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highvern · 9 months ago

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Work Me Out

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: Smut, 18+

Warnings: working out, flirting, touching, almost car sex, making out, breast play, fingering, oral, face sitting, multiple sex positions, big dick mingyu, protected sex (gasp!), strength kink, dirty talk, choking, spanking :) lover boy gyu as always. let me know if i missed anything!

Length: ~5k

Note: y'all thought cheol rot was bad but the OG bias wrecker is back. dont come at me for gym terminology i go by vibes. replaced my gym crush with mingyu and this is what happened <3 i have a bonus/pt 2 in the drafts too but I'll wait to post it bc too much muscle pig mingyu is bad for the soul... and the [redacted]

to the anon that sent me a seok ask forever ago about his arms, im sorry i used it in this fic. but know i have a seok fic with exactly what you asked for in the works rn. everyone say thank you anon.

@bbychocolat do not hit my line about mingyu for at least 24 business hours i need to recover

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

read part II

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Figuring out the ins and outs of a new gym isn’t easy but it isn’t impossible. Go too early and you’re surrounded by creepy men old enough to be your grandfather. Right after work is a sure way to experience hoards of gym bros crowding around machines like they own them.

So you go as late as possible.

Only a handful of people are dispersed through the large space. A few run on the treadmills lined on the catwalk of the second floor, several switch through different weights in front of the mirrors. You make your way through the maze of equipment towards the leg press; your final sets before you can go home and wash away the grime of the day.

Or you would if someone wasn’t occupying the one machine you need.

Peeping your head around, you notice a black backpack and matching water bottle on the ground. You glance around, unable to find a clear owner since the next closest person is halfway across the gym doing a different exercise.

Would it be that rude to take the machine out from under someone if they’re not even using it? You could probably get in all your sets before the person even came back if you moved quickly.

You wait a few minutes. How embarrassing would it be to have the mystery person walk back up the second you sat down? But after five minutes pass and no one emerges to claim the spot, you set about changing the weights out.

And just when you slip into the seat, you look up and find someone approaching.

He’s tall, he’s handsome, and he’s barely ten feet away. Your saving grace is that he hasn’t spotted you yet thanks to his phone.

But that doesn’t last long.

“Oh! Sorry! Were you using this machine?” You ask, trying to sound cordial.

“It’s okay!” He smiles at you. “Do you need it?”

Yes.

“No, I can find something else to do.”

You rise to do just that when he stops you with a shrug.

“I don’t mind sharing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I take long breaks between my sets anyway so it’s no big deal.”

So that’s where he went.

“Okay, thanks.”

“No problem.”

He moves to lean against the wall, face buried in his phone once again as you work through your set. Honestly you think he forgot you were even there until you start standing up and he pushes off his perch.

Exchanging polite smiles, you skirt around him and snag your water bottle before occupying the same spot against the painted bricks. You try not to be a creep but watching the way the muscles in his legs bulge and coil with each rep is impossible to look away from. Especially when there’s just so much to look at.

He racks up twelve reps with ease and switches back off with you before wandering out of sight.

You work through two of your sets before he comes teetering back.

“I tried putting it back to your weight.” You laugh, sipping from your water bottle.

“Three forty? Ouch.”

“What? Should I have made it lighter?”

“Try heavier. Like four hundred.”

“My sincerest apologies.” You mock, placing your hand over your heart. “I’ll remember that next time.”

He laughs again before slipping back into the seat and working through the motions.

This time you don’t bother hiding the way you watch him over your phone. He looks good, it’d be a waste not to watch the swell of his chest or the stretch of his thighs. The gym shorts and snug black t-shirt only exacerbate how cut his physique is.

And if he makes a comment you can always twist your not so subtle gawking into a compliment about his form.

When he finishes his set again, he snags his bag and water bottle off the ground before turning to you. “All yours. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

And he’s gone.

Over the next few weeks, you learn mystery man works out at the same time you. He’s there when you arrive and remains when you leave after an hour and a half of sweating and gasping like a dying fish, only absent on Wednesdays when you manage the most last luster workouts of your life. The disappointment the first time you realized you were looking for the backwards cap sticking out amongst the free weights would have been embarrassing but what's wrong with a little eye candy while breaking a sweat?

And what a great view he makes. Your brief peeks into the mirrored walls are full of nothing straining muscles and glowing skin. The first day he did arms in a cutoff tee will go down in history as the worst day of your life. Only rivaled by all the other days he works his legs in shorts accentuating just how nice his ass is with every squat.

Your friends all ask when you’re going to talk to him again. As if you’ll just walk right up and interrupt the best part of your day. No, you’d rather watch him move across the gym floor from the corner of your eye, throw him a friendly nod, and go about your business than run the risk of making things awkward.

Unfortunately, doesn’t possess the same desire to remain a friendly nameless face like you do.

His name is Mingyu. Or that’s what the employee with glasses calls him while they joke around one night. You don’t mean to eavesdrop but they’re loud and the only exit takes you right past the U-shaped desk. Mingyu throws a grin as you pass by on your way out and the flash of teeth spikes your heart rate higher than any exercise you’ve done that night.

When he officially introduces himself at the water fountain the next night, you have to bite the urge to tell him ‘I know.’ Instead you snort at his extended hand, providing your own name over the firm shake like you won’t be haunted by the feeling of the calluses on his fingers or the heat of his palm for the next week.

What’s worse is how he says your name back, rolling the sound across his tongue and past his quirked lips.

And the final nail in the coffin is when you leave and you see the way he turns in the glass doors to watch, bidding you a goodnight with your name signed at the end.

Mingyu might be the worst gym crush in the world. Mostly because your thoughts of him extend beyond the brick walls he should only exist in. And partially because he’s caught you staring more times than you care to admit.

Not as many times as you’ve caught him, but the point stands.

No, the worst part, you find out, is Mingyu is an incorrigible flirt. And he knows it.

Tonight you’re off schedule, runny nearly half an hour later than usual.; work clothes sticking to your skin as you make your way towards the off shooting hall housing the entrance to the locker rooms. In a rush, you step around another body only to end up in front of one much more familiar.

“There's my girl.” Mingyu smiles. “Thought you were skipping out on me.”

My girl. My girl. My girl, my girl, my girl….

There isn’t a thought in your head beyond the bold casualness he drops that bomb on you with so you nod awkwardly and force yourself not to sprint the next twenty feet to hide.

Half an hour later, when you catch him watching you in the mirror over his own weights, the bastard smiles like the cat who caught the canary.

But you end up on top when Mingyu offers to spot you while doing weighted squats. He’s at your back, an appropriate amount of space between your bodies you wish he’d close. You don’t need his help. Your form is better than his (you would know, his ass and thighs give you tunnel vision when its his leg day). And the weight on the bar isn’t even enough to make you strain but why pass up on the offer? Especially with how Mingyu meets your eyes over your shoulder in the mirror with each dip.

And then he cheers ‘that’s my girl’ again when you re-rack the equipment with ease and it's over.

“Shit,” you grunt.

Mingyu pops up from his perch between your breasts under your shirt, hair a mess and eyes glazed. “Good?”

“No, your steering wheel is in my back.” You wince, attempting to wiggle away and ending up further up his lap.

“Sorry, let me just…”

The seat flies back under your combined weight, throwing your forehead right into Mingyu’s chin.

“Fuck!”

“Oh my god!” You gasp. “Are you okay?”

Mingyu’s head falls back as he releases a massive sigh. Each second that ticks by has you both coming to the same conclusion.

“Yeah,” you breath, sitting up. “I think this was a bad idea.”

“Oh…”

“I just mean like your car is small and you’re too big and I—“

The guffaw Mingyu tries to hide slips free too easily. “That’s what she said.”

“God, you’re gross.”

Your nose crinkles as you rise up, using his chest for leverage. It feels as nice as it looks and its the worst knowledge you’ve gained in you life.

“Sticks and stones,” he hums.

“Well this was fun. I’ll ugh… see you around?”

When you try to shift back into the passenger seat to exit, Mingyu’s hands flex over your thighs to keep you in his lap. His sweats do nothing to hide his semi. Something he doesn’t even seem to consider as a concern given the way he unconsciously curls into you.

“Or we can go back to mine.”

He’s trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Like he won’t go home and fuck his fist in the shower with the echoes of your sighs filling his ears if you turn him down. You can see it in his eyes. What hinges on his offer and how much you’ll both regret it if the tension fizzles and dies in his SUV.

From where you’re sitting, it’s incredibly difficult to think with your head and not your hormones. Mingyu is hot, he’s nice, he seems decent enough. His behavior doesn’t hint at him being a creep. If he’s normal enough to fuck in his car, is he not normal enough to fuck in the comfort of a bed?

The thumb stroking your thighs and the hopeful eyes staring you down make the decision for you.

“Yeah, okay.”

With his address in your phone’s GPS, you trail after his SUV in your own car. The roads are familiar because they’re the same roads you drive when you return to your apartment that turns out to be only three blocks closer to the gym than Mingyu’s.

All this time he’d been so close and you never even realized. Did he think about you the same way you thought about him when he drove home? If he did, you’re in for a night.

Rolling into a space only a few down from where he parks, you pause to hype yourself up.

People have sex all the time. It’s no big deal. I can do this.

A knock at the window interrupts your spiral, finding Mingyu smiling sheepishly through the glass. The muscles in your chest squeeze when he opens the door and holds it for you to exit; and threaten to explode when his hand finds the small of your back and guides you towards the stairwell.

Footsteps echo down to the hall, Mingyu only a fraction ahead to lead the way to a non-descript door with a seasonal doormat that's seen better days.

“Ugh, this is it.”

His apartment is shockingly clean for a guy your age. Not clean in the ‘I don’t own enough shit to even be dirty’ way. No, Mingyu’s apartment is cozy. There’s throw pillows and blankets on the couch. He has a lamp and bookshelf in the corner and the walls are adorned with a collage of artwork thoughtfully pieced together. Several personal photos are littered throughout, some with an obviously younger Mingyu propped next to what must be a sister or a cousin, a few of him with friends. One of him and a familiar man with glasses, their faces blurry but the glee clear as they’re frozen in time. Your lips lift with a soft smile at the personal touches bleeding into every corner of his space.

Turning over your shoulder you ask, “You and the guy at the gym are friends?”

Mingyu’s watching you with something unidentifiable in his eyes, stepping forward to figure out which frame you're looking at until he’s only a foot behind you.

“Yeah, we went to the same middle school.”

“And this one?” You say, fingers tracing the edge of the wooden frame.

“My little sister.” Mingyu follows, still only a step behind.

“And I’m assuming these are your parents?”

“Actually those are Wonwoo’s parents.” He chuckles. “These are my parents.”

Mingyu’s arm reaches around to point at the correct photo, his chest brushing against your back.

“Wanna give me the tour?”

Mingyu manages to show you everything in five minutes. The living room and connected kitchen you’re already standing in, the door of the hall bathroom, and finally his bedroom. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, discovering the new smattering of details that uncover more about the man waiting with baited breath in the threshold.

“Why are you over there?” You ask.

With arms crossed and shoulders up to his ears, Mingyu resembles a kid waiting to be scolded rather than a man who tried to hook up with you in his car less than thirty minutes ago.

“I’m nervous.”

You can’t stop the satisfaction from spreading to your face. “I make you nervous?”

Mingyu pushes off the door jam, shuffling forward until he’s standing a foot in front of you. “Yeah. I don’t really do stuff like this.”

“Stuff like what? Try and fuck girls in your car?”

“Haha.” Mingyu mocks, face descending until he rubs his nose with yours.

Your eyes slip closed when his do, breathing each other's air. “Stuff like what, Gyu?”

Your hands find the material of his shirt stretched across his shoulder. Each brush of his lips across your cheek, down your jaw, until he finds your ear.

“I don’t sleep around with girls I’m not dating.”

Oh.

“We don’t hav—”

“Which is not the best way to ask you out.”

You press him out of your space, far enough that you can look him in the eyes and see if he’s serious. The tips of Mingyu’s ears burn red but he’s looking right at you despite how embarrassed he clearly feels.

“You’re asking me on a date?”

“Ugh, yeah. I think it’d be fun. But you don’t have to! If you just wanna do this that's fine t—”

Whatever words Mingyu was trying to say fizzle on the tip of his tongue as you pull him into a kiss. He curls over you, pressing you further into his bed with every fervent pass. Wedging one hand under the small of your back, Mingyu lifts you up and carries you while he crawls to the center.

Your mind wanders to all the other ways he can manhandle you into the mattress.

He settles flat against you, hips cradled between your own while delving into your mouth. You fill your hands with his ass, dragging Mingyu’s covered cock against your core. A groan backs apart your lips as Mingyu falls into the curve of your neck.

“This is a yes to the date by the way.” You pant now that he’s taken over, hands scratching up his back in an effort to get rid of his shirt. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Mingyu’s clothes disappear over his head and across the room, yours following shortly after. The heat of bare skin on bare skin is better than anything until he takes one of your breasts in his palm and the other in his mouth.

Every curse you know flies through your lips as he sucks and pinches until you're sore between the legs.

He takes the squeeze of your thighs and the rock of your hips as a greenlight, hands leading where his lips follow until it’s nothing but your panty clad core an inch from his face.

“This okay?” Mingyu asks in the fat of your thigh, tongue trailing fire across the skin.

You nod with a sigh, “Mingyu, please.”

He doesn’t need much more than that, the fabric barrier gone in a blink and his nose traces your folds until he’s dying for a taste.

Mingyu eats pussy like he doesn’t need oxygen. The path of his pointed tongue around your clit is nothing short of precise, meticulously tracing every ridge and curve until the sheets stretch under your fingers. When he flattens it to pay broader attention, your legs squeeze and Mingyu’s hands force them wide around his shoulders.

Your feet flatten on the bed and thrust up his mouth, wet and crude with fingers in his hair and your whines in his ears. Every suck of Mingyu’s mouth forces the muscles in your neck to lerch until they hurt and your head falls back. He takes pride in the way you drip for him, making the best mess he’s ever had the privilege to clean up.

You reward him with an lavishing praise at the next twitch of your insides, “Fuck, just like that.”

Taking advantage of the slight arch in your spine, Mingyu’s hand sneaks under your back, fingers unforgiving as they dig into your ass. He curls your hips up and buries a finger in your core with mortifying ease.

Between your legs, Mingyu catches your eyes. Pupils blown wide, mouths bruised around stuttered breath. A matching set of debauched expressions. He’s more familiar like this; skin glowing with sweat, and hair matted to his forehead. Next time you see him at the gym you know it's all you’ll think about. Next time you're alone in your room, or the shower, or the grocery store. Or anywhere you’ve day dreamed about him before.

He leans back to watch the digit disappear, only to reappear soaking. “Feels good?”

“Give me another and it will.”

You savor the rhythm he sets, thick fingers working to prep you for what you felt under his shorts. His tongue is hard and wet at your clit, fingers stretching and spreading until your stomach dips and you nearly buck him off as your clit swells from abuse.

Your fingers pluck at your nipples and Mingyu apparently likes to watch because he manages more enthusiasm, forces his finger to crook just the right way, and continues to suck even after you start screaming.

“Oh fuck, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant, voice cracked.

Something sounding suspiciously like a ‘thank you’ drops into the mix but Mingyu’s the only one to hear it. In his opinion, he should be the one doing the thanking; you just gave him enough spank bank material for the next six months.

You don’t dislike the taste of yourself on his tongue, his lips, his chin, his cheeks, and even his chest when you flip Mingyu over and aim to return the favor. He blushes when you lap against the hollow of his throat; embarrassed from the way he goes boneless with such simple affection.

He sinks into the plush of the mattress, propped up by the mountain of pillows at the headboard. Mingyu’s stomach stiffens under your tongue and the twitch blooms a smile on your face. Predictable.

“Sensitive?”

Your nails raking up the shape of his thighs turn the denial falling from his lips into a whine, and it makes you wonder what other sounds Mingyu will make with his cock in your mouth.

The vein bulging along the underside of his length gives your tongue something to trace along as you lap from base to flared tip, sucking down until it shines from spit and pre-cum. You take all you can until the curve of your throat protests.

Mingyu’s big and he’s loud.

“Oh God, shit.” He babbles with abandon, hands fisted at his sides until his knuckles turn pale.

You focus on the cock in your mouth rather than how pretty Mingyu’s chest would look covered in bite marks. How a bruise on his hip would be just visible when he reaches over his head to do pull ups, and red streaks from your nails on his bicep would make a great accessory.

A hand lands on the base of your skull, gentle until it's not. His thumb dips to stroke the bulge of his dick through your throat as you take him deeper. And like some ridiculous porno theres still an inch you’ll never be able to take even if you do nothing but let him fucking your mouth until the only thing you taste is cum.

“Fuuuuck,” Mingyu groans from a harsh suck on the upstroke.

He distracts you with his tongue on yours, keeping you from diving back down and destroying his ego from how quick you almost made him cum. Your one solace is the lazy grip you have on the base of Mingyu’s length, fingers tightening around the head while he cants into the squeeze.

You think Mingyu is going to plant you on his cock and make you ride it until one of you is crying. But he keeps pushing and pulling until you’re kneeling over his face, knees cushioned in the pillows and hands against the wall to steady you while he dives in again.

His head shakes back and forth, tongue out to swipe messily at your clit as you grind into his face. The last grip of sanity you have gives you the mind to reach back, jerking Mingyu off while he eats it, a cycle of moans moving through you; him into your folds when you squeeze from a grating pass off his tongue that has you whining to the ceiling fan.

“Shit, need you to fuck me.” You whine but don’t stop curling against the latch of his lips, legs stiff with ache.

It’s Mingyu who brings things to a halt, raising you away from his mouth until you're left on your knees while he stands to rummage in the drawer for a condom. You listen while the paint of the wall cools your forehead.

The hand at the dip of your spine makes you melt when he checks in, “Still okay?”

Nodding, you find him over your shoulder with a thick swallow. Mingyu’s nose follows the slope of your muscles, lips untying all the knots he’s worked into them over the past few weeks.

“Want it like this?”

“Yeah.”

You drop until your chest meets the bed and arch until it hurts just to put on a good show. Mingyu shuffles behind you, knocking your knees wider with his own, palms molding to your ass and spreading it apart to take a good look like he wasn’t tongue deep inside your pussy already. The room is nothing more than the sounds of grounding breaths; Mingyu watching the way your torso moves around the air, releasing a long exhale before moving closer.

The feel of his chest against yours was great, but the hard muscle of it along your back, his chain caught between and leaving a definitive mark, is life ruining. It shreds the last bit of humanity you’ve been clinging to since you dragged Mingyu to the parking lot and tried to stick your hands down his pants while leant against the passenger door.

No matter how well Mingyu stretched you for his cock it was never going to be enough. Taking the first inch nearly splits you in half. But you're soaked and needy; nothing short of the end of the world is going to keep you from getting the satisfaction of feeling him in your guts. You take it with measured breaths and affirmations to relax. Slow arches of his hips work him in until he’s flat with your ass and whispering absolute depravity into your ears.

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

Arching your ass higher, you whimper, “You’re huge.”

Your ass stings under his punishing hand, thrown forward by an involuntary buck of his hips.

“Don’t say that.”

You turn until you can look over your shoulder again, meeting wild eyes. “You feels so good.” You moan, eyelids low and wrecked.

“Didn’t—shit, think you’d have such a dirty mouth.” He bites into the side of your neck, sucking a bruise like a depraved teenager.

“I knew you’d have a fat cock.”

You get what you want so easily it's almost insulting; Mingyu’s hand forcing your face into the sheets and his hips rushing into you with pure need. Every prod into your cunt has you wailing. It’d destroy your self respect if you could think of anything beyond how he’s ruining you for anyone else.

Pillows topple off the edge of the bed as you scramble for a hold. Anything to ground you against the burn in your veins with every tight squeeze around Mingyu’s cock. His balls slap against your clit teasingly, more degrading than the way he has you bent in half.

“Harder,” you beg.

Mingyu falls back on his haunches, pulling you with him until you're sitting up right. His arm comes into view, curling around neck until your throat sits in the crux of his elbow and his hand latches on your shoulder; a crude headlock he uses as leverage to keep fucking into you. You’ve been choked but this is infinitely better. Whatever Mingyu wants to take from you, he’s in a position to do so.

“Gonna cum?” He nips into your earlobe.

His hand shoves its way between your legs, swipe roughly against your clit before you can even hope to answer.

A pathetic nod is all you manage thanks to the muscles gathered under your chin limiting your mobility.

Mingyu let's go then and your hands prevent a crash into the headboard, putting you back in the same position as before but you have to work for it now; ass bouncing in his laps as you ride him. Finding your balance, you drop one hand to your clit as Mingyu’s pinch your nipples.

“Let me have it, let me make you come." Mingyu pants into your spine. "Fuck you look so good like this, shit.”

He keeps rambling, flying with you towards the edge hand in hand; both breathless from the slap of your thighs against his.

“Mingyu, feel so good. Oh my god, oh my g—”

The softness of the pillows greets you once again while everything flashes white. Mingyu scrambles behind, fucking you into the mattress while you soak his cock. Muscles twitching, teeth ground till they crack, you come and come and come while begging him to do the same.

Mingyu gives in without hesitation, all his weight behind his hips as he fills the condom; dragging you back with an arm around your waist. Every jerk of his cock against your walls from the force makes you vibrate until he’s slipping out, soiled and used against the back of your thigh.

The last thing you register is his lips finding your shoulder again, rubbing back and forth as he comes down.

You fall asleep under the heat of his body for who knows how long, content in the mind shattering numbness of what just happened. Mingyu seems to feel the same, dead weight hanging half off you so you can at least manage to breath.

When you wake, whether it's twenty minutes or two hours later, Mingyu is snoring into the pillow, still naked. His lips pout in his sleep and you swallow the urge to shower them with kisses thanks to the drool at the corner of his mouth.

Even without the covers, you're warm. The kind of heat that slips over your skin, sinks into your bones and keens for you to fall asleep and stay. But Mingyu asked you on a date, not to spend the night. And you’d hate to assume and ruin whatever this is before it as a chance to start.

“Where are you going?” He pouts.

You don't make it two inches out of his arms before he’s pulling you back, tangling them around you so there's no chance of unnoticed escape. Mingyu digs his nose into your cheek and waits for an answer like he has all the time in the world.

Something tells you if he knew you were attempting to head home, Mingyu would throw a fit. And what use is that when you want to see what a night sleep with a giant human furnace is like?

“Bathroom.”

Adding to the list of information you’ve learned, Mingyu is a stage five clinger. He latches on to your back, guiding you into the shower stall for a quick spray down that leaves half your face, part of your thigh, and almost none of him clean.

He falls asleep against the base of your skull while brushing your teeth, because of course he has a stash of extra toothbrushes under the sink just in case.

And when you crawl under the fresh sheets, he pulls you into his chest, leaves a kiss against your forehead, and tells you he can’t wait for your breakfast date tomorrow.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu

#svthub #ksmutsociety #kvanity #svt x reader #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #kim mingyu #svt smut #seventeen smut #kim mingyu smut #🫡 highvern

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vodika-vibes · 8 months ago

Note

You are a true blessing to this generation of Star Wars fans tbh

May I have female (ex Jedi) inquisitor!reader x empire!cody

Can be fluff or something more serious like an interrogation or a mission

Love you sm <33

It Only Takes A Spark

Summary: Your relationship with Commander Cody is wrong. You know it. He knows it. Yet, neither of you are willing to let the other go.

Pairing: Purge Trooper Cody x F!Inquisitor Reader

Word Count: 2764

Warnings: Mentions of Torture, though nothing is shown in detail

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So...when you said you wanted imperial cody and imperial reader, you really meant you want almost 15 pages of these two doing everything in their power to stay together in spite of everything thrown against them, with a little fix-it hand waving. Right? Because that's what I wrote, lol.

“Ma’am,” You open your eyes and turn your gaze towards the man standing in the doorway, “We’re about to land.”

“Thank you Commander,” You reply, your voice soft as you slowly push to your feet. Pain shoots up your legs, a lingering gift from the Grand Inquisitor.

Commander Cody remains in the doorway, his expression blank but there’s a hint of concern leaking through the force, and you can only sense it because of how well you know the man. “Are you in need of medical treatment, ma’am?”

“I’m afraid that this is nothing that can be fixed, Commander.”

There’s a sharp burst of irritation and frustration and despair, and you glance at him. You know that he’s irrationally protective of you, and you know that he hates everything about this situation, but he’s usually better at containing himself than this.

For a moment there’s no movement, and then Commander Cody reaches out and presses the button that controls the door, allowing the door to slide shut. The room dims, no longer lit by the bright lights of the main part of the ship.

You watch as he pulls his helmet off and stares at you. “The Grand Inquisitor tortured you again, didn’t he?” He’s trying, so hard, to hide the fury in his voice, but he’s not trying hard enough to hide from you.

“You know I’m not a very good Sith, Cody.” You remind him gently, “I felt too deeply as a Jedi, and my Master thought that that would make me a good Sith. Instead I just became…apathetic.”

“You’re hardly apathetic, sarad.”

You glance at him, and tilt your head slightly, “I think you see more of me than anyone else.”

“That I can believe.” Cody absently passes his helmet from one hand to the other, “Tell me, do you think we’ll find a Jedi on this planet?”

You’re quiet for a long moment, “No.” You finally admit, “I think the Grand Inquisitor doesn’t expect us to find anyone here either, but we have to investigate anyway.”

“Good. I’m so…tired of hunting Jedi.”

You’re quiet for an even longer moment, “You volunteered for the position, Cody. You could have stayed a regular trooper.”

“Yeah, and we both know that it’s the only way that I was going to get that advanced aging issue handled.” Cody scoffs, “Plus…” He pauses, “Nevermind.”

“Go ahead. Speak your mind.”

“Joining the Purge Troopers meant that I’m able to protect you, sarad.” He frowns, “Well, in theory. I still can’t protect you from the Grand Inquisitor.” It’s a ridiculous sappy notion, and yet you can’t help but feel touched.

You shake your head, putting the emotions in the little box with all of the other things deserving of your protection, “You worry too much.”

“Someone has to.” Cody replies, and he sounds so tired that you feel a sting of guilt.

He doesn’t belong here. He’s too good for this life, for the Empire. But then, you’ve always known that.

The comm on his wrist chimes, and you watch as he glances at it. Cody exhales slowly, and for a moment his emotions are a whirlwind around him, before they vanish completely, and he pulls his helmet on, “We’ll be landing in five, Ma’am. Will you be joining us up front?”

You don’t answer for a moment, and then you nod once and pull your own helmet on. “Lead the way, Commander.”

Cody leads you through the small ship, and he settles himself at your shoulder as it lands on the planet's largest landing pad. Hardly necessary, you think, but people are funny about Inquisitors showing up on their planet.

You walk down the landing ramp, and a trembling man greets you on the landing pad. “It’s an honor to have an Inquisitor on our humble planet,” He stammers, wringing his hands, “But I assure you, there are no Jedi on Mora.”

“Perhaps.” Your voice is flat, “A report was made, and so we shall investigate. I trust this will not be an issue.”

“No, no! Of course not!” Somehow the Governor wrings his hands even more, “However, if you do find a Jedi…I hope you know that we aren’t harboring them willingly-”

“I will not make any accusation until I determine whether or not there is a Jedi on this planet.” You interrupt, “I wish to speak with the man who made the report.”

“I…yes…of course.” The governor nervously turns his back on you, “This way. I will be more than happy to show you where he lives.”

“You already know who made the report?” Commander Cody asks.

“Well, yes. He was very proud of it, you see.”

You’re sure that if Cody wasn’t wearing his helmet, he’d be glaring at the Governor hard enough that he’d burst into flames. And, frankly, you don’t blame him. Everything about this situation is screaming that it’s going to be a false report afterall.

Still, a job is a job, so you allow the nervous man to lead you through the winding streets, until you reach a massive house. The Governor’s house, he explains proudly. There’s a young teenage boy sitting on the front steps, nervousness rolling off of him in waves.

The boy looks at you, and then at Cody, and then back to you. Before he looks at the Governor, “You never said that actual Inquisitors would come to interrogate me!” He blurts.

The Governor glares at the boy, and opens his mouth to say something, but you take a step forward, and he stills. “Commander,”

“Ma’am?”

“Ensure the Governor here doesn't run off. Feel free to shoot him if you have to.” You order. You hear Cody unholster his pistols, and the Governor whimpers in fear, but then you’re focused on the boy.

He’s Pantoran, with messily cut lavender hair. His eyes are wide with terror. His clothes are filthy, but not the carefully curated filth that you’d expect from a teenage boy…more like someone who works hard labor.

“You are the person who made the report?” You ask.

“Y-yes ma’am. But I wouldn’t of if I knew that you’d actually come here.” He blurts.

“Then why did you?”

“Um…well…” He nervously fumbles with an old comm, “We…a message went out…”

“ A message?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me.”

The boy opens a message on his comm and hands the small device to you. There, written in black and white, is the message the boy mentioned. A monetary reward to anyone who reports a jedi to the planetary government.

“We…my ma and pa…we don’t have a lot of money. And I thought…that amount of credits would be enough that we’d have enough food-” The boy rambles, “I’m sorry for wasting your time-”

You pass the comm back to the boy, “Did you ever receive your payment?”

“Yes ma’am, though it was a lot less than he promised.”

“Hm.” You turn your attention to the Governor, “You can go.” You say to the boy. You remain still and quiet as he runs off, and it’s only when you’re sure that the boy won’t get involved that you speak again, “I’m find myself very curious,” You murmur, “As to why you might want an Inquisitor and a Purge Trooper on your planet.”

“I…I didn’t have a choice.”

“Is that right?”

“You have to believe me.”

“I think you’ll find that I do not have to do anything.” You correct quietly, “Commander, bring the Governor inside. We need information from him.”

“Yes ma’am,”

You absently wave your hand at the door, using the force to force it open to allow Cody access to the building. You follow him inside, and shut the door behind you.

“Do you wish to be present for the interrogation, ma’am?”

“It is probably for the best.”

“As you say.”

It takes Cody three hours to pull all of the information out of the Governor, and you watch, impassively, as the nervous man’s body lies sprawled on the ground between the pair of you.

“What do you think?” Cody asks as he cleans his knife.

You’re quiet for a long time, “I think it’s incredibly ballsy for him to claim that that Rebellion forced him to do this.”

“I agree.” Cody checks his knife and then slides it back into its holster, “That said, the Rebellion would probably do a lot of things to get their hands on an Inquisitor and a Purge Trooper.”

You pull your gaze away from the body, “You believe that we are the targets then?”

“Would make sense, wouldn’t it?

“It would.” You agree, “Generally speaking, hunting the Rebellion falls under the purview of the Imperial Army, not the Inquisitors or Purge Troopers.”

“You’re not wrong.” He’s quiet, “We should return to the ship and leave. I do not want you in any more danger than you have to be.”

You open your mouth to say something, and then you pause and tilt your head. “Ah. I fear that this is no longer our decision.”

“What do you-?”

Cody isn’t able to finish as the door bursts open, revealing a large group of people in mismatched armor, led by a man wielding a purple lightsaber.

“...well, it looks like there actually is a Jedi on this planet, ma’am.” Cody says dryly.

“So it would appear.”

Mace Windu, who you thought was dead, slides into the opening stance of Vaapad. “Lower your weapons. You’re both under arrest.”

“Well, seeing as you don’t have any actual authority in the galaxy, I would argue as to the legality of the word arrest,” You say flatly, “But very well. Stand down Commander.”

Cody pauses, and he releases a heavy sigh, as he slowly lowers his weapon to the ground and raises his hands. You, however, just raise your hands.

Mace Windu pulls your lightsaber from your waist, and hooks it on his own, and he roughly slaps force suppressors around your wrists.

Which is unfortunate, really. Since the force was the only thing keeping you conscious.

The last thing you hear as the world goes dark is Cody’s loud cursing.

Cody impatiently paces the cell that he’s been thrown in.

Well, it’s a room, with its own fresher and a very comfortable bed. But it’s still locked from the outside, which makes it a very comfortable cell, but a cell all the same.

He feels naked without his armor, but he does understand why he wasn’t allowed to keep it. He wouldn’t have allowed an enemy combatant to keep their armor either.

At least they gave him clothes to wear. Comfortable clothes even.

And he is getting three meals a day, though, tellingly, no one has come to deliver the meals personally. Instead they’re being delivered by Skywalker’s protocol droid.

Not that Cody’s been too eager to talk to anyone.

His mind is locked on his sarad. And on the way she crumpled when the cuffs were slapped around her wrists.

Cody’s no fool. He knew that she was badly injured. He knew that she was using the Force to keep herself going. He hadn’t, however, been aware as to the extent of her injuries.

If he had he wouldn’t have allowed her to leave the ship at all.

Not that it matters at this point, of course.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of his cell door sliding open. Cody half expects to see that damned droid again, so he’s genuinely surprised to see Rex and Wolffe standing there.

With Obi-Wan Kenobi standing behind them.

“Cody!” Rex and Wolffe hurry into the room, stopping several feet away from him, “You’re alive!” Rex says, “I thought…for sure-”

“As if I would die so easily,” Cody replies, “I heard that you went down with your ship, though.”

“Yeah, well…” He shrugs awkwardly, “I did. I got lucky.”

“How’d you become a Purge Trooper, vod. I thought only NatBorns were slated for that.” Wolffe says, a frown on his face.

“It makes sense,” Obi-Wan says from the back of the room, “Anakin would absolutely want to keep you close.”

“I volunteered.” Cody says flatly, and when the three men jerk back in surprise, he continues, “Where is she? The Inquisitor I was with. What did you do to her?”

“She’s in the infirmary.” Rex answers without thinking, “We didn’t hurt her, vod.”

“I want to see her.”

“No one’s being allowed to see her.” Obi-Wan says, “She’s too dangerous.”

Cody’s smile is all teeth, “I’m dangerous. And I’m going to be more so unless you let me see her. And that is a goddamn threat.”

“Okay, easy there vod.” Wolffe says, “General, we can let him see her, right? So this doesn’t become a thing?”

“I think we probably should.” Obi-Wan agrees, sounding slightly shaken, “You’re not going to cause any problems, are you commander?”

“That depends on her.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” Obi-Wan pushes his hand through his graying hair, “Let’s go then.”

The infirmary where they’re keeping his sarad isn’t that far away. Which makes sense, you wouldn’t want an infirmary for prisoners located in the same place as an infirmary for everyone else.

Obi-Wan opens the door with a wave of a keycard, and then Cody ignores the three men walking with him. He pushes between his brothers and crosses the room to the bed where his sarad is sitting and peering out the barred windows.

“Hey,” She turns at the sound of his voice and he jolts when he sees her normal eye color, rather than the striking gold he had gotten used to, “Look at you.” Cody murmurs as he sits on the edge of the bed and presses a hand against her cheek, “No gold.”

Her lips turn up into the tiniest smile, “No force.” She offers as she holds up a single wrist.

“Are you okay?”

She considers his question for a moment, “I’m not in pain,” She finally says, “I had forgotten what it was like to not be in pain.”

“Oh, sarad.”

“I’m okay, Cody.” She reassures quietly, “Are you?”

“Yeah. They’ve been very kind so far.” He carefully tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “Has anyone come to talk to you yet?”

“No. No one.”

“Well, that’s okay then.” Cody says with a sigh, “I’d be cross if they were interrogating you while you were recovering from a medical procedure.”

“You’ll be cross anyway,” she points out as she lifts one hand to press against his, “You’re so protective.”

“Someone has to be.” Cody replies.

Her small smile fades slightly, “Cody…”

“Hm?”

“...if you want to stay here. To stay with your brothers…I wouldn’t tell anyone.” She says quietly, “You…don’t belong with the Empire.”

“And you do?” Cody asks, not touching on her first comment.

She drops her gaze, “We both know that my master will never let me go. You don’t deserve to suffer my fate.”

“My place, sarad,” Cody replies as he uses a single finger to lift her chin, “is by your side. No matter where you might be.” He leans in and lightly bumps his forehead against hers, uncaring for the audience. “It doesn’t matter what you choose. Whether it’s returning to the Empire, staying here with the Rebellion, or moving to Tatooine to pick up moisture farming. I’m going to be right there next to you.”

She stares at him, and then her nose scrunches up adorably, “Moisture Farming?”

“Hey, you never know. Maybe you’ll like it.” It’s something of a relief though, seeing some of her personality peeking through the shroud of apathy she adopted to survive the Empire.

Cody brushes his finger down her cheek, an idea starting to form, “You know…” He murmurs, “We could stay.”

“They’ll never let me stay.”

“They,” Cody says, his voice raising slightly so that their audience can hear you, “are two members of the Jedi Council who were so incapable of doing their duty that they allowed a large number of their padawans to get kidnapped and tortured.”

“...rather uncalled for, Commander.” Obi-Wan mutters from the doorway.

“If and when your Master comes looking for you, he’ll also have to deal with me. And I’ve become very good at killing Force users.” Cody adds with a wry smile.

She sighs softly, and her eyes close, “Alright then.” Her free hand comes up to press against his cheek, “We’ll try it your way.”

“I promise, sarad, no one will ever hurt you again.”

And a genuine smile crosses her face as she moves her other hand to press against his cheek, “Well, if you say so then it must be true.”

#star wars #tcw #commander cody x reader #cody x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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pfhwrittes · 8 months ago

Text

the aftermath.

rating: mature audiences.

pairing: john "soap" mactavish x simon "ghost" riley.

word count: 1.8k

notable tags / warnings: transgender john "soap" mactavish, fluff, humour, very light angst, references to offscreen sex, egregious use of scots, banter, swearing.

A/N: i wrote this instead of sleeping, it was meant to be the set up for another part of my trans!soap drabbles but it took a wild left turn into feelsville and so no actual smut occurs in this fic. however, it is funny and fluffy (in my opinion). as always this can be considered to be very lightly edited so typos and weird grammatical goofs are likely to remain so for that i apologise.

–––

unsurprisingly, it’s kyle that catches on and confronts him the following afternoon as johnny pushes some truly god awful looking peas around his tray in the mess.

“so, who’d you fuck last night then mate?”

kyle plunks himself into the seat opposite johnny, dropping his tray with a clatter. the shepherd’s pie on his tray sags slightly and johnny feels a disarming bolt of empathy for the oozing mince and potato blob. sue him, he’s still feeling a little tender in places, alright? not that he’ll be admitting that to garrick of all people.

“dunno what you’re oan about pal.” johnny sniffs and pokes a particularly dehydrated pea with his fork. there we go, nice and breezy. no need to give the game away son.

kyle scoffs and aims a kick at johnny’s shin under the table.

“oi! ya fuckin’ roaster, the fuck wis that for!”

“i know you fucked someone last night. price was complaining about the stink in his office this morning.” kyle points his fork at johnny’s chest accusingly.

well, shit. johnny knew he should’ve got simon to crack the window before he got fucked seven ways from sunday. again, not that garrick needed to know that particular practical tid-bit of organising a secret rendez-vouz with your superior officer.

johnny clears his throat nonchalantly and picks the spot over kyle’s left ear to address.

“who’s to say it wasnae the captain gettin’ some last night?”

the look kyle directs at johnny could probably be used to store clean cut finnish ice directly from fucking lapland with how freezing it is.

“because he was with me, you tosspot.”

johnny can’t help the way his face slips from carefully blank neutrality into something a wee bit more salacious.

“oh aye, is that right?” johnny abandons looking at kyle’s ear to shoot him the dirtiest smirk he can muster.

“fuck off mactavish.” kyle scowls, “you know what i meant. he was watching the bloody footie with me.”

“is that what you kids are callin’ it these days, eh?” johnny waggles his eyebrows knowingly just to watch kyle glare even harder as he leans forwards to stab johnny in the chest with his fork.

“hey! mind the nipples, they’re fuckin’ custom! i spent money on these things!” johnny pouts and rubs gingerly at his top, pulling a face as he smears mashed potato into the fabric. gross garrick.

“shut up, you got ‘em on the NHS like everyone else, you dickhead.” kyle shoots back.

what was sure to be a brilliantly witty retort gets silenced as price appears from nowhere, glowering down at his two sergeants like he’s just found two of his wayward puppies rolling in something long dead and incredibly pungent.

“mactavish. a word.”

johnny gulps and shoots kyle a betrayed look as soon as price’s back is turned.

“oh sorry mate. must’ve slipped my mind. captain’s looking for you.” kyle grins, looking for all the world like butter wouldn’t melt in that clever wee mouth of his.

bastard.

––

johnny does not fidget. not even once. he’s cool, he’s calm, he’s co-

“it was reported that you were seen leaving this office - my office - at 0300 hours this morning, sergeant.” price rumbles from behind the - his - desk.

-mpletely and utterly fucked.

and not in the way he was only twelve hours previous. in this very room. over that very same desk. steamin’ jesus.

johnny pointedly does not meet price’s gaze, instead he continues staring at the cinderblock behind his captain’s shoulder like it contains the secrets of the universe. or perhaps a false brick that when nudged just right would open a portal to hell under his feet.

the chair under price’s bulk creaks as he settles back, watching for any sign of guilt or admission. the cigar propped on the edge of the cut glass ashtray sends a smoky tendril into the air as it drifts lazily to the window that johnny can see is cracked open a fraction in his peripheral vision.

“nothing to say, sergeant?” price’s voice is deceptively soft and a shudder runs up johnny’s spine unbidden. fuuuuuuck. the way he sees it, he’s either fucked once if he admits to being somewhere he very much shouldn’t have been with company he definitely shouldn’t have been fraternising with, or fucked twice if he tries to deny it without knowing all the facts. he is, as the big bastard himself would say, in a spot tighter than a nun’s cunt.

johnny swallows drily, preparing to take possibly the stupidest risk of his career and possibly his life so far, when a solid knock on the closed door saves him. thank christ. his heart soars -

“enter.” price commands.

almost immediately the hulking figure and current cause of johnny’s predicament steps through the door near silently to stand shoulder to shoulder with johnny. just a hair too close to be considered professional.

“lieutenant riley, good of you to join us.”

- and promptly falls out his arse.

good to know that there was a third and far worse option available to him.

––

centuries or possibly even aeons later, a knock rouses johnny from the light doze he’d slipped into immediately after clambering into the tiny twin bed provided in his room. sent away from price’s office in disgrace, the sounds of his shouting still ringing in his ears. but even worse, the way that simon - ghost - simon had refused to even look at johnny before he turned on his heel and stalked down the corridor. away from him.

“nngh.” johnny grunts intelligently and swipes a slightly tacky palm over his face before letting it drop to brush against the worn carpet tiles. fuck getting up to let price in here to yell at him some more, or to deal with gaz’s kicked puppy look. he’ll stay exactly where he is ta very much, despite the way a spring in the lumpy mattress is poking into his right kidney something fierce. and the fact that now he’s awake he could do with a drink to rinse away the gummy feeling in his mouth. eurgh.

the knock sounds again.

“fer fucks sake, come in then ya -” johnny calls out grumpily, lifting his head from the pillow and his eyes flying open so he can glare at the door from his supine position.

and once again, simon “here to make shit worse for him specifically” riley steps through the door.

“- prick.” johnny finishes weakly. oh. well this is awkward.

simon hums quietly in agreement and quietly shuts the door with his foot. johnny blinks, not entirely sure if he’s agreeing with being called a prick or if the situation is awkward.

“bit o’ both really.” simon rumbles. ah, right yeah. johnny’s always had a habit of saying the first few thoughts that pop into his head immediately after being woken up. always makes one night stands a bit awkward in the mornings.

“hm. is that the reason you’ve never let me stay the night then?” simon asks as he drops heavily into the tactically acquired chair in the corner of the room paying no mind to the fact he’s sitting on johnny’s freshly laundered skivvies.

“somethin’ like that, aye.” johnny swallows awkwardly, christ he needs a drink of water, “that an’ i thought we’d get -”

“caught.” simon finishes tiredly.

johnny huffs out a sound that if he was being charitable could be considered a laugh under the right circumstances. this isn’t the right circumstances. obviously.

“aye. yeah. that an’ all.”

a silence stretches between the two of them then. it’s uncomfortable to say the least, aching in a similar way to johnny’s neck as he continues to peer at simon, who is sagging like a half-empty rucksack. johnny lets his head drop back onto the flat pillow underneath him so he can gaze sightlessly up at the water stained ceiling tile. what a fuckin’ mess.

“‘m sorry.”

it’s said so quietly johnny could half believe he imagined it.

“‘s not yer fault, don’t worry about it.” johnny says flatly to the water mark on the ceiling. he closes one eye and squints, hm. looks a bit like a pair of knickers like that. johnny hears simon take a steadying breath from across the space. oh. johnny opens both eyes and lifts his head, his expression carefully blank.

simon is hunched over now, his elbows resting on his thick thighs and he’s staring fixedly at the carpet just in front of his boots, purposefully avoiding johnny’s eyes.

“simon?” it’s a gentle nudge but johnny watches as simon’s broad shoulders tense up, his biceps flexing as he fidgets with his clasped hands. oh. that’s more of an admission of guilt or responsibility than anything simon could say. johnny knows this man, inside and out at this point. he’s economical with movement in a way that can only ever be learned through being completely aware of your size and surroundings. never a fidgeter. always still. always controlled.

“‘m sorry.” simon repeats quietly, allowing his head to hang down and exposing the soft nape of his neck where his balaclava gapes away from his shirt. in better circumstances johnny would get up and chance a kiss on his exposed skin just to hear him make a soft pleased noise that always reminds johnny of a cat purring out a raspy mrrr of contentment.

“did ye go to price an’ tell him then?” johnny asks levelly despite the way his heart has suddenly decided to reside in his large intestine again for the second time today.

simon’s head jerks up and he frowns.

“no - i - no.” simon states firmly and johnny takes a shuddering breath. good.

“good.” he says out loud. “i didnae think ye would.” johnny tacks on just to watch some of the tension in simon’s shoulders leak away. the urge to comfort simon wells up behind johnny’s ribs, it’s a tender thing and it makes johnny’s breath hitch a little unsteadily. he sighs dramatically to cover it and flops his head back onto the pillow again.

“c’mon then, get over here ya big bastard.” johnny orders faux-peevishly.

“what.”

johnny groans and rolls his eyes. simon can be unbelievably dense when it comes to intimacy that doesn’t involve being bent over the nearest suitable surface sometimes.

“‘mon then, i want a cuddle before price decides to split us up for the rest of our careers.” johnny raises his arms and makes a grabbing motion much like a wee toddler would to demand being picked up. johnny tries not to be insulted when that seems to be the reason that simon hefts himself to his feet to stand awkwardly at the side of the bed.

“‘m not gonna fit.” he states and johnny rolls his eyes again.

“sure ye will, just don’t squash my tits, alright?”

there’s a pause before simon states in his usual blunt manner -

“how th’ fuck am i meant to do that, you ‘ad ‘em chopped off at eighteen.”

and for some reason that makes johnny burst into relieved laughter.

aye, they’ll be alright.

#simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #call of duty fanfic #jm #sr #transgender john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley is a bit of a secret marshmallow #kyle gaz garrick is a little shit #john price is annoyed by his subordinates (again)#and i decided to write this instead of sleeping #scheduled post #please forgive any spelling errors i beg of you #surprise! posting this instead of my usual WIP Wednesday snippet

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gunnrblze · 1 month ago

Note

Mischaracterizations are prevalent in fandoms. I'm curious, which ones of the CoD:Ghosts franchise bug you the most, and make you want to pull out your hair once you see them in fics/other materials?

This question created several additional thoughts, so I’m putting all my yapping below the cut lmfao.

Tbh it doesn’t bother me a whole lot except when it’s a large part of said character, or one of their only canon descriptions/facts/etc. I think it’s great for ppl to create what they want, esp when a lot of the ghosts have little/no info so we quite literally have to make shit up and fill in the likely blanks, but if you’re straying so far from who a character is…😟

Like, Keegan is described and shown throughout the game as being a very quiet man…so it does make me side eye when people portray him as this talkative guy, or someone with a really big personality lol cause that’s just not the vibe. That’s why I rb’d that thing, because I was thinking about how he’s the most popular ghost by far, and I think a lot of those fans aren’t necessarily into the rest of the ghosts game (and they don’t have to be, just an observation). I think that’s why so much of the content made about him outside of the actual ghosts fandom seems out of left field, bc people just kinda take a hot character and do whatever with him (which again, is fine, free will in fandom is good and necessary). I also think that’s why so many people get him confused as being part of other CoD games, because they aren’t aware of where his character even comes from in the first place.

Now this may be a bit of an unpopular opinion bc I know a lot of ppl hate some of the smut aspect that’s written about these characters, because they include themes that are/seem ooc, but I’m gonna be honest…that part doesn’t bother me so much because at the end of the day, people just want to put their fantasies and ideas onto hot masked man…and I get it lmao. Not to say im necessarily gonna read it, esp stuff with hard kink type shit, but it’s more so bothersome when people mischaracterize them because they don’t pay attention to the actual canon character in other fics/materials.

That’s why I kinda separate smut fic from everything else a bit, because a lot of smut I’ve noticed, especially with Keegan specifically, is written ooc, because making it canon/character correct isn’t the point, the sexy time shit is. Now I still prefer reading smut that seems largely in character lol, but I do have to defend the larger idea here that it’s not a crime to write an ooc smut fic because half the time…the smut is the main focus, not the canon/implied personality of the character.

I completely understand the shock of seeing certain smut in the first place (talking about the more fucked up shit here…), especially when it’s then placed on a character you know and love, but it honestly doesn’t bother me that much-and maybe it’s because I’ve been on the internet for too long💀- but that’s kinda the point of fandom I think…doing whatever pleases you, having an outlet. That’s the type of smut I think is very obviously written with the idea in mind, and not necessarily ‘would the character do/behave like this?’. Because yea, these ghost boys would most likely not do all these fucked up things, but I think people still deserve the freedom to write it, and they’re going to anyways lmfao (IF you’re tagging disturbing content correctly, you owe people that much!)

I’ve been having those thoughts for a while now so I had to yap them out of my head lol, but to answer the actual question, aside from Keegan, I hateeee seeing the Walker fam mischaracterized. I think because (it seems) they have more info available on them compared to the other ghosts, so when I see people just giving their personalities a 180 I’m like…Hesh would NOT act like that😩. Especially with Elias because he’s my husband obviously…so people missing larger parts of his character or stuff that’s implied about him makes my eye twitch a little lol.

Also, I don’t typically see a whole lot of ooc stuff for the ghosts in the first place tbh (minus Keegan, bc he has reached the CoD masses of course). Because we’re a smaller fandom, and I think people tend to stay in character more in smaller fandoms (at least from what I’ve seen) because there’s so little content available on characters, and it’s like we’re all clinging to what we DO know about them lmfao.

Thanks for attending my ted talk 💋

#this turned into more than I intended lol #thanks for asking anon cause I love the question though #call of duty ghosts #cod ghosts #gunnrblze rambles

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yeuheart · 2 years ago

Text

2 minus 1

Synopsis: Matching the characters to the lyrics of 2 minus 1 by Seventeen | Featuring: Bachira Meguru, Itoshi Rin, Hiori Yo, Mikage Reo | CW: Breakups | Notes: I’ll probs do more of these types of things. (tags: @hiorisgf)

“I thought you were the one, didn’t need any other”

BACHIRA MEGURU was sitting with Isagi at a bar table near the windows at a cafe his mother recommended. He and Isagi were just hanging out as they normally do when they have free time. Inane chatter filling their bubbles as one goes after another to respond until their minds go blank trying to think of something they haven’t said yet to add to the inane chatter, until Isagi mentions how he’s holding up with the break up of you and him. He doesn’t say anything but start to fiddle with the crumpled straw wrapper, he wonders that too but there’s a thought that has been lingering in his head for far too long since the break up being the one that he thought you were the one, the one he was ought to grow old with. With you he didn’t need anyone else, it was you the one that made him feel special, you were there for him through everything and even promised you wouldn’t leave him, but it was a lie, a painful lie that would probably hinder his trust with another lover if he ever got one again.

“I’m super fine, I, I don’t need you anymore”

ITOSHI RIN was just about to get into his appointed position when he takes a glance at the crowds of people screaming, he unconsciously looks around for a certain person, the last person he wanted to see, you. Once he catches himself doing that he stops himself and reminds himself to just focus on the on match, but he finds himself getting distracted a bit too easily once he spots your face in the crowd during the match. He even gets the ball stolen away from him when he moves his attention to the stands where he was sure he caught a glance of your face. His teammates start to get annoyed when they notice how distracted he was getting, and immediately call him out on it. They even tell him that if he can’t focus he should just excuse himself from the match and have someone come in as a replacement for him (Isagi..). Once he finally gets his focus straight and finishes the match he heads to the locker room instead of celebrating with everyone else. As he’s walking there he beats himself up at his performance and takes notice how uncoordinated he’s been in his schedule every since you left, but he swears he doesn’t need you or anyone to get him back on track, but he does, he’s a wreck without you. He needs you.

“How can you be so fine”

MIKAGE REO recalls how it hasn’t even been a week after your breakup but he notices how you weren’t phased at all and kept going on like nothing happened. He wonders how you can be so fine when he’s a total wreck, he’s even plucking the bristles off his toothbrush. He’s just sitting there wondering whether he should go up to you and ask how you aren’t sad, but he remembers that you won’t even acknowledge him so it’s pointless to even ask. This was his fault in the first place he reminds himself, if he hadn’t said those things then this wouldn’t have happened.

“And every time I see you in my feed, I don’t feel anything anymore”

HIORI YO unlocks his phone and looks for the social media app he’s always on, once he finds it he opens the app with just a tap and starts scrolling through his feed, when he suddenly stops his finger from scrolling and notices a familiar face, it was you. It was a photo with you and your newfound lover striking cute poses. He stares at the picture and wonders if that would have been him in your lovers place if you guys hadn’t broken up, but he throws that thought away and starts scrolling again resisting the habit of liking the post. He even recounts his idea of pressing the not interested button just because he didn’t want to accidentally hit the like button on your post. Just as he scrolls past a post a voice calls out to him in hopes that he would give them some attention. He takes him attention away from his phone to look at the speaker beside him and tells them to let him charge his phone first.

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elysianavenue · 2 years ago

Note

My beloved I have a request if I may 😭😵‍💫✨

Would you be so kind as to write for either Denki or Sero, who is super flirty and cheeky towards the reader. Then one day they fall asleep on his shoulder, and he short circuits and gets all blushy and embarrassed 😔👊

I love u

Ducky my love i had to do this with my boy Denki Kaminari, it just made sense. Hope you love it as much as I love you <3

Speechless

Denki Kaminari x Reader (no specified pronouns)

Warnings: fluff fluff fluffy fluff fluff, god awful pick up lines

Summary: What started out as a playful, pick-up line induced friendship, slowly becomes more over time.

Word count: 449

POV: 2nd person

A flirtationship. It was nothing more than a flirtationship, Denki would tell himself. He knew you didn't feel the same way and he was fine with that. If friendly flirting was all you were okay with, then that's what he would take.

At first it was a joke. Stupid pick-up lines here and there.

"Feel my shirt. Know what it's made of? Boyfriend material."

"Ew stop."

———

"Hey, Y/n, do you believe in love at first sight—or should I walk by again?"

"You can try, can't guarantee I won't ignore you, though."

———

"Y/n, kiss me if I'm wrong but dinosaurs still exist right?"

"Would you settle for a pat on the shoulder?"

———

Stupid pick-up lines. It was how he was with you, and honestly, you never minded. Not that you would let him know that, though. Over time, you began to feel differently for Kaminari, but you were determined to keep those feelings to yourself. You wouldn't want to mess up the perfectly good relationship you had with him now. Little did you know that he had felt the exact same way.

Sometimes you couldn't believe how overly confident he was with you, but again, you just passed it off as the way your friendship with him worked.

His confidence lasted until a certain Thursday evening in the dormitory living room, when he made the mistake/right choice of sitting next to you.

It had been a long day and you were completely and utterly exhausted. You sat on the couch doing your homework when you felt someone's presence on your left.

"Well well well. I must be in Heaven, cause all I see is an angel." Only one person would make such god awful pick up lines.

You gave him a sleepy grin and went back to your textbook.

"Hey, come on Y/n, I work hard on these lines, you know," Denki complained jokingly, poking your cheek.

You sighed and closed your textbook. "I'm so tired, Denki," You uttered, resting your head against the back of the couch.

Denki's face showed sympathy as he raised his hand to pat your head. "Why not go to bed then, dum dum?" He asked, gently caressing your head.

"You know, you're pretty smart sometimes." You said softly, closing your eyes and leaning your head on his shoulder.

In that moment, Denki lost his train of thought. He couldn't form words. His mind was blank. His face bright red. The best way he could describe this feeling was whenever he overused his quirk, only slightly different.

He showed the tiniest of smiles and carefully leaned back against the couch.

And for once, he had nothing to say.

A/n: I'm sorry this took so long and it's just a drabble, but I thought I'd keep it short and sweet and honestly I like it this way.

tags: @duckymcdoorknob

if anyone else wants to be added to the taglist just lemme know in the comments <3

#mha #boku no hero academia #anime #denki kaminari #kaminari x reader #kaminari x y/n #denki x you #denki kaminari x reader #my hero academia

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ten-cent-sleuth · 1 year ago

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2023-12-06 EDIT: This event has flopped and been cancelled. Kindly ignore my having tried and failed to make this happen. I am embarrassed, humiliated, mortified, etc. etc. Lol, happy holidays! Can’t wait to see what fics y’all have in store for us in 2024. <3

Hey, Henry Cavill fans!

Are you interested in filling a prompt for someone while someone else fills a prompt for you? Do you want to participate in a Secret Santa with your Tumblr mutuals—or maybe find some new ones?

Then consider joining the first ever Cavillry Secret Santa! You can sign up via this GForm, and once you’ve done so, I’ll add you to the GSheet for prompts. The idea is you input three gift requests, and your Secret Santa will write for one (or more) of them. More information available on the Form!

If you are hesitant to join, feel free to peek at the prompts here. Anybody can view the spreadsheet, but you can only edit it once you’ve signed up and agreed to the rules.

Should this get big and we decide to do this again next year, I’ll probably make a separate blog for the event. But since this may very well flop, I’ll run everything from my personal Tumblr for now. So send in your doubts and uncertainties to my askbox! If you want me to answer privately, ask off anon and let me know that you don’t want me to post it publicly. :)

The prompts sheet will close at midnight UTC on 5 November 2023, so sign up asap! (You don’t have to have your prompts ready right away—just sign up first if you’re interested! You can always come back to the prompts sheet and edit your requests, and if you change your mind about joining at all after signing up, you can leave your prompts row blank.) I’m sorry for making this so last-minute guys hrjfbsjfh. If you would be willing to be a pinch hitter but don’t want to commit to the full event, you can sign up on the Form as well. And if you, participant or not, would like to be tagged with event updates, just let me know in the comments!

Please signal boost! Reblog this even if you’re not going to join… Share the link to this post and/or to the sign-up Form with your friends… The more participants, the more I can shuffle who’s whose Secret Santa, the more fun this’ll be!

Note: You don’t have to be “big” in the Henry Cavill fandom to participate. Heck, the moderator of this event (yours truly) has literally only ever published ONE Henry Cavill fic before and only has a few Tumblr followers. This is for the well known writers with long masterlists AND for the small blogs with (next to) no experience AND for everyone in between! <3

[For revisiting ease: link to sign up … link to view the prompts]

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gvtted-ratz · 4 months ago

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BEFORE YOU READ:

- Read all tags/ratings if there are any. They are important and give you all you need to decide if you want to actually read. If you do not like the tags/rating, please do not read.

- We ask that anyone who is FEM aligning/identifying to not read our MLM fics. You can still send requests, however, we do not do FEM readers.

- You can find all our works on AO3. Only registered users can view/comment.

- Minors/ageless/blank blogs are not welcome, and you will be blocked. Respect our wishes or you will be blocked. We go through all our likes, followers, and reblogs.

Want to request? Find the rules: here!

Want to see all the fics? Find them: here!

THOMAS

Tom/Thomas x Hacker!GN!Reader

Last Edited: 11/07/2024

TW: mocking, drugging, imprisonment, kidnapping, illegal auctioning, human trafficking

Requested: No.

Word Count: 3,721

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes from gvtted-ratz (writer/creator): Tom, our beloved. There isn’t much, if any, info on him, so we did our best. If you don’t enjoy the headcanons we’ve established here, we don’t mind you clicking off the fic. We do suggest looking up Nazca and its culture. It was pretty interesting to read about.

Notes from @rppik (editor/co-writer): a quote from when I was editing: “Rat, you self-indulgent meta-ass whore, PLEASE”

“I assume this is everything?” You can hear Blue and Red getting shifty at your words. They, as well as you, have been waiting for the introduction to cease to start your biddings.

“That it is, yes! Would my esteemed customers like to let this lowly auctioneer know what goods you wish to purchase?”

Yes, that is the question, isn’t it? Who will you be bidding on to take with you?

》YOU HAVE SELECTED THOMAS 《

“Blue window? Which do you wish to take with you? I’ll make sure to have it all written down!” The Auctioneer asks, motioning towards a metal door. Behind it, you’re sure there’s someone there to take notes of what items are purchased, they will be shipped to, as well as who wasn’t bought.

“Oh! I’d love to have that Thomas boy! I’ll do 140 for him! And perhaps Mason for 250?” Blue’s window lights up. She sounds excited to go first with her purchases. Then again, she always complained when she didn’t get to go before everyone else; better she goes now than later.

“Very well. How about the red window? Whom will you be taking?” The Auctioneer's facial expression is unable to be seen behind her bandage-like mask, though the way she talks with such joy only highlights how well she is at her job.

“200 on Machete, 340 each for the Goffard boys,” Red says, window lighting up.

“What the fuck! Fuck you!” Derek says, Matt looking just as livid as his brother. Machete doesn’t look to be phased at being chosen by Red; his face stays calm despite this very unlucky situation he’s found himself in.

Those that haven’t been chosen appear to be less tense, relieved to not be bought. On the other hand, of Blue’s selected prizes, Mason looks ready to kill; his eyes looking this way and that, body tensed like a large predator ready to pounce. Tom's widened eyes, however, are shiny with fearful, unshed tears.

It appears Blue wants to have someone she can “put in their place” while also having somewhat of an obedient mutt.

“Green window? Would you kindly tell this lowly Auctioneer your choice?”

“150 for Tom,” your warbled voice makes said man flinch at your words. You can see his clasped hands shaking.

“What! But, Green! I want him,” Blue whines, making a distorted sigh spill from your lips. A few of the products’ eyes have that “oh God, now what” look to them. “200!”

“Nearing your budget. 300,” you retort, no hesitation in your tone. You hear a few huffs from her window, the blue glow only highlighting how spoiled she acts despite her age.

“Fine! I’ll take that dirty cop for 150 then!” You can mentally hear the ‘humph!’ after her words, leading to you to sigh once more. Blue is probably the Bidder you like the least, due to her spoiled tone paired with the inability to actually fight for items she deems worthy of her money. You already know she can’t afford the things she wants, compared to you or Red, that is. How she acts only adds fuel to that raging fire.

“‘Dirty cop!? Who the fuck do you think you are, you stupid bitch!” Said dirty cop is now making a fuss, making you smash your hand into your window to silence him. The rattling directs his gaze to your area while others try to look anywhere but.

“Auctioneer, the bidding is done. I will send you the money as agreed upon, including the extra,” you declare, the modulator only making your voice sound emotionless.

“Oh, yes! Of course! Thank you for joining us here today! As ordered, those who were not purchased will be dropped off in or near their respective towns!” A high-pitched whine rings out as a clear mist fills the room, falling from the spouts attached to its ceiling.

The Auctioneer stands away from the shackled group, seemingly watching on as they yell at everyone around them; cornered animals always tend to lash out when there’s no escape. While they proceed to collapse in heaps on the metal ground below, you, The Auctioneer, and your fellow buyers remain standing; you’re not sure if The Auctioneer has a resistance or a built-in filter to keep out the gas used to put the products to sleep. You do know that the buyers’ rooms have a separate system from the main room, holding its own spouts for the gas in case there happens to be a violent mishap.

Just as quickly as the gas started, it clears just as fast; the spouts no longer whine from releasing the unknown chemicals in the air. Dressed similarly to The Auctioneer, employees of hers enter through the only metal door leading into the room. They grab both the purchased and the unsold, hauling them out for shipment; those that have not been chosen will be carted off as The Auctioneer had stated previously, able to be bought again at a later date. Each of the merchandise will be connected to a drip, keeping them under as they’re delivered to their respective drop-off locations.

You feel a small amount of glee at seeing your chosen target being placed in a wheelchair, IV hooked into the meat of his espresso-brown arm. While he doesn’t know it, he’ll be awaiting your arrival as is per policy; there must be a positive identification of the commodity before the Auction House's job is labeled as complete, with this being a precaution in the case of the delivery being in the wrong area.

“All has been settled, yes?” The Auctioneer’s polite speech forces you to stop staring after your new companion. “Would you kindly wire your payments at this time?” Her customer-service tone hasn’t dialed down nor increased during the entirety of the show’s presentation; it simply remains as prim as possible without grating on your nerves.

“The amount should arrive shortly. Exactly as agreed upon.” You present your burner, clicking the keys to gain access to an offshore account you’ve set up prior to this visit. If one were to try tracking it, somehow getting past your secured firewalls and the encryptions you spent days installing, the trail would only lead to some sap who has a very disturbing interest in illegal images containing unsavoury depictions of people’s mutilated bodies. No skin off your back– literally or figuratively, in this case.

Your distorted-sounding words hold true, as some device beyond the metal door The Auctioneer is standing beside lets out a ding . Hearing it, she glances over at it before nodding, deeming your actions acceptable.

“Thank you, Green. I have hope from the bottom of my heart that your lovely purchase with bear the ripest of fruit for your taking!” You only give her a nod from the glass, knowing she cannot see into it unless you were to talk, forcing the light to shine on your form. You don’t bother to stay any longer, deciding to leave the little boxed room. Likewise, you’d rather not listen to any concerns nor issues the other buyers may have; such instances usually end up in heated arguments or death of said buyer, and you're not particularly interested either way.

With the door closing behind you, another figure dressed like one of the many previously seen employees steps out in front to guide you. There are no words exchanged, the only sounds you hear being that of your own footsteps, paired with your guide’s own muffled breathing through the gauzy wrappings around their head.

Nearing the end of the hallways, the guide opens the dark-wooden door before you, stepping aside to allow you to walk through. Your pace stays consistent, neither slowing nor speeding up. Brick steps turn into a worn gravel path under your shoes as you approach your vehicle. The keys are pressed into your awaiting hand by another member of staff, dressed like the others before them. The rental is easy to gain access to, the engine starting with ease now that you’ve put the key in the ignition. As you drive off, you don’t look back, looking forward to approaching your place of work. You’re sure that by the time you arrive, your chosen prize will be there waiting for you, unknowingly in his sleeping state, of course.

-------------------------------------

The black van parked in front of the dilapidated garage you call your workplace almost makes you chuckle. It’s hardly inconspicuous though the van is needed to transport goods like the one you’ve purchased; it only makes the image of a kidnapping, or even a body dumping event, brighter in your mind’s eye. Maybe if it was part of some sort of amateur fanfiction made by a sleep-deprived author, you’d have thought more about the vehicle’s design or the fact that you’re at a very odd location after visiting a human trafficking auction to purchase someone. As it were, you had better things to preoccupy your mind with.

You park the rental close to the van, exiting it to approach the back of the dark car. The back doors swing open, an employee of the auction house opening them from the inside. They gesture at the incapacitated man, allowing your hidden eyes to glance over his form.

The IV is still inserted in his median antebrachial vein, or the superficial vein of the forearm; it’s one of the most common places one inserts an IV. He’s been strapped down on a gurney, keeping him in place during the entire ride here; if he were to wake up during transportation, he wouldn’t have been able to escape with all the leather straps keeping him held down. The man hasn’t been changed out of the white tank top or blue shorts, glasses still on his face.

With a quick nod at the worker to signal your approval, they start the process of getting him prepped for you. They remove all the bonds, drip taken out afterwards, and have one of the bulkier employees carry him over their shoulder like a sack of grains.

You step to the side, allowing them to exit their van, just to lead them into the dilapidated garage. Rubbish, dust piles, as well as weeds decorate the ground before you. While there is a house attached to this abandoned hole, you don’t use it. The house has more damage to it than the garage itself, all thanks to some squatters; there may have been a few drunk, teenage party animals who pitched in too, though that remains unproven. There’s no use in trying to clean up the rest of the place, the garage being the most stable despite its looks; there’s still electricity running through the place, leading to your computer set-up, including a portable heater for when the nights get a little too chilling.

You motion towards a spot in the corner of the room with a dog bed on the floor to have some cushion against the concrete ground. A few blankets are thrown haphazardly near it, the portable heater pointing towards the corner. Along the wall, there are some old pipes, carrying water to the shower a few feet away.

To you, the place looks more like a basement than some abandoned garage, and you can’t help but think you got lucky when nabbing this place. With it purchased under one of your many aliases, the trespassing has been cut down greatly; a few shots from a hidden gun does wonders on chasing them away too.

The business-casual dressed worker sets your merchandise on the dog bed as you gesture towards said spot, being careful as to not cause any damages. Those who aren’t careful with purchased goods tend to disappear, as is stated in The Auctioneer’s policy; only the best is expected, after all.

With your new companion disposed of in his respective spot, you give the worker a dismissive wave. You don’t have to watch them leave, hearing their footsteps retreat. You approach your desk, pulling open the bottom drawer to find your desired items. Shoving aside a few snacks, you pull out a pair of handcuffs, and a chain hook connected to a heavy-duty chain; the chain gives two feet of length if used correctly. With your items acquired, you kick the drawer closed.

You approach the unconscious man, knowing he won’t be that way for long. You loop the chain around the pipe, using the hook to lock it in place. With the chain secured, you put one of the chain loops in one of the handcuffs, tightening the cuff until you can’t click the metal any farther. With everything now set up, you lock the cuff around your prize’s wrist; it isn’t tight enough to cut into the meat of his wrist, but it will cause bruising if he yanks on it.

Now that your possession is secured, you throw one of the discarded blankets over him in some semblance of care for the man. A ping from your computer notifies you of a possible correspondence. Leaving the man to continue with his rest, you instead place your focus on work. The office chair is pulled out, creaking with your weight as you plop down in it. A click of your mouse causes the multitude of monitors to light up. Your helmet provides cover from the bright lights, the tinted lens serving its purpose well.

The clacking of your keycaps fills the rotting room, replying to messages from clients about any delays or issues they may be concerned about. Other responses are to those like you, sending out warnings on which clients to avoid and what people to not try messing with when it comes to their valuable privacy. A familiar last name comes up in those encryptions, leading to you sending one to those you’ve worked with: Goffard. Auction. Bought. Both. Location Unknown . You knew the moment you heard that last name, it wouldn’t be long before there would be reports in the hidden parts of the web about it.

Father. Killings. Watch out. Another code says, the word of caution making a warbled hum leave you.

Other Buyers. Not User. Safe. That’s your last response, seemingly making the others let up. Perhaps they thought you had bought the men, but with your short messages, their worries are put at ease. You’re sure these correspondences will be sent to the men’s father, only leading him down another path, as two of his heirs are missing. That is none of your concern, however, as people like you are highly sought after. You wouldn’t be surprised if he asks for aid from one of you; he may or may not care for his sons, but he certainly will care for his business and image.

A gasp not far from you alerts you to your captive. You turn to look towards your right, hands not leaving the keyboard. Tom has huddled up close to the pipes, staring at you with wide brown eyes; his pupils seem contracted, merely pinpricks with how he shakes in terror. To see such small pupils almost makes you proud of your apparent ability to intimidate without even trying, though you usually see dilated ones for those in fear. Maybe it truly does just vary from person to person.

“Rise and shine, Sweetheart,” you adopt a mocking tone despite the modulator forcing it to sound monotone.

“How long was I..?” He asks, though it’s more hesitant than anything. You find it cute that he thinks there’ll be some sort of repercussions for possessing curiosity.

“A few hours, give or take. Nearly the entire day, maybe. Then again, it’s hard to tell considering I haven’t kept track of the time,” your insincere chagrin is coated in the surgery sweetness of falsehood; if it had been an actual treat, it would have rotted your teeth out.

“What do you want from me?” Tom sounds a little more confident with this question; it’s not by much, if you’re being honest.

“Companionship, a pet, someone to complain to, and whatever else I want you to be,” you’re blunt with the answer, no use sugar-coating why you purchased him. “Believe it or not, Tom , it tends to get very quiet here. Unless I’m dealing with a very crass client. Then there’s screaming from them and shit-talking from me.” You put emphasis on his name, showing that you do, in fact, know it. He likely doesn’t even know the half of how much you know about him; the summary The Auctioneer gave you couldn’t cover the array of other things you’ve found out about him.

With some digging, you knew his parents came all the way from the city of Nazca, stationed on the southern coast of Peru, leaving before he was conceived. Following their trail further, you found that his parents now reside in Eatonia, Saskatchewan of Canada. Looking a bit more into Tom himself, you saw that he was born and raised there, only moving to a more university based town after his high school graduation. You did have someone take a few pictures of his dorm in your place; at first, you were unsure if Thomas practiced anything relating to Nazca culture, but the few hand-made pottery and ceramic items placed around show he still has a connection. You also spied a few small plants in his dorm, grown by his own hands, if the dates on the hand-made plant pots said anything about that; there were even care instructions next to each one.

From your own research into Nazca culture, you knew there was an emphasis placed on agriculture as well as an array of crafts like pottery, ceramics, and textiles. Even as a full-time college student pursuing media development centered around sound design, he still has time to stay connected to those before him.

“You won’t be letting me go, will you?” Tom sounds devastated at this revelation, his words rousing you from your silent recollection of your findings on him. At least he caught on quick enough without you having to spell it out for him.

“I wouldn’t buy you just to throw you out. What a waste of money,” your scoff can be heard through the helmet. He looks to be cowed at the sound, making that small bit of pride nestle close to your heart. You look back over at him, watching his shaking form. A loud sigh spills from your lips, catching his attention. “Behave and your little spot will be upgraded. I’ll even let you continue your college courses. Online, of course, and monitored carefully. I don’t need you running off the moment you think you taste freedom.”

Your words seem to be enough to comfort Tom, his eyes shining at the idea of having some semblance of normalcy despite the circumstances, seeming to recognize that this is a far better fate than he might have received otherwise as an unwilling captive.

“I’ll- I can behave! I promise I will!” His eager words make you nod.

“I’ll hold you to those words, Thomas. Remember, I have eyes and ears everywhere . So long as you behave, you’ll get whatever you want.” His nod seals the deal, leading you to go back towards your work. If everything works out, he’ll be more than some glorified pet in this run-down shit-hole.

-------------------------------------

“How was your day out?” Tom sits on your couch, laptop in hand, with notebooks spread across your coffee-table.

“You know how I always complain about my clients, yeah?” You flop down next to him, spreading out on the couch. Ever since you bought him from that auction, he’s kept his word; no running, no sending SOS messages through his email to family or college, or screaming for help when you do take him out of your flat. In fact, you never even had to hurt or manhandle him in any way to keep him from fleeing. Due to this, you’ve kept your word. Instead of that shit-hole of a garage, he’s been moved to your own apartment. From some pet to a possible friend, he’s been living with you for nearly a year now. You buy him whatever he wants, giving him anything he asks for. All he has to do, in return, is stay.

“You did mention this specific one two days ago. Is she complaining again?” He asks, writing some notes down. Your scoff makes him glance at you for a second before continuing with his work.

“More like trying to get me to redo the entire 143-page document I created after saying they wanted every little piece of info I could gather on her target. She says it’s too much, but won’t pay me to cut down and summarize the information.” You adjust yourself so you’re leaning against his side, watching him work. Tom doesn’t even react to your touch as you keep talking. “Like, what do you mean you want me to do more work without being paid for it? That’s not happening. You can find someone else to redo my work if you’re that upset with it.”

“As you said, she can find someone else if she won’t pay you. You did what she asked, so that's on her for giving you the wrong instructions.” There’s a pause as he stops his note-taking. You watch him collect himself as he tries to find the words to express what he wants. “Can I… Go out later today?”

“Take your phone with you,” it’s more of a demand than anything, and Tom knows it. You can’t risk losing him if he does leave.

“Of course! I… I wouldn’t leave it behind. You told me you have eyes everywhere…” There’s acceptance in his words, knowing that you’d find him no matter what.

“Good. Then you can go out. Make sure to be careful. Worse comes to worst, you’re hurt, and I have to get my hands dirty to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Your hands twitch at the thought of having to take another life to ensure Tom is off limits. You’ve already made it clear within your informant group through a series of warnings and threats.

“And if I’m dead?” It’s asked casually, almost like he expects to die on one of his trips.

“The only way that happens is if I allow it.”

》START OVER?《

#x reader #x gender neutral reader #tpof x gender neutral reader #tpof x reader #tpof tom x reader #the price of flesh x reader #the price of flesh x gender neutral reader #my fics #gvtted ratz fics #mdni blog

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sorcerous-caress · 7 months ago

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hope this isn't weird to ask but how long have you been writing and how old are you? did you ever take any courses related to writing or have you been improving through writing as a hobby?

Hey it's not weird at all, I'll happily answer!

I'm 20 years old, and I have been writing non-continuously since I was 12.

My first fic was written with colon punctuation for spoken dialogue instead of quotation marks bc I didn't know what those were at the time. For example:

Bob: nice weather we're having today (he said with a smile)

Bob2: I signed the divorce papers, they're on the counter. (Sighing at the other's stubbornness)

I posted it on wattpad.

Afterwards, I never wrote anything else, but I learned about Ao3 and kept enganging in fandom spaces. At 14, I joined roleplaying group chats, which made me think and write faster to keep the rp going. Eventually, it became one on one rp with another person where we would take our chat history log, freshen it up a bit, then post it as a fic.

By 16, I joined a fandom server with a semi serious writing subcategory in it. People more experienced and much older than me would beta for other's story. It's where I picked up the habit to write drafts in google docs so I can easily share the link for a beta reader to add suggestions to.

I still haven't written another fic by then, not by myself, at least. I got very insecure at the time about my writing and lack of knowledge. Mind you, I joined the server, not knowing what punctuation was. It took several beta readers adding punctuation for me until it finally clicked that I should use it.

It felt like I was an outcast in a way? Sure, everyone treated me just as nicely as others there, but I noticed the little things that added up over time. Like how no one would react or talk about the stories I post, but if someone else shares theirs, then the entire server gushes over it. Or how one time I reacted to my own story with an emoji, only for someone else to mention how it's me who clicked it and I shouldn't do that. It was a very unhealthy environment for a 16-year-old surrounded by 30-20 years old, but I stuck to it because I wanted to improve my writing.

Even if I was ignored, they'd still beta for me as a chance to offer "constructive criticism." Artists can be very petty when a low skilled person joins them.

My skills improved, and I posted my second fic! It was nothing remarkable, but it felt like the first stone into the stairway of improvement, yk? I loved that fic, it was my crowning jewel.

But as a result, I started to hate writing. It was a struggle, I'd spend hours on two sentences while others on the server were bragging about their 50k fics. I hated my own inability to perform better, to write better.

I got sick of reading my own writing from the number of times I'd rewrite it in an attempt to format it better. I couldn't even bare look at other's writing or read fanfics on AO3 because I'd always compare their writing to mine. Break their style down and analyse it in an attempt to spot what I'm doing wrong.

I left the server eventually, abruptly too. It was for the better.

I swore off of writing.

For two years, that was true. I gradually came to reading fanfics again, but just looking at a blank document was enough to get me nauses.

By 18, Aot happened, and the boom in x reader fanfics.

Everything I've written up to this point has been ships. Not once did I consider the idea of an x reader. For a while, I used to scoff at it and label it as cringe, as if the ship fanfics I was reading wasn't cringe either. Elitism, I tell you.

I saw these request blogs and how posting on tumblr seemed less intimidating than AO3. How intimate it felt to have an anon talk to you about your own fic that you wrote for them, to have people discussing your writing and stories with you! And they ask for more!

Sign me tf up.

I started my first writing blog, and I didn't know shit. I learned as I went. The new formatting, the tumblr tag system, creating a masterlist.

How important presentation is in here.

In AO3, your fic has the same chance of being read as any other one. Only your description is there to judge it by. But on tumblr? The shiny bookcover was almost as important as the material inside. In here, you have to market your own fic, present it with a lovely bow on top, add a pretty eyecatching header, and all the right trending tags.

Luckily, it clicked easy for me. I used free domian paintings from past centuries to make my covers, and they stood out amongst the anime cover galore. It was a little pretentious, I admit, but I also was a little pretentious, so it's alright.

I played my cards right, answered requests enthusiastically, and delivered fics at a fast rate. Paid attention to what styles worked best and what genres attracted more attention. At that point, it was a numbers game for me. Play marketing right, and you'll win at capitalism.

It felt very degrading and dirty.

My personal style fazed out, and my fics had a sanitised safe for mass consume feel to it. It was written to appeal to you rather than written out of any real love or passion.

It was soulless garbage.

Not to mention at the time I still used the same unhealthy and needlessly convoluted writing method I learned from that server. Yes I cut ties with them but I still didn't have any other alternative writing method to use.

What's that? Just write however I want? Are you crazy? What like my 12y old self wrote on wattpad? My 18y old self would rather die than actually be true to themselves.

I was extremely insecure and afraid of being labelled as "cringe" I completely ereased any stray stains of personality that managed to trickle their way down into my writing. Not once did I write for myself during that time, and not once did I actually enjoy a single piece I made.

I hated all of them, I couldn't bear to even read the fics I wrote. But I still made more and more to appease the requesters, still forced myself to sit and write each morning for hours on end.

A tight timeline, an exhausting production and no friends or hobbies to fall back into and relax. It was a fucking nightmare.

What ircked me the most was how people would just keep requesting more without a thank you or even a fuck you afterwards. It's like it's a fast food drive-through and I should be grateful for any attention I get.

But I never said a word. I never complained because complaining drives away people and engagement. No, I needed to keep my happy chill imagine and never show any emotion or talk about my struggles in real life or writing.

Instead of realising I hated my writing because of its lack of essence and soul, I convinced myself instead that it's because my skill level is still too low.

So I searched online. I found writing courses I couldn't afford, and neither could I ask my family for money for anything at the time because of personal reasons.

So I put on my pirate hat.

Apparently, people don't bother uploading the scam writing tips courses to pirate websites. That's fair.

Instead, I pirated books from famous authors talking about writing. Read them and tried to apply their methods, ignored my own preferences, and wrote to fit their subjective standards of what good writing is.

I signed up for free trials courses that didn't require a credit card and copied every single file into my hard drive before the trail ended.

I had so much material to study. I watched youtube videos about writing. I really really tried everything I could.

But I still loathed every fucking word I put down on these pages.

And I hated how a general advice in writing was to "follow your heart" what is that supposed to mean? I can't do that. Others do not like my heart, It has been proven many times before so how about you just give me some useful advice instead you useless wrinkled piece of shit book?

...

You can't force or fake creativity.

You can fake an elegant writing style, you can copy interesting lines from famous books and apply them to your own writing, you can include every trendy word in all the right places.

But you can't fake creativity.

I wished I was 12 again. Writing fics on wattpad, where my style was worse than garbage, and yet I loved it. People loved it.

Because it was garbage with a soul, a garbage that had empty chocolate milk bottles and spilt sprinkles. A garbage that showed personality and where my priorities were. With kids' fingerprints in colourful paint and a toddler's fridge artpiece.

A garbage that mirrored my love for the art.

And I ruined it. I traded it all for stupid punctuation that I didn't even care for.

I was happy.

Like every other probome in my life, I ran away.

I hit my breaking point. The requests were never ending, the studying and writing books were getting more and more pretentious and contradicting themselves. I barely had time to eat, I don't talk to people or go outside.

I do not have the time for anything, I missed having friends.

I left the blog. I stopped writing, it was too anxiety inducing.

I got into videogames again, I enjoyed the text heavy ones. I chose to ignore what that implied.

They were so...beautiful.

And fun!

I made some friends, I was happy for a while.

Then, one of my favourite characters in my video game mentioned missing their parents, how hard the funeral was.

It hit home.

I'm not writing, I convinced myself with a lie, I'm just gonna put down my thoughts on them...in a google document.

See just around 1k words, easy peasy. I AM NOT WRITING. It doesn't count.

But I did write it. Not with any calculated formula or method. I wrote my thoughts like how I hear them in my head and what I felt, what I imagined the character would feel.

Then, I added some dialogue, trimmed the corners, and sprinkled in euphemism.

It was simple and bare, vulnerable.

I posted it. It never got much traction.

But I was happy, I liked it, even loved it and kept rereading it.

I was 19.

I nervously showed it to my friend. They mentioned how much they can't stand reading books or fics because the words overwhelm them courtesy of their ADHD.

But they managed to read mine. Very smoothly.

Because my style, my own personal style that is set to my preference, makes me write in small paragraphs and straightforward. I never linger on details or focus on one thing for too long, I always give breaks and seperate events from each other.

And it clicked for this one person who struggled with reading, a style that will get criticism in any serious writing circle for being too simple or childish.

They liked it.

I hate needless convolution.

I just turned 20 years old, I asked for Baldur's Gate 3 early access as my birthday gift.

I received it, I played it.

I fell in love with its writing.

Then I made this blog, and I promised myself not to follow rabbits into any holes again. To reject the requests I don't want, to write because I love to, because I find it interesting or fun.

To never feel obligated to any thing or person. Only write if I want to, only post it if I want to. And if I don't want to? Then I simply won't.

And yes this blog gets much less attention than my first one but the people in here, the anons and my readers, they interact much more with me and my writing. It feels much better to have a handful of people genuinely excited and curious about your stories than a hundred people who would only leave likes and leave.

I have never touched a writing course or a helpful book since then. I block every writing tips blog, I see. I hate each and every single post about writing tricks and immediately skip past it.

I don't care if I improve anymore. I don't care if people don't read my stuff. I do not care if my style degenerates so much and reverts back to wattpad. All I care about is the fact I love writing and I enjoy it, I plan to keep it this way.

It's also funny that I'm writing in English since I when I first started writing at 12 it was in Arabic. My first fic? In Arabic.

And I was willing to go down that road yk. Keep true to my heritage and culture, write in my own beautiful language.

But. I wrote about queer topics and stories. Homophobia is still a massive thing in our society. My story was more infamous and taboo than famous and beloved.

I had so many people coming to my dms to "educate" me about religion and sin. How what I'm doing is wrong and the message I'm spreading is haram.

It was funny at first especially when it was the quran that made me want to write in the first place. Because it's actually a collection of poems! It just loses its rhythm when translated to English. It was so beautifully written, I'd listen to it always as a kid.

But then those dms became unbearable and I decided to learn english to join the western fandoms instead. A 12y old just deciding to fuck it and learn a whole new language to write gay fics.

A lot of my struggles in writing at 12-17 was because I was still learning English at the time.

This was fun. Thank you so much for asking this, anon! I had the chance to reminisce about the past.

I made so many mistakes. But I'd rather having made them and reached this point of content with myself than not having made them at all.

#♡other #♡writing

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notasapleasure · 2 years ago

Text

a meme!

Thanks for tagging me, @grimm-lynn :)

1. Are you named after anyone?

I think the intention was to name me after my dad's mum (who died when he was very little), but to spell it in a more modern way. Inadvertantly, it's also a portmanteau of my parents' first names.

2. When was the last time you cried?

I was very sick and very tired and very frustrated when the removal guys broke it to me midway through emptying the house that they absolutely couldn't take any of my garden plants over the Irish Sea because of fucking BREXIT. I was also very angry with my husband, who was meant to have checked this. In the end, we managed to palm the plants off on friends and family and we'll try to bring them over later, once we've looked at the paperwork involved.

3. Do you have kids?

No!! I have known for a very long time that I never wanted them and do not have even an iota of maternal interest let along instinct.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

It has its uses.

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

My weekend hobbies as a kid were horse-riding and karate, and I played field hockey at school, did long jump and 200m sprint. But then, y’know. Everyone else got taller and I didn’t really. I dabbled in rowing at uni, because it was kind of expected that you'd try it, but my late-night carousing rather interfered with the early mornings. Also, as mentioned, I am short. Since then I haven't really done anything regularly except about a year where I got into weights. I'd like to get back into picking up heavy things and putting them down again, but I resent the cost of gyms and I need to have a structured class where someone tells me what to do, I don't have the willpower or imagination for solo training.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people?

Hm, it's tough to describe (my mum would say 'their energy') but like...whether they're engaging with me, like really with me and curious about what we're talking about, or if there's that feeling that you're on the clock to prove you're interesting or whatever before they get bored.

7. What’s your eye colour?

Blue

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Weird things to compare?? But uh. Happy endings probably? Not in my scary movies though. I like scary movies with bittersweet endings. Though the more I think about this choice the more confused I get.

9. Any special talents?

I'm so bad at answering these things, my mind just goes blank and I'm like 'oh pffff I don't do anything special, there's always going to be someone who's better than I am'. Assigned Jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none. There are lots of things I like to do and I try to do them well. I guess I will say that you probably want me around in a stressful situation - I'm calm and I love coming up with solutions to things.

10. Where were you born?

In a county hospital in a large and rural county of England.

11. What are your hobbies?

Ok, well. Writing, obvs. Fic and poetry now and again. There's an original idea that's been rattling round my head for a few years that I keep saying *this* NaNoWriMo I'll do it! And then don't. Art used to be much higher up the list but I'm so rusty. I haven't painted in years (...has it been over a decade?). Gardening (I miss my garden so much SO MUCH rn). Baking and cooking. I go through phases of manic knitting interspersed with a little crochet, but I want to improve my sewing - I have my granny-in-law's sewing machine I need to learn how to use. If we get this amazing house we’re looking at I’m going to have to get good at DIY, too.

12. Do you have any pets?

Two greyhounds and six (yes. six.) ferrets.

13. How tall are you?

5'1"

14. Favorite subject in school?

Art and English lit.

15. Dream job?

Not to be all 'I don't dream of labour' but I for sure don't dream of working for other people/companies. As you can see from the hobbies section, I like to DO stuff and be busy, but I like to work on my own terms and I like project work. So my freelance editing and proofing stuff suits me fairly well right now, though I dream more of a UBI that would let me do more with my time that wasn't just about earning, but could encompass more volunteering and community stuff. Being on furlough during lockdown suited me so well - I did so much and recovered so much energy that I was much more willing to engage with strangers as well as friends through video chat etc.

Tag fifteen mutuals - FIFTEEN?! huh ok, I’m tagging y’all but no obligation, right? And Idk who’s already been tagged, sorry if you’ve done this already and I didn’t see! @stripedroseandsketchpads @notfromcold @erinaceina @bellaroles @batri-jopa @donnaimmaculata @notabuddhist @kheldara @blxcksqvadron @boogerwookiesugarcookie @elwenyere @thatonelemontreeiforgorabout @jimtheviking @weirdsociology @rapidashmascot

#meme #about me

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katana-zero · 11 months ago

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TUMBLR USER GAMMANULLZERO I LOVE YOU

Hold on let me try to answer to all of your tags dkdmmfmmc I woke up this morning and it was the first thing I saw AAHHH

Also sorry english is not my first language so I might struggle with some sentences!! (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

I'M GLAD THAT THIS PIC CAPTURED HER WELL 🥹🥹🥹 I wanted to draw something chill because!!! Well!!! She is chill!!

TY I love when people like my coloring (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠)

I LOVE YOUR MIND

I think actually he would feel trouble feeling anything. He'd probably regret killing kids if he ever done that (because of LG) but otherwise I think he wouldn't feel anything. At first I thought that he'd feel alive, since canonically he feels alive only when taking someone else's life, but I'm not sure he'd feel anything just watching the record.

Or he'd feel the stinging feeling of regret, if church monologue is actually his (I have a theory that it's actually Fifteen's thoughts, but I'm not really sure so!! Just a fun thought) and he felt bad watching all those people cry.

Or he'd feel everything at once like one big complicated feeling (⁠*⁠﹏⁠*⁠;⁠) I don't know how to describe it.

THANK YOU!!! 🥹🥹🥹

I love SnowHunter SO MUCH my favourite lesbians. They have me in chokehold since I first thought about them I just. Need more of them in my life.

I think Snow uses something similar to chronos! Like that green thing Psych used in boss fight. He mentioned that the government created more than just one drug for war, so it's safe to assume that she will most likely use something similar. Or it might be something that organization Snow works for created, since they somehow recreated chronos. I hope we'll see what she uses in the dlc 🙏

I LOVE USING RED THANK YOU SM

🥹 jsjxjjsk Zero and Fifteen cuddling Leviathan and Behemoth... The eepies

Fifteen stop being mad just hug a biblical creation bro chill out

:3 I love drawing Zero with a scruff, I'm glad someone else likes it too!

Fifteen katana zero I need you Fifteen katana zero

AHHH I'M SO HAPPY YOU NOTICED THE EFFECT!! I like drawing it on my artworks with nulls because it shows how their time is running out yk yk (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ mentally ill guys

THANK YOU AGAIN FOR ALL THE FEEDBACK I LOVE YOUUU AGHHHHHH

YAYYYYYY IM SO HAPPY YOU LIKE ALL OF THESE!!! I GOT A FEW THINGS TO SAY BACK

ykw ykw. i think he'd feel so much about everything that he'd just go numb. his normal blank expression on his face but somehow even more unreadable than normal. idk if he'd be able to feel anything after that. him feeling "alive" while killing is just him feeling like he's actually having an effect on the world around him yk? that's how he was raised, a child soldier. but losing your memories of that and then running with the mindset that only the lives of criminals and corrupt police deserve less value only to see yourself killing children? beings that physically cannot have less value because they have so much more life ahead of them? brooooo brooooooooo he's done for he's donneeee. I really like the theory that the monologue is from fif instead of zero too- and it makes sense! fifteen has such strong connections to his past that of course he'd have such strong thoughts about what it was like. zero for sure could say it himself but he's so warped about whats real and not that i dont think he could form that strong of an opinion (and if it IS his thoughts then its just what psych planted in his head)

SPEAKING OF PSYCH im pretty sure the green mega chronos or whatever the psych uses was confirmed to be not actually canon and (speculation from here) just a hallucination from zero's end considering the path to getting that boss is just by pissing him off. BUT but but i do think her amping herself up on the fake chronos that the company is making is soooo real. i hope we see in the dlc god ugh. either way i definitely gotta draw some snowhunter myself since i havent stopped thinking about it.

anyway YEAHHHHH RUNNING OUT OF TIMEEEEEEE. i loveeee how subtle it is in your art but also directly staring you in the face. youre soooo good at it !!!!!

#gotta make you your own tag at this point omg #myafu

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tethered-heartstrings · 1 year ago

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Have you ever talked about your writing process?

I probably have but i can share it again!

It's long so I put it under the cut!

I start with an idea and write it down as soon as I can. I'll add details or scenes/imagery I want to see and maybe even quotes or bits of dialogue I want to use. doesn't need to be linear, just need to Get The Idea Out so I don't forget anything.

Often times I will talk to a mutual about an idea. in explaining the idea, the story comes more alive. because in my own head I can see the "in between" pieces so my own notes can be a bit choppy. but having to tell someone else, for them to see the vision, I give more details. such as why I chose a certain line or how something in the beginning connects to something later in the story. even if it doesn't have plot and is a pwp, I can still explain what I see in my head in a very clinical sense. inevitably, whoever I told hypes me up and the excitement adds to my momentum. they can also ask clarifying questions that help me explain a detail better and more fully develop the idea beyond some bullet points bouncing around in my head. I do this to varying degrees; the more plot, the more I tend to elaborate. sometimes them asking a question gives me an idea to add something new I hadn't thought of before.

I also keep a list of my fic ideas on a private and personal discord, categorized by sfw/nsfw. then in each channel (one for each fic), i can add my notes and rambling ideas, images, quotes, etc (including from dms of mutuals I have told) and have them all in one place so I can refer to it alter and am not relying on my memory.

Once I have that, I open up a new document leaving space for a title and tags to be filled in later. rarely does a title come to me immediately. then I write a rough plot summary. it's very much like "this then that then this" without much detail or emotion. very much a river of thought as the story starts to paint itself. this makes sure that I have somewhere to go if I blank out. the store is "written" from start to finish, there is no guess work on what will happen next so I don't get stuck. usually a plot summary is about 10% of the length that the finished fic will be. This one I developed later and has helped me IMMENSELY. because, for example, I once started a fic with a really solid idea but no end goal. I ended up writing 77k and I've basically abandoned it because I have no idea how to finish it, so I am stuck. It would have been a lot less work for me if I had planned it out fully. I tend to not do this for pwps; those kind of write themselves. I get an idea of a particular trope/scene I want to see and write until I get there.

After that, I go line by line and flesh it all out. instead of "will went to bed and had a nightmare", I describe the room, his fear, the nightmare itself, his thoughts about it etc. as the story develops, the original plot summary can change as a new idea can spark. I almost always add a scene or change one dramatically in this stage. The trick to this is I don't stop and go back. I don't let myself edit, I just get the story done. It helps keep momentum and the next scene fresh in my mind. editing slows me down and is my least favorite part and can be discouraging. But if I just go from point A to B to C in one go, then the likelihood it gets finished goes up dramatically.

That is like the first "bulking" of the fic, adding the first several layers of detail. I then go to the top and read through it again, adding even more detail, changing words around if I use one too much, etc. This stage often adds more bulk to the story but not as much as the last stage. sometimes it adds a lot, like priest fic first stage was 18.5k, but with editing it became almost 28k.

Once I feel a fic is actually done and nothing needs to be added, I start to microedit. Nothing more than a sentence gets changed at a time, and my goal is to find tense, spelling, grammar, punctuation errors. more fine toothed comb. I also have my fic and a blank document side by side so I can add tags as I read through it so I don't forget something.

Usually in writing the fic, a title kind of just Happens. sometimes I need to really think about it, and I will often write several down and get opinions. Once I have a title (or deciding between some), complete tags, and a fic, I send it to my beta reader. another set of eyes is SO extremely helpful, and not even just for small errors I missed. some things that made sense to Me need more clarification because my beta reader can't read my mind. and if they are confused, readers likely will be, too. I also can ask if chapter breaks make sense or where they should be.

As I wait for my fic to be returned, or sometimes in procrastination of writing it, I start to find images for a tumblr post. If its a full fic, I like to make a moodboard, and share this with my beta reader too. If it's a pwp, I tend to use just one image. Soooometimes I make/find the images before I even write it lmao. Then I post it, make a tumblr post, and link to my ao3.

I also don't post until my fic is DONE. I am so impatient sometimes but with my first Hannibal fic, I was posting as I was writing and for me, it was really stressful not really knowing when it would end and what would happen next. I am happy and lucky it turned out and became a cohesive fic in the end, but that process was Not Ideal for me.

Not all ideas happen, though. some are more exciting to think of or talk about than to actually make happen. some I know will be long fics/a lot of work/take a lot of time so I hold off on those until I can give them more attention and time. Others take over my entire brain and I cannot rest until it is done.

#hope this was helpful anon!#anonymous #the curious clown #''little gold'' was no strategy. lmao #I slowly developed this process and it has been SO incredibly helpful and made it so I actually got fics done #also if this has typos sorry lol. too tired to edit

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the-hoetei-13 · 8 months ago

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☆ WELCOME BLEACH H☆ES ALIKE. TO THE H☆ETEI 13. 護廷十三隊

You may know me on here as @bleach-your-panties. I started that blog back in 2016 as a sole writer for the anime Bleach.

With the release of Bleach: TYBW in the past few years, the anime has been gaining traction again, so I decided to create a space where lovers of the anime and manga can dwell together in harmony!

Info/How to Join:

• Roles:

Just like in the Gotei 13, there will be 13 squads and each will have a captain, lieutenant, and 3rd seat.

If you apply for a seated officer position, you will be given full reign over your own divisions (channels), but general rules of the server will still apply EVERYWHERE.

I, of course, will be taking on the role of Overseer and Captain of 3rd Division. Whoever applies for position of 3rd Division Lieutenant will be my co-admin.

Division heads will have the option to be mods if they so choose; (Mod positions closed!) if not, then you'll just be responsible for handling your divisions. That means you are responsible for reporting any misconduct/rudeness and keeping the server running smoothly from your end.

This will be an 18+ server, so ID verification will be requested. Please submit a photo with ID showing clear birthdate (everything else blanked out) when you submit your Google form.

• General Rules:

Firstly and most importantly, BE KIND TO ONE ANOTHER.

This means no subtweeting or sending slick shots at each other in the Discord or on Tumblr; if you have an issue, talk it out like adults or ask me or another mod for help.

ABSOLUTELY NO GATEKEEPING, BULLYING, OR JEALOUSY. Multiple people can like or selfship with the same characters. It will be okay, I promise you.

Don't ignore people!! That is very rude!! If everyone is having a discussion, don't talk over people or ignore someone who's talking directly to you. If you want to have private conversations, DM each other or take it to your offices (your private rooms).

Exercise basic manners, i.e. greeting everyone when you come in the chat, saying goodbye or goodnight when you're leaving/going to bed. I hate seeing conversations die so easily and it leaves people feeling like you don't care about what they have to say or you don't care enough to acknowledge them.

There will be therapy/vent channels for expressing frustration in daily life or on Tumblr, but keep in mind that we are not licensed therapists! I don't mind you coming to me if you need a listening ear or advice, but if it's a very serious issue, you may need to look into seeking professional help.

Try to keep talk of Tumblr discourse to a min; you're free to express yourself of course but we want to have fun here and escape all the bs that Tumblr has to offer.

This is a BLEACH themed server. So mainly Bleach talk here! You can talk about other animes but mostly everyone that joins here should be Bleach fans.

Keep the server tidy by discussing topics in their respective channels (i.e. 6th divison character talk stays in 6th divison. You are free to visit any division you like at any time!)

Be respectful during RP (this is a given but I will go into more detail within the server itself)

There will also be a Hueco Mundo/Espada themed server and same rules will apply there @hoecu-mundo. You only need to apply once to gain entry into both servers.

☆ JOIN THE H☆ETEI 13: 護廷十三隊

• Google Form here.

Central 46 and Division Roster (Mods & Members)

Tag System

Events/Collabs

Any questions, please direct them to @the-hoetei-13 dms, the dms of the Head Office @hoetei-13-head-office or @bleach-your-panties dms.

Thank you for your interest!

☆pic edited by: @sleepingpillscosmos ☆dividers: @benkeibear

#discord server #discord chat #bleach #bleach anime #bleach manga #bleach x reader #discord rp #discord roleplay #bleach tybw #bleach thousand year blood war #divider creds: @benkeibear

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woodohwanedandproud · 3 months ago

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OP TAGS:

I) there are these parallels between nsb jj and jw how both of them give him advice that comes from experience 'don't do this you'll regret it' 'don't do this there's no coming back from it' and both times he doesn't listen and ends up just like them jw's almost a ghost in the beginning like jj but ds and manyang yank him back to life and then ds doesn't let jw become another nsb he refuses to let him stay in that hell alone he says as much i think ds learned how to claw his way out a long time ago what he says in ep14 'wouldn't regret be a luxury for me' a luxury he understands that guilt at its most extreme is ultimately self serving because it keeps you in this woe me state where you become so obsessed with your own failure that everything else gets drowned out by it ds does the opposite he decenters himself in his mind focuses on the pain of others instead of his own 'this is how he makes himself happy' this is how he survives he knows that wallowing in guilt won't do any good won't change anything what's done is done he accepts it he says 'if i could go back i WOULD do the same thing again because that's all he could ever do he did what he thought was right at the time now he has to live with it nsb can't figure that out can't accept his mistakes can't move on from them so he's stuck in the past he dies stuck in the past 'you want to cry aloud for your mistakes but to tell the truth the world doesn't need any more of that sound' you know? that i think is the point in the end but does that ever fuck you up how jj nsb and jw (for a while) are driven by guilt but ds always acts out of love he has so much of it despite everything and juwon only surivives because he starts acting out of love and care and devotion instead of shame and remorse

II) and when juwon fires the gun into the ceiling and says 'the blank's been fired next one is real' he's not speaking to hkh not really hkh doesn't know anything about blanks or plans those two made together then he references what dongsik once told him saying 'if you want to kill someone you aim for the heart or the head' and follows it up with 'but i have no intention of killing you today' have no intention but i will if i have to comparing basement hjw (scared erratic driven by guilt) to current hjw (sure steady driven by love) he's saying i'm not the same as i was then i understand my purpose i'm not acting for myself (literal shots of juwon as dongsik's weapon) he's looking at hkh the entire time but he's really speaking to ds and ds knows this you can tell by his expression that he understands

@vindicated-truth :

I want to address this because I also believe this is an important nuance as to why, even though Joowon did feel guilt and remorse over his part on Nam Sangbae’s death, it didn’t eat him up as much as his part on Lee Geumhwa’s death.

(On a related note, I also addressed in a separate post why Dongsik remarkably also doesn’t blame Joowon for Nam Sangbae’s death. This may also be partly why, even in the end when Joowon arrested him, Dongsik told Joowon he should be punished for his part on Lee Geumhwa’s death—but he had never, not once, mentioned that Joowon should be punished for Nam Sangbae’s death.)

Lee Geumhwa is the one completely innocent in this situation. She was entirely separate from the web of death spun by Kang Jinmook and Han Kihwan, and was only pushed into the web by Han Joowon blackmailing her for his sting operation.

She, in essence, had no choice in the matter. And Joowon is completely aware of this. This is why the guilt eats him up, his accountability on Lee Geumhwa’s death, because while he may not have been the one to kill her, he knows she wouldn’t have been in the situation in the first place if he hadn’t pushed her there.

Nam Sangbae, on the other hand, in many ways walked to his own death of his own volition. He was killed by Lee Changjin, yes, and he was also somewhat nudged into the situation by Joowon, but in many ways Sangbae himself brought upon himself the series of events that led to his death: he called Cho Gilgu, he talked to Jung Cheolmun, he went to Han Kihwan, he followed the instructions unbeknownst to him by Lee Changjin—knowing full well he may die because of it.

It’s the one thing that separates Nam Sangbae from Lee Geumhwa: the complete knowledge of what was happening and the willful decisions done because of it.

When you think about it, the only consequence of Joowon “planting” the fake evidence in Nam Sangbae’s vault was him being arrested temporarily without a warrant; even if Joowon didn’t do any of these things, Sangbae still would’ve done everything he did, because it’s what he’s already doing in trying to pursue the truth that Kang Jinmook knew.

Because even if Joowon had played no part in the situation, Nam Sangbae still would’ve done all of his actions because he was driven by his own guilt.

It’s been alluded to how he had physically beaten up Dongsik to try to get him to confess. And as the detective in charge back then, the way Sangbae arrested Dongsik forever branded Dongsik as the primary suspect for life—hence also smearing Dongsik’s entire image and changing his life forever, not for the better.

And despite how Dongsik seems to have already forgiven him for it, Nam Sangbae had spent the rest of his life trying to make up for it: stepping up as Dongsik’s surrogate father, stepping down along with Dongsik from the RIU when Dongsik couldn’t explain how Lee Sangyeob died, erasing the camera footage of Dongsik planting Kang Minjeong’s fingers in front of the grocery shop.

Still, the guilt kept eating away at Sangbae, because when Kang Jinmook was arrested, he couldn’t help but pursue the truth this time, because his pursuit of the wrong information 21 years ago is precisely what led him to his sin of abusing Dongsik in the first place.

It’s why Joowon didn’t feel the guilt of Nam Sangbae’s death as heavily as did with Lee Geumhwa, nor did Dongsik accuse Joowon for Nam Sangbae’s death the way he did with Lee Geumhwa’s.

Nam Sangbae walked into his own death because of the guilt that wouldn’t stop pushing him there.

something about the way guilt is portrayed in beyond evil. guilt as a state, guilt as a place you're condemned to. 'i will go to hell' 'life is hell' 'you shouldn't even set foot in that hell' but it's not really the hell we think of, not in the traditional sense. hell is where you're supposed to be sent to suffer and repent forever but all of them go there willingly. (that's why han kihwan will never end up there as juwon wants because he feels no remorse over his actions) they choose to stay and let it scorch the life out of them until all that's left is someone hollow and brittle, real person buried beneath the surface in a grave they themselves dug. in that way it's not lee changjin or the water that killed nam sangbae. it's guilt. that's what doomed him in the end. that hell of his own making he never managed to escape. and as he drowned, he probably thought he deserved that too. jeongje's still there until the end but so much of him died long ago. he's a ghost haunting himself. he tells juwon 'if you don't get out quickly, every breath, every moment of your life becomes a nightmare' if you stay that hell alone long enough, that's what happens. at a certain point you can't wake up anymore. you forget how to leave

#beyond evil #guilt #meta

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jiracheer · 2 years ago

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authors note: sorry for the lack of uploads,,, again :') I rlly lost motivation to write and recently got covid. hopefully this makes up for that <;3

if any of my friends recognize this,,, no u dont. 🔫

tags: afab! reader l 18+. minors/ageless/blank blogs dni or else you will be blocked.

A moan slips from Y/n’s lips once Ingo’s weight lifts only to push his hips flush against hers. It was pure torture with how slow his movements were, but eventually, a steady rhythm and speed picked up. Something that made his balls slap against her sensitive pussy to make her shiver and clench around him.

Nothing could ever beat this. The feeling of his body against her own– hell, it was honestly addicting to see him like this. Grounding himself with his hands firmly holding her hips with eyes screwed shut to concentrate, or was he trying not to lose himself in the way her walls hugged his cock nice and snug?

Whatever it was Y/n could feel the way Ingo twitched and throbbed. The single motion made her legs hug his waist, arching her back when he hit a particular spot that had her seeing stars. If he kept that up, she’d surely cum.

“P… Please.” She breathed out. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, feeling the muscles there pull themselves taught at the contact. He was hot to the touch. Sweaty and more than likely at his limit. Even so, Ingo still cracked his eyes open to meet Y/n’s gaze.

He almost came at the sight of her looking up at him so… so, helplessly.

“What is it pretty girl?” His voice was like gravel when he captured her lips with his, encouraging the words right out of her, “What do you want?”

“I want to cum, please Ingo.” Y/n chased right after him for another kiss, obviously hungry for him. She loved him so much it hurt. She wanted to be as close as possible.

The (h/c)-haired woman buried her face into Ingo’s neck, pressing heated kisses and nibbling every so often before she’d lean to whisper into his ear. “I-I… I want you to cum in me, to claim me as yours. Please-”

A yelp sounded from her as he began to pound into her. Something came over him. His actions were almost feral when he grabbed her arms to wrap them around his neck, holding her so close to him as he drove his cock into her.

Why did she have to say that? Why did she have to encourage him? His thoughts were already running wild, and yet she had to make them come to a full stop by saying just that. Maybe she was just as guilty as well? He wanted to know what she thought. Just exactly what went through her thoughts- if she thought of him the way he thinks of her.

Ingo felt a twinge of guilt when she gripped the back of his head, pulling at his hair as moan after moan sounded from her. She chanted his name like a broken mantra, and it only encouraged him to bury himself deeper into her. A curse sounded from him at the feeling of her cunt struggling to take her in.

“Fuck.” The silver-haired uttered, nose bumping against the soft flesh of Y/n’s shoulder, he couldn’t help himself when he bit the skin there. Marking her sensitive skin pink and red, however, he made sure to kiss the spots gently afterward. “You feel amazing. You always do.”

He was so honored that he got the chance to do this with her– Y/n of all people. Never did he think they’d come this far, hell, he didn’t think he’d really be anything with her.

He still recalled when the attraction began and where it started the spark between them, guiding them through so many milestones and celebrations. But something that always came to mind when they would have sex was when she wanted to move past their heated make-out sessions.

Ingo nearly broke into a grin when he remembered how red Y/N’s face was when she explained to him she wanted to go into new territories, opening up to him that she was, indeed, a virgin and wanted to give him her virginity. He swore to himself he never felt more starved, more in need of someone.

Was it because he wanted to show her that he was capable of taking care of her?

Or was it because he was excited to claim her? To mark her as his by completely ruining her with his dick? Whatever it was. It got them far and to where they were now.

Ingo is brought back from his thoughts when he feels Y/n gush on his cock, her mouth agape as she hugs him tightly against her shaking form. He can feel the way her thighs shake, her heels digging more and more into his back– her breasts pressing against his chest and fuck.

He wasn’t going to last long.

“H… Haa… Haaa-” Y/n could barely think, barely form a single word. Ecstasy consumed her. He consumed her, and she knew she wouldn’t want any other person to share moments like these with.

“I love you so much,” She’d confess to the man practically rearranging her guts at this point, but when there was a stutter in his thrusts, she cracked a singular eye open to look at him before both would snap open at his expression.

His cheeks were flushed beyond comparison. Pupils blown out and mouth slightly open in surprise, and it was there she realized just what she had said.

Before she could even take it back– Ingo was back to ruthlessly driving his heavy cock into her, making her jump and grasp the sheets around her.

“Say it again.” He’d growl against her ear, kissing her cheeks– nose, forehead, throat. Just about everything. “Say it again please.” He begged her.

Y/n was dazed. Thrown off guard by this, but she wasn’t complaining. Although she was sensitive beyond belief, she knew pleasing him was worth it. So she didn’t hesitate to pull his face to hers, lips ghosting over his as she uttered the words he desperately wanted to hear.

“I love you, Ingo.”

She’d surely be the death of him.

#. 🥣 fics #pokemon x reader #pokemon x reader smut #warden ingo x reader #warden ingo x reader smut #ingo x reader #ingo x reader smut #submas ingo x reader #submas ingo x reader smut #oatsnsfw

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