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

[4plus1313]

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

[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.

[theswarmsarchives]

ill worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.

(desolation!tim x jon fic! tw for use of the f slur as a synonym for cigarette, suggestive themes, angst near the beginning, and several mentions of fire and burning. basically just incorrect use of the dread powers near the end.)

There is a ghost in my house.

He wanders the halls, calling my name in the dead of night, reaching out to me like I can save him.

I can’t save him.

I tried once, a long time ago, far before he was ever a ghost. Far before he looked at me with something akin to regret in his eyes.

He shouldn’t look at me like that. He never did before. His gaze never burned when it turned to me, it never stung.

But neither did mine.

His stare is enough to hurt, to start up a heat so inescapable it holds me close and fills my lungs with smoke and soot. And he is either blissfully unaware or strikingly in tune with this fact because he just keeps staring.

It’s only fair, I tell myself, I stalked him for god knows how long, lurking in the shadows and blaming him for anything and everything just to soothe the paranoia that sank its teeth deep into my mind and refused to let go.

But there is a ghost in my house, wearing Tim’s face and speaking with Tim’s voice.

I know he isn’t a ghost. I tell myself this to— To help myself, I suppose. It soothes my nerves, makes me feel like I have a say in the matter. Even though I don’t and never will.

The ghost is Tim and I will never come to terms with that. I will never accept that.

That this man, made of wax and warmth, an embodiment of flame and a symbol of all that is lost, is the same man that died in the Unknowing.

It can’t be him. Tim would never come back to me, talking about how I’m the only person he has left, telling me about how hungry he is.

“Jon—” His voice had slipped as he spoke, his molten form shifting unnaturally around him. I still remember the faint puff of smoke from between his lips.

“Jon, I’m weak. I’ve been weak since leaving those damned ruins. I’m hungry, Jon.”

I had nodded solemnly, understanding exactly what he was speaking of. The Fears weren’t too different in that regard. Feed them or they’ll feed on you or whatever Jude has said.

“Right. Right, yes, of course. Do you have any idea how? I mean, have you—”

Tim had laughed at me, eyes upturned into what I think was meant to be a smile. The uncanniness of it set me on edge, I recall.

His grin had always been bright, my light at the end of this dark tunnel, if you will. It was contagious back in our research days. Back when we were just—

“I thought you would know how. That’s why I’m here. Unless you were expecting some, I dunno, heartwarming reunion? A big speech about how sorry I am for sacrificing myself and how I forgive you now?”

I wasn’t stupid, I hadn’t been expecting that. But I hadn’t been expecting Tim to come back at all, really. I’d woken up from my coma knowing he was dead.

“No, you’re right. My apologies, I’m just shocked is all,” I had sucked in a breath through my gritted teeth, leaning against the doorframe in a way I hoped looked casual.

“The Desolation, right?”

That one simple question cut through the air like a knife through butter. Or flesh, if you wish for a more morbid comparison.

“Yeah. Fire, loss, wax. All that jazz.”

I had hummed, my brain buzzing with information almost on command. And I knew exactly what to tell him. He was right to come to me, I suppose. I just wish he hadn’t.

“Your, uhm— Feeding is much more involved than mine is. More physical than a simple compulsion or, or the reading of a statement.”

“Jon.” Everytime he spoke it felt like I was inching closer to a bonfire, dancing around it dangerously. Almost like I was taunting it.

“Apologies, it’s just— Hard to put into words?”

“Aren’t words your whole schtick?”

Against my better judgement, I had chuckled at that, a grim noise and far from the cheery bursts of laughter Tim used to get out of me.

“Yes, they are, but when it comes to the explaining part it gets difficult.”

“Well, figure it out. I might not get cold anymore, but I wouldn’t be fond of standing outside your place all night.”

Right, of course he wouldn’t get cold anymore, that only makes sense, doesn’t it?

“Come inside, Tim. I— I need a moment to collect my thoughts.” I had moved aside, gesturing to the interior of my flat.

He had looked at me like I was insane. Or maybe he thought I was luring him into a trap.

He did step inside though, grumbling under his breath. He wasn’t even trying to hide the plethroa of insults directed right at me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

It meant it was him. He was still there just— Just different. Like me.

“Uh, tea?” It was all I could think to offer. Some semblance of normalcy between two monsters.

“Coffee. But, knowing you, you don’t have any.” He had already made his way to the couch and sat down. I remember trying my hardest to not get hung up on the ‘knowing you,’ Tim hadn’t meant it as anything more. A simple fact that most people knew when they met me.

“Tea is fine. Anything hot will do.”

I had hummed back some vague affirmative before stepping into the kitchen. I don’t recall the space in between, but my memory eventually jumps to us sitting in the living room, mugs gripped tight.

Tim took a sip right out of it, inhaling the steam that brewed above the cup with a deep breath. I had to wait. He didn’t really have to worry about burning his tastebuds off like I did.

“You have to burn stuff.” The first thing I said to fill the silence, out of nowhere and clearly a bit confusing judging by Tim raising what I thought was an eyebrow?

“For— For the Desolation, I mean. Burning things should feed it.”

Tim had huffed in response, smoke clashing with steam then slowly mixing, raising into a halo around his head. It was oddly beautiful.

“Obviously. But where? I don’t exactly plan on— On running around, setting homes ablaze. There has to be a better way.”

And I pitied him, truly, I did. I understood exactly what he meant and exactly what he was trying to avoid. Searching for an alternative.

The Eye seemed to know what he would need as well. It was good for that, at least.

“It doesn’t have to be anything large. You can— You can scorch smaller things. Maybe bushes. Trees. Sprouts. Small objects someone might’ve cared about, but nothing life ending.”

Tim hadn’t looked up and still it was rather easy to tell how hopeful he was when I had said that.

“That would work?”

“I believe so. Think of it as— As me reading a statement. The fear from the scripts still feeds the Eye, but I don’t have to make anyone suffer for it. I don’t have to steal it from someone.”

Tim gaped in awe at that, finally looking more like himself than since he first showed up.

“Cool. So, I don’t—?”

“No, Tim, you don’t need to burn down any houses.” I remember the fondness my voice had held as I said that, softer than it had been in a long while.

“Neat.”

Then we— Just sat there. Dead quiet, stealing quick glances that turned away the moment our eyes met. It was nice to have someone else, though. Even if he didn’t particularly like me.

“Do you— Do you have a place to stay?”

I still have no clue why that was the question I asked. No clue why I felt the need to ask that.

“You’re kidding, right?” Tim knew I wasn’t, the way he looked up at me revealed that much.

“No. I don’t have anywhere to stay. Haven’t really needed one? Turns out alleyways can make fine living when you don’t need to eat, drink or worry about the cold.”

I had let out an Ah in response, short and silent. My index finger traced along the rim of my mug, something to keep my hands from shaking too badly.

“You can stay here, if you wish.” Ah. Right. That little bit was my fault.

His eyes had gone wide, mouth opening and closing like a beached fish, astonished.

I half expected him to laugh at me when he managed to pull himself together. For him to narrow that firey gaze onto me and cackle, harsh and demeaning.

But he didn’t.

For all of his hatred towards me, he understood now. He understood what lead me to all of my decisions, what strange power had puppeted me along without a care in the world.

And he held his own regrets about being as harsh as he had with me. Despite how I absolutely deserved it, in the end.

“Sure.” What? I remember that thought, clear as day, simple but effective.

“You— You’re serious? You’re not just being sarcastic, are you?” Another valid question. It had always been difficult for me to tell when he was joking.

“I’m being serious. Against my best wishes to stay far away from you and that creep factory,” He sank back into the plush of the sofa as he drawled, the cloud of smog now thick enough to cover his face.

“You know more about this than anyone else. And I don’t particularly trust Elias to tell me the truth. You, though? You owe me that much.”

He was right, of course, I did owe him that much. After everything, I owed him more than I could ever keep track of. It only made sense to help him through this too.

“Right, yes, I— I do.” I had cleared my throat before continuing, trying very hard to ignore the feeling of sparklers on my skin, popping and pressing into the flesh. It wasn’t there.

“The guest room is down the hall. Might be a slight bit messy, but it should do. Do you— Need anything? Blankets, pillows?”

He had chuckled again, as harsh as I had been expecting. It still made me jump.

“Are you kidding? I’ll be lucky if I’m even able to sleep. Wanna know how often I’ve had proper rest in the last few months?”

My mouth had fallen open in an attempt to answer, promptly getting cut-off by Tim.

“Two hours. Per week. Maybe four if I’m lucky. It’s not that I need to sleep either I just—” I remember him fanning away his personal smoke cloud with one hand, leaning toward me and propping his head up.

“Better way to spend my time, y’know? It’s nice to forget for a while.”

Christ, sure, speak my feelings aloud to me, why don’t you? Thanks, Tim.

I had hummed. Oh, and I was finally able to drink my tea. It had been subpar, Martin’s had always been better, and a little cold after I’d let it sit for as long as I had.

“I paid you a few visits.” A beat.

Nothing aside from my breathing, the far-off ticking of the wall clock, and the idle tapping of Tim’s fingers filled the room.

“What?”

“The hospital.” He wasn’t looking at me anymore, suddenly entranced with his own mug. “I stopped by a few times.”

And I nearly sobbed then and there. He had been there. Not frequently, sure, but he was—

“Why?” I hadn’t meant for it to happen. I hadn’t meant for my tongue to weave a web perfect for catching the truth. I hadn’t meant for my lips to feel heavy and coated as the words passed them.

“I—” He had fought back, much to my relief, giving me a chance to break the sturdy thread of the compulsion. But he gave out. Fast. Almost like he wanted me to hear.

Looking back, he probably did.

“I missed you.” His tone was strikingly soft, quiet and— And gentle. God, it had been so gentle.

“I missed you.” He repeated, almost like a mantra. Like he thought I hadn’t heard him. “The real you. Not the paranoid bastard that had fallen under the Watcher’s influence or whatever. I figured—”

A break in the sentence as he swallowed, more a performative motion than anything.

“I figured if I’m still mostly myself, even now, then maybe I’d been too harsh. Maybe— Maybe Jon was just as real as Tim. Maybe Jon is just as real as Tim.”

I remember trying very hard to keep those tears from falling. To keep it together and not let Tim know just how much I had needed something like this, but I’d never had that luck before.

Why would I have it then?

So, I sobbed. Obviously I sobbed. It had been a while since I had last been able to and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t at least a little freeing.

The rest of the night was bumpy.

Tim remained awkwardly quiet as I sniffled and wept through a breakdown most aren’t fit to handle, I shuffled him into the guest bedroom once I had my shit together, and then I just— Sat awake for a few hours.

Tim was back.

He was different, we both were, we both are, but he was back. And here. And he had missed me, apparently.

It’s a bit of an understatement to say I had trouble sleeping that night, repeating that odd conversation over and over in my head.

He had been telling the truth though, I know that much. That is how the compulsion works after all and—

“Jon?” A sharp tap on my shoulder. Wh—

“Hey, you’re getting stuck in your head again. Earth to boss?”

Ah. Right. Back to the present, I suppose. I clutched the bottle I held closer, now acutely aware of the cigarette resting between my lips.

“Thank— Thank you, Tim. I didn’t mean to, to, uh, zone out. Again. How long was I—?”

“Few minutes. You started mumbling my name after a bit and you were all teary-eyed.” He gesuted, mostly at my face, as he spoke and, sure enough, my cheeks were damp with tears.

“Oh. Sorry, I’m not sure what caused this?” It came out as more of a question than a reassurance, but Tim nodded, waving his hand dismissively.

“Nah, it’s fine. I mean, how many rounds have you knocked back by now? You’re more than halfway way through that damned bottle!”

Much to my shock, and slight dismay, the drink I held was mostly gone. I groaned before setting it down on the floor, the awful clinking of the glass setting me on edge.

“Hey, I could’ve reigned you in if—”

It was funny, honestly. How in this very moment I could almost pretend we were back in our research days.

“No. No, it’s, uhm, it’s fine. I’m just fuzzy is all. But that is the whole appeal of alcohol, no?”

Tim hummed an affirmative, still not entirely looking at me and— God, wasn’t that a thought. I wanted him to look at me.

Brushing that off to the side, I instead chose to take the fag I was smoking into my deft fingers, waving it idly. I really should put it out.

Drinking and smoking at the same time? What kind of man am I?

I sat there, holding it for a good long while, staring at the smoke drifting off its end.

It was rather similar to the kind Tim gave off.

Speaking of, Tim seemed to notice me zeroing out again and chose to try a different approach this time, snatching the cigarette from me and popping it right into his mouth.

And, good lord, I wasn’t proud of my reaction to that. I tried my best to ignore the flush that spread high on my cheeks, trying to blame it on how much I had to drink, but I knew that wasn’t the case.

Nothing could seem to distract me from him either, continuing to steal quick glances as he drew in a deep breath and exhaled an abnormal amount of smoke without so much as a cough.

Christ.

It wasn’t— The act of smoking itself, it was the fact that he was using my fag to do it. The one I had lit. The one I had been taking steady drags from for the better part of an hour.

That counted as an indirect kiss, right?

Factoring in Tim’s looks only made it worse, he truly was the first man I’ve met that can pull off wax skin this well. I found myself admiring the sheen of it on his face, looking much like a candle left out for too long as wax dripped down onto the floor tiles.

Hm. Yes, I’ve definitely had too much to drink. Sober people don’t think about their roommates like that. Are we just roommates?

Tim has been much nicer as of late. To me in specific. But it’s a more somber kind of sweet. Bitter, leaves a bad taste on my tongue and— Point is, its off.

“You’re staring.” WelI, that was abrupt. I tried to respond, promptly getting cut-off. “I could feel you, boss, and even if I couldn’t I would’ve looked over and saw you gaping anyway.”

Well, shit.

He chuckled, deep in his chest before turning to face me with a slight smirk playing on his lips. Oh, he was— Rolling the cigarette between them now, flashing his teeth sometimes.

I die here and today.

“What is it, Jon? Care to share with the class?” He was being too smug about this whole ordeal. Too cocky for my liking.

“Can you put that out on me?” That, uh, dissolved Tim’s snark in mere seconds. It was satisfying, honestly, watching his jaw go slack in surprise, eyes wide.

“I— I, ahm, didn’t mean that. Of course, no, I don’t know where that came from, sorry, Tim, really—” But he was holding a hand up, silencing me, the fag resting in the other.

He seemed to be considering it carefully, like he had just now realized what it could do. Then he looked back up at me, then down at it again, then back at me, going back and forth a few times before finally speaking.

“Sure.”

“Pardon?”

And suddenly he was much closer, his face mere inches from my own and the cigarette held right into my field of vision. I gulped.

“I said sure. If you want me to do that, then..” He paused for a brief moment, licking his lips. “I’ll do it. I’ve been meaning to burn something anyway and if you’re willing then no harm, no foul, right?”

I simply gave a nod in response, suddenly far warmer than I was prior.

“Do, uh— Can we do it here, maybe? So it’s hidden?” I pointed right at a spot along my collarbone, like a child asking for something they want in a convenience store.

Tim gave it careful consideration before nodding his own agreements. Well, alright then, the deal is sealed. How did I—

Fuck it. I should just enjoy this. Tim is staring me down, eyes roaming over my, currently clothed, features and, good lord, if that doesn’t do something to me.

I set about undoing my shirt buttons, one after another, trailing down the spanse of my abdomen. I got about halfway through before Tim reached forward, hands hesitant and shaking, pleading with me.

All he needed was a curt not before he went to work on the remaining buttons. He was far more careful than I had been expecting, nevermind his reaction when he actually got my shirt open.

He just stared, awestruck at what little I had on display. And it truly was little. A gray sports bra contrasting with my dark skin, scars scattered in various places from various encounters, and the faintest wisps of hair leading to my navel.

“Wow.” His voice was light, carried on a soft breath. He looked at me as if I were a picture, framed and adorned, hung up in a museum or something. I’ve never been one for poetry, much less so when I’m drunk and trying to indulge in my inconvenient fantasies.

But Tim was taking his time. At the moment, his hands hold my waist, large and warm and—

Can we just get on with this already?

I gave a squirm, feeble and weak, but hoping to get my point across. Anything other than having to ask again. Anything.

“Impatient, are we?” He barked out a laugh and I grew faint. Lightheaded. This man is going to be the death of me.

“Get on with it, Tim.” And try as I did to make my voice sound demanding, powerful, it came out soft, bordering on begging.

It did the trick however, earning me a very flustered Tim carefully lowering a near burnt out cigarette to my collarbone. The heat radiating from it was far more prominent by now, fueled by the warmth he gives off.

Then I had no more time to prepare, just a quick flick of his wrist and it was stubbed out against my skin.

It hurt. It obviously hurt, but I tilted my head back and hissed and writhed and whined. And I could hear it sizzling, I could feel it branding me, I could smell the burning of my own flesh.

Then it was gone. And I was left panting, hand covering my mouth and eyes watering. It stung. It stung and it hurt, but it felt so good.

The pain soon gave way, though, subdued by the regenerative properties the Eye had gifted me with. But the scar remained.

“Bloody hell, Jon..”

I shifted closer, grabbing onto his wrist and pressing his hand to the fresh wound, wincing at the pressure but relishing in it all the same.

“More,” My words mixed together as I spoke, slurred. “More, please. Tim, can you—?”

Tim sure could if that expression said anything, his eyes wide and wax beginning to drip down his face as he neared overheating.

“Right,” He breathed out, tossing the cigarette butt over his shoulder. That’ll be a pain to find later. Whatever. “Here, lemme try something.”

He took his hand away which is the opposite of what I wanted, but I didn’t need to whine about it. That was far too dramatic of a reaction.

“Needy.” Oh. Well, that— Certainly had my breath catching in my throat. Involuntarily, of course. But he trailed a finger, so sweetly, along the length of my collarbone when I went quiet.

I see how it is.

So, I bit my tongue. More literally than need be and near the point of drawing blood with how far my teeth dug in, but it kept me quiet.

“There you go. You learn pretty fast, don’t you?” I simply nodded in response, not knowing for sure if he wanted a verbal reply.

The chuckle he let out rumbled up from the back of his throat, accompanied by his rapidly heating fingertip pressing against the cigarette burn. Uh— Again, not proud of my reaction.

I was far louder this time, gasping and arching my back to get him closer, to get him to push down even just a bit harder.

“Tim—” And then my hands were covering my face, breathing heavy. “Tim, please.”

He didn’t give me much time to reconsider my request as his nail bit into my flesh, searing it upon contact. Good lord—

And he seemed to be carving something. And I knew what it was and, god, that was truly crass. Insane, at best, but it was so, so perfect.

It was his name. Simple as a song. Just three letters. A T and an I and an M.

But it was being engraved on my collarbone as I whimpered and tried in vain to hold still. At some point, he’d brought his free hand to my hip, pressing down, forcing me to settle.

All while I threw my head back and wailed, singing my woes to the rooftop. This was good, though, squirming beneath him. Letting him mark me up and feed on me.

Okay, that was— Definitely the alcohol talking.

Then he was done, pulling back and admiring his handiwork like an artist admiring their most recent painting. That should not have my heart skipping a beat.

“Satisfied, boss?”

I hummed in agreement, sprawling myself on the soft carpet beneath me, shirt still bunched suggestively at my wrists.

“Just so you know, this was the last thing I expected you to be into.” And the bastard had the gall to laugh as he said that, leaning over me and bracketing my chest with two arms.

“Jonathan Sims, The Archivist, near creaming himself over a bit of masochism.” I cringed, very obviously and that, too, drew another cackle from Tim.

“I was not anywhere near doing that—”

“Mhm. I bet five quid that you soaked through those boxers of yours.” He was, unfortunately, right in that regard. Now I’m just acutely aware of how wet and sticky and gross my thighs are.

Thank you, once again, Tim.

“And? Did you fare any better, Stoker?” I already knew the answer. And it was a resounding no.

Actually, it would be much more amusing if I compelled that one out of him. Mutual feeding, you could call it.

He didn’t seem to be answering anyway, trying to create a distraction by looming over me, hovering mere inches over my body.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and tugged him down, nuzzling into his neck. It was smooth, being made of wax and all, and gave off a pleasant amount of warmth now that he’s cooled himself off.

“I asked if you did any better, Tim,” I startled myself with the commanding lilt I managed to sneak into my voice, earning a shiver from him.

“Answer me, will you? Honestly.”

The fractals of embarrassment and fear that darted around in Tim’s mind were wonderful, satiating the Eye whilst tasting far better than a plain old statement.

“No. I—” Oh, it was always so much fun when he faked a fight. I always won in the end, but it was truly amazing when he wrestled against the urge to spill his guts.

“I didn’t,” He finally got out. “Can you fucking blame me? Your shirt was off and you let me burn my name into your skin. Don’t get me started on the whimpering.”

“The whimpering?” I cocked my eyebrow.

“Yeah, good lord, I think if you had moaned my name I would’ve lost it.” His head rest atop my own and it was endearing to hear the slight tremble in his voice at his own words. It was as if he was the drunk one and not vice versa.

“I see.. Well, too bad I can’t help you in that regard.” He groaned, frustrated, and I couldn’t help the amused chuckle I let slip.

“Fuck you, you prick.”

“Yes, yes, we just established how much you’d like to fuck me, it is a shame you can’t isn’t it?”

The last thing I expected in reply was Tim tensing up, muscles drawn taut.

“Jon, y’know I don’t mind that you don’t— That you don’t want to do that, right?” His tone was genuine, questioning, but gentle.

“I’m aware, Tim. And to clarify, I was poking fun at you. I’m well aware that you don’t mind and are more than content with masturbating in the shower and stealing all of my hot water in the process.” He laughed this time, a puff of breath that ruffled my hair.

“I do not.”

“Pardon me overstepping here, but you aren’t exactly quiet.” I then paused, considering something. “I never thought to ask, but is every part of you made of wax?”

“Yeah. It does all work the same, though.” And I’m quite sure the only reason he answered honestly there is due to my fingers tangled in his hair, petting him.

“Interesting.”

“You sound like you want to dissect me.”

I, once again, laughed at that, shifting to pull him closer.

“Maybe I do. You never know! Cuddling with you could just be my clever decoy.”

And in one swift movement he positioned us on our sides, bringing me to his chest. Ah. Big spoon, little spoon. Perfect.

“Don’t let me interrupt your schemes then, please do keep distracting me from them.”

I mumbled something in reply, all of my exhaustion catching up with me the second I grew comfortable.

Then a kiss was planted to my scalp, short and sweet, just as my eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. As my conscious began to fade.

“Love you, boss.” Is the last thing I hear as I drift off to sleep.

The ghost in my house isn’t a ghost. He is Tim. And I don’t think I’ll ever come to terms with that, but I wouldn’t have him any other way.

[brain-rot-central]

If you ever wanted to know how bad the illiteracy crisis in America is, I work with people who are native English speakers, grew up going to public schools in areas that aren't necessarily poor or underfunded and they use AI grammar checkers in order to check how they speak/type on a daily basis.

Now, granted, they could have dyslexia.

I'm definitely some degree of dyslexic, but by exposing yourself to reading and listening to various different audio recordings, you start to develop a sense of "hmm this doesn't sound/look right;" almost like a type of pattern recognition.

I knew from a young age that I had difficulties with reading/writing/speaking. I STILL speak backwards and will often jumble the order of words in a sentence, to the point where I have to stop and restart. It's much easier for me to sound coherent through writing than speaking, and even then I sometimes struggle to get my point across.

My parents didn't want to admit I had a problem, so I took it upon myself to read/write as much as I could. I hated when it was my turn to read a passage from a book out loud during class, but I did my best to go over the passage as long as I could before being picked to read it, that way the words were already familiar in my mouth. If that makes sense.

What my point is though is that we neeeeeed to start encouraging people to read again. If you can't spend time reading because of kids or school or a busy schedule, by God pop on an audiobook and just listen. Not saying that all media should be free, but it really should be a lot easier for people to access books and other works. I think that would really help improve literacy rates nationwide.

I'd love to one day see local libraries have delivery services. Like order a book from your library online and they deliver it with a package slip to send it back through the mail after 2-3 weeks; however long they let you keep a book. If you want an extension maybe they make you pay an extra $1-5, something like that, which would cover the cost of packaging in most cases.

To see people using AI grammar checkers on the daily because they either did not have any help with reading/writing when they were younger or grew up impoverished breaks my heart and should not be the standard going forward.

Popping a sentence into a grammar checker will help you in the short-term, but if you want to get to a point where you never have to rely on such a device in the future, you need to practice that skill. And the only way you're going to do that is by putting the effort in to do so.

Not only does it benefit you by way of being able to convey yourself better, but it also helps keep your brain active. There have been multiple studies done that show people who read/play crosswords puzzles have a lower chance of developing memory loss as they age.

There really is truth in the statement, "you use it or you lose it."

I think this is something important to focus on because in a time where book bans are happening across the nation and there's widespread demonization of higher education, we have to realize that our ability to develop critical thinking skills is directly linked to how often we exercise our brains.

By keeping us illiterate, it becomes easier for oppressive governments to spoon feed us bullshit while no one bats an eye. I like to refer to the days of Medieval England and Europe when only those who had money and status were taught how to read. The Church basically ran everything and would very often spin the truth in their favor knowing the masses were illiterate and uneducated.

That's not something I would like to see in the year 2025, and I don't think most people want to see it, either.

Education is not the problem. Knowledge is truly power, and one of the best ways you can obtain knowledge is by reading.

Even if you struggle and you can't read something beyond Dr. Seuss, start there. Read as much at that level as you can, and slowly work yourself up. Keep challenging yourself.

If you need to write words down so you can look them up later, do it. Write them out in a book or a text note document on your phone with the definition next to them.

Do not let them strip your ability to gather information from you. Do not let them make you believe that to have knowledge or the desire to seek out knowledge is a bad thing.

Reading comprehension is one thing that can save you. You can read between the lines of whatever bullshit is being spun and thrown at you. Do not let them take that from you.

[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

[hivemuthur]

You’re actually wild. Like the first fic you posted on AO3 was in December and since then you have 33 fics up?? You’re insane! And most of them being Viktor/Reader?? You’re feeding Viktor Fucker Nation.

I have some questions for the ask thing! 10 and 14. And then I’m curious about stuff related to the questions 12/13 - like what your writing history is, what kinds of stuff did you write pre Arcane, did you write fanfic before, etc?

I’m curious about how you like writing /reader? I know the first couple things you posted were OCs with Joe and Renly. But OC stuff doesn’t get as much attention as /reader - is that why you switched over to that kinda stuff? Sometimes I don’t love second person POV and it took me a bit to get used to so I’m curious as to your thoughts.

You are so right, insane is what I am :v I just checked my AO3 and it says I wrote 270K words (after subtracting the doubled ones). Lol I need help I think.

Honesty being fed by requests makes it so much easier to write. I was actually very nervous at the beginning (and still am when I deviate from the subject because I get struck by a severe case of brain death in the middle), but it only helped me to formulate my thoughts better. I had no idea how much power is in prompting. And the ask game:

10. Is there a character or ship you'd love to write for, but haven't yet?

14. What makes you happiest? New fic comments, kudos, bookmarks, user subscribers, story subscribers, or Tumblr asks?

Interactions, like, beyond anything. Comments, asks, anything that people want to say to me. I was on the reading side for a long time and rarely brought myself to commenting because of some weird shame and this fear that I might be disturbing the author. Now I’m beating my chest and coming back to all those fics I loved and commenting, because finally, FINALLY I know how it feels when the void answers and I never ever want to lose this feeling and I want to give it back to the authors I love. Once, I received an art for my fic and it made me stop in the middle of the street and miss my tram, legit tears in my eyes. People saying that they’ve read something of mine and they got back to writing. I mean, it just feels so good I’m almost ok with the fact that Viktor is fictional :’)

12/13. First fandom/Do you have an 'official' creative writing background such as a degree or previous experience publishing?

Arcane is the first one I’m writing for in terms of fanfiction! And background hmm… not for the works that contain plot I would say? I write a lot for TTRPGs so I’m familiar with plot mechanics, pacing and character creations. I wrote my own tabletop game some time ago (like 2 years?). But it’s very pagan so never published it, Slavic mythology focused :v I used to write film reviews and music reviews during my uni times. But most of my writing before this was character creation for tabletop games. I also write down a lot from the books I like, I read quite a lot.

And regarding Reader/ or 2nd person POV: in the beginning I felt STUPID writing it, I have no idea why, despite the fact that I actually enjoy them as a reader myself (now I think I have no preference, I just like good stories). And because I’m a classified masochist I HAD TO TRY. So I went slow and rewrote the story from 3rd person to 2nd person POV at first. Then I wrote first Reader one-shot and now it feels natural. Same deal with present tense - completely alien at first, until I HAD TO because my sorry ass wanted coherent flashbacks. So I forced myself to learn and now I prefer it, adds to the urgency and reinforces the feeling of starvation when I’m writing sex :v

Hihi it feels so funny to know you’ve been there reading my shit from the beginning in the corners of AO3, like kicking my feet, twirling my hair funny, thank you 🖤

ask game

[quill-firefly]

The Sight of Stars Through a Gilded Cage (SG TFOne AU Fanfic)

I have finished all the training to secure my job so I am officially employed now, yippee.

I am very tired skskks I am writing this after an entire day of job training, which isn't good cause my brain is very tired and words are hard. But I wanted to write something that will make me at least a little happy (as a treat for the long exhausting day).

To help in reading, essentially there's three sections. First section is the present, second section is the past, and third section is like really far back in the past. So it's chronologically backwards.

Anyway, as can be apparent from most of my Shattered Glass fics which feature Starscream, I am a father/mentor-figure Starscream truther (at least for TFOne and thank you storyboards for feeding that agenda hahaha). On Tumblr, since I did receive two new writing requests about platonic yanderes, I'm writing this fic as a sort of indulgence for myself and to help practice writing platonic yanderes (cause different vibes from romantic yanderes). Now, why did I write this in the Shattered Glass AU instead of just the normal universe? Because I like making SG!Megatron suffer (this is what happens to my favorite characters lmao). Also I need to practice in writing SG!Starscream because I prefer to have my SG TFOne AU keep some semblance of their canonical personality and I feel I might be leaning too much into the SG comics for inspiration instead of the TFOne characters themselves.

Also, it's not that important but I do ship Starscream and Megatronus Prime now (even though they never interact in the movie because one of them is dead HAHAHA) because I don't know I feel like those two probably worked closely together before Megatronus Prime died (and because there's no Skyfire in TFOne so I can't go to my automatic ship HAHAHA). I only point this out cause it's in the tags, and also Starscream can't help but see Megatronus Prime in Dee (mostly because I keep seeing those silly posts on Tumblr where people joke Dee is Megatronus Prime's secret love child and it makes me laugh at the thought - and it isn't helped that my SG!Megatron could fly and technically modelled his transformation cog after Starscream's… so ya know the accidental implication I have made is funny). Also also, I saw a Tumblr post (WHICH I LOST DAMNIT BUT GOD WHOEVER POSTED THAT COOKED) where like they compared Startronus as Rose x Pearl and Megatron as Steven and it was so good skskksksk

Also this is somewhat related to "The Prime from Another Universe" but not really, I'm just using the same concept of Dee wanting to leave Cybertron and just travel the stars - but here he's guilt-tripped into staying.

TW: Platonic Yandere Stuff

When you are banished from the only home you’ve ever known, where do you go?

Dee thought he had a home.

Pax had been his home.

Then he met Prime, and Dee realized he never had a home. 

He had carved a place for himself inside Pax’s spark and called it home, but to the other mech, Dee would never have been enough. He had wanted more, not that Dee could resent him for it now. It was for the best that they parted.

Pax could have his dream, and Dee could have his.

Yet even now, the stars continue to slip through his digits.

Was it the moral core in his processor that grounded him, or the golden cage he’d willingly chosen to enter?

Now… Dee thought that wasn’t fair.

After he had fruitlessly battled Pax to save a mech Dee didn’t think deserved to live anyway, Starscream had generously taken him in knowing that the rough terrain of the surface would have eventually killed him.

Dee was not a survivor. Never had been.

He had followed Sentinel’s words without doubt. He kept his helm low, and never questioned the system they had been placed within.

Pax was the survivor.

That’s why Primus chose him.

And it’s why Pax would never have stayed with Dee. He would have never settled for a life he thought he didn’t deserve.

Even with the rule of a new Prime, there was nothing stopping Dee from leaving. The Quintessons had been defeated. All that remained was Optimus Prime and the tyranny he posed.

He couldn’t leave though.

He owed too much to the High Guard to abandon them.

He owed it to Starscream. After everything, he owed it to him the most…

Besides, he already asked Starscream once.

He tried to ask.

Once.

—

Starscream couldn’t help but keep both his optics on his new responsibility.

Starscream had been older than Dee when he had first applied to the High Guard. It had been a decision he had made, and a choice he would never regret. He had chosen to fight for the planet he loved.

A war was no place for a mech so young.

When Starscream could force his anger down, even he felt sorry for the new Prime. Ambitious as Orion Pax may have been, Starscream knew the young mech was not ready for the responsibility of being a Prime and the Matrix-holder.

The Thirteen Primes had been vastly older and Starscream had to deal with their tantrums.

Well not all of them.

Megatronus had been…

He had been wonderful.

The kindest and strongest mech he had ever known. A true warrior of both the body and the spark. Starscream would have laid down his life for his Prime if Megatronus had ever allowed him to.

How many lunar cycles did they spend together? Megatronus Prime would always whisper to him - as though it was their secret - that he wished his fellow Primes were not so wrathful and so power hungry.

Starscream missed him—

“Starscream?”

He shook his helm, forcing a scowl to his faceplate as he turned to the younger mech. They were both in the medical bay, and if Dee hadn’t been the medic assigned during this particular joor, Starscream might have put up more of a fight. He never did like being grounded. Also, it didn’t help that the only other medic around was Shockwave who would have fussed over Starscream as if he was a sparkling and not the Commander of the High Guard.

“What? I told you and those pain-in-the-aft trine brothers of mine that the scratches in my wings did not need repairs!” It had been nothing more than a scuffle between him and one of the Prime’s scouts. Really, Thundercracker and Skywarp had given him more pain by dragging him to the medical bay. “This is a waste of medical resources—”

“...That wasn’t what I was going to say.” Dee muttered, the words low in his vocoder that Starscream’s audials nearly missed it.

“Is your shift over? If it is then let me out, I don’t want to deal with Shockwave.” He rolled his optics. Shockwave’s high empathy was the reason why Starscream made him medic… but Primus knows that the other mech meddled too much.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say but… Starscream, as the leader of the High Guard, I don’t think it’s a waste to use our medical resources on you.” The younger mech’s blue optics met his own, a hardness in his eyes. “When I was a miner, medical supplies were abundant but it would cost us our energon rations if we were to be sent to the medical bay. I know you want to keep the High Guard functioning by conserving resources, but I don’t think depriving anyone of medical assistance will help. Especially if you deprive yourself, Commander.”

“Is that anyway to talk to your superior officer?” A growl tore through his vocoder, though both mechs knew it held no threat. 

He held too much of a softspark for his new responsibility.

“Starscream, you deserve to live for yourself too.”

‘You shouldn’t throw your life away for mine.’

Starscream nearly fell off the medical berth. He placed a servo to his helm, surprised to hear the voice of a mech long dead. Slowly, he turned his optics to a startled Dee, who watched him with a concerned gaze.

He hated that this wasn’t the first time Megatronus Prime’s ghost had come to haunt him.

He had spent fifty cycles trying to forget what he had lost, and yet all of that effort was thrown away the moment this… this…

Starscream hated how the young mech reminded him too much of Megatronus.

Maybe it was the stupid helm shape. 

But mostly it was the personality, and that they both had wanted a world where they could live in peace.

What Starscream hated the most was that he had allowed Dee to study his transformation cog, because now—

“Starscream?”

His processor halted in its thoughts, and Starscream remembered himself. He focused all his attention back on the younger mech - whose blue optics had lowered, as though the ground was suddenly interesting.

“What?” He couldn’t stop the irritation from seeping into his voice, though they both knew it was never real.

“Now that the war with the Quintessons is over… and if only because of you that I have the ability to transform and fly… I wanted…” The young mech finally met his optics, and a sense of dread made the spark in his chassis grow cold. “Forgive me, but I wish to leave Cybertron—”

“Have you lost your processor?!” His voice went shrill and before he knew it, his servos were gripping onto the younger mech’s shoulder pads, the metal creaking underneath his strength. “The Quintessons may not be attacking the surface of Cybertron, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t waiting in orbit!”

“You heard the decree they sent out. They won’t be coming back. Not after everything that Prime did.” Dee shuddered in his hold, though Starscream truly couldn’t tell if it was fear of the horrors they had witnessed the new Prime commit or if he was… scared of Starscream himself.

He loosened his grip, guilt already gnawing at his spark.

“We don’t know that.”

But Starscream did.

The death of the Thirteen Primes had incentivized the Quintessons into staying and forcing Sentinel into serving them. But with the return of a new Prime, one somehow worse than all thirteen combined, the Quintessons wouldn’t dare to come back. 

After all, they only forced Sentinel into serving their needs as penance for what the Thirteen Primes had done to them.

The Quintessons had never started the war, they weren’t about to stay for another one.

“Listen to me.” Starscream took his servos off of Dee’s shoulder, though he wanted nothing more to keep the younger mech close. “The Quintessons may have left, but they may still be lurking in Cybertronian airspace. You cannot leave Cybertron.”

“Starscream, with all due respect, I don’t believe that and I know you don’t either.”

At that comment, Starscream can’t help but sympathize with Prime. It was wrong, but Starscream did miss when the younger mech had been more agreeable and willing to go along with his words.

The confrontation with Sentinel had taught the young mech to be doubtful.

And that was good!

Starscream just… wished the younger didn’t show the same scrutiny towards his own authority.

“You want me to tell the truth? Then I will.” Starscream stood up from the medical berth, approaching the younger mech who held his ground.

There was no fear in Dee’s eyes, and Starscream was grateful for that. 

Even now, there was still some trust.

“The High Guard cannot afford to lose more mechs.”

Blue optics widened, surprise meeting the coldness that Starscream forced into his gaze.

Right now, he couldn’t be Dee’s friend.

He couldn’t even be a mentor.

Right now, if he wanted to ensure the younger mech stayed, then he needed to be a Commander.

“We have had our losses during our battle with the Quintessons, and while some Iaconians have defected to our side, we cannot afford to lose anymore.” He could feel guilt at using his dead comrades as his excuse, but Starscream could not let Dee leave. “You’re one of two medics right now. While we have new ones in training, we cannot lose you. Remember what it was like back when you were a miner, imagine what would have happened if they didn’t have a medic that could attend to you?”

It was a low blow, and from the horror in the younger mech’s optics, Starscream knew the question he had posed was not a hypothetical.

He let out a soft vent, reaching out to place a servo on the younger mech.

“The High Guard needs you.”

His grip tightened.

Megatronus would hate him for this.

But what had Dee said?

‘You deserve to live for yourself too.’

He had lost Megatronus cycles ago.

He was not about to lose his new ward too.

Starscream didn’t miss the flash of fear in Dee’s blue optics.

“I’ll stay.”

—

Optimus didn’t know loss until he had lost Dee.

That’s why when he had learned the bitterness of that feeling did he only recognize the look in that pathetic High Guard leader’s optics.

Loss.

Optimus knew the mech’s story.

The Thirteen Primes rarely kept records of their personal thoughts, but Optimus had been lucky enough to find one of Megatronus’ in the archives. Probably the only Prime who had the time since he was the weakest out of all of them.

There was a lot of information about that High Guard Commander in those records.

Perhaps, a bit too much.

The realization of the similar loss they both shared had only come when Optimus had accidentally come across Starscream and Dee on the surface.

He would usually send scouts, but Optimus had wanted to find the High Guard base for himself.

Optimus had hidden himself before the two mechs could spot him.

His spark had ached at the sight of Dee, but mostly he was confused because Dee looked different.

He wasn’t cogless for a start.

Optimus didn’t even have the time to wonder how that had happened - though his processor fleetingly recalled a conversation they had about replicating transformation technology - before his attention had been pulled towards Starscream.

Each time Dee’s optics would wander away from Starscream, the older mech would look at him with such affection that Optimus wanted to tear his helm from his frame.

But no, it was a different kind of affection.

It was one he had never really known. Cogless bots had grown up in the cold and dark of the mines, but Optimus recognized this affection from other mechs that had had the privilege of not being cogless.

It was the affection of a sire for their sparkling.

…He needed to save Dee.

[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.

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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

[oh-no-its-bird]

4, 14, 17 for the fic ask game!!!

From [THIS] ask game

4, What are some words or phrases you feel like you overuse?

OK SO ACTUALLY I CAN REMEMBER JUST THE OTHER DAY I WAS WRITING AND HAD THE THOUGHT THAT I WAS OVERUSING A SPECIFIC PHRASE, BUT I CANT REMEMBER WHAT IT IS ANYMORE. I do way em-dashes way too much tho, I know I do (oops)

I will say uhh. I don't think I overuse this phrase, but in one part of manic monday, I wrote:

Words floated to Muichuro's ears like shiny little bubbles of sound. Pretty to look at, impossible to understand.

And I did actually end up reusing it somewhere in uhh. I think Stay Soft? (Could be misremembering tho) and It's not really an overuse of it, but just bc it's such a specific and sort of striking phrase, I found myself nervous about whether or not I was "allowed" to use it again. Which is stupid, for the record, I can use my own cool phrases as many times as I want, but yk. Can't control the brain worms

Actually watch me trying to fit this phrase into more fics. Take a shot every time you read the words "shiny bubbles of sound" in a Bird fic, starting now

14, What makes you happiest? New fic comments, kudos, bookmarks, user subscribers, story subscribers, or Tumblr asks?

Oooo this is an impossible question actually, because all of these things make me very happy. Comments and asks probably make me the happiest tho— or bookmarks with comments in them, which are also a special kind of fun just bc they're a persons personal notes to themselves on the fic.

I love feedback !!! I love knowing people are interested in my ideas and what I write!!! It is a drug like no other.

My friends keep railing on me for not being as active in the oc scene anymore but I cant help it when I'm getting so much positive reinforcement here. I probably would not be writing near as much as I do now if not for the people tossing breadcrumbs my way, encouraging me to continue

Looking at the number of people who have subscribed to my fics also fills be with immense joy, I must admit

17, What is something you recently felt proud of in your writing?

FINISHING AND POSTING CHAPTER 1 OF WORKING FOR THE KNIFE!!! IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF!!! ITS ALMOST 11K WORDS THATS CRAZY I COOKED SO HARD !!!!!!!!! SO WELL !!!!!!!!! I'm very very happy with specifically the last scene with Houhua's dad (if u know u know)

The fact that I've also gotten such incredible feedback on ch 1 so far also fills me with pride— Im so so happy that people enjoyed it and that it's (so far) living up to the hype !!! I love feeding the masses with my agenda,,,,

Other than that tho I am very pleased with the fucking giant bible of wolves of the woods lore and plot lines I have hidden away in google docs. I have so much content to write for that, with ch 1 like two thirds done around 7k words (which is way longer than I'd intended it to be, but, I wont complain) Once I finally post that I will actually explode with pride and happiness

[ahiddenpath]

Writing/Life Talk

Chatting about writing and meds.

I saw my therapist today and told her that I haven't written much this year. I used to write daily, and it was never something I had to, like... Push myself into doing. I used to be confused, even, when people would say things like... I don't know, "writing is hard," or, "It's hard to get myself to do it." I had to do it, and it happened on its own, almost like breathing.

Ever since getting on my anxiety meds, it's a fight to even open a word processor.

My therapist explained that anxiety meds are "downers," in a fashion. An anxious brain is constantly firing, and when there is nothing for it to obsess over, it literally creates something to worry about. One of the only things that quieted my brain was writing; I literally had to do it to regulate.

My medicated brain no longer behaves like I'm in danger 24/7. I feel relaxed. When something troubling comes up, I recite the serenity prayer, identify what I CAN do and do it, and let go of what I can't fix. When I feel a big emotion, I walk myself through it. Umm... I feel like I'm failing to convey how different a place my brain is now. The other day, I tripped on my own feet while walking. In the past, I would have scolded myself: Pick up your feet, dumbass! Now, I am kind to myself. Careful, darling. Slow down, take your time.

Everything is better. I cannot convey the betterness and its scope to you. I'm so absurdly grateful.

But. But. I'm trying to figure out what to do with this new me, who suddenly is so much more patient, kind, and emotionally available. Who isn't living on her last nerve and eating up her energy trying (and sometimes failing) to manage an anxiety disorder. It's true that my physical health has been really difficult this year, and that has been difficult, but mental health wise, I'm... Well, it's such a huge change, but it's looking so promising right now.

But- again with the but, lol!- Yeah, my needs are different. I don't need to write, which is freaky, because I always have, literally my whole life. Before I knew how to write, I begged my mom for a journal, which I filled with drawings depicting what I wanted to say (which are totally incomprehensible to me now). Lately, rather than writing, I've been playing video games, playing kalimba (poorly), taking walks, pressing wildflowers, and journaling. I've also been a bit more social IRL, trying to ease into that more. And now that I'm feeling alright physically, I am restarting my old exercise routine. Oh, I've been reading, too.

My brain IS calm, as calm as any American brain can be in 2025, anyway. And I don't want to give the impression that people are more creative off their meds. It's just that now, writing is an activity I choose to do, rather than a daily necessity that is almost like a... Like an involuntary nervous system activity.

I feel really weird about that. Like- does that mean I'm not interested in writing the second I no longer need it to keep my anxiety in check? But agonizing over it like that doesn't help. I'm really just adjusting to my new needs. It's okay to explore different things, sometimes. But my therapist suggested that I schedule some writing time so I don't lose the skill and momentum, should I need it in the future.

So... I guess... Now I have to schedule the thing that used to be like breathing. It's a weird thought/feeling, but I guess that's where I am now.

To be honest, I also have complicated feelings about writing because of the state of fanfiction and fandom right now. I've spoken about this a million times, so I'll keep it brief: just last week alone, AO3 was scraped again to feed AI, and someone reposted a ton of unlocked works. My works are locked, so they should be fine, but... The risk/reward ratio to sharing work online is skewed waaay towards risk. I know that's also impacting my relationship with my fanworks. I've wondered if I should try an original piece, but I do want to finish my open projects. I'm fond of them.

Anyway, that's where I am now! I hope you are all managing to take care as best you can. Thanks so much for checking in with me, love you!

[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.

[writeriguess]

Man, I wish some people would leave you alone, it's like some actively search for ways to verbally attack you and put you down. Find something so simple, like your name, to twist into a whole thing and then blast you for it. It's so disrespectful to you. For the record, I think Neema is a very pretty and unique name, and I'm sorry that someone was dissecting it and reading waaay too much into it just in an effort to come after you.

But I'm super happy that you have such a large fandom of supporters (myself included ☺️) we love your work and understand your schedule and every piece is totally worth the wait! You are amazingly talented and thank you so much for blessing us with your gift and feeding us these wonderful stories!

On another note, do you have any fun trips planned this summer? (Excluding work trips 😊)

Thank you so much for your kind message. It really means more than I can express. You’re right — it hurts when people go out of their way to pick you apart over something as simple and personal as your name, twisting it into something ugly just to take a shot at you. It’s exhausting. So truly, thank you for seeing me, for standing up for me, and for the love you’ve shown not just to my work but to me as a person. That’s rare, and I don’t take it for granted.

It means everything to hear that you enjoy the stories and are willing to wait through the long queue. I know the wait times are growing, and that makes me anxious sometimes, but I remind myself that people like you — who genuinely care — are the reason I started all of this in the first place. So thank you for your patience, and for being part of something that helps keep me going.

As for summer, yes — we actually have a big road trip planned in July! It’s a full family adventure (all eight of us), and we’re hitting everything from national parks to theme parks, water parks, and all the wild stops in between. It’s a huge undertaking, especially with everyone's medical needs, but we’re determined to make it happen. This trip is for my little brother Nygel, who is both mentally and physically disabled and has a degenerative syndrome that will, sadly, take his life. Based on how fast things have progressed, the doctors don’t think he’ll make it past the end of the year. Once his legs give out for good, he’ll need full-time hospital care, and we’re being told that might happen before Christmas. So this is our way of giving him his dream vacation — one last big journey, full of joy and chaos and love. No matter how much it costs, it’s worth it.

It’s a complicated time for all of us. Three of us kids have serious health conditions, and in my case, I live with a chronic illness that makes me prone to sudden brain strokes. Most of the time, I can tell when an attack is harmless — but every now and then, the signs mean I have to get to a hospital immediately. What scares me is that if one ever hits while I’m asleep, I may not wake up. It’s a quiet kind of fear, always in the background, but I try not to let it stop me from living. Still, it’s hard. And it's why this blog matters to me so much. It’s become a space where I can pour out love, grief, creativity, and hope — all of it. And strangely enough, it was Nygel’s decline that inspired me to start it. From something heartbreaking came this beautiful thing, and I see this blog as part of his legacy too. A gift from him, even if he doesn’t realize it.

So again — thank you for your compassion, for reading, and for being part of this. Your words really do stay with me.

[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

[malleusmaleficent]

just dropped a "idk how long this chapter will take" update in the notes of the most recent release. i think im getting better at rationalizing my anxiety but honestly, like, i'll be honest with you all

i am super traumatized by all of this lmao i ugly cry semi-regularly, if the slightest thing in my back changes i start thinking my life is over because i really, really, really thought that my life was over a few months ago, before the surgery. i was ugly crying hugging my mom yesterday, today i was crying while singing in the shower lmfao

pain wise it's not even that bad, like it's obviously unpleasant it oscillates anywhere from a 1 to a 5 generally but compared to what it was before, which was a 10, it's a vast improvement

im just deeply paranoid and traumatized. every little thing being off makes me viscerally worry that my disc is re-herniated or something else is wrong or something. rightly or wrongly.

it's pretty rough

oddly i think that witch hammer has given me something to cling on to, knowing that im making something that people care about and that i also care about is sort of a driving factor for me. i feel like my mental state would be worse if i didn't have this very silly project i have been working on yk

that's part of why i treasure every comment, they help feed my drive and they distract me for at least a few minutes lmao. so really, thank you very much to those of you that comment. life is hard and people suck but we all affect one another in millions of tiny ways, you improve my life by taking the time out of your day to do that and i hope that my extremely homosexual words help return the favor

tw suicidal ideation below

every day where my physical health was worse than the last i instantly catastrophize and have these brief, fleeting mental images of me blowing my brains out lol and how preferable that would be

and i mean, you know, i don't expect that's something i'd actually do so please don't worry about that. just trying to convey in full sincerity like where my life is rn

believe it or not despite my insane anxiety and those brief, fleeting moments of suicidal ideation im generally quite grateful. like at least i can shuffle around, get my own water, go and pet the dog, and very occasionally drive myself somewhere. i could do none of those things before the surgery

so like ultimately i am grateful, im just also very afraid

im sure this reads like a sob story and that's partially because i am generally sad these days but like. idk, i am glad to have this small and insignificant presence of mine on the internet

[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