefully in his hand before returning to you, boots asserting themselves as they slowly and confidently traverse the linoleum. He holds the devices out for you to take. “Feed on. Projection off.”

And you follow his instructions, what choice do you have? When his voice is strict and he’s standing over you, intimidating stature making you feel so small and defenseless. The shake of your hands causes your fingers to fumble as you struggle with the remote, his hand held out impatiently as you stumble with fluster.

When you finally get it, you place both devices in his palm, staring up with your eyes begging for his approval.

He gives you nothing, as usual, placing the earpiece under his hood and setting the wrist piece down simultaneously.

“You stepped out of line, liebe.” Konig takes closer to small gap between you you, “You humiliated me.”

His eyes are half-lidded now, boring into you with menace.

“And now I’m going to humiliate you.”

He touches your face with his thumb again. You can’t help but flinch at the gentle touch, on edge from unease and excitement.

He gives another light huff, reveling in his ability to intimidate you.

“On your knees.” He commands, finger pointing at the floor as he slides back to make room for you.

He huffs in satisfaction at the dumbfounded look on your face. Your mouth slightly agape and stuttering - it’s dawning on you now; exactly what you have to do to right your wrongs.

He squints at you, voice leaving no room for error, “Did I stutter, Schatz?”

That sinister glint in his eye returns again, and just the sight is enough to get you to slide quickly to the floor, assuming your position on both knees, neck slowly tilting back to take him in as he towers over you.

He leans in to to cup your face again, giving it a soft yet firm pat, “Good.”

Your heart flutters at the praise, even if simply articulated.

That’s all you want to hear. That you’re good. You want to be so good for him.

You’re dripping now, Konig already having you ache for his touch.

His strong hands slide down your face, four fingers cupping your jaw as his thumb brushes your bottom lip gently. When your lips part he slides his thumb in your mouth and you oblige, obediently sucking and showing him what you can do with your tongue.

He gives a low pleased hum before removing his thumb and reaching for his belt, the buckle jingling as he unlatches it and removes it from his waist in one swift pull.

Your stare follows the belt as he folds it in half, and he muses at your worried look. He likes the way your mind wanders, always running with the possibilities. It’s what drew you to him in the first place.

He doesn’t hit you, though, just taps it against the bottom of your chin to get you to fix your gaze back on him. Once he’s got your attention, he discards the belt and reaches down to pop the button on his pants, yanking each end to get the zipper down in one smooth move.

He slides his thumbs behind both waistbands, pulling them down just enough to expose his cock. It’s rock hard and practically springs from his pants, and you can’t help but let out a small squeak and just how big it is.

You’ve seen it before, studied it endlessly, imagined it so many times.

It did nothing to prepare you for kneeling before it. Just like the rest of him, his cock intimidated you, at full attention and already leaking precum.

“Wrap your hands around it, schatz.”

You follow his orders, softly gripping his cock. You’ve studied the video of him jerking off so many times, you know exactly how to please him. You start with a loose grip, your hand sliding from base to tip at a slow pace, as your other hand cups his balls.

At first he watches, enjoying how your hands looked so small around him. He can’t help but close his eyes and tilt his head back as he lets out a soft moan.

It sounds so much better in person, and your pace picks up, desperate to elicit more from him.

He tilts his head forward to get a better view of you.

“Suck.” He commands, and you hesitate for a brief moment, worried about the logistics, before ditching your fears and giving it your best shot.

You keep your hand steady on his shaft as you guide the tip to your tongue, a slow lick clearing the bead of pre-cum that had formed.

He lets out another low moan that makes you quiver.

You press your lips to him, slowing working the tip into your mouth as you tease with your tongue.

As you work steadily down his shaft, you have to fully unhinge your jaw to fit him in to avoid teeth, and even then it’s a close call. You’re continue carefully and he seems willing to be patient with you as you get used to his size.

You manage to somewhat comfortably fit half of him in your mouth, using your free hand to squeeze the base of his shaft. You start to move back and forth, pressing your tongue against him.

He watches in awe as you take him in, not holding back in his pleaded hums and groans.

“So good, Schatz.”

Warmth pools in your chest at the praise.

You look at him with a doe eyes and a full mouth, bobbing on his cock as you slick it up.

He moans at the sight, placing a hand on the back of your head. He follows it up with another order.

“Deeper. I want to see you choke on it.”

You’re not in a position to argue, so you oblige, letting his cock slide as deep as you can, but he’s not pleased with your attempt. He tightens his grip on the back of your head, fingers laced between strands of hair, and slowly forces his cock in until you’re squeaking out noises involuntarily, eyes welling with tears.

He starts to fuck your mouth, slowly at first, but picks up the pace. He doesn’t wait for you to get your bearings or catch your breath, savoring the lengths you’ll go to please him.

“There you go, schatz, so good for me.”

The tears are steaming now as he triggers your gag reflex, and your underwear is stained with your arousal in response to being praised and used.

He pulls out of your mouth, his cock still wet with your spit, and takes a step back to admire you. Your breath quickening to catch up, the flushed look of your face, the disheveled hair. He relished in the mess he was making of the intelligent professional he had come to know.

He gives a pleased hum at how you wait so patiently for his next order.

“Up. Clothes off.”

Your breath hitched, cheeks flushing a shade deeper. You wipe the spit from your mouth and slowly stand, hands shaking with nerves.

Your fingers dig into the hem of your shirt, desperate to grip onto something, and you hesitate at his command, nervous to let him see you even more exposed.

You ignore your nerves, too willing to please Konig, and pull your shirt over your disheveled hair and discard it on the couch. Your fingers fumble with the waistband on your lounge pants, sheepishly pulling them down your thighs and stepping carefully out of them.

You stand before him in your underwear, and you can’t help but cross one arm over yourself. The way he’s staring at you, not shy about his gaze mapping your newly uncovered features. He steps forward again, close enough his hard cock brushes against your warm skin.

He gives a low hum of approval and steps closer, his hands gently running along your sides until they find your waist, staking their claim with a firm grip. He leans in and you feel the drape of his hood caress your shoulder as he brushes his head against yours, lips in your ear.

“You’re so beautiful, meine schatz.”

You close your eyes as he plants a kiss though his hood on your neck, and you can feel his breath through the soft cotton.

It’s not fair that you’re naked while he’s still fully covered. You feel so vulnerable and exposed.

You quickly understand that’s exactly what you had done to him and let out a soft whimper at the realization that this is intentional, that he’s issuing this power play as part of your punishment. You’ve had your time to admire his body, now it’s his turn.

“Bedroom, now.” The softness leaves his voice with the demand and he pulls away from you once again to get a better view of you.

The knot is your lower abdomen doubles as you turn and head to the bedroom, giving him a good long look at the back of you.

You stand at the narrow space between the end of the bed and the wall, looking up at him when he enters, waiting for his next order. You can’t help but notice the jingle of his belt as he carried it with him. He sets it on the bed and takes his time committing your image to memory.

“On your back, liebe.” The pet name doesn’t soften the domineering tone, warning you not to dare rebel against him.

You follow his order, getting up on the bed and laying down for him, your upper half propped up by your elbows.

Konig follows, crawling over top of you slowly, his massive frame engulfing you beneath him as you lean into the bed. He appears even more menacing over top of you, strong arms and legs trapping you beneath him. You can’t help the nervous expression on your face as you stare up at those hungry eyes.

He brings a hand up to touch your face, leaning forward to plant another kiss on your lips, lifting up his mask as he does so. It annoys you that whenever he pulls away the hood falls, and you can’t even get a peek at what you assume is a strong jaw.

The hand on your face slides down your neck, fingers traversing the bumps of your collarbones before he shifts down to your chest, stopping for a moment to tease your nipples to attention. You suck in a breath and arch into the touch.

He hums again, low and devious.

Your hands reach up to touch his arms, but he doesn’t let you, removing his hands from your chest and grabbing your wrists firmly. He passes one off so he can hold both of your arms in one strong grip, and you’re amazed he’s able to subdue both of your wrists with just one of his massive hands. He leans back and uses his free hand to reach for the belt at the foot of the bed, before wrapping it around your wrists and fastening the buckle tightly.

He leans in close to your face as he places your restrained hands back above your head. He takes in the way your breath quickens through parted lips, eyes wide and cheeks flush with excitement and worry. He likes making you falter, likes watching you breakdown underneath his power.

“You’re all mine.” He reminds you, one hand keeping your bound wrists firmly above your head.

You nod, and when you speak your voice comes out quiet and broken, “All yours, Konig.”

It gratifies him, judging by his self-assured laugh and the way his cock twitches against your stomach. “That’s it, liebe.”

He removes his grip on your forearm with a firm squeeze to remind you to stay, and he scoots himself back so that either leg is straddling your thighs instead of your waist. His gaze shifts down, soaking in every inch as he cups you over your underwear, his careful touch taking advantage of your sensitivity.

You can’t help but grind your hips into his teasing, already leaking for him.

“Mm, I can tell you’re enjoying this. Such a dirty little pervert you are.”

You close your eyes and let out a whine at the teasing, both verbal and physical.

“Don’t worry, liebe, I’m getting impatient as well.”

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding his fingers along your hips to tease you a bit before sliding them down, having to readjust himself as he takes them off. He repositions himself between your legs this time, letting either of your ankles at his sides.

His hands slide up your quivering thighs, spreading you open and getting a good look at you. You try and fight the embarrassment under the heat of his stare, resisting the urge to bring your bound wrists down to cover yourself.

He takes his time slicking himself up with lube - he came prepared, you noticed. Premeditated passion. Guess he has to when he’s got such a large cock.

You’re worried about the logistics, but you get the feeling Konig wouldn’t dare hurt you in this way.

Once he’s nice and slicked, he lines the tip against your aching warmth, and leans down close to you.

“Are you ready, meine liebe?”

“Please, Konig.” You whine, rutting your hips to grind against him.

He closes his eyes as he slowly works himself into you. Your suspicions are confirmed as he stops just after the tip, opening his eyes again to confirm the level of comfort displayed on your features.

Your teeth are grit, but you nod your head in approval.

He’s continues, pace so careful as he pushes himself further into you. It’s been so long since you’ve got any action, especially action from someone so well endowed, you’re incredibly tight around him. He’s studying you, searching for signs of being pushed over the limit as he takes his time stretching you out.

You can’t help let out a soft moan when he’s halfway in, just at the feeling of being filled. Your eyes flutter shut, giving yourself the ability to concentrate on the cock working into you.

It takes awhile, it does. You’re so small and he’s so big, but he doesn’t seem to mind, enjoying using you as his cockwarmer, walls so cozy and tight around him. He thinks it’s so goddamn arousing that he’s so huge you have to push yourself to take him. He likes that he’s a challenge for you. He wants to train you and shape you in every sense of the word.

But for now, he allows you take the lead from underneath him, letting yourself grind your hips down on to him at your own pace as he lets low moans escape him.

When you’re finally at the point of desperately rutting your hips against him, you give him all he needs to hear.

“Fuck me, Konig, please fuck me.”

He obliges, unable to say no to your eager and breathy tone. His fingers grip onto your outer thighs as he thrusts into you. His pace is quick, but he’s still cautious not to force himself too deep inside you. He’s a disciplined man, after all.

Even without being all the way inside you, he’s still deep enough to hit the spot, forcing moans to escape from parted lips.

“Look at me, liebe.”

You oblige, and his cock twitches inside of you at the sight of your half-lidded eyes glazed in pleasure. He grunts, his pace picking up as he ventures deeper inside of you.

You can’t help the mutters and moans spilling from you. Your hands mindlessly move from above your head to his chest, tugging on the fabric of his shirt.

“You feel so good. So good for me, schatz.”

You moan in response, and he decides he’s worked you open enough to push all the way in.

You’re cockdrunk now. Breathy moans escaping without thought, eyes unfocused and body limp to his desires.

When he suddenly pulls out you whine. “Koni- please.”

“On your front.” He commands as he sits back on his knees, towering over you.

You’re flush and out of breath as you do as he says, positioning yourself the best you can with your hands bound. On all fours, head down towards the pillows as you arch your back.

The bed shifts under him as he scoots close before giving your ass a firm smack, the gasp leaving your mouth more out of surprise than pain. He gives you a few more, alternating between your cheeks. Just enough to leave handprints behind, marking you as his own.

He lines up with you again, pressing into you without hesitation.

You both let out moans at the return of warmth. He’s less gentle now, pounding into you hard enough the sound of flesh crashing together fills the room. The creaky bed is slamming against the dingy walls and your thighs are rippling on impact. You can’t help but quiver as the pleasure washes through you.

He’s got such a rhythmic pace, slamming into you while he grips your hips tight to keep you still.

“All mine.” He growls between breathy groans.

You can't even respond, practically drooling into the pillows as Konig fucks you senseless. A string of broken praises fall from your lips, mostly nonsense. Konig leans in and leaves little kisses down your back, without breaking his pace.

“Koni, I’m gon’na- fuck, Konig.”

“Come for me, meine liebe.”

Your eyes pinch shut and a broken moan leaves your lips as you ride the waves of intense pleasure washing through you. It’s enough to make your entire body clench, your walls gripping onto Konig.

He doesn’t let up, forcing your thighs open as he mercilessly pounds you through orgasm.

He gives your ass another firm smack, and your fingers are clawing desperately at the pillows, searching for any sort of stability but you’re powerless to Konig and his forceful cock.

You’re on cloud nine, feeling so far away from your body as you’re washed up on the shores of pleasure. Konig’s strength is the only thing holding you steady.

“I’m going to come, schatz.” He warns, moaning your name just like he did on the video before he fills you up and stakes his claim deep inside you.

His fingers dig into your thighs as his muscles tense under his clothes, his thrusts and moans becoming uneven as he loses himself to the euphoric gratification.

He pauses for a few moments after he slows to a stop, taking a moment to catch his breath as he lets his cock warm inside you.

He pulls out of you with a low grunt, watching the come that spills out of you. When he releases his grip on you, you’re too weak to support yourself, sliding limp on your front and basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.

He takes pleasure in knowing he marked you, completely broke you down and disheveled you. Made you feel so good you have to collect yourself afterwards.

He steps out for a moment before quickly returning with something to clean you both up with.

He’s gentle with the clean-up, wiping away the mixture of lube and come from you while minding your sensitivity, not wanting to disturb your bliss. He removes the belt from your wrists as well.

“Konig? Cuddle.” You mutter, arm stretching across the bedspread.

You don’t see the smile underneath his hood, but after he wipes himself off he joins you back on the bed, the mattress creaking for a final time as he pulls you in a spoon. You feel so safe and small, pressed into him like this. His strong arms wrapped around you. His chest on your back. You let out a pleased hum.

“That’s going to make a nice video.” He says, removing his earpiece and turning it off as he sets it on the bed.

“You can have the real thing anytime.” You say, eyes closed with a warm smile on your face.

He hums low in your ear and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “You’re forgiven, Schatz.”

“Thank you Koni.”

You both drift off, tired out from your intense finishes.

You stay close throughout the night, but having him pressed into you unfortunately didn’t stop the nightmares. When you wake up in a panic, kicking and screaming at the latest renditioning of your mind’s unresolved trauma, Konig’s there to press his hand to your heart, telling you that everything’s okay, it was just a nightmare.

Your breath is still rapid and your heart is still pounding as you steady yourself, transitioning yourself back to reality after the night terror.

He hugs you so tight, reminding you about how he’ll always be there to protect you, that no one will ever hurt you again, he will not let anything happen to you.

You steady yourself, and he knows well enough how hard it is to calm yourself after such an immersive terrifying experience.

“I brought something for that, Schatz.”

When he leaves the room you think he’s going to bring you a book, a puzzle, something to do to distract yourself.

What he brings back makes you tense, your eyes widening at the gift. He sets it down for you, getting back into the bed and resuming his position wrapped around you, protecting you. But your eyes are glued to the gift, the full implications sinking in.

Konig had set down Ghost’s mask.

“No one will find out about your secret. I took care of it.”

You don’t need him to explain further. You know Ghost will never have the opportunity to hurt you again.

“Thank you, Konig.”

He kisses your shoulder through his hood, “My pleasure, meine liebe. Sleep tight.”

And you do.

———————————————————————-

More by uhohdad:

The Girl Who Conquered The Mountain: [Hunger Games AU] Konig & Reader are selected to fight in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death.

Meine Perle: Reader is tasked with feeding enemy prisoner Octo!Konig

HIS: Konig has an unhealthy obsession with you.

Original Works Masterlist

[ihatedtoadmit]

A biteful memory [4]

pairing: OT8 x fem!reader

genre: werewolf AU, fluff, crack, bit of angst

warnings: Please read the 'Summary' of this series, all are listed there!

word count: ~3.8k

summary: You awoke to new sensations, but you couldn't care less when you had someone to scold.

↳ Masterlist ↳ Next chapter ↳ Previous chapter

All rights reserved. Please do not steal, repost or feed my work into AI. Thank you!

My consciousness drifted back to me, softness surrounding my blind form. I could feel the strong scent of vanilla and strawberry even through the slightest of inhales, the cinnamon that sat at the very top urging my eyes to slowly flutter open. The blurriness at the edges of my vision stayed for a few seconds, making me even more confused amidst these pastry-reminding scents.

I was in bed, back in a room. Not mine, that much was obvious, but it was familiar nonetheless.

Looking around with finally clear vision, I could immediately identify who it belonged to, the gamer setup more than just a small sign. Felix’s room smelled heavenly, as if I’d just walked into the bakery on my way to work on a chilly autumn day, the warm air of the shop caressing my flushed face pleasantly. Although the person in question wasn’t in the room himself, causing my eyebrows to only furrow further on my face.

Wanting to find him and ask what he had done to his room to smell like this - and so suddenly too -, and also to know what happened for my memories to be so hazy, I got out of bed, only to notice something when I’d bent my knees to clamber out of the restrictive hold of the blanket.

They didn’t hurt, nor pop, like an abused lightstick. Not a single sign of that usual pain appeared, the one deep inside the joint that slowly creeped over to my bones and marrow.

That was certainly a weird thing, since they were their usual cracking self just yesterday, at least to the best of my knowledge. I couldn’t help but crouch down a few times once I’d stood up fully, marvelling at the fact how easy and smooth the motion was. Not only that, but my hip and back didn’t pop once either, no matter in what way I was bending around. It was as if I had gotten a completely new body with the same looks, all repaired and free of any pain or illnesses.

I couldn’t help but ask myself: just what had happened last night?

As if my brain was awaiting that exact question, it provided me with the sought-after information, the edges of my lips pulling up more and more with each memory segment unlocked. The feeling of adrenaline rushing through my veins, the warmth encircling me, their burning gazes in the dark night. I couldn’t help the small chuckle that left my lips, my mood immediately turning giddy and elated, something that was rare for me. I was sure I had the look of a crazed witch with that overly wide smile on my lips, but I couldn’t afford to care.

Too happy to stop myself, I raced out of the door and down the stairs, hurrying towards the living room where the scents were the strongest. I couldn’t explain why, but my mind told me to follow those scents and go there, because that was where they all had to be. When I arrived there, heads turned my way, ready to say something, but I didn’t let them, I couldn’t. Not when I’d discovered something so great.

“Oh my god guys, look, look, my knees are not popping!”

A few seconds of awkward silence and fleeting glances passed between each other, all the while I was just crouching in the same place, waiting for some kind of reaction from them, they bursted into laughter, slightly shaking their heads in most probably disbelief. Sadly the joy that vigorously filled me wasn’t enough to fully mask my embarrassment, skin flushing in return.

“Of course you would say that first thing after being turned. Of course you would.” - Felix murmured out, walking towards me and taking me in his arms with a lopsided smile sitting on his face.

I let him, the same scent that lingered in his room now hitting me full force and making my mind halt. My body involuntarily took another sniff, caging him in my own arms as my head was getting filled with his scent. Yes, it had to be his, it suited him so well after all. How I hadn’t realised that before confused me, because what else could have been the truth? Sweet Felix deserved a sweet scent, it was as simple as that. I buried my head deeply into his neck, as if my life depended on it. It was something carnal inside of me that urged me to do so, and who was I to disagree with it.

“Damn, she even scented Felix. I’m kinda jealous.” - I could hear Hyunjin say, snapping me out of whatever trance I was consumed in.

I quickly took my head away from Felix’s neck, embarrassment creeping up my skin once more the more I’d realised what thoughts circled inside my head in the past few seconds. That weird urge was pushed into the back of my mind, rationality taking over its place and making me want to bury myself alive. But the boy in my hold didn’t seem to mind what had happened at all, no, he seemed to be the complete opposite, now rubbing his own face into my neck. My eyes couldn’t meet any of theirs, merely wishing for the earth to swallow me whole.

But I didn’t need to look at them, they did the work for me as several of them bounded over, taking Felix’s place and scenting me, apparently. Soft rumbling could be heard all over the room, surprising me as my own chest joined in on the cacophony of sounds. I let that carnal desire inside me free, just enough so that it amplified everyone’s elated rumbling as I scented them back, purely by instinct, no matter how weird it all felt to the rational part of my mind. Nothing made sense to me yet, but this seemed normal for them to do, so I just rolled with it, ignoring how much blood rushed to my cheeks and tainted my skin red.

After everyone was done and looked quite happy, I noticed something quite disturbing.

Someone was missing.

“Where is he?” - I asked, looking at the two cuddly wolves in my hold, Felix and Changbin.

Everyone exchanged glances with each other, causing me to roll my eyes and gently deposit the two onto the couch from my arms.

“Let me guess, he was feeling guilty for turning me. I swear to fucking GOD, I am going to choke him to death.” - I grumbled out as I went towards the coat hanger at the front door, quickly grabbing one of his hoodies.

Bringing it up to my nose and taking a deep inhale, my mind was filled with the strong scent of pine and rain. It suited him, but that was not what I needed to focus on at this particular moment. With a shake of my head I snapped myself back to the task at hand, urging my body to pick up his scent in the air. My eyes closed with a deep inhale, nose scrunching up as all the residing smell and scent in the house invaded my senses at once. I nearly recoiled, it was all so strong. Yet, as I held my head high up in the air, sifting through the scent of spices and warmth, I felt it.

Somber rain and wet soil painted the scene before my closed eyes, drowning in guilt and regret so heavily it nearly made me choke.

“You may be the big, scary alpha dog, but you cannot escape me, mister. We’re gonna talk this out, like it or not.”

With that, I threw the hoodie onto the couch as I passed by it, hurriedly approaching the glass doors that led towards the forest. The others shouted at me as I ran past them, but frankly, I didn’t really care, so I just ignored their voices and ran out the doors. Something inside of me was begging to be let out, to help me and run free. I gave into it, the oversized t-shirt and shorts tearing apart as my form grew fur and became tetrapodal. The anger and adrenaline helped drown out the pain of the sudden transformation, gifting me clarity.

Putting my nose up in the air, I was hit by everything at once for the second time. Nothing could prepare me for it, the smells turning into something entirely disgusting with a hint of familiarity so vile, a whine escaped my throat. The air felt heavy, weirdly alien, as if it was something new. I wanted to claw my face off, but I knew I couldn’t.

I had to find him, after all.

With stuttering lungs I powered through this new sensation and carefully peeled every single scent away, even as bile threatened to rise up my throat, until I could smell that pine and rain again.

He was deep in the forest, his scent even more tangy and sour. It made my chest stutter, self-hatred blooming inside my chest so intensely not mine it was frightening.

My legs moved before I could even issue them the order, my cushioned paws pushing me away from the ground with exhilarating force. I was in the forest in no time, weaving through the branches and leaves, jumping over holes and tree trunks. The wind caressed my long fur, luring me into its grasp as I only gained more and more speed with each passing second.

Everything felt so freeing, so new.

The ground underneath my paws as it crumbled away with each push, the snapping of the branches I grazed as I passed by. I could hear the rushing wind, the blood flowing through my veins with a booming force. But I couldn’t get lost in them, not when I knew what kind of thoughts were circling around in his head.

It didn’t take much longer for me to see his form, slumped on a fallen tree as his seat. He lightly flinched once he realised I was there, his form tense as he whipped his head over to my direction. Those dark eyes of his were wide with fear and disbelief, something that only added to the pain residing in my chest. He stood up hastily, causing me to panic, my bigger form sprinting with all of its force just to ensure he wouldn’t be able to escape.

Stopping… was not really in my plans, so I was forced to slide on the dirt and fallen leaves while bracing my paws on the ground, sliding past the male and almost into a tree, looney tunes style. Almost.

“What…what are you doing here?” - Chan’s voice was loud and filled with worry, but he stopped himself from approaching me.

I merely huffed as I turned around and walked towards his much, much smaller form, a not so happy rumble leaving my chest. Because his eyes were now refusing to meet mine, guilt so obviously eating away at him for nothing. Because what had happened to me was not his fault by any means, something apparently only I thought so. Even the others felt off, something that this new, untamed version of me could pick up on as well. I could merely huff and lay down in front of him, hoping he would understand what I wanted.

Yet, he just continued standing there with a now slightly confused expression. I gently pushed him towards my side with my head, not trusting myself just yet to hold his arm between my teeth. That would merely lead to disaster, one I was not ready to face just yet, thank you very much.

Gosh, not being able to speak was such a hassle.

“You…want me to climb on you?”

He sounded so in disbelief, I would have chuckled if I could have. Instead I lightly yapped, nodding my head and pushing him a bit again. The man reluctantly climbed on top of me, grabbing onto my fur for safety as there was nothing else he could hold onto.

It was a wise decision on his half as the moment I started sprinting without holding back, his hold on me tightened impossibly more, and I could have sworn I felt some of my hairs being torn out. But I didn’t mind, I had to speak with his stupid head that wrongly thought he had made a mistake as soon as I could. A few bald spots were a cheap price to pay for that.

When we arrived back at the house, everyone was already there, seemingly waiting for us. I trotted over once I had gradually slowed down, not wanting to slide on the ground like a clown, like I did before in front of Chan. I also didn’t want to accidentally launch the male sitting on my back. As I kept getting closer and closer to their house, there was something unusual I noticed: the boys’ height didn’t really change, no matter how close I’d gotten.

Why were they all so tiny?

Discarding every other plan I had before as this was too intriguing to not investigate, I leaned my head down to Jisung, who was closest to me. Giggles broke out of him as my comically large snout gently poked him a few times, his hands desperately trying to stop me as he placed them on my wet nose. I didn’t relent however, sniffing him and his overpowering fresh scent of salt and sun-kissed sand. He begged me to stop between broken syllables, my attention finally switching to the next person I could reach.

They were all so tiny, oh my god.

“Wah, what’s gotten into you?” - Seungmin giggled out, his hands trying to push my head away fruitlessly. “Is it our scents? It’s the first time she smelled it in her wolf form after all.” - Hyunjin added in, his own pair of hands buried into the dark fur covering my neck. “Hmmm, maybe, but I think it’s something else. I dunno what though.” - it was Jeongin this time, still recovering from when I tormented him. “I think she’s fascinated by the size differences.”

The voice belonged to Chan, urging everyone to look at him atop the figure on my back. I looked back at him as much as I could, my tail wagging -it was such a weird feeling- as I slightly nodded. I couldn’t help myself and go to the last person who I hadn’t pestered yet, his form so small and cute looking now.

“Yah, don’t even think about it!” - but Minho couldn’t stop me as I poked him with my snout, nearly pushing him over with the force I’d used.

The others gathered around us, our sight no doubt amusing. It wasn’t every day that you could see Minho wrestle around with someone and lose, and so easily at that. It was clear even before all this whole werewolf fiasco that Minho was Chan’s right hand man, often left to look after these unruly boys when Chan wasn’t home, his work calling him in with no prior notice. Yet, I couldn’t help myself as I trapped him under my form, careful not to crush him accidentally.

“You big baby, don’t get a big head just because your wolf form is the biggest in the pack.” - he scolded me playfully, making me nuzzle him with a low grumble.

Even though what he’d said fascinated me - i had never seen them in their wolf form after all -, I directed my gaze towards the male who was clambering down from my back, my fur granting him enough grip for him to do so safely. I watched him carefully, since I didn’t quite want him to run away now, after all I’d done to get him here.

“Don’t worry, I quite literally can’t run away from you now. You can stop with those sharp eyes now, pup.” - he huffed out with a laugh, crossing his arms as he looked at me, all his weight placed onto one leg. “Yea, Channie hyung might be fast, but currently you are the fastest, with you being in your wolf form and all. It would take too much time for him to transform, you would immediately be able to catch him.” - Felix commented excitedly, enjoying teasing his hyung a bit too much, who just glared at him playfully in return. “Even if he was transformed, have you seen the speed she took off with? Chan hyung has no fucking chance, sorry.” - Changbin added in, rubbing salt into the injury.

I watched as everyone joined in with the teasing and bickering, sitting in the same place with an increasingly annoyed Minho in my hold. Even though Chan obviously wasn’t fully himself just yet, everything else was back to normal, the atmosphere light and playful. Something I very much enjoyed, even if it got too loud sometimes.

“Hey, angel, you can transform back now you kno’.” - it was Felix, his voice breaking me out of my stupor.

Now, there was a slight problem with that, my eyes avoiding his own as I couldn’t help but huff out in frustration. Minho, who was still very much trapped in my hold, just had a smug grin on his face as he most probably figured out what was happening, his signature laughter ringing through the air.

I didn’t know how to change back to my human form.

“Do you… You don’t know how, do you?” - Felix asked after he chased after my gaze, forcing me to nod as a confirmation to his suspicion.

It didn’t take long for the others to join in with Minho, earning them a warning growl from my chest, embarrassed at the whole situation.

“It’s okay, nobody really knows how to do that at first. The more surprising thing is that you could transform so easily this soon.” - the cat in my hold explained, a hand pleasantly caressing the sea of fur on my neck. “Yea, exactly. You have all your wolf ears, legs, a tail. Nothing’s out of place, unlike a certain someone who transformed for the first time.” - Seungmin teased, his eyes looking at the poor person he was talking about. “Yah! If you’re going around revealing embarrassing secrets, then I guess you won’t mind if I tell her about your adorable lil how–” - Jisung didn’t have time to properly finish his sentence, yet he’d already revealed enough, no matter how strong Seungmin’s hold was on his neck.

Chaos ensued quite quickly after that, embarrassing secrets revealed left and right as the wrestling pair quickly grew into a smaller group. Limbs and hair were yanked left and right, teeth getting involved once or twice. Changbin went over to break up the fight, yet all it took was one sentence about him and his small frame even in wolf form to join in, causing Chan to sigh as he knew it would be his job alone to calm everyone down.

“I know this is all very confusing right now, but I hope you can accept us like this. I…”

I waited patiently for Minho to continue, his voice already so muted nobody but us could hear this one-sided conversation. But no matter how I waited for the rest of his words, none came, causing me to look down at him. His eyes glistened with an unknown emotion, a pitiful little smile resting on his lips once he felt me move. I’d never seen him like this, so strangely vulnerable.

A soft pat of his hand over my nose and the moment was gone, carried away by the soft spring wind.

“If you look into yourself, there should be a still foreign part of you there. One that’s restless. Focus on that, calm it down and you should be back to being your usual self again. Now let me go, I gotta help calm down those idiots.” - he explained, promptly leaving me to myself as soon as I lifted my head.

As vague as his instructions were, I tried my best to follow them, because they made sense, weirdly enough. That feral part of me, the one that yearned to run free in the wind and get lost in everyone’s scent was so clearly there and so clearly new, I understood now. It was my wolf, embodying everything I never could as a human.

Eyes closed and breathing levelled, darkness surrounded me. The sounds of bickering and playful shouting slowly got quieter and quieter, the sound of the surface of water being disturbed replacing it. It happened a few more times, as if someone was pacing in shallow water, never intending to rest. The presence itself felt restless, like a caged animal, yet it was free to roam in this damp darkness. Then, it suddenly stopped, water gently hitting my ankles.

I could feel its eyes staring me down, like a hunter looking at its prey.

A giant wolf stood before me, eyes nearly glowing like molten lava in the surrounding abyss. It felt hostile, yet not towards me. Something else was the target of its anger, of its frustrations, and I was the gate that could allow it to get to that.

The longer I looked into its eyes, the more I could understand it, yet no words were uttered between the two of us. An indescribable feeling of being trapped washed over me, something inside me wishing to break free and find the place it belonged to. The scent of strawberries popped into my head, the feeling inside me now much weaker and calmer.

‘Ah, you’re just like me then.’ - I thought, my hand lifted in the air.

The wolf gently laid its head into my touch, nuzzling into it, coming to the same conclusion. We were one and the same, merely two sides of the same coin. Our feelings and goals were all shared, even if we felt them to varying degrees.

The soft touch of fabric greeted me as I slowly came back to reality, the sight of the woods and the boys’ house greeting me once more. Although none of them could be seen, none except for Felix, who was draping a blanket over my slightly shivering form. When our eyes met his smile widened impossibly more, those cute lil freckles resting atop his cheeks stretching like an expanding nebula. His eyes were bright, shining with an emotion I couldn’t name, yet it drew me in all the same.

“You did well, angel. Now let’s get you inside, hm?” - his deep voice gently whispered, and I could only nod as I followed him inside, his warm hand never leaving my back.

Taglist: @meowmeeps @michelle4eve @marvelsmarauder @readr1221 @fr34k4c1dr41n @darling-imobsessed @kayleefriedchicken @3rachasninja

[guess-my-next-obsession]

A Warm Bed

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ only, mature descriptions of death/apocalyptic life, blurry infidelity, unprotected PIV, dirty talk, cum play i guess, unedited/proofread bc I REFUSE)

word count: 3.4k

joel masterlist

It was freezing out today in Boston but you didn’t notice, not with the flames that burned beside you as you hoisted dead child after dead child into the makeshift mass crematorium. Ash turned your hair grey, hiding away it’s natural color until you’d shower it off later on tonight, and even then it would never completely go away, just like the smell of burning flesh would never fully leave your nostrils.

This hadn’t been the life you imagined for yourself as a child before the outbreak. You always thought you’d go into something that helped people—teaching, nursing, maybe even social work—but life couldn’t have turned out more different. Joel, your work partner, assured you once after a particularly tough shift that in a way, you were helping people. You struggled to believe it.

“Take your break,” Joel approached you, swatting your hip lightly with the back of his gloved hand as you stood watching the little girl no older than five burn in the pit, unable to take your eyes off the destruction you had a hand in causing. “Hey,” he called firmer, finally pulling your eyes from the scene, “Go take a break.”

“Can’t,” you sighed, pointing behind him at the new truck of arrivals, Joel’s head shaking just enough for you to notice it before he brought his eyes back to yours. You spotted something deeply apologetic in them, Joel having graced you with a rare bit of empathy as he studied you. “Shifts almost over anyways. Let’s just hurry up and get this truck cleared so we can all go home.”

“You’re cryin’,” he pointed out, almost angry.

“It’s the wind,” you snapped back at him as the truck backed up towards the two of you. “Come on.”

You and Joel worked more efficiently than any other duo on cremation duty, Joel’s strength and ability to shut off his emotions at will pairing excellently with your speed and determination to get the job over with. He handled the adults, you the children—it was a system that you had down pat. Two hours and at least six more trucks later, the two of you were off.

Usually, you’d go one way and Joel would go the opposite, the two of you never really interacting with each other outside of work except when you had to. He had Tess for that, and you had…well, you had yourself.

But today, Joel stuck beside you, walking with you as you left the payout line after your shift. He said nothing as he joined you through town, his shoulder grazing yours every now and then as he moved over to let someone pass on the sidewalk.

“Gotta stop and get some bread,” you announced, pointing at the general store you were approaching. Joel nodded, his eyes flickering to you.

“Should stop and get somethin’ to eat myself.” You found his company to be both strange and comforting. Joel always made you feel safe, or at least as safe as someone living in a world this unpredictable and cruel could feel.

Walking inside, he followed you as you perused the aisles, your brain working as quickly as it could to work out the cheapest plan for dinner given the throbbing headache you were dealing with from the fumes and smoke.

“Pasta,” he suggested with a point of his finger, seemingly reading your mind. “Always my go to.”

“I do have some canned tomatoes.” You reached for the loose spaghetti noodles sitting in a plastic bin in the shelf and took a guess at how much you’d need to feed you, not wanting to spend more than you absolutely needed to.

“Why don’t you come over and we can share it,” he suggested, albeit shyly. You gave him a quirked eyebrow and he rolled his eyes. “I’ll split the bill.”

“So Tess eats for free?” You chuckled and shook your head. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Tess, you just resented her for having everything you ever wanted: someone to come home to, someone to make living in this dark world worth all the strife.

“Tess is out on a run,” he informed, his tone betraying him and exposing his loneliness. “Won’t be back for a few days.”

Did he want you to be his mistress? Though you admittedly were desperate for even a semblance of affection, you were no home-wrecker. Especially not Tess’s home.

“Joel, I hope you’re not—“

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just…” He shook his head and mumbled, “Forget it.”

Feeling overwhelmed by your own need for company and the pained look in his eye, you sighed, reaching one hand over to touch his shoulder.

“Sure. Let’s share.”

“Knock, knock,” you called as you pushed open the door to Joel’s apartment, having only been there once before to his flask that he’d left at work by mistake.

“Come in,” Joel’s indifferent rasp welcomed you.

“Brought some beers, too.” You gave him an unsure smile as you watched him buzz around his kitchen, a pot boiling the pasta from earlier while he tended to the sauce in another pan.

“Thank you,” he gave you a flicker of a smile as you set one of the beers on the counter beside him.

“Got a bottle opener?” You knew the answer to that was clear from the amount of beer bottles in his trash can, but didn’t want to snoop around for it without his consent.

“Yeah,” he left the stove and walked over to a drawer, pulling out the metal tool and handing it over to you so that you could open yours first.

“Ran into your brother on my way over,” you announced, watching as he scoffed and rolled his eyes. “He’s getting in deep with Marlene’s group, huh?”

“I told him to stay far away from all that,” he scolded you as though it was your doing. “Boy don’t listen for shit.”

“Just saw them hanging three Fireflies yesterday,” you lamented with a shake of your head. You weren’t sure if you bought into the group’s ideology, and you especially weren’t a fan of their methods for going about change, but you knew they didn’t deserve to be executed.

“Yeah, well, if you see Tommy up there, do me a favor and keep it to yourself.” Joel walked back to the stove and kept his eyes focused on the food, a silence falling over the two of you for a while.

“Thanks,” you finally spoke as Joel set your plate down in front of you at his tiny dining table before seating himself in front of you.

“You doin’ alright?” he asked in between bites, his eyes now seemingly unable to look anywhere else but directly into yours. You felt flushed at the attention he was showing you, but tried to pay it little mind.

“Yeah, I’m…fine,” you lied. “Just waiting for my own Tess to come along, I guess.”

“Tess and I aren’t Romeo and Juliet for fucks sake,” he lowered his eyes to his plate and spun his fork around to collect the pasta. “Just two people.”

“Yeah, but at least there’s someone,” you argued. “When I go home…it’s just me and my cold bed.”

“Believe it or not, but my bed gets cold too.” There was something in his voice tonight, something that hadn’t ever been there before, or at least not that you’d noticed. Your eyes locked and you felt something stir inside of you that both thrilled you and filled you with immense guilt.

Of course the one person in Boston you wanted to get into bed with was taken.

Not knowing what to say, you let out an airy chuckle and looked down at your nearly empty plate, missing the way Joel eyed you like a man on a mission.

“Look if you’re worried about Tess,” he started, sitting back in his chair and stretching his legs out underneath the table. “Don’t be.”

“Oh yeah? Would Tess say the same?” You lifted your eyes only to be punched in the gut by his rugged handsomeness. Working with him as long as you had had conditioned you to his above-average looks, seeing him dirty and covered in ash everyday made it easier to pretend he was just like every other man in town, but with him clean, sitting in front of you, having just cooked you a meal, and now nearly begging you to consider sharing a bed with him tonight? It wasn’t so easy.

“Tess and I ain’t—,” he started, pausing to let out a soft sigh. “We both have gone outside of this…before. Her more than me, but that’s ‘cause I’m not much for all that.”

“You and Tess are open?” you asked in amused disbelief, having never imagined the couple in their fifties, although neither of them looked too old by any means, spreading their love throughout the zone.

“I didn’t say that.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Just said it happens.”

“Joel, I don’t want Tess at my door,” you sighed, finding it harder and harder to stick to your morals the longer he stared at you.

“She won’t,” he promised. “Besides, I ain’t asking for—look, I’m just offerin’ a warm bed. That’s all.”

“Just a warm bed?” You hated that that disappointed you.

“Just a warm bed.”

You knew the minute you curled up next to him that tonight wouldn’t simply be about staying warm together or keeping each other company. The ache between your thighs was incessant as you rested your head on his chest, his natural scent that might have been considered musky pre-outbreak sent you reeling. It had been years since you felt another person’s warmth this way, let alone a man. You found yourself moving closer and closer, tossing your leg over his and hugging your arm around his waist to soothe the building desire for more. Joel didn’t seem to mind.

“Here—“ He shifted onto his side, pulling you flush against his body. Your leg rested over his hip, his thigh planted firmly between yours as he gave you space to bury your face in his neck. “Better?”

“Joel—“ you exhaled shakily, not sure you even wanted to finish the thought. Joel pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, both of you staring at each other in silence for a few tense seconds before he started to lean in. His lips simply grazed yours, not even molding with yours yet, but he managed to pull a needy moan out of you.

“Sweet thing,” he cooed, kissing his way across your chin, his beard scratching at your skin and his lips pressing against your pulse. “How long has it been?”

“Years,” you confessed breathily, your eyes closed as you allowed yourself to enjoy the feeling of his lips against your skin, the heat of his palms as they ran up and down your side, the increase of pressure of his thigh against your core.

“That’s too damn long,” he husked in a mumble as he rolled you onto your back, his warmth never leaving you as he rolled right on top of you.

“You’re sure—“ Your words were interrupted by his hips pressing into yours, the barrier of your clothes doing little to prevent you from feeling him. “Fuck, you’re sure Tess won’t kill me for this?”

“I’m sure,” he soothed, pressing his lips to yours finally, one arm holding him up while his other hand slid up your side, dragging your sweater up with it. “This somethin’ you want?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, lacing your fingers in his salt and pepper waves. “I think it’s something I need.”

“I need you too,” he confessed, sitting back on his ankles so that he could look at you spread out beneath him. Even covered in your dingy, well-worn winter clothes, Joel devoured the sight of you unabashedly, his hands roaming from your sides down to your hips and to your thighs as they spread to give his hips room to fit. “Been imagining’ this for years now.”

“Yeah right,” you chuckled a scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t matter if you think I’m lyin’,” he replied, his hands sliding the hem of your sweater up until he was lifting it over your head. “I know I’m tellin’ the truth.”

You wanted to believe that all these years Joel had harbored a desire for you, but the concept just seemed too unrealistic, too fantastical to be true.

“Look at you,” he praised, hands smoothing over the long-untouched skin of your stomach until he was cupping your breasts through your worn-out bra, his eyes exposing his reverence.

“You’re good at flattery,” you teased as you tried not to let yourself read too much into his praise. Just a warm bed. That’s all this was.

Joel said nothing. Instead, he lowered his lips to your sternum, kissing every inch of you he could reach as he slid your bra straps down your shoulders before reaching underneath your arched back to pop the hooks undone.

He looked like a crazed man as he took in the sight of your bare breasts, a subtle growl slipping from his lips as he leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, the feeling of his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud causing you to buck your hips up against his.

“Take these off,” he ordered, tugging on your belt loops as he pulled himself away from you to stand up off the bed and strip himself.

You struggled with your jeans as you tried not to miss a moment of watching him shed his layers, your hands shaking as they fought with the rigid denim at your ankles before finally freeing yourself. Joel nearly pounced on you as his eye caught a glimpse of the wet patch on your underwear, his hips fitting between your open thighs as he covered your naked body with his own, his cock prodding at your covered mound as he kissed you breathless.

Nothing about him was graceful, nothing about him was tender, but you didn’t want him any other way. You needed to feel his desire for you, to feel how animalistic your body turned him. His rough palms and scratchy beard burned your skin, and you found yourself hoping you’d feel him for weeks to come.

“Can I taste you?” he asked against your pulse as he littered your neck with tiny marks, society far past caring about scandalous things like that.

“Only if you want,” you answered, having never actually experienced a man going down on you before. Joel sat back on his ankles and gave you a wicked half-smirk, his calloused thumb stroking over your kiss-swollen bottom lip.

“Trust me,” he rasped. “Been thinkin’ about licking you clean since the moment I met you.”

“And yet you never thought to tell me,” you teased, your cheeks heating from his confession.

“You’re at least half my age, sweet thing,” he reasoned as he kissed down your stomach until he was laying between your open thighs. “Never thought you’d want an old man like me in your bed.”

“You need to get your eyes checked, Miller,” you brushed his hair out of his face as he slid your panties off. “You’re beautiful.”

“For an old man?”

“For any man.” Joel turned tender for a moment and met your eyes, his hands that were gripping your thighs now rubbing softly.

“You’re too good for this place,” he murmured as he leaned in, licking a broad strip up your cunt and flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit. Your back arched off the bed from the jolts of pleasure, your reaction earning you another smile.

“You asking me to—oh—to run away with you, Miller?” you asked between his sloppy laps at your cunt, his tongue feeling better than you could have ever dreamed it up to be.

“I ain’t that crazy,” he husked, voice thick with arousal before he dived back in.

Joel ate you out like a man starved, even though he’d just cooked you the best dinner you’d had in a while. You wanted to run your hands through his hair, to watch him as he shed a layer of himself for you, but you controlled yourself.

“Fuck,” he hummed as his tongue flicked at your swollen bud until your thighs were shaking around his face. “You gonna cum on my tongue, baby?”

Your eyes were squeezed shut but you pried them open to look down at him, nodding furiously. Joel grinned and sucked your clit, the tiny change in pace sending you over the cliffs of bliss without much warning.

“Shit,” you choked out, body shaking and spasming from the first orgasm you’d had in a long time. Joel kept licking at you, but he was soft, gentle, tender.

“You taste like heaven, you know that?” he rasped as he kissed his way up your body until he was sharing your taste with you with his tongue down your throat. You could only mewl and grab at him as he held himself up with one arm and used his other to guide his cock up and down your slick center. “Bet you feel like heaven, too. Can I?”

“Take whatever you need from me, Joel. I’m yours tonight,” you promised, still stuck in a post-climactic haze. Joel moaned as he stuck the tip of his cock inside of you, just enough for you to feel him. “Don’t tease—

“M’not teasin’, just don’t wanna hurt you.” Joel waited a beat before inching in a bit more, his brows screwing up in pleasure. “Also don’t wanna finish as fast as I think I am.”

“I don’t care,” you cooed, drunk on him being only halfway inside of you and still showing up every man you’d ever slept with. “You have all night to impress me.”

“I haven’t already?” he asked, tone hinting at playfulness but it went missed by you as the tip of his cock prodded at something blinding inside of you. “Fuck, that’s it, ain’t it?” He thrust against the spot proudly, a smirk growing on his otherwise wrecked face. “Flutterin’ against me every time I hit it.”

“Joel, fuck,” you whined, gripping him by the neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

He rested on his elbows, your thighs draped high over his waist as he rocked into you deep and purposefully until you were seeing stars.

“So tight,” he panted in your ear. “So warm. Fuck, you are heaven, ain’t ya?”

“Joel, your cock is so fucking—“ He stole every ounce of coherency from you as he sat back on his heels and pressed your thighs against your chest. With an open jaw and blurry vision, you cried out for him, his thrusts growing harder and more brutal with every plea for more that slipped from your lips.

“God damn—“

“Joel, I’m gonna—“

“Come on, baby. Let me have it.” Joel snarled from the exertion it was taking to fuck you into bliss, but he showed no signs of stopping, his firm hands gripping your thighs to keep them pressed to your chest.

“Oh my god,” you slurred as you entered euphoria for the second time, this time being washed over in it like a cleansing. A sinful, lustful, dirty cleansing.

“Yes!” he growled, grinning with pride. “So fuckin’ good for me. Gonna cum, too. That what you want baby?”

You nodded through your daze. “In my mouth.”

“Jesus—“ he choked on his approval and pulled out of you to crawl over to where your head rested on the pillow, his fist stroking his cock all the while. You opened your eyes, stuck your tongue out, and with a smile you pushed him over the edge. He moaned without care for his volume as his cum painted your tongue, face, and chest with every drop of what he had to offer.

“Mm,” you hummed as you cleaned some of the mess off your chest with your finger and sucked it off. Joel crumbled into the bed against you, his lips cheek against your shoulder while he recovered. “That was nice for just a warm bed.”

“Yeah,” he huffed out a chuckle. “I could…give you a warm bed another time…if you’d like.”

“Well, it is going to be a long winter. Might as well stay warm when I can.” You rolled your head to the side to watch him, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as he laid there with his eyes closed, half asleep. “Goodnight, Joel. And…thank you.”

No response came, his snores signaling he was already lost in dreamland. With a content sigh, you stood up and walked into his bathroom to clean yourself off and get dressed.

You didn’t stay in the warmth of his bed that night, or any night thereafter, but you did come back. Over and over again, you came back.

[luvtonique]

In the wake of a very serious bout of depression I am canceling the Melodi Art Raffle early.

I will be throwing the prizes to the 5 people who participated and will be quietly contemplating blowing my brains out (I'm joking. I'm not suicidal.).

I'm just tired of fake friends.

I'm friends with dozens of artists on Discord who have followings of 300,000+ on Twitter, and I'll draw them gift art, I'll talk to them about my raffles or projects and they'll say they'd love to help out, and every single time they just hit Like on the post and don't retweet or reblog and even though they've literally told me they'd love to draw art for my contests/raffles/whatever they never do.

I talk to them in DMs, in voice calls, I give them ideas for art that they wind up drawing (never crediting me even though they always credit their other friends) and I just sit here feeling used.

I'm this close to making callout posts about all of them with screencaps of our DMs showing how enthusiastically they say they'd love to help me get out of poverty and will gladly retweet my raffle post or my fundraiser to escape California or my redesign of my Patreon, and then as soon as I start them, "Who the fuck's Jay? Never heard of Jay. I'm not friends with someone named Jay."

I'm starting to understand why people snap, you know what I mean?

I'm going radio silent until I've finished the project I'm currently working on.

I'll figure out how to feed myself in the meantime.

Goodbye for now.

And hey, if you're one of my friends on Discord who has a huge following and never spreads the word about anything I do or reblogs/retweets gift art I've done for you for the last 10 fucking years we've been friends, and I've been neglecting to reply to you on Discord for a few days/weeks and you think something may have happened and you go digging through my Tumblr and you read this?

Fuck you. Fake ass piece of shit. Legitimately go fuck yourself.

I am so fucking sick of being your fucking friends. I am so fucking sick of hanging out with you every fucking goddamn day, talking to you in DMs, exchanging ideas, talking about projects, and then as soon as I ask for nothing more than for you to hit reblog on a post of mine, you pretend you've never fucking heard of me. You hit Like on the post and close the tab. I reblog your shit, I retweet your shit, I spotlight your shit in my Discord, I tell everyone when you need to raise money, I do fundraisers for you, I bend over fucking backwards to be a generous and loving person who would do anything for his friends and what I get in return is your dipshit fucking ass ignoring me while I starve, while depression tears me apart, while I rot in a burned down town, while I work on projects by my fucking self, while I learn how to do sound design and music and animation and game programming and 3D and background structure and camera work and shading and pixel art and game engine design all by my fucking self because not a single fucking one of you will lift a finger to help me.

You know exactly who you fucking are.

I'm done being your friends.

If I haven't been replying to you lately on Discord, it's because I want you to see how it feels when you reach out to someone you think is your friend and they pretend they've never fucking heard of you.

[flownwrong]

something like this (due south fic)

F/K + F/K/V, rated T; ~1000 words

Summary: Ten ways Ray Kowalski's day can go.

A/N: For @thegoodthebadandtheart's birthday. Hap birth, friend! You're the real one <3

read on ao3

1. Back before The Great Frasering, my days went something like this: groan my way out of bed, try not to slip in the shower with my eyes not quite opening the whole way, inhale the coffee smell from the coffee mug, inhale the coffee from the coffee mug, Turtle feeding time, pants, shirt, holster, car, work—repeat in reverse, swapping coffee for beer and shower for a jerk-off-and-feel-sorry-for-myself session. Sprinkle in some evenings out with the guys—good collars, or someone's birthday, or impending fatherhood, or retirement—with bar games and shooting the shit, out of which I'm mostly good at that last one.

Work went something like this: come in, argue with anyone who's looking for an argument, try to make sure that doesn't include the witnesses or the Lieu, talk to people, shout at people, slap cuffs on people. On a good day, help people. Or at least try. Sprinkle in staying late in the attempts to keep all the papers in check, which wasn't as hard as you'd think considering back home it was mostly the TV and the Turtle waiting.

2. Then there was one day when work went something like this: Lieu calls me in, says, here's a doozy, wham, bam, I'm outta there, outta my own skin, outta my depth.

3. During The Great Frasering, my days went something like this: get to the station, hang out with Fraser, take a fat pill's worth of trippy shit, argue with Fraser, work with Fraser, hang out with Fraser, get slobbered on by wolf, go to bed, sleep the sleep of the dead—not necessarily in that order. Same on weekends, only without work. Well, not every time. Sprinkle in some letting Stella go, some letting Fraser in, some times my heart would feel so huge with needing him I was sure that was all she wrote.

4. Then there was one day that went something like this: Fraser catches a weirdass fish, gets on the trail of the killer of his mother, wham, bam, I'm outta Vecchio's skin, outta a plane, outta a partner. I'm lucky Fraser didn't get the memo.

5. The adventure went something like this: learn so much new stuff my brain felt three sizes too big for my skull, get why Fraser can't shut up about this place, spend so much time looking up at the sky one night I got a crick in my neck and felt dizzy, kiss Fraser, some more dizzy, try to figure out whether I said I loved him out loud only for him to say it first. Not find any hands, reaching out or otherwise, except for Fraser's hand down my pants, which, I'll be honest, I'll take over Franklin's any day of the week.

6. Then there was one day that went something like this: pack up my shit and go back to Chicago, listen to Fraser snuffle in his sleep on the plane, thank whoever's in charge about two hundred and eighteen times. Come home, curl up together in bed in the puzzle pieces way we worked out, only this time it's my bed, and technically it's the next day, but it's not like I stay up to check the clock.

7. After, it was The Great Frasering 2, bigger and better and like nothing I ever hoped for, until—

8. —the day that went something like this: Fraser sneaks off after lunch, which is nothing that pings my radar because he's his own guy, but then he comes home late and miserable and tells me Vecchio's back in town, which, yeah, maybe isn't something I was gonna do a victory lap about, but he looks way worse than I feel, which is ten different kinds of wrong, and then he says he owes me a bare minimum of honesty about his desires, with this face that gives me the idea he maybe isn't talking about me decked out in latex swinging a whip at him kind of desires, which scares the brains out of me because when it comes to the big feely things Fraser hardly ever talks, and I don't know if I will sock him one or curl up on the floor and sob until he tells me and it's so queer I end up laughing.

9. The days after that went something like—like something I don't even—but the important part is Fraser stays right where I want him, where I will always want him, and it turns out that's not the only thing I can want.

10. So, today went something like this: wake up late to an empty bed, inhale the coffee—the good stuff I never ask for but get nonetheless, have a bad hair day, go to work pissed off, piss Fraser off, piss the perp off, watch Fraser piss the perp off, take one in the jaw, give as good as I got, slap cuffs on the perp, sit through his song and dance, finally get rid of him. Endure the party, blow the party early, drive Fraser home. Open the door to Vecchio cooking, see him see me and swear, get the third bag of peas today slapped onto my face, get a beer and watch him chew Fraser out, better than TV. Eat half the whatever Vecchio's cooking right from the pan, listen to Fraser chew me out for bad behavior when all he really cares about is that there's less left for him. Make out with Fraser, pause for dinner, make out with Vecchio, try to stop the wolf from making out with me because I still smell like the good sauce, watch Vecchio make out with Fraser. Say wait, wait, what about the cake, hear Vecchio say what cake, say the one you made, hear the eyeroll as he says if you wanted one, should've made it yourself, say fuck you and get only today, Kowalski. Get herded off into the bedroom by Fraser, get horizontal, get—well, use your imagination.

So maybe this isn't exactly how I envisioned forty, but hey, my definition of a good day? Probably something like this.

[plznomonkeys]

I cannot add the screenshot but saw your comment about the process of making OCs. please share yours cuz I'm so curious!

I had literally 5k words written out explaining the process and thought 'nobody needs to read that' and just shortened it to point form. It was a lot of rambling......

Anywho

OC's, in my mind, fill a void that I feel a story is missing. I mean, no whole story is necessarily missing something, but it is in my perspective. Usually OC's are born from something I disliked with the original work or felt could've been handled differently.

So the tip of inspiration is a 'What If?' moment.

"What if L had someone on task force -with more than 2 brain cells- on his side?"- Death Note

"What if Naruto had a friend growing up who loved him?" - Naruto

"What if Truth was an even bigger dick and tortured someone's soul through reincarnation until they finally learned to break the cycle?"- FullMetal Alchemist

"What if a main character didn't have a damsel in distress as a love interest?" - Bleach

The what if is the first point to creation. It gives me an anchor of reference, of purpose, to this character. It's not to make them a plot device, but it helps me shape around what the reason for building them is. Everyone needs a purpose to have fulfillment in their lives, even if it's just to feed your cat and water your plants. You have a purpose, so what is my OC's? There's usually a moment in the story that inspires this specific purpose and each one is different.

Great, now that we have a purpose, let's move on.

Part 1: What's the start and ending?

It doesn't matter what the story is yet. To me, what's important is the end of this character's story. Where do they end up? Are they alive? Dead? Did they end up with love interest? Did they succeed in their goals? etc.

Despite how crucial this part might seem, I'm never dead set on it. I have a general idea most of the time.

The point of the ending is to have guidance as to where I'm going with the story line and remind myself that this character is moving in that direction. It can also change once you know your character more and once you have a fully fleshed plot, but again you'll change it likely because it works more with the OC you've created.

Now that you've got an ending, pick a starting point. It can be literally anywhere. It can be another character POV. Beginnings are really easy, just pick a place you want to begin and write a few words. Great, now figure out how this beginning meets that ending. Rough sketch it, when you write it out it'll change and grow, that's perfectly okay. No character is the same at the start and finish, so be aware that change is normal.

Part 2: What's the secret?

Every character that has any level of depth has a secret that is revealed in the story. L's successors was a big one. Naruto's parentage was theorized for years before being confirmed. Aizen's betrayal in Bleach was another. What big secret changes the reader's view on the character? What do the other characters think?

Part 3: How are they compatible with their pairings?

Legit this one comes up early in my mind. If I'm completely honest it has to, as you already have a character that is fully fleshed out and in order to keep them in character then your OC needs to adhere to the canon character's interests IMO. It's the reality of it. Which also means you have to know the canon character really well. Which is where character analysis comes in.

Let's take L for example. While I imagine he's the type to make his partner comfortable regardless of their wants/needs, I also see him as the guy who would legit rather die that admit those feelings at first? Like I subscribe to him being a little autistic and mildly self-degrading when it comes to 'why would they like me?' perspectives.

I say mildly because it's not so much he has no confidence as simply 'I literally have no internal clock, I likely have uncontrolled diabetes and broke my back on my own from sitting like this all day, I will ignore your very existence to finish a case and I literally haven't been home in god knows how long, so why would you ever have feelings for me?' It's illogical for L to entertain the idea of someone feeling that way about him because he simply doesn't fit the profile of a dating candidate. And so he disregards the idea that someone could ever be interested in him. Never mind he'd have to know everything about them down to their god damn SIN number before he'd ever see them in person.

So yeah, L's tough, but not impossible. I could see him with a character who really enamours him. I mean as in a character who thinks so radically different from him that at first he sees it as illogical, but progressively he begins to understand how they tick. I could see him being especially fascinated with someone who is very capable of lying convincingly, and yet wears their heart on their sleeve. I find this type of person to be so opposite and yet so similar at the same time.

Now that you have their OTP.... what other pairings are there? Contrary to the belief system, but there are multiple pairings in every story. Pairings don't have to be romantic, but they must be dynamic. What do other characters think of them? How would they interact with each other? I usually know intuitively who I want my OC to befriend and who they realistically could get along with.

This is, quite literally, the toughest part to flesh out, since I work pretty hard to try and stick to canon.

Part 4: Define your character in one scene?

As I said in the What If? section, each character is born from a specific scene or idea. So what is the scene in the story that defines the entirety of this character? For L I think his defining moment was his lil speech about 'do you really think I do this for justice?' in the manga. It brought into perspective that L was having fun on this case, and when he was 'wrong' about Light his temper tantrum made so much more sense honestly.

Characters need a scene in the story that really lets the reader understand the character on a deeper level and really drives home 'this is a person' even though they're not real it makes them feel raw and real.

Part 5: Motivations

Okay, great, we have so much covered, literally I could probably just go off this and wing the rest. But now we gotta ask why is OC even in the story? Why are they a moving puzzle piece? What made them get to their ending? What did they sacrifice? What's the most important thing to them? Why? Knowing why a person moves is far superior to simply wanting them to move. Why did Light swap the notebooks between shinigami? To keep Ryuk's big mouth away and Rem up close to L. Why did L confront Light at uni? Because he had enough sugar to kill a camel in his system and a gut feeling that Light was Kira and would eventually fold under pressure if he pushed him enough.

Part 6: The Plot

Okay so we've got literally everything necessary. So what's the plot? Is it AU? Partial AU? Canon compliant? Does it just follow canon to a certain point and then go off the rails? Personally I like canon divergent. It holds some points of interest with the original plot but diverges at points only to link up in some spots. I also am a huge fan of making events happen in different time frames.

And now.... where do the OC's affect the story? I mean there's no way that Death Note is a completely unchanged story despite another character being added? Something has changed, so what? Do certain events not occur? Does something better befall certain characters? Something worse?

I am also a stickler for universe rules. I do no bend rules for my characters unless I can come up with a universe compliant reason that it would work. I try to respect the original author's world...... but I will do whatever the hell I want with the characters as long as they're in character.

Part 7: The personal touch

Believe it or not, the appearance of the character is the literal last thing to even cross my mind. Like I legit started writing a Naruto fanfic and realized in 8 chapters I hadn't a clue what she looked like. I had to go to pinterest and make a board, along with a character bio in my notes app. I pic out the height, weight, hairstyle/hair colour, eye shape/eye colour, face, aesthetic, any scars/tattoos they may have and I put it on my notes/pinterest board. Now that I know their story is so I know why they'd have that scar or tattoo. I know why they have that kind of look in their eye. I know everything about them really.

The last bit is mostly spreading this personal touch through the above mentioned steps. It's fleshing it out further, making them more flowing in growth. When did they get the scar? Why that tattoo? Does it affect the story?

Attractiveness is something I debate a lot, and honestly it mostly comes down to plot. If a character needs to be pretty because of the plot I write them as attractive. If they need to be ugly that's what they are. Full disclosure, I see through my OC's eyes when I imagine scenes since I like to write in first person. Meaning I never remember their appearance and always have to review the notes to remind myself what they look like at all.

---

Ok, I think I got everything? So yeah, this is the fuck fest two brain cells can come up with. Keep in mind it is a cyclic mentality and I am perpetually editing and upgrading ideas in my brain. My newest OC to Death Note has literally changed so dramatically in 5 days just by doing this process 3 times that you'd think they were two different characters. It really helps me know my OC's honestly. Do I follow this to the T? Not always, but it is generally the process I subscribe to.

Hope this was a good read, cheers.

Also sorry if I did this wrong I've never posted on tumblr before this year god save my soul

[actuallyadhd]

Hi, I wonder if you have any recommendations on sleeping schedules, I always fall asleep way too late (4am) so I end up waking up past noon, it’s a mess for holding a job and being a “functional adult” in general.

I’ve had this issue my whole life, even as a young kid I would struggle with mornings, but now I have to pay rent so I’m running out of options.

Also, any tip about getting to places on time would be super appreciated.

Thanks for all the info <3

Sent September 28, 2023

Sleep can be really hard. I don't usually go to bed until the wee hours myself, but I blame that on menopause more than anything else, since it wasn't a thing before.

When I had trouble with sleep as a young adult, it was usually because I'd gotten hyperfocused on something and forgot that sleep is good.

What I've found is that having a really basic bedtime routine can help a lot, and I try to follow the same sequence of events regardless of what time I finally start heading to bed. This helps remind my brain and my body that sleep is good, and makes it more likely to happen.

You might have to play around a bit to find what works best for you, but mine is as follows:

Realize I'm sleepy

Feed my guinea pigs

Use the bathroom

Change into pyjamas

Do some puzzles (e.g., Sudoku) until I'm falling asleep while trying to solve them

Some people read until they're falling asleep, but I can't read before bed because I hyperfocus on words and will stay up all night reading.

If you really can't figure out a way to get yourself to bed earlier, look for work that will fit into your sleep schedule. Things like night security, convenience store staff, etc. could work really well for you.

Being on time for things is hard, and different strategies work for different people.

When I was struggling most with being on time, I tried all the things everyone says to do: I had a designated spot to keep things like my keys and my wallet, I set alarms, etc. But I was still late.

Eventually, I figured out that it doesn't matter how ready I am, when I need to leave I will putter around for a while before actually walking out the door. There's always "just one more thing" that I "need" to do before I go. I timed myself, and I was puttering for an hour every time.

So I figured out what time I needed to leave in order to arrive on time (I was living in Calgary, Alberta, at the time, and it took about half an hour to drive anywhere I needed to be), and then I added an hour on to that and adjusted my alarms. I had one go off an hour before I needed to be on my way, and another go off when I needed to be in the car.

Another thing that really helped was having someone message me or call me when I should be on my way, particularly if I was giving them a ride.

These days, most of my things are with friends. I message or text them when I'm leaving, since that tells them when to expect me (I live in the country and am half an hour from the city). This helps deal with frustration and lets them know that I do, in fact, value their time. I'm not late because I don't care, I'm late because time isn't real.

Followers, do you have any thoughts on these issues? How do you deal with matters of sleep and timeliness?

-J

[cupioriot]

any octavian/octkahale song recs? i've been listening to 'we will commit wolf murder' (of montreal) a lot recently and i feel like it kind of fits octkahale but honestly it might just be my brain projecting them onto it.

oh my gods yes hi hello i have been working on a playlist for octkahale for a bit and ive had an octavian playlist for a while that i have not shared thank you sooo much for this ask. i am SO SORRY it took me this long to answer this i kept forgetting about it

ALSO YES OH MY GODS THAT FITS SO WELL HELLO IM SCREAMING?? anon ily and this song

but yeah this post isnt much analysis sort of just observations and me connecting themes from songs to octavian (and mike)

warning. pretty long post under cut

as for the songs i associate with octkahale;

I will never shut up about them and Vampire Empire by Big Theif. I think about them everytime i listen to it, honestly. So, this, as I see it, if from Mike's perspective, talking about Octavian, more specifically Blood of Olympus era.

"[...] I'm not quiet, you've been quiet just recieving what you said Reeling, feeding, feeling filled by everything you fed I see you as you see yourself in all the books you read Overwhelmed with guilt and realizing the disease."

"You give me chills, I've had it with the drills I am nothing, you are nothing, we are nothing with the pills I am empty till she fills, alive until she kills[..]"

"I wanted to be your woman, I wanted to be your man I wanted to be the one that you could understand"

"Well I walked into your dagger for the last time in a row * It's like trying to start a fire with matches in the snow Where you can't seem to hold me, cant seem to let me go So I can't find surrender, cant keep control"

(*the end of this lyric was removed in the now released version of the song, making the actual lyric "well I walked into your dagger for the last time" however I though the demo version fit better for them here)

alsoooo. P.U.N.K Girl by Heavenly. This to me sounds like Mike trying to defend Octavian in some way. Much more domestic than the other one lmao

"People say she's bad But they don't see The way she is with me"

"P is for the painful way she makes me feel some days U is for utopia, the other times with her N is for the new wave dreams she had back in her teens K is for the kid in her [...]"

"She is honest in kind but in a way that people see As telling lies and being mean She has thousands of dreams but what they are I'll never know I hope I figure in them though"

"I don't care if they don't see Just how great that girl can be But I wish she'd find a way To act well for just one day I don't mind if they can't see Just how much she means to me[...]"

"She is hardened to hurt her softness hidden from the world But almost ready to unfurl She tries so hard to change but something always happens to Persuade her, it's too hard to do"

I put like. almost the whole song their. It just works very well imo :')

Allies or Enemies by The Crane Wives. This to me also reminds me of Blood of Olympus. augh. Mainly just Octavian and Michaels tenseness. This one I'd say is from Octavian's perspective. I have been meaning to do a oneshot about this for so long and I prolly will once I figure out how to do Octavian's narrative voice (i have been working at it too long. anyways)

"The words I speak Are wildfires and weed They spread like some awful damn disease And I swear, I didn't mean what I said I swear, I didn't mean it."

"Now listen close You owe me ears for dropping eaves Forget it all, you caught me in a moment weak Sometimes I just can't help myself[..]"

"Remember when I could tell you not to smile when you were mad? And you would always crack And we'd both be laughing in the end Now you're not so quick to forget"*

(*this verse specifically I think fits in Mike's perspective. only this one specifically tho)

"Are we allies or enemies? This will be the death of me This will be the death of me All is fair in love and war, but I can't fight with you anymore This will be the death of me"

"What happens now? Do we have another go? Do we bow out and take our separate roads? I'll admit I've had my doubts But I want to be let in, not out[..]"

Nothing's New by Rio Romeo. Ohhh my gods yeah. I like angst with them very often sorry guys. Octavian's perspective, rocky times w them. Not much more to elaborate on methinks.

"I want to be touched, be loved I wanna heal, be hugged It's just the two of us Or that's what we swore And if I lost my charm Apologies due, no harm Cause you got ahold of my heart And I know it's worn"

"I want to be close to you But I don't know what to do 'Cause if we are near to through It may make it worse And if I start to grieve 'Cause it feels like you're 'bout to leave Forgive me, I'm not naive I've been here before"

Tongues & Teeth by The Crane Wives. Oh my gods. No thoughts just Octavian warning Mike that he's flawed and despite the fact that Mike is fine with that and wants to help him, he [Octavian] just knows it wont end well.

"I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel It's all I can give to you, my dear"

"And I know you mean so well But I am not a vessel for your good intent"

"Desperation will erase the fact I'm keeping all Of the answers in my cigarette box Yeah the answer's in the second before the other shoe drops[...]"

Octavian specifically!(a lot of these r like him and his relationships with other charavters);

Brutus - The Buttress. OCTAVIAN TALKING ABOUT JASON AND ABOUT THE GIANT WAR/HIS DEATH HELLO YOU ALL SEE MY VISION YES. I almost cited the entire thng but. just listen to it the ENTIRE THING WORKS!! i have literally no intelligent way to explain said thoughts i just. take these mid observations

"Or am I just wishing I could be like you? That the people would see me too as a poet, And not just the muse. Oh, it's not true, I don't wish harm upon you From birth we've been like brothers from different mothers Within the spirit of the same womb May the Gods strike me down if I forsake you, Frater meus, you're beautifully made And to you I'm forever grateful[...]"

"I know the love you showed me came from a pure and noble heart I love you, and if you want, I'll call you king But why do I lie awake each night thinking 'instead of you, it should be me?' "

^^ugh on the topic of how he feels about jason's status. i think he would feel a weird sort of jealousy, and a lot of that would be distressing because he likes jason. its not jasons fault that he has the acomplishments octavian wants. but he's human and that comes with loathing.

"Something wicked this way comes And as I set to face it, I'm unsure Should I embrace it, should I run? What motivates me? Hatred? Is it love? What's more wrong; that I too wish to be great Or my mother wished she'd had a son? And even if I can't be the one Maybe I could at least help make way for him Until the day that he comes Maybe my name could also be known That I helped return good to the people And restored greatness to Rome."

^^all just about the giant war. oh my gods this boys desire to save his city. ALSO THE 'wished she'd had a son' LINE. cheering and clapping as a trans octavian truther (literally either way. it works either way transfem and transmasc octavian truthers unite)

"So with a heavy heart I'll guide this dagger into the heart of my enemy My whole life, you were a teacher and friend to me Please know my actions are not motivated only by envy I, too, have a destiny This death will be art The people will speak of this day from near and afar This event will be history, and I'll be great too I don't want what you have, I want to be you"

'goodbye, traitor Jason Grace!' ahh lyrics. oh hell he makes me ill.

"I always knew I could be the one Though I feel the endless pain of being And I am scorched by the Sun Of humble origins and born of the cursed sex My name is Brutus, but the people will call me Rex"

mmmm. something something prophet of apollo. something something transgender my brain is radio static.

now. heres a few where i really dont know how to draw any specific connections between him and the lyrics just. sort of themes which i apply to octavian. all of the songs are good listens though imo (especially wannabe which is SO UNDERATED AND SO GOOD)

Wannabe, Pt. 2 - North Bloom

Saint Bernard - Lincoln

Flight of The Crows - Jhariah

CHOKE - IDKHBTFM

A Mask of My Own Face - Lemon Demon

I Am Not a Robot - MARINA

Teen Idle - MARINA

Under My Skin - Jukebox The Ghost

Migraine - Twenty One Pilots

THANKYOU SO MUXH FOR THIS ASK I LOVED MAKING THIS POST

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck Week 2024

Day 6 - Favorite Quote: "Let's enjoy life"

Is it cheating to use a quote from the author rather than from the series itself? It better not be, cus for all of the quotes from this series that rattle around in my brain, either because they're extremely poignant ("What kind of man wants to see the woman he loves suffer?") or stupidly funny ("You not telling me was a test, wasn't it?" "Yes." "You're lying, aren't you?" "Yes."), this summation of the series posited by Tozuka's editor is the one that actually changed me

That may seem hyperbolic for a three-word quote, but ever since I saw that quote, it really has altered something in my brain chemistry. Like a Negator reinterpreting the meaning of their Rules, my whole worldview changed, at least subtly, when I heard that quote

Naturally it changed my approach to reading UU, as every scene, every moment, every quote, every panel suddenly became about reinforcing the idea that life is something to be enjoyed with other people. It's incredibly clear that this philosophy is the driving force for every single decision in the narrative, with every action that the main cast takes (and possibly even the villainous cast with recent revelations) being directly influenced by the goal of happiness, the search for the Greatest Life

Beyond that, though, I've found that it's influenced my daily life as well. In much the same way that Dungeon Meshi fans have an inner Senshi that reminds them to feed themselves, I now have an inner Tozuka that reminds me to find the joy in whatever I'm doing. Whether it's to remember the purpose of why I'm doing something in the first place or to convince me that the effort isn't worth it and I should stop, the maxim to enjoy myself gives me the clarity and perspective to focus on what matters

It's not always easy. Sometimes life just hits you a little too hard and you can't remember the words of wisdom that would help you through the rough patch. But remembering that the whole point of life is to enjoy it, to be around people you can enjoy it with, eases the burden a bit. It redirects your energy towards trying to be happy rather than trying not to be sad

Fiction is a source of comfort for people. Whether it's seeing people going through the same problems they are and overcoming them, seeing people who look like them thriving when they themselves otherwise can't, or even just hearing a quote that resonates with them, the escape into fantasy should, ideally, give you something to latch onto and bring back with you into the real world. It can be something simple, like a superhero story equipping you with the courage to stand up for yourself, or a romance showing you how to be open with your emotions, but the best stories always leave you better than they found you

I've always believed that the purpose of life is to enjoy it, but I don't think I ever quite put it in those terms or thought about it that concretely. It was more just a general feeling, an implicit understanding that a life without happiness can hardly be called living, but once I read Undead Unluck, it became much more than that. It became an active choice. I've decided to live my life in a way I can enjoy, even if all that means is appreciating the moments where I'm just relaxing instead of "living life to the fullest." I don't have to see everything the world has to offer, I don't have to push myself to achieve every dream I've ever had, but I can't beat myself up for not doing those things either. You can't enjoy life if you're too worried about not enjoying life enough, now can you?

To truly get the most out of life, we have to be willing to live it, and on some level that means accepting who we are as individuals and meeting ourselves in the middle. It's fine to push yourself, but if you push yourself to the point of misery, then there's no point to it. Some of you even suggested that very thing to me when I felt like my UU anime reviews were getting too repetitive to be fun. You all, as my community, actively tried to help me break my own pattern of unenjoyment. I don't know if I ever said it, but thank you for being there for me. Thank you for helping me to remember to enjoy myself. I hope that this post will help do the same for you

I'll see you all again tomorrow for the final day of UU Week 2024. After that, and until next year's celebration:

Let's enjoy life

[im-gonna-squeet]

Donnie burnout fic

Donnie is exhausted and finds themself unable to do the tings they normally can, and knows one person that can always help.

ao3

Donnie was having a bad day. A bad week– a bad month, even.

None of their projects were going right, their joints were acting up, they couldn't sleep properly, they'd gotten injured on what should've been a fairly easy mission, and now, they hardly had the energy to eat or talk.

It wasn't fair. They could usually work for days or weeks uninterrupted — with the exception of sleep and snack breaks, of course, their siblings wouldn't let them neglect themself like that, and they could never turn down Angelo's cooking — and be fine. They could make anything he wanted. So what was different this time?

What had changed?

Why couldn't they do this?

What was wrong with them? And how could they fix it?

Donnie didn't like change, which made such a drastic pivot in their ability all the more distressing (which, in turn, made them feel worse, feeding the cycle like an ouroboros).

Logically, they knew that rest would be the best thing, and they honestly wanted nothing more than a nap, but they couldn't when they were this stressed because they had so much to do. And none of it was going to get done. Because their stupid brain couldn't just function correctly!

There wasn't even that much to do. They ENJOYED doing these things! What was the point if they couldn't even do the one thing they were good for!?

They slammed their newest failure on the desk, breathing hard.

"shit." They winced and rubbed at their watery eyes under their glasses. Closing their eyes, they tried to even out their breathing, snapping them out of that all too familiar spiral.

This wouldn't help. It would only make it worse. They needed to not be alone right now. So they grabbed their phone and texted the first person they thought of.

ctrl + c

Don-Bon: Cn i cme sit w u?

Don-Bon: yes pls, ly

Nardo: yea im in my room

need a portal?

Nardo: ly2

Moments after that last text was sent, a small, vibrant blue portal opened up right in front of them.

They reflexively lowered their third eyelid to shield themself from the brightness.

Once they stepped through, they saw Leo sitting at the corner of his bed, leaning against the wall with one knee to his chest, controller in hand.

Donnie said nothing as they flopped next to their twin, leaning against him with their legs folded over Leon's, softly butting his head with their own.

Returning the headbutt, Leo reached down and pulled a weighted blanket out from beside his bed, wrapping it around his twin. "You okay, hermana?" he asked, not removing his arm and resting his head on top of Donnie's.

Donnie relaxed, glad to have their twin as company. They hesitated slightly before shaking their head, manifesting a small teleprompter screen in front of them. ‘bad. cant talk rn’, it read.

“ok, that's alright, I'm just gonna finish this game and then we can watch something, yea?” Leo rubbed their arm before removing it to continue gaming.

Donnie nodded, slumping further into Leo's side as they watched him play.

~~~~

After Leo finished his game, the twins wordlessly agreed on watching The Great British Baking Show, calm but still fun. Leo grabbed his laptop with one arm, wrapping the other around Donnie before shimmying them both into a lying position.

From there they shuffled around a little, finding the optimal snuggling position, then positioned the laptop at a comfortable angle for both of them.

"This ok?" Leo asked.

Donnie nodded.

After a few minutes, Leo spoke up again, "wanna talk about it?", he ventured.

Donnie took a breath, fiddling with their hands as they deliberated on how to word it.

The teleprompter re-appeared. 'it feels like nothings going right recently. And logically I KNOW that it's not my fault, but I can't help but blame myself, y’know? Im supposed to be the genius, the one that fixes everything. If I can't do that then what CAN I do?'

Leo took a moment to process the message, absentmindedly running his hands over Donnie’s neck and shell in soothing motions. "Tello I know you find this difficult to believe, but you are absurdly intelligent and so good at so many things, i mean you created ACTUAL, SENTIENT AI and are raising him better than our dad raised us, you're incredible in so many ways but you're working yourself too hard, you're burning the candle at both ends and it's unsustainable. Burnouts like these are going to happen when you do this to yourself.”

And Donnie knew these things, of course they did, but it was really really nice to hear it from someone else, especially someone they cared about so much. 'I know and I want to stop but I don't really know how? like i've been doing this for so long i don't know what else to do'

Reading this, Leo leaned over and kissed Donnie on the head, staying in that position whilst he talked, "im proud of you, Dee, we're all so, so proud of you, and we'll help you figure it out. All of us."

At this Donnie felt the prickling of tears in their eyes as their vision blurred. They didn't try to stop a quiet sob from escaping them, 'I love you'

"Aww, Dee, I love you too" Leo wrapped both of his arms around them, holding them close. They stayed like that for a while, Donnie quietly crying his frustrations into Leo's chest as he softly told them how loved and cherished and valued Donnie is to everyone they know.

And after a while, Donnie calmed, and Leo asked a question he already knew the answer to, "Do you wanna invite Apes over for a movie night tomorrow?"

Donnie nodded, already thinking about what movies to watch and meticulously going over every detail.

"Good, but for now, how about we watch some idiots bake and you can tell me exactly what they're doing wrong?". Donnie grinned, wiping the stray tears from their face as they prepared to make Leo regret ever suggesting that.

reblogs > likes

[bluntforcespatter]

yeeeah i get that a bit more than i'd like to lol. 'm sorry it's like that for you tho /gen n yeah. it's def easier to just be some little electronic beastie than imagine myself to be properly tangible for anyone. i'm real like a digital pet or smthn, ig is my personal like...thoughts on it. ppl like those cuz they're cute, so they like me because i'm just a lil critter ywy. but if i'm more real and like....more than just words then like it becomes "what if i'm [neg thing here]" like i said, ik all of that's not entirely true, just kinda a ramble of like. getting it in my own ways lol, even if it might not be the most sensical way of putting it edtfbh n i get what you mean! i've watched/played/read stuff like that before. it's a weird sorta cathartic pain, so it's nice in a way. it sounds really good :3 thank you ywy hopefully yours does too. no problem o7 i get it n i'm glad it helps a bit for me to ramble n stuff ywy i always worry it's a bit much or annoying or w/e, so it's nice to hear [read?] that it's actualy helpful gtrfh - 📺

ah, thank you (ᵕ—ᴗ—) all we can do is our best, though, so... i am trying? ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯

and SO TRUE !! i spent my childhood online. like i was on forums and shit when i was 6 ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) i was in a very very bad situation and escaping onto the internet made me feel better. i could pretend not to be from my home there. but so many years spent on the internet without anything in real life that was good really made me worse in a lot of ways - like ... the internet was the only place people ever listened to me, let alone interacting with me out of choice. in my home, i wasn't treated as a person. my parents didn't even really use my name, the name they gave me, until i was older. but online people would say "hi ghost! how was your day?" and it made me feel real. but now i feel more real online than offline... and if i am real IRL, then that means all the bad stuff that happened to me IRL did happen. so i just sort of mentally shut it all down and i wish i wasn't this way but my brain is protecting itself or something. that's what i'm told anyways.

i miss quotev i practically lived there. most of my system THRIVED there, with the RP groups we could pretend to be in character and then just be ourselves, people would address us as ourselves and it was so affirming and it felt amazing to finally exist and matter to someone. we have an alter who is basically all digital, so we often see ourselves like a little sprite traveling through 0s and 1s and pixels out into the wide web !! it's fun but sometimes very lonely.

so i totally get what you're saying. if you were a tamagotchi i would put you on a keychain and take you out and about !! digital friends ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

cathartic pain !! yes !!! it's nice to remind yourself that it hurts - remind yourself you're still here, you still are feeling and alive, you did experience things that you carry around with you... i am very dissociative unfortunately so i relish anything that makes me feel again. most of the time i feel like a fuzzy static CRT TV...

and thank you (o^▽^o) im going to try to have a good evening. i think i can do it. im going home today (was at my roommates mum's to visit, she gets lonely) and im excited to go home and relax !! you're certainly not being too much or annoying. i only get annoyed by actually irritating things. like frustration at ignorance or injustice... i am always yelling on my blog that anyone can come yap anytime about anything because i like to listen. a pain shared is half a burden, a happiness shared is twice the joy !! (* ^ ω ^) hopefully you make time today to do something self indulgent . it's important to take time to do stuff that feeds your soul . or whatever that sounds cheesy but i hope you know what i mean !!!

[dreaming-of-mossballs]

hii so I'm like a super ultra silent reader of your content bc I am deathly afraid of my liked posts showing up on my friends' feeds. but I had to somehow let you know that even though you seem to be having some sort of burnout and unhappiness with your writing, as someone who's very very picky about what writing I even enjoy, your writing style and skill is definitely some of my favorite on the app at all. I totally understand being unhappy with your own work since I'm an artist too (albeit a visual artist so, not quite the same here but the idea applies), and I can relate to being unsatisfied with whatever it is you're putting out there. but basically, I just wanted to let you know from an outside view, your writing is extremely eloquent and well-put-together and organized. you can tell your writing is created with a lot of thought and time put into it, which is why it's so easy to enjoy. and side note, I LITERALLY haven't been able to stop thinking of your last post since I read it yesterday which almost never happens 😭. honestly even though there's like 5 gepard fans on here so he gets practically no content from anyone, I'd still prefer to have your writing carrying the "fanclub" of sorts over a large crop of posts from lots of people that isnt very well-done or thought about. I know you said this recent post may be your last one for a bit, so please, PLEASE take your time with whatever's next!! your stuff is always very much worth the wait ❤️ and please do take care of yourself and don't push yourself too hard.

(by the way, you totally don't need to post this on your profile or respond to it at all, I just wanted to send in some kind of message about it since as I mentioned, my paranoia prevents me from interacting with your posts directly 😞)

CRYINGB UGLY SOBBING OMGOMGOMG

It surprises me when people say I don’t need to respond because I can’t keep such a nice note to myself 😭 but I do the same thing when I’m sending asks so I totally get it (I’d get this tattooed on my forehead if no one stopped me)

i had NO IDEA I had a super ultra silent reader so this was an absolute joy to get. There was a post I saw earlier about how in fandoms, it’s either you talking with a small group of friends or your door is open and people come in and listen to you ramble. I’m definitely the latter. I’m so fortunate to have so many people invested in my story lol, because like most things I write, they start off as daydreams in bed. I’ve never written one out before, but I’m SO GLAD I DID.

And honestly, if I were to release something the quality I wanted it to be, it would take ages of rereading and refining. Unfortunately im not a very gifted writer, but all the practice I’ve gotten due to being obsessed with gepard has helped me a bit. I just have to remember that haha

Some less coherent thoughts

ITS EASY TO UNDERSTAND???? YAY IM SO HAPPY AHHHHHHHH

i actually based my style off the wings of fire series, i don’t know if y’all are familiar with it, but the introspective humor was so fun to me as a child. (Also I love using Chekhov’s gun as a crutch I’m sorry guys) it also stemmed from the worry that readers wouldn’t be able to visualize what I was picturing, so that ended up in a LOT of describing scenes early on. With no metaphors so it was just like. (Y/N) set the cup down, (Y/N) put the laundry in the washer, etc. hahaha it makes me laugh looking back on it

it also makes me absolutely kicking my feet giddy that it’s invaded your brain. I love giving people brain worms and inflicting emotional damage on them. And gepard ALWAYS shares posts with other Hsr men like. The absolute middle child treatment. But I’m glad I’m doing my part to bring something to the table that’s different than the usual 1k words he gets sandwiched in between five other people.

it makes me so so happy you think my writing is organized and well thought out, because I do put a lot of thought into it!

I’ve run out of words to say but i might come back to this to ramble pfft

i hope that fic gives you a good supply of serotonin for days to come 🩵🩵

[blindrapture]

I'm still sick. though that is fading.

can't sleep. brain racing.

I guess I've got some more rapture stuff to say. because I feel like I've been doing a great job at talking about the ways Act 1 is Early and Different from this mysterious other place that the story goes, I've been doing a great job at talking soberly about it, not really standing behind it. and I need to put some confidence behind it.

because there is, absolutely, a part of me that is keeping Act 1 the way it is because I like it this way.

Act 1 is great because it is an entire-ass novel's worth of words that do not read like any fucking novel, it doesn't even read like some classic experimental novel, it doesn't read like stream-of-conscious, it definitely doesn't read like Ulysses (I was still a good three or four years out from when I read that). it reads more like... social media. one person's feed. that also wasn't intentional, but that is what it amounts to. like a person's social media feed, Act 1 serves to keep you updated on what's going on with Jordan, and in the process, Act 1 exposes you to Jordan and gets you.... "familiar with" Jordan. it also exposes you to The Things That Are Happening, and gets your brain working with Imagining it and with Keeping Track. one of Jordan's jobs, as the narrator of this story, is to help you with that, to imagine and reword things himself, and to try to keep track of some things himself. simple act of literary peristalsis, gets your brain.. moving along a path.

I say that Act 1 gets you "familiar with" Jordan because, even though we have already been through some trauma with him, and even though he has been embarrassingly open with his journal, we still don't actually know that much about him, or why he does what he does. frankly, the fact that I didn't just utterly fill the story, from word 1, with full in-depth Talking About Myself.. is the most fundamental surprise to me in hindsight, and is the reason I have always believed in this story. I was always Doing Something with it. even when I did not actually have solid plans.

Act 1 was written without solid plans for the future. I knew the story would continue with logs for each day, I knew it would go until October 21st. I did actually know how each arc of Act 1 would go, because I was basing the structure of Act 1 off of my actual summer, condensed into a June. 2011 was kind of an incredibly ambitious year for me, and if I explained it all to you here, you... wouldn't believe it, and I'd retraumatize myself anyway. but I wrote it into rapture because I was trying to will it into.. working out. so. so I knew how blackpool would go. I knew how spain would go. and I knew what would come at the end of this act, which we won't get to for another... 20 days. and I knew about the Harlequin. I had that worked out.

the thing. about the Harlequin. is that even this, even the original draft which was uncensored, was me holding back. I had originally, in fucking April, early May of 2011, been planning on buying a doll and making a horror vlog, starring myself and a doll. the doll would have been called "Harlequin." this would have been movement 3 of Jordan Eats Normally Now. I want that to sink in. especially for those who know what's going to happen in the story. the Harlequin, as my portrayal of the Fear Mythos's Wooden Girl, in a twisted relationship with My Fucking Self-Insert, was going to be filmed. and thankfully I decided against doing that. but instead I incorporated it into rapture, fleshing out the ideas I had and giving them a chance to develop into.. some interesting stuff. and when I was in spain, in real life, I had a nightmare about the Harlequin, and I woke up and drew her face from my dream, and I sent that drawing to my artist friend RealaChao and talked about the Harlequin, where this was coming from. and I continued to reason out why this plot had to happen the way it does.

this is all to say. of all things in rapture, the Harlequin is the closest thing to a genuine fucking poetic idea that I was able to conceive at age 16. I was not writing my fantasies out for a public audience, but I was willing to let people believe it was as cynical as that. because this story was... working. it was working far better than Jordan Eats had been. ideas were popping, they were practically forming out of each other, even the format was giving me ideas. and if the story was working, that meant I could feel confident about it. and if I could feel confident about it, that means I could try to let it stand on its own, I could believe that it's possible for people to just read it and get it. the Harlequin is not me writing my fantasies out. the Harlequin is "what if this thing I thought I wanted... hurt?" it's a fear. and it's a fear on top of being quite a metafictional horror, but that brings us back to Jordan himself.

Jordan, as a Character, makes rapture uncomfortable to read. he makes it more and more uncomfortable the more and more genuine he reads as. because Jordan is a self-insert. goddammit, I saw him as the self-insert, the one to humble any other author who wanted to piss around with the thought. Jordan is a self-insert for a lot of reasons, and I mean a lot of reasons. this was another thing I did, once, have an opportunity to change. after the story was first concluded and I got to revise the whole thing for a.. either a PDF release or the First Edition book release, I did consider changing Jordan's name. I told my editor friend, slendyslayer, about this, I talked through it with them, because of course I fucking understand how it looks, how it feels as any given reader to read this fucking self-insert. (I would have called him Rael.) but, I decided against it. I stood by it. because he would have still been a fucking self-insert, just hiding behind a different fucking name. and the point of Jordan is he is the self-insert, he is how you do a fucking self-insert. you own it. it's just honest.

but. right. metafictional horror. I say rapture is a metafictional horror because. I mean, don't you feel it? just by reading it? don't you feel that question in the back of your head? "should I be reading this? am I, like, allowed to read this?" "aren't these some real person's actual, like. private thoughts? private urges?" would you die of embarrassment if it was your teenage urges? placed there on the screen, or in the pages of a book, for posterity? that is horror.

(there are... ways to do that part badly. and the original draft of rapture did.. some of it... very badly. and I got, rightfully, chewed out for that. and rapture's not like that anymore. and it never will be. that was my own horror. but the Jordan stuff? nah, you're allowed to read that. I promise.)

it's also not, like, all horror all the time, because I'm a blasphemous son of a bitch who doesn't believe in horror's right to being a genre. I believe in stories' rights to be scary at parts, but if a story is all scary all the time then it's just a mean-spirited joke on the audience. so. Jordan is meant to make you feel uncomfortable, but then you're supposed to sit with it, and rapture is a long enough story that it gives you plenty of time to sit with it. you become familiar with your discomfort, you identify your discomfort, you come to terms with your discomfort. stage 1 of the reader's intended arc with rapture is "oh my god, I'm staring into the face of the mortifying ordeal of being known." stage 2 is "huh. so that's what it means. those are the implications of being known, that is what's on the other side of the mortification."

yes, I honestly did intend this shit even at age 16. because this wasn't my first self-insert. and neither was Jordan Eats. I had been writing self-inserts for years. and I would continue to, for years. I still write self-inserts. and I am always thinking about why.

so. act 1 is here to get you familiar with Jordan. you have to get past the self-insert part, and you need a lot of time to get past that. you are free to formulate ideas on Jordan as a character. I earnestly hope readers do. I want to see where people are proven right and proven wrong. engaging with the story will pay off. act 1 is likewise here to get you familiar with Donnie.

Donnie is not a self-insert. Donnie is not even based on a real person. Donnie is a.. few things. I don't know that I will get into the Donnie Depths right now. but I will just throw out there, as trivia, that I wrote Donnie into the story because of Stephen King. in 2010 I read Stephen King's Cell. and I really, really dug it. frankly, a lot of the vibes of Act 1 were fueled by admiration of Stephen King. Cell is about a rather modern apocalypse. and the dude protagonist traveled with this... girl... woman?? girl??? can't remember, probably girl, but I was 15-16, she was around my age at least, so I had a crush on her. and I don't actually think I'd written a girl protagonist before (not one who wasn't a chao, or a literal clone of the male protagonist, or both). but something in me said that Rapture would be more interesting if I added a Donnie. it was.

the thing. the conclusion. the thing is. that act 1 is great because it exists, against all odds. it kept impressing me, because I didn't really think I had it in me to come up with, let alone sustain, a story of this sort. even back in 2011, I would finish a log then look over it and feel like I didn't even write the damn thing, like I'm just reading it along with everyone else. y'know what my biggest claim to fame was, at 16 years old? it was Dark Chao Adventures. 400,000 words of niche fucking Sonic fanfic that wasn't about Sonic, and kept inventing its own format because I wrote it from age 10, and which I primarily wrote without an audience yet remembering the time I was 12 and somehow did have a fanbase of other 12-year-olds on the internet. a story that, I assert, only got better when all the fans moved on with their lives and I was just writing for myself. this is to say. I had a weird relationship with writing. (and I had a weird relationship with writing even before that! but that's a different tangent.) I knew I could do.... something? but my guess was as good as anyone else's when it came to what the finished product would look like. Act 1 is the finished product. but it's also, like, the beginning of a long story. Act 1 is where you get to see the story in the active process of finalizing itself. Act 1 is where the very concept of a self-insert is the subject that must be resolved before we can move onto later acts. Act 1... could probably also have been called "Book 1," all things considered. it is longer than a lot of novels, by itself. Act 1 will end on July 4th. even if you skip the Disclaimer logs, you'll want to tune back in for July. I promise.

alright.

that was the sort of ramble I'd been needing to do.

hello, readers. old and new. active and lurking.

ask me anything. or ask yourself.. anything. read!

I'm probably gonna set up masterposts for all these Bonus rambles at a later date.

see you tomorrow for the June 10th log.

god I wanna sleep.

[rottenpumpkin13]

There is stuff I'd like to write about, and I have a lot of ideas, but I find it hard to, one find the motivation to finish writing stuff after I start and two find the time to actually set aside and do it. Do you have any advice for writing when you have the ideas but not the time or motivation. My writing style also tends to be very detail heavy and I've been told I describe the details very clumsily and my first draft a lot of the time and I don't know how to edit to try and fix that. What is your writing process like?

Writing Advice

Caveat: My writing's not perfect at all, I struggle with writer's block constantly, and I've only just recently gotten my style to a point where I'm happy with it. Take what resonates and I hope something here is helpful ❤️

1) Don't put pressure on yourself to write. Don't force yourself to write. Don't beat yourself up over not writing. I'm a big believer in forcing yourself to write when you don't want to write ≠ good writing.

2) You may feel like you need to get all of these ideas out, but maybe your brain isn't telling you to write. Think of your brain as a petulant toddler with picky eating habits. You so desperately want to feed it some writing, but it's asking for reading. You want to feed it some reading, but it's asking for writing. You want to read and write, but your brain is asking for drawing, or a movie, or sleep.

Do you see where I'm going with this? Feed your brain what it's asking for. If it's not asking for writing at that moment, that's ok! Sometimes it needs the fuel from something else to have the energy to write.

3) Try to find an outlet that makes the words flow from you uncontrollably (like water!). For me it's always music. I can't write in silence, and before I write I always play a game with myself that's like "Ok what's Pumpkin's brain asking for today? Is it classical music? Is it ambience sounds related to the scene I'm writing? Is it pop music? I never know before I try it out, and when I do find it, it's like I've turned on a faucet. It could not be music for you though! You never know, it could very well be YouTube/TikTok videos, reading, or anything else that inspires you.

4) I also struggle with motivation + time thing, and soooooo get where you're coming from *cries* What I found that helps me is taking it one step at a time! think of writing as cooking a recipe. You don't just throw everything into the pot all at once and hope for the best, it's a process. What I do first is I draft my scenes as transcripts.

For example a draft of a scene would look like this:

[scene description, what characters are doing, who's there, the vibe, what the weather feels like, etc etc]

character A: dialogue

character B: dialogue

character A: dialogue

And then I go over it with actual writing a.k.a filling it with the meat. This helps my squirrel brain work things out one step at a time.

5) And this may be the worst writing advice ever, but I'm going to go ahead and say take every bit of writing criticism you receive with a spoonful of salt. Not every piece of advice is useful, so learn how to distinguish good criticism from bad and apply it positively to your craft. Also, writing styles come in varying forms and sizes, as do stories themselves. That's why I believe writing advice is not one-size-fits-all.

You can receive bucket loads of good criticism + advice and apply it to your writing, but at the end of the day, all of it isn't going to get you anywhere if you, yourself, still aren't happy with your own writing. So write for yourself before you write for anyone else ❤️

I hope you took something useful out of this :)