#the key is to have no life of my own and abandon my health

[carrionpicnic]

starting classes tomorrow im so relieved my summer depression will be over but im dreading making school my entire life againlol

[bunnyreaper]

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘

𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔞𝔭 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

𝖕𝖙 5 — 𝖕𝖙 4 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊

wc - 7.6k

warnings - 18+/nsfw, dom/sub dynamic, petplay (as always), thigh riding, pussy eating, johnny gives reader a piggyback ride.

notes - it's here! and my life and health is worse for it, but it's here! please don't expect the next part any time soon, but thank you to those patiently waiting ♥ also on ao3! ♥

"Told you, pet, this mouth is mine now."

Johnny's mouth continues its loving assault on yours, overwhelming you with his kisses. It's filled with the same passion as the first time, but now Johnny's heat seeps straight from his bones and into you. 

His hands fall to your wrists, his touch warm and caressing and pinning you ever so slightly in place—just enough to keep you still, not enough to really restrict you. 

It's Johnny who pulls away from you, an exhaled fuck falling from his lips—your eyes flutter open to meet his, the baby blues flooded with lust. 

His gaze flickers to your lips before he whispers. "I dinnae want to stop kissing ye." 

He steals your breath with both the words and the feeling of his lips when they return to yours, each slide against you as if he's stealing them, afraid he won't get another for too long. Though with Johnny, you get the feeling any second your lips aren't connected to his are ones he wishes for nothing else. 

"Yeah, fuck..." You sigh as Johnny pulls away, his grip loosening as his forehead settles against yours. 

Neither of you can fight the smiles on your faces, as you both bask in each other's joy, and the rush of endorphins and arousal running through you. 

Johnny always makes you feel electric.

He laughs breathlessly, eyes sparkling with mirth as you can see him try to restrain himself. "'Spose I should let ye get settled first before I ravage ye." 

"I have no complaints if you don't." You giggle in return, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before willing yourself to pull away too. "But yeah, probably a good idea."

If both of you had less self-control, you had no doubts the tension could have pushed you into rutting in the entryway like rabid dogs, only managing to bare yourselves just enough to have Johnny sink inside you. From the look in his eyes and the feeling of his hardness pressed against you, he wants to take you here and now—but he's nothing if not a gentleman. 

You have no doubt that your own glassy eyes and soaked panties betray your need just the same, and there's a desperate, animalistic part of your brain that wants to drag him inside by the belt so that you can fall to your knees before him. 

Johnny straightens himself up, taking ahold of your hand and preparing to head into the flat proper. "Want the tour of the place?" 

You nod eagerly. "Of course." 

You pull your hand free for just a moment to abandon your shoes by the door-—leaving them amongst the existing pile of boots, which Johnny only adds to with his own.

With your hands reconnected and fingers intertwined, he guides you into the warmth of the flat. 

"I mean, the place is tiny, so it won't take long." He jokes, as he pulls you in further and throws his keys on the countertop. "Tada, living room and kitchen all in one." 

You take in the open space around you—the room flooded with moonlight and a faint glow from under the kitchen cupboards, as well as a lamp that's lit in the corner. The ceilings are high, and the floors are wooden—the kitchen and living room combined to create a large, albeit cosy room.

"Nice and spacious! I like that it's open plan." You coo, as Johnny paces forward, and you allow him to guide you. Your eyes rove over everything, from the well-worn couch to the framed photos of him and his squad, or the pictures of wild-eyed kids that can only be Johnny's nieces and nephews. 

"Aye. Can have ye curled up on the couch while am cooking, terribly, mind ye." Johnny nudges you playfully with his hip, drawing your attention back to the radiant smile on his face.

You follow him down a small corridor with doors on both sides. The door to the left opens into a bathroom with a large, walk-in, waterfall shower, illuminated with soft lighting when Johnny flicks the switch.

"Bathroom, with no bath." He explains, before his expression flickers to something briefly resembling a kicked puppy. "Bit sad about tha'." 

"Are you a bath man?" You ask, your mind visualising the muscular man indulging in rich aromas and piles of bubbles—it serves as quite the entertaining mental image. And then your mind flickers to him in the shower, water cascading down his toned body, knots in his shoulders just begging for relaxation...

"Absolutely. And if yer not into baths, I think I know just the way to convert ye." His hand squeezes yours playfully as he throws you a wink, and you're left wondering if he could somehow sense that your thoughts have turned dirty.

"I like the sound of that." 

Finally, you cross the hallway into the bedroom—a room filled with a mixture of earth tones and navy blues, the place is clean and tidy, beside the pile of clothes and various other things piled onto the chair in the corner. 

"And where we'll be staying, unless you'd prefer I sleep on the couch." 

You don't miss the sheepish look on his face, the look that tells you that sleeping apart from you is the last thing he'd rather do tonight—but you know that he'd do it in a heartbeat if you asked. 

Stepping closer into his space, you lace your other hand in his and sway them back and forth, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "I will be falling asleep on your chest. That's non-negotiable, Johnny." 

"I'm glad tae hear." He pushes himself forward to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment after. "Can be ma little blanket for the night." 

"... But aye, that's about it." He gestures to the room with one of your intertwined hands.

"It's cosy here, I like it." You comment with a smile, taking in the welcoming atmosphere of the room—the hints that the place is lived in. 

Johnny comments as he moves closer to your ear—his breath warm as it flutters over your skin. "Hopefully, the first visit of many." 

"I hope so too. I'll be leaving my toothbrush here before you know it." 

You pull yourself from Johnny's hold, falling back onto the mattress and allowing your dress to ride up your legs as you prop yourself up on your elbows and stare at Johnny temptingly.

Your eyes trail over his body, savouring every delicious inch that is John MacTavish. His eyes chart a similar path, following up your exposed thighs. 

"Anyway, I think I'm all settled in now." You purr, trying to coax him back into kissing you like he was earlier. 

"Steamin' jesus." He all but growls as he comes closer, crawling over you and leaning down near to your lips as his arms cage you in. "Someone's a needy pup." 

With his face hovering inches from yours, you relish the opportunity to drink him all in. His baby blues sparkle with lust and fondness as they peer down at you, slightly hidden behind hooded lids. His eyelashes flutter so prettily, bouncing off his sweet, stubbled cheeks. 

Your eyes fall to his soft lips, the scar underlining them that you want to trace your thumb and tongue across—learn the story of. 

"Kiss me again, Johnny, please." You whisper softly, as one of his hands begins to stroke the top of your head. 

"Askin' so nicely, how can I say no?" He smirks one last time before closing the gap, both of your eyes fluttering shut as your lips finally reconnect. 

There's never a moment when Johnny's lips don't feel heavenly—he kisses you like a man starved and allows his hips to falter and press against your core. His clothed erection rubs against your centre, the denim pushing across your thin panties and sending your brain spinning. 

It's instinct when you buck your hips up into his, chasing more contact from his throbbing length. The more time you spend around Johnny, the more intoxicated you become on his presence—your hesitations melt away, replaced by an overwhelming need that's only sated when Johnny is pressed against you. 

The moan that leaves your throat is entirely accidental, but causes Johnny to buck against you and groan right back at you—after the moment of slipped control, he stills.  

"Bonnie..." Johnny pulls away, a soft, hesitant look in his eyes as he tries his hardest to hold back. "I meant what I said about not expecting anything." 

For a moment, you feel awful, like a temptress pushing him to the limits of his self-restraint—but your own desires swirl inside you dangerously, with every moment with Johnny only adding fuel to the fire. 

The fact Johnny can want you so passionately and still remain firmly in charge of the both of you only reinforces the disgustingly puppylike crush you have on him.

"I know. I'm just enjoying kissing you properly." You sigh before taking a deep breath to release some of your pent-up arousal. 

"Aye, me too." He continues to stroke at the top of your head as his thumb brushes across your warm cheek, making you shiver. "Hard to keep ma hands to myself." 

"Yeah, tell me about it." Your hands rake down his chest, slowing once you feel the hardness of his abs beneath the cotton.

Johnny's hand falls to clutch your wrists, stilling your exploration of his body. The look in his eyes is all cheek and charm. "I should get you fed." 

"Boo."

The look turns ever so slightly warning. "Pup, Johnny knows best, aye?" 

"To the kitchen!" You announce cheerfully, breaking through the tension of the moment and redirecting the both of you before you end up wrapping your legs around Johnny and refusing to let go until he's spilled himself inside you.

With a breathy laugh, Johnny stands from the bed, turning around and offering his back for you to climb upon. When he finally has you safely stowed on him, his fingers gripping at your thighs as your arms wrap around his neck, he carries you to the kitchen.

Johnny doesn't let you back down to the floor immediately, instead heading to the fridge with you still clinging to him like a koala.

"Probably should've asked ye what toppings you wanted, but I just grabbed a bit of everything." He explains as he opens the door and reveals a shelf bursting with cheeses, vegetables, and meats. 

You quickly scan the shelf for any nasty surprises like the anchovies or olives Johnny had mentioned on the way over, and find yourself relieved that everything on offer is delicious—with some of your favourite pizza toppings even there. "So much choice, and nothing disgusting, I'm surprised, Johnny." 

"Hey now, I do have taste... sometimes." The pout in his voice is evident as he shuffles you further up his back before removing the hold of one of his hands to start removing the dough, sauce, and toppings so he can set them atop the counter. 

Your eyes fall to the rest of the shelves, with the vast majority of them being stacked with the same plastic poultry liners. "Johnny, your fridge is 90% plain chicken breast, I'm not sure that I trust that." 

"Well, actually, some of that is turkey." He smirks, until you lean forward into his sight-line with a grumpy look on your face. "Dinnae go glaring at me, bonnie girl." 

"Clearly I need to be fed so I have less of an attitude." You huff, playfully teasing him about his earlier interruption to your fun.

Johnny finally lowers you to the ground, setting you beside him before he grabs the final few ingredients. "I'm working on it!"

With everything ready and set out, you start to plan out the deliciousness that will be your creation. Everything Johnny picked out is fresh and delicious, and almost calling out to you to be a part of your meal. You rush to wash your hands so you can get started. 

"I feel like I'm gonna pick too many toppings and my pizza will just be a mess." You explain as you start to open a few packets while Johnny moves to the sink. "What are you having?" 

"Lil bit of everything, why no'?" He shrugs, the smile on his face wide and infectious.

"I'm so excited!" You giggle, already thoroughly enjoying your little pizza party with Johnny. As you watch Johnny dry his hands and then begin to work the dough, a mischievous thought pops into your head. "It's a shame we didn't make the dough from scratch, though." 

As soon as Johnny looks at you, he knows exactly where your thoughts have headed, and his face splits with an amused grin. "So ye could throw flour at me?"

"Flour fight, exactly." You nod. 

Johnny sets down the dough, moving into your space and grabbing you by the hips to spin you to face him. He looms over you— grin now devilish, eyes sharp and tone teasing. "I'd win, hen, dinnae think otherwise." 

You bite your lip, staring up at Johnny and shivering under his touch. "Hmm, you'd be covered in flour and looking so good, so I think I'd really be the winner."

"Next time, then." He purrs as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. He pulls away after a few moments, yet lingers in your space and sends heat rushing through your veins.

"I suppose I could still smear sauce all over you." You tease, your arousal making you even more daring and flirtatious.

"Just askin' fer trouble with tha'." He growls, pulling you flush against his body as he pulls his lip between his teeth.

"Oh no... how terrible." 

One hand moves in a flash, slapping lightly and groping at your ass as Johnny rubs himself against you. "Ye won't be saying that when yer arse is red raw." He groans in your ear. 

"You wouldn't be spanking me when I'm too busy licking the sauce off your face." You giggle, squirming under his touch. Brattiness isn't your usual go-to around Johnny, but sometimes he just inspires it.

"Dirty fuckin' pup." He growls, his voice almost feral and animalistic in the way it rips from his throat.

He holds your gaze, commanding you with just a look as he removes his hands and leans to the counter. He returns with the jar, popping open the lid with ease before offering it to you. 

"Go awn then." He commands, his expression serious as he urges the jar closer to you. 

You glance between him and the jar, uncertain of what he's asking for a moment before the realisation hits—he's making you cover him in the sauce.  

The moment stretches on in the heavy silence, as Johnny stares you down with an expectant look, waiting for you to comply. You timidly dip your finger into the sauce, hand trembling as you move to swipe it across Johnny's cheek. You assume he's going to messily return the favour, but he just continues to hold your gaze. 

"Now lick it." He whispers, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

You can't help but comply, pushing yourself up close to his face and darting out your tongue just enough to clean his stubbled cheek. 

It's then he grips you again, stilling you in place as you're draped across his body. "Good fucking girl." He purrs, and then returns the favour—gripping your cheek with one hand and smearing your face with sauce with the other. 

Then he licks you, long tongue trailing slowly up your cheek and leaving you wet and squirming. 

"Johnny, ew!" You giggle wildly, almost feeling tickled by his tongue against your skin. 

"Ew? Really, lass? Won't be saying tha' later when it's my tongue in yer cunt." He makes sure his lips brush against the shell of your ear as he continues to tease you with his words. "Won't be sayin' tha' later when I have ye slobbering all over my cock."

He punctuates the last sentence by pulling you tight against him once more, making you feel the weight of his throbbing cock against you. You find your self-control rapidly slipping once more, especially when his lips dip to press kisses to the bare expense of your neck.

"Mercy, please." You squeal, attempting to wiggle free from his hold. "Otherwise, we might have to abandon the pizzas."

Luckily, Johnny is feeling kind as he pulls away and gives you space—yet the glint in his eye remains. 

"Mercy, for now."

You and Johnny try your best to focus on making the pizzas without further incident—listening to early 2000s pop punk and exchanging little bits and pieces of conversation. He informs you that his Captain's house is more in the countryside and has a proper brick pizza oven in the garden that gets used precisely once a year when he throws a birthday party for Gaz.  

It makes you chuckle how Johnny seems to enthuse about how much better the pizzas are when they aren't made in his "shitty little electric oven". It also makes your heart swell when Johnny mentions how Gaz's birthday is just around the corner, and that you have to come with him to the party. 

When Johnny pulls your pizzas from the oven, you're surprised to see they both managed to cook well despite the pile of toppings and cheese.

The two of you eat your gooey pizzas as you curl up on the couch and watch an episode of Midsomer Murders. Admittedly, you'd been sceptical at first, and a little confused as to why a man in his late 20s was so into a show you watched growing up with your aunt. Then you heard his enthusiasm for solving the cases, and couldn't bring yourself to care about the slightly amateurish acting or the way the theme tune reminded you of the smell of her house. 

When you realise halfway through that you're pretty sure Johnny's guesswork about the case is wrong, you feel your puppy love grow at least ten sizes, and say nothing as you watch the misguided enthusiasm and smugness sparkle in his eyes.

After a second episode finishes, you ready yourself to head back to the kitchen with the plates but find yourself stilled as Johnny grabs your wrist.

"Do you not want help with the dishes?" You ask, head tilted slightly in confusion.

"Maybe later." Johnny pulls you back down onto the couch before fixing you with a look that makes your cheeks flush. His hand finds its way to your face, cupping your burning skin as his thumb traces over your lips with intent.

"Oh, later, I see." You can't help but smile, and Johnny's thumb chases the newfound curve of your lips. 

A lustful fire ignites in the pit of your stomach as you watch Johnny's eyes fixate on your lips, and you notice his pupils are blooming with arousal. 

It's instinctual and automatic, the way you feel your body call out to connect with Johnny's once more, and you give in to the magnetic pull as you climb into his lap and settle atop him. Your hands curl around the thick column of the back of his neck, steadying yourself as you squirm around to get comfortable.

Johnny's large hands cling to your hips—a warning grip stilling you as his cock stirs to life underneath your core and pushes harsh denim against the soft cotton of your panties. 

"Bonnie." The word is growled, yet wrapped in playfulness, as his eyes flare with warning and his fingers continue to dig into the plush of your hips.

"Yes?" You coo innocently. 

"Careful now." 

"I just want to kiss you." You whine, while resisting the urge to grind down on Johnny's length. Instead, your lips fall to kiss his stubbled jaw, and the protruding veins on the side of his neck. "Can't get enough of you." 

Your own words break the dam of your self-restraint, as you give in to your urges and chase the bolts of pleasure that course through you, nudging your clit back and forth against the cock you crave so badly. 

"Neither can I." He whispers brusquely, the words sounding throatier as you continue to kiss him and writhe against him. His hands guide your hips along your path, each thrust earning you a growl from deep within his chest. "Ye drive me mad, steamin' fuckin' jesus." 

Your hips continue to writhe on instinct, addicted to the feeling of rocking on Johnny's bulge and the way the sensation ebbs at consciousness and makes your brain cottony around the edges. You nuzzle into Johnny's neck, seeking comfort and closeness as you continue to slip deeper and deeper.

"Johnny, I'm going crazy, I need you." Your words are whined against his skin, desperate pleas appealing to his baser instincts, practically begging him to just give in and take you already. The impulsive voice in the back of your head chants his name over and over again, as it always does. 

This time it's stronger, overwhelmingly so, as you're wrapped in his arms and able to melt into his touch. 

"Ya have me, pet." He whispers—holding you close, nuzzling you back, and pressing the gentlest of kisses to the top of your head. "'m all yours." 

Johnny continues working his hips up into your core, meeting you thrust for thrust and grind for grind. The sensation of your bodies meeting draws groans from his throat, each erratic connection making you both tremble.

Your eyes meet, an intense connection as Johnny's eyes search yours—him seeming to read every little flicker of emotion within them. Whatever he sees there spurs him into action, as he repositions his grip and redirects you—widening his legs before he pushes you down against his thick, denim-clad thigh.

"Tha's better." He sighs, immediately moving your hips again for you, rubbing your pussy across his muscle and giving you much-needed contact.

You find your rhythm quickly, working with Johnny to build delicious friction—the heightened sensations and connection have you overly sensitive, your blood fizzing all over your body just at being able to grind against Johnny. You know he's going to ruin you when things really start to escalate. You also know you're not going to last long at all.

"Humping my thigh like a good pup." Johnny groans as he buries himself into the crook of your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your skin—you tilt your head to accommodate him getting access to wherever his mouth pleases. 

"Gonna leave a wet spot." You feel the way your wet panties are clinging to your folds and know some of your arousal is leaking through to the denim beneath. 

Johnny growls, his thigh pushing up to meet you more firmly, as if begging to be soiled further. "Go awn, soak ma jeans." 

"Johnny..." 

"Sound so pretty whinin' fer me, whimperin'." He purrs straight into your ear, making your back arch as your skin tingles all over. "Gonna bark for me?" 

You quickly shake your head before hiding in Johnny's chest, cheeks ablaze. "'m shy." You whisper, hoping said reservedness won't disappoint him. 

One of Johnny's hands makes its way up your body, stopping to stroke the top of your head soothingly. "It's okay, pup, it'll come." He reassures you, not let down in the slightest. "Jus' keep grinding."

Your hips move with renewed fervour, chasing the rapidly building high that twists and coils in your stomach. Pleasure radiates out from your core, flowing through your veins and clouding your brain—refocusing yourself entirely on being good for Johnny.

"Feels good?" Johnny asks in response to your escalating whines and moans. "Use yer words for me."

Words are hard to form when your throat is so tightened and your mind so blissed out, but you have to obey. Each thrust pushes you closer and closer to the edge, closer to your reward. The tension between you and Johnny has been building for so long, with your need rapidly spiralling from the moment the two of you first started talking.

You need the release, need to cum under Johnny's touch and command—finally let him into your mind where his commands will make their home. As your thighs tremble around Johnny's, you force yourself to summon the strength to lift your head, to use your words just like Johnny had asked. 

"Feels good, so close." You admit, voice not above a whisper as you get hypnotised by the sparkling blue eyes that are hidden by hooded lids. 

Johnny is looking at you like he's going to devour you, and all you've done so far is rub your slick cunt all over his thigh. You shiver with the thought of just how much more intensity can build between you—you wonder how you're going to survive it.  

"Needy pup, want ye tae cum fer me. Jus' fer me." One of Johnny's hands now cups your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes locked onto his as you continue to writhe wildly against him.

His words push you so much closer, your brain waiting for his word as you try your hardest to not cum even a second before he tells you too. 

"Can ye do that, pet?" 

You nod mindlessly as your body goes into overdrive, the pressure making your body coil tighter as your brain finally fizzles out of any coherent thought. All you can do is keep your eyes fixed on Johnny, as you replay his words over and over in your head. 

Pet. Pup. Hump. Whine. 

Operating entirely on instinct, your mouth falls open, tongue lolling out as you pant and whine—right on the edge, waiting. As if in your thoughts, Johnny senses that you're right at the edge, as his thigh tenses to be the perfect surface for you to rub against, and his hand forces your cunt down even more snugly before. 

"Pretty pup, tha's it." He coos, voice dripping with sweet, gentle authority. "Cum fer me."

With his command finally whispered, you buck one more and fly over the edge, straight into the ecstasy of a blinding orgasm—one that's weeks in the making. 

Johnny continues to coax you through it, whispered praise and encouragement accompanying every little aftershock until you practically collapse against his chest. 

"Oh my god, that was..." You struggle to breathe, still struggle to think as you sink into Johnny's embrace. "I needed that, thank you."

Soft touches adorn every inch of your body, Johnny petting you sweetly and embracing the sensitivity of your skin in the afterglow. "My pleasure. Ye were such a good girl fer me." 

"Sorry about your jeans. And you not—"

Johnny doesn't let you finish your unnecessary apologies. "Dinnae be." 

He pulls you even closer, arms wrapping around your waist and back and holding you in a tight, reassuring embrace as the both of you come back down to normalcy. You can practically feel the smile on Johnny's lips with every kiss against your forehead, and his unbridled joy is still radiating off of him when you finally lean up to reconnect your lips with his. 

After a few sweet pecks, you find yourself burrowing back into his chest as you try to suppress a yawn. 

"Tired, bonnie?" Johnny asks, voice quiet. 

You respond simply with a gentle nod.

"Let's get you to bed, then." He chuckles, tapping the backs of your thighs to encourage you to stand. 

You can't help but whine just a little, entirely resistant to moving even if Johnny's bed is only a short walk away. "It's too early to sleep." You try to reason, even if you have no clue of the time.

Johnny presses another kiss to your forehead—his smirk cheeky and eyes bright. "Who said we'd be sleeping?" 

With assistance from Johnny, you sleepily stumble to his bedroom and immediately plop yourself down on the edge of the mattress while Johnny fetches your forgotten bags from the entryway. 

Your orgasm has left you a little boneless and ignited an even stronger craving for connection with Johnny. He parts from you for even a moment, and your body calls out to be cuddled up with him again.

Luckily, he returns quickly, setting the bag down beside you so you can sleepily rifle through the bag for your pyjamas.

When you finally locate the silky set, you urge yourself off the bed and head for the bathroom. Johnny stops you by the wrists before you can reach the door. 

"Where are ye going?" He asks, an adorable look of confusion on his face. 

"To get changed." You explain, trying to stop your voice from trembling with nerves. Despite just cumming on this man's thigh, there's something startling about the vulnerability of changing before him that makes your walls shoot up and your body stiffen. 

Johnny's thumb runs over your wrist, as his expression softens, and he releases his hold.

"'s okay." He nods, turning to grab his own pyjama bottoms and beating you out of the door to the bathroom, leaving you in the comfort of his room. "Shout me when yer done, aye?"

The door clicks shut behind Johnny, as your heart fills with warmth at his easy and sweet accommodation of you. 

You slip off your dress first, folding it semi-neatly and slipping into the bag before you opt to slip off your panties too—they're still soaked through from your earlier activities and were clinging to your folds almost uncomfortably. You quickly shimmy on the matching silk set—cute shorts with a cami top, as you try to remember the confidence you felt when trying the set on.

You call out to Johnny, beckoning him back into the room and hoping his reaction to your outfit is everything you could hope for.

When Johnny slips round the door, his eyes almost jump out of his head—though you're sure yours are doing the same. "Fuckin' christ, bonnie." 

Your eyes rake down Johnny's body just as he does you—his chest is bare, and his plaid pyjama bottoms are slung low on his hips. You can't tear your eyes away, as they dart around taking in every little feature—the broad muscles, slight dusting of hair, or constellation of scars and freckles all down his torso. It's hard to decide which part of him is the most delicious, the most deserving of your eyes' attention. 

"Christ yourself." You whisper, completely in awe. 

Johnny steps forward, taking your hands in his and pulling you into his warmth. His smile is adoring, his eyes showing nothing but reverence as he takes in every detail of you—you wonder if he's recognised just what you've done. 

"You look so good, I wanna eat you." His words are purred into your neck as he presses kisses along your skin, and his hands slip all over your silky skin and barely-there clothes. His hands find their way to the hem of your top, pausing slightly as if asking for consent. 

"Johnny..." You whine as you turn your head nervously, shielding your embarrassed expression from view and desperately hoping you don't have to explain yourself further. 

He cups your jaw tenderly, without any intention of turning you to face him. His voice is just as considerate. "Nervous?" 

"I know it's silly, but..." You trail off, unable to finish your sentence. 

I'm scared you won't like what you see. 

I'm scared you'll leave once you get what you want. 

I'm scared I won't compare to what you imagined, to what you deserve. 

Johnny can sense it all, or at least some of it—as his eyes briefly flare with intense worry. He pulls away before you can ask, flicking the light switch and plunging you both into inky darkness—the room only illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. 

"How's this, hen?" He asks, finding his way back to you.

Somehow, the barely-there lighting of the room feels like a safety blanket—a joyous hiding-in-the-pillow fort feeling, instead of being subjected to a spotlight that seems to amplify all your insecurities.

"Better." Your smile is genuine as you reposition atop the bed, pulling Johnny with you gently as you seek comfort. The two of you scramble up the bed, laying over the covers and facing each other—just inside each other's embrace. 

Johnny's handsome features are visible enough in the dim, with his easy smile still lighting up the room. "Will just have to feel ma way around... if tha's okay." 

"Touch but don't look, instead of the other way around." You laugh, the act releasing some of your pent-up worry. Your hand chases Johnny's, moving it from the bed to your body and encouraging him to touch you. "Sounds good to me." 

"That's ma girl. Ye feel fucking divine." He sighs his words into your skin, leaning forward for a kiss as his hand dips under the fabric of your top and rests on the curve of your waist. His thumb still appreciatively strokes across the satin of your pyjamas.

"I bought these just for you." You admit, voice a soft whisper. 

"Did ye pick the colour of my eyes on purpose, pet?" 

So he had noticed, you think. "Yeah..."

Johnny's easy expression falters for a moment, his usual confidence wavering in the face of such a heartfelt act. 

"Fuckin' christ." His hand squeezes at your side as he lets out a shaky sigh. "And as if I wasn't hard enough."

"Oh?" Your hand reaches out to rest on Johnny's chest, fingers raking down slightly on your path of exploration, headed straight for the waistband of his bottoms where your ignited curiosity is focused. 

Your fingers itch to feel his cock again, remembering how deliciously hard and huge he had felt under your touch in the café. This time, you could feel him without reservation, and experience exactly the effect you have on him without any barriers of material or propriety. 

His eyebrow arches at the action, and his eyes sparkle interest. "Bonnie, where's tha' hand going?"

"I wanna feel it, please." You whisper, accompanying your words with a teasing touch as you slip your thumb under the waistband and tug at the elastic. 

Another tremulous exhale passes his lips before he pulls the lower one between his teeth. "When ye beg like tha’, how can I say no?"

Your hand dives below his waistband as you eagerly wrap your hand around the satiny smooth skin of his cock—feeling the bulging veins and the way the tip leaks with sticky pre.

“Fuck.” You continue to explore his length, stroking slowly and reverently as you watch his face for his reactions—relishing in each quiver of his brows or flutter of his lashes. “Honestly, I don't know how I got this far without begging you to show it to me.”

He chuckles as his hips buck slightly to meet your touch, frenetic energy building inside of him. “Guess for now you’ll just have to keep feelin’. Make up fer lost time.”

“Johnny…” 

“Yes, puppy?”

You stroke down to the base, gripping it firmly for a moment as you speak. "There's no way you're fitting that inside me—" 

Johnny's eyes flare with ravenous need, his smile turning delightfully sinful before he devours your protests with a messy kiss—a hand gripping at your chin. 

"Shhh, I know that pretty cunny can take me." He purrs his words into your mouth, forcing you to practically swallow them and all of their intensity. "When the time comes, we'll go slow. I'll take care of ye, train my puppy to take me."

Your body squirms involuntarily, arousal and surrender washing over you in waves as Johnny's authoritative tone melts you back into a submissive headspace. 

"Your mouth is evil, Johnny." You whine and shiver. "You know what you do to me, right?" 

"I have an idea." He smirks, as the hand gripping your down trails down your neck and over your body before stopping at your waistband for permission. "Wouldnae mind more of one, though, if tha's okay." 

"Please."

It's impossible to hold back your gasp as Johnny's thick fingers finally slide in between your soaked folds and make contact with your sensitive clit. 

He swipes through your wetness repeatedly, dipping down to tease at your entrance before pulling more slick over your clit and swirling it easily with his fingers. You curl into him slightly, forehead falling against his as your legs fall apart, and you surrender to his touch. 

Each stroke feels electric, and your hips rise and fall to chase every little sensation you get from the way he explores you. You find your eyes drifting shut from the pleasure, and the need to shield yourself from the intensity of his hungry stare. 

"Fuck, drippin' fer me." His voice is lower, coming from deeper in his chest, as you feel his dick throb. He's stopped rutting into your hand, instead focused entirely on you.

"... When I got home after our date, I was soaked right through." You admit, voice shaky and unsteady and wracked with pleasure. The glow radiates outwards from your core, coiling in your stomach. Despite your earlier release, your need is still overwhelming—Johnny's touch feeling better than anything you've felt in so long.

"Always makin' a mess. Making a mess on ma fingers right now."

"I can't help it." You whimper helplessly, and even more so when Johnny's fingers withdraw from your folds and leave your cunt aching for him. 

Your eyes fly open in time to watch him take the soaked digits in his mouth, cleaning your mess off of them with his tongue as he gives you an intense, unwavering look that makes your cheeks blaze.

"Taste heavenly, bonnie. Think I need more of a taste, though." He grins, his eyes raging with a hunger that makes your stomach flip.

"Fuck," You sigh, wanting his mouth on you and yet feeling a sense of guilt for even thinking about letting him. "I... I should get you off first." 

You return to stroking his length, your movements having stilled as he had focused on you, but his hand moves to grip your wrist—stilling it in its tracks. 

"Lass, if you give me the word, there's nothin' coming between me and eating tha' kitty of yours. Not even my own cock." 

The certainty in his tone and his look almost have you convinced, but that niggle of insecurity and worry still lingers in the back of your mind, urging you to deny yourself of the pleasures Johnny can give you.

"I don't usually..." You trail off, struggling to finish your sentence. Part of you wants to say you don't let guys go down on you, but it's not like the last one even cared to offer.

You haven't even told Johnny any details, yet he seems enthusiastic enough to compensate for any of the experiences you've had in the past. 

His expression cycles through a myriad of emotions—confusion, sadness, and anger, before he settles on a soft yet determined look.

"Do you want me to go down on ye?" 

"Yes." Your answer slips out far too quickly, but the thought of his mouth on your cunt makes your head spin.

His hand returns to cup your cheek, stroking reassuringly as his eyes plead with you. "Then please, bonnie." 

You swallow, pushing away the voices in the back of your head as you nod, and Johnny scrambles down the bed. 

He pulls down your shorts and tosses them aside, before his arms wrap around your thighs to pull them apart. His lips quickly find their way to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, kissing and licking and biting ever so slightly as you squirm helplessly beneath him. 

His muscular arms keep your lower body exactly where he wants you, as his kisses move higher and higher before they press the outside of your folds and make you cry out. 

"Poor little neglected kitty." He coos, before pressing more kisses to your lips. 

"Johnny—"

"Shh." He interrupts you sharply yet playfully, looking up from between your legs and fixing you with a light-hearted glare. "Am making introductions." 

He refocuses his attention back on your cunt, a hand moving so he can stroke his thumb back and forth over your sensitive nub while he coos sweet nothings into your centre.

"Need someone to take care of ye? I'm a good owner, promise." He dives in and captures your clit in an open-mouthed kiss, sucking slightly before pulling off with a pop. "Know how tae play with ye just right."

It's overwhelming, the way he talks and the fact he's talking to your cunt like it's separate from you, and yet something he's just enamoured with. 

He starts eating you in earnest, tongue swiping up and down your folds, stubble rubbing against your skin—sweet, hot pleasure trickles through you with every little sensation, and you know you're not going to last long under Johnny's mouth.

"Fuck, can't wait to see ye properly. Pretty pussy, all fer me." 

He dives back in, all tongue and lips and slick, wet heat as he makes love to your clit and folds with his mouth—drawing out every whine and whimper you're capable of making. 

"Oh my god," You gasp, hand falling to his head so your fingers can tangle in his hair. "You're so good fucking with your tongue." 

When he pulls back to talk, his lips glisten with your arousal. "'m not just talk, bonnie. Think ye can take my fingers too?"

"Please, please." You beg, almost urging him back to your core as his fingers circle your entrance before slowly sinking in. 

The two digits stretch you slowly, getting you accustomed to the assault before his tongue is on your clit again, all of him working in tandem to make you shiver and squirm. Your cunt squelches with each thrust and lick, Johnny forcing more arousal to leak from your pretty hole as he lavishes you with attention and pleasure. 

"Such pretty sounds." He mumbles, though his eyes don't meet yours.

"Do you mean me or..." You swallow nervously, shyness overtaking you as you summon the words to address yourself. "...her?" 

"Both of ye." He growls, before feasting with renewed fervour. 

You've never had a man eat you like this in your life, as Johnny drinks your nectar like he needs it to survive, and caresses your insides with the most reverent touch. His has you completely undone beneath him, moaning loud enough to disturb the neighbours and racing towards your peak in record time.

Your legs shake against his hold, your hips naturally rising to meet his mouth as your pleasure builds and builds, pushing you ever further toward ecstasy. 

"I'm close." You whimper when the precipice arrives, and Johnny doesn't hold back in the slightest.

"Cum fer me." He mumbles, before sucking you over the edge. Your thighs squeeze and tremble around his head as you explode under his tongue and clench around his thick fingers. 

His attention doesn't wane until he's wrung every little bit of pleasure out of your quivering body. "Mhmmm. Good girl."

He presses one last kiss to your clit, bidding her goodbye before he gently slides your shorts back up your legs and joins you at the head of the bed.

"Fuck..."

The afterglow flows through you like lava in your veins, filling you with a warmth that only grows as Johnny strokes your face. 

"Can I kiss ye?" He asks, his lips hovering just a fraction from your own. 

"I need you to. I'll just ignore the taste of myself."

"Your loss."

He closes the distance, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, one so achingly sweet you pay no mind to the taste of yourself on your tongue. 

Johnny continues to caress your face as he deepens the kiss, making you breathless once more.

You find yourself having to turn away from the kiss to bury your head into the pillow as you stifle an overwhelming yawn. 

"Tired fer real now, sweetheart?" Johnny whispers, chasing you to press kisses to the side of your head. 

You turn back to face Johnny, noses almost brushing together as you give the slightest confirmatory nod. "'m a little sleepy." 

Johnny rushes to slide off the bed, throw back the covers, and position himself on his back. He pats his chest in invitation, smiling at you ever so sweetly. "Your pillow awaits. Non-negotiable, aye?" 

It takes a little bit of shuffling on both behalves to get you settled under the covers and snuggled up to the warmth and comfort that is Johnny's chest. Your cheek is pressed to his pec as your arm settles across his torso—he loops an arm around your back and pulls the other one over his body, holding the thigh that rests over his hips.

You cuddle in closer, relishing the way your bodies fit together, and the way his chest cradles your head so perfectly. "Mhm. Comfy pillow." 

"I'm glad—"

You interrupt him immediately, your hand coming up to smooth over his chest and squeeze appreciatively. 

"Shh." You whisper condescendingly, imitating Johnny's tone from earlier when he was between your legs. "I'm making introductions."

His chest rumbles with a laugh, as he lets you get well acquainted with his pecs. "Brat." 

Your eyes quickly slip shut, your hand stilling of any further movement. Johnny's voice is a sweet whisper from above you as you drift out of consciousness. 

"Sweet dreams, bonnie."

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[icypantherwrites]

Given my last post, I wanted to take a moment to say thank you to those who reached out to me. It means a lot ♥ I don't have the energy to respond to each person individually, but please know that for now I am okay. Full disclosure, I actually meant to post that on my private 'shouting into the abyss' blog where I try to get more of my negative feelings out without potentially upsetting or hurting anyone else, but I apparently didn't select the correct profile this time. I'm super sorry for both the concerning content and also for not responding as I don't have Tumblr alerts on my phone and was unaware until I came on today for the mix-up.

Below is an author's note that I just uploaded along with chapter four of Here that I wanted to post here as well given it's not exclusive to that fanfiction (but to note it was written for an update hence some of the wording) and in a way relates to my previous post and where my mental health is right now.

Thanks for reading and thank you again to those who reached out. I truly appreciate it and your concern.

Author's note:

A more of a serious note now and it is a bit long, but if you can, please read as it’s important. As you may have realized, this chapter is a month out from the last update and the main reason for that is I have been really, really struggling with my mental health. I’ve been trying to get some space from some of these key culprits online (which is pretty much fanfiction) as unfortunately I can’t do the same with a lot of the one I deal with on a daily basis of family and friends and work, but every time I try to come back there’s just another nail there in the coffin reminding me of why I stepped back. I’m a giver and always have been and unfortunately the vast majority of the fanfiction world and people in my life are takers. And I’m just… drained. I feel stretched thin and worn down and taken for granted and to always have people asking for more more more and not appreciating all that I am doing and have already done just makes me feel even worse and then guilty I’m not able to do more for the people that are supportive and it’s a constant cycle. I’m exhausted. I’m depressed. I’m really hurting.

And unfortunately I know there’s a bunch of people on here who don’t care and won’t care and will bitch at me for expressing these feelings because they can only compare what they see of my fanfiction to their own and heaven forbid I dare feel upset about a lack of engagement or thoughtful comments because it’s more than they get. I don’t care. I’m not comparing it, they are. It’s the same concept of saying ‘what do you have to be depressed about? You have a well paying job and own a home and don’t have cancer (thankfully biopsy came back negative) and aren’t starving so you can’t be depressed. It doesn’t work like that (and for anyone who knows even an inkling of that feeling personally, hugs to you) and I’m so tired of being told what I should be feeling and attacked when I don’t measure up to some impossible standard. I’m trying. I’m trying every day to stay here, to be the support pillar I’ve always been for everyone in my life, online and in person, and to try to find the joy and positivity that always drags me out of my black hole before I’m lost to it. I am trying to continue to post my stories even when there’s barely anyone engaging on my other platform and same here where there are far less engaged readers than hits and kudos would indicate because I know how much it sucks to have a story be abandoned and I also know how important a lot of the support in my stories is to many (believe me, I know because that’s how I got into this genre and niche because I needed it too). I was trying to engage myself with readers in comments, find that spark again for my writing that I’ve come to just feel sad about. It’s hard. But I’m trying.

And all I can ask is that if you are a fan of my works, please, help support me. Leave a thoughtful comment about the story/chapter when you read it (you can always come back too, story will still be here). Have patience and kindness if updates take a while. Don’t post comments demanding an update or saying you never comment but wanted to let me know you were commenting now because you want another update (that is not the support you may think it is xD). If you can't say anything nice than say nothing at all (that includes unsolicited advice and attacks upon my person and character that too many folks think is okay to do in an online forum). Remember that authors are people too and we have a lot of stuff going on that you don’t know about in our own lives. Please just… be kind. Be thoughtful. And be a bright light against this black hole ♥ Thanks for reading and look forward to hearing what you thought of the chapter :)

[multi-fandom-imagine]

can you explain the Price of Flesh?

Uhhhhh...where to i start.

First and foremost it is a game that is meant for 18+. I do not recommend anyone below that age to play it due to the dark theme.

It is an amazing game, i had a lot of fun playing it

But here is the description from the site.

The Price Of Flesh is an 18+ survival horror visual novel made by Gatobob.

Plot

You begin the game in an auction, and you are what's being sold to one of three bidders. No matter who purchases you and where you are taken, you must rely on your wits and skills in order to survive your new harsh conditions.

If you are bought by Mason, you'll be taken off the grid, deep into the dark Canadian wilderness. Mason's goal is a good hunt, and you are his prize. On this path you'll not only be dealing with Mason, but the mountain itself, and all the danger upon it. You'll need survival skills, and to keep your wits about you. You'll need to manage your health, the freezing temperature, and the onset of insanity to have a chance of surviving.

If Celia buys you, you'll be taken to the basement floors of an abandoned office building. Celia is a bit high strung, and she's looking for a way to relax. Unfortunately, her preferred methods of unwinding are a bit violent. One wrong move and you may lose your life. Her path is more psychological, and you'll need to be smart and stealthy to stay alive. Unfortunately, there's no way to tell time underground- and you'll never know when she's going to come back.

Derek belongs to a sort of 'club'. If he's the one to purchase you, then you'll find out what this club is all about. In the middle of the desert, five killers bring five victims- including you. Not only will you have five murderers to contend with, but you'll have to worry about the searing heat of the desert. There's no food and no water, and the clock is ticking for your own survival- and that of the other four victims. You may need to work together if you want to make it out alive.

In the DLC you are taken in by Ren { a character from B2D and B2D2 }

<Ren is my favorite>

Fox DLC is more focused on survival as opposed to individual endings. The MC needs to appease not only Fox, but his chat as well. Therefore, this is a guide on how to complete the route, as well as any alternate methods

Mason was the hardest for me, not only because of you needing to stay warm but you gotta watch out for him hunting you. It took me a while to get the good ending. { which is finding the bear trap, setting it up and getting him} also the dude does give you shit to survive the wilderness...so theirs that i guess.

Celia's took me a bit to get the best ending since you need to keep your sanity between 20-30. I did like how she is the only one that lets you go in one of her survival endings, Sidenote. I low key find it adorable that she lets you go but you can choose to stay with her and how happy she gets.

Derek....FUCK THIS ASSHOLE AND FUCK THE PEOPLE HES WITH AND FUCK THAT DESERT. God he pissed me off, the satisfaction of offing him and his goons then escaping with the other two survivors was just beautiful.

Annnnnd now my favorite

Ren...first i gotta say that unlocking him is such a pain...well was until i actually found a good walkthrough.

I love him due to the previous games he is in first.

Second, i love his good ending, like i wanna share the screen shots of it so bad { so if ya'll wanna sit or any of the survival endings let me know.}

[couriersiccs]

finished alex hera's slenderverse docuseries and i just want to.. i don't know, collect my thoughts and share them, because the slenderverse had been a huge part of my emotional abuse-ridden adolescence and it was as much a saving grace as it was yet another source of trauma. and it's been really difficult to reconcile that! so here's a long fuckin chunk of text if you wanna read a personal memoir that's mostly just for me ngl.

I can't promise this will be coherent, and it won't have a place in the History of The Verse because it's just my personal experience, but yeah. Wow.

First off, the documentary was beautiful. Well-crafted, impeccably researched, and just very informative and enjoyable to watch overall. Kudos to Alex for the time, passion, and attention to detail that they put into it, because it's exactly what the topic deserves.

Ten years ago, I was an eighteen-year-old just finishing my first year of art school. I was out of my parents house, understanding for the first time that my upbringing was abusive, damaging, and actually pretty shitty. Not "the shittiest," which allowed my parents (specifically my mother, enabled by my father) to downplay it for so long. But it left me deeply scarred. It stunted my development in ways I've only, in recent years, been able to untangle - my ability to recognize and process emotions, my self-worth, how to understand what I need, the value of my wellbeing and basic health, the ways I'm capable of hurting people in my desperate, clawing need to avoid abandonment. Just to name a few key areas, off the top of my head.

I knew none of this when I discovered Slenderman and Marble Hornets when I was fourteen, maybe fifteen. Eventually, I discovered the fandom on Tumblr, and, most importantly, formed the Skype-based chatroom with my friends, known as Hornetcon.

Literally even just reading the name of it, my throat twists up and tears start to form. When I was in high school, as my mom's abuse got worse and worse, my social connections floundered. Nobody knew what I was really going through, because I didn't even know what I was going through. All I knew was that I felt bad about myself because I only ever seemed to make my mom upset. I couldn't understand how wrong it was of her to treat me the way she did until I had distance.

I became isolated. I stopped seeing the friends I'd had that were close to me. The friends I had at school were my friends, but we didn't hang out very often outside of school hours. I loved them and still cherish the fact that they enjoyed my company at all, but I didn't connect with them. My time was mostly spent on my laptop, hiding from whatever batshit alcoholic mood my mom was in that night, and I joined Tumblr at the behest of my school friends.

When Hornetcon started, I was a couple of days away from turning sixteen. I made very good friends there. I met people I connected with, for the very first time as a developing teenager, on a deep, understanding, accepting level. We bonded over the series, excitedly rapid-fire spammed the chat whenever there was an update, joked about shipping, shared fic and fanart, talked about queerness and transness and polyamory and everything my Good White Catholic Suburbs had shielded me from. The Internet was the gateway for my development, now, since I wasn't going to get it in "real life."

(That's probably it's own form of stunted development, but it was the best tool available to me at the time. shit was dire, folks.)

I got close to lot of people there. I loved talking with them, meeting up on tinychat, catching up with them when I got home from school, happily staying up WAY too late just to chat with friends in different timezones. I wasn't being shown, outside of that chatroom, that I was valuable as a person. That my interests were valuable. That people could find me interesting, funny, and even cute. Those were revolutionary concepts to me.

Alex talked about the pedestal the Slenderverse Creators stood on, and I remember how easily we put them there.

Some of them were in our chatroom! We got to talk with them, ask them questions, shoot the shit like fellow creative minds. We spoke with them like we were all on equal ground, but in reality, they really weren't. We showered them with love, with praise, with reassurances when they were having a bad day. We were all friends on Facebook, which signified a level of trust. We got to know them, or thought we did. Started closer, private friendships with some of them.

In retrospect, it's kind of hilarious that the most predatory of them frequented the chat most often. It isn't, but looking back, it's like...... of fucking course they did. Some were cool! Some were very fucking uncool!

I couldn't tell the difference. I didn't even know my own mother was harming me - how was I supposed to know that a friend I trusted, who was part of my refuge from her, was harming me, too? Harming my friends, who only came forward once I did?

How was I supposed to know that when, while visiting the Creators friends I'd made for New Year's 2016, I spent an evening drunkenly cuddling with one who was also a predator? The only reason nothing more happened is because I was unwillingly partnered (complicated for unrelated reasons. lmfao.) at the time, and he decided not to target me.

It wasn't limited to the Creators, though. Non-creators friends I made in that chatroom hurt me, too. When I think of the Slenderverse as a painful part of my life, I include them. And, most importantly, I include myself.

I hurt people, through no intention of hurting them, because I was scared and in pain and had no idea how to communicate with another human being. I had no idea how to handle relationships, how to express myself in my friendships with others. The time I was supposed to have spent developing those skills, I was instead being emotionally slingshotted back and forth by my parents, the people who were supposed to have set an example for me to follow and support me when I made mistakes. I tried to search for that support elsewhere, and I found people who were better, people who were worse, and I only knew the difference after it was too late.

I can only say that I was not capable of being a better person when I wish I had been. It is the only way I've been able to forgive myself and move on with my life, even if I still taste guilt and embarrassment in the back of my throat at the memories. If I were to ever speak to the people I hurt again, on a real, raw emotional level, I wouldn't expect them to forgive me based on "well, see, I was right fucked up and didn't really know it yet."

Thinking about the Slenderverse makes me think about the messy, reactive, depressed, and frankly manipulative person I have been. Being a "people pleaser" is, in my experience, a version of an emotional manipulator. Not for particularly nefarious reasons, but because when someone reached out to offer to me love, a desperate little girl with claws reached back. I didn't mean to hurt people, I didn't abuse a power structure to get what I wanted out of them. I was just utterly graceless with how I handled the emotional wellbeing of both myself and anyone who tried to show any care for me.

Another thing I've been working on is challenging my pattern of "black and white" thinking. Some people really were innocent, and I really did hurt them because I was messy. Some people may have started out innocent, but along the way I realized they wanted what I couldn't give, and I had to let them go. Some people may not have intended to hurt me, but did. Some people may truly have never valued me as a person, and only acted as if they did.

It's all grey. Kind of in a fog, really. I have few clear memories of that time, and I'm grateful that they are mostly good ones. Trying to dig them up by going back through my blog feels like performing open heart surgery on myself. I think it's worth revisiting, even though it feels like retreading over ground that is not a place of honor, where no highly esteemed deed is commemorated, where nothing of value lies.

I don't regularly speak to anyone from that era of my life. Even the friends that I love dearly, that helped me through some of my worst moments. It's like there's ooze all over my thoughts of the Slenderverse, due to the actions of both others and myself, and it's all over anything or anyone tangentially related to it. It isn't their fault. I just needed to move on, get some distance from it. Maybe now's a good time to revisit it, but I don't think I get to just walk back into anyone's life like I never quietly excused myself. I don't even think they see it that way. We all just have our own lives.

But I'm thinking of them, a lot. And I wish I could show them how much better I'm doing beyond the occasional social media post. I'm not living in a utopia or anything, but I'm sure as fuck doing better than I was before. I'm learning how to not hurt people, especially not like I used to, and how to apologize and make things right when I do.

I'm still kinda fucked up and probably always will be, in some ways. But I talk kinder to myself, now. I try to value my wellbeing as often as I can. I point out to myself when something should be communicated. I have fewer, but more solid, sources of support.

I'm doing my best out here. I hope they are, too. All of them.

It would have been funny to see Hornetcon mentioned in the doc. It wasn't a doc about the fans, though, so I get it. But it would've been funny to tell my perspective of the Verse at that point. And I was in it, technically! Behind the camera during the clips they used of the WhisperedFaith BTS video, and one or two of the Shamhouse! I had a place in the Verse solely due to the compassionate, if tumultuous, friendships that were built and later left to decay. I never created a Slenderseries, but I created fanworks, memes, co-created a big fangroup chatroom (though it wasn't an entirely successful or able-to-be-inclusive chatroom, all things considered. imagine a discord server of like a hundred people, dozens active every day, with only one channel. god the days of skype were dark.) I supported, I visited, I loved, I cared deeply. But my experience was only a microcosm of the big picture, and that was already captured quite well. I know where my place in the artistic collaboration was, however extraneous.

And I hope Tharol is doing okay. I was mean to him when he messaged me last, in like 2015, in a furious attempt to rid my life of that Slenderverse-tainted ooze. I wish I could tell him, along with so many others, that I'm sorry.

alright that's all i got, no editing no beta we die like jeff, send post

[phoenixfiiire]

@gcldfanged from [x]

He couldn't be truly angry with the Undying. They were his protectors. They cared for him - or for the power that lived inside of his body. They had nursed him back to health, had helped him regain his strength, taught him how to walk away, taught him how to use a knife. All of it for their own ends, he knew that, but they still cared for him. Even if that care and love was buried beneath the belief that the Phoenix was all that mattered.

But Founder, how badly did he wish he could feel genuine fury toward them. That he could turn and yell, scream even. Demand that they leave him alone, tell them that he was going to run away and they would not find him if he wanted to stay hidden. Having to just bite his tongue when they told him that Jill was better off with the Iron Kingdom, or that Clive was happier as a bearer.

This was too far.

A thief could present a danger, especially if they had managed to steal any of the artifacts that were being studied regarding information on Ultima, but those artifacts, the books and tomes and tapestries of old, were stored where Joshua himself would be unable to find them unless he had been granted permission. At worst all the young man could have done was taken some gil, or perhaps some book that might have been able to fetch a tidy sum with the right noble. Annoying, but not a danger.

Annoying also because it would mean the entrance he had stolen in from would have to be fully sealed, and the entire hideout may even need to be abandoned, but that was not the thief's fault. It was a lesson to be learned, and if one person could already slip in, others would be able to as well.

'We will kill him.' That had been Cyril's decision. Joshua knew he couldn't outright defy him, which meant moving before the Burning Quill could.

The Undying keeping watch over the chained up man turned to face Joshua. He could hear their inhale of breath that was undoubtedly going to be followed with my grace, and he silenced them with a wave of a hand. "Don't. Leave here, now."

"-My-"

"Leave." A small burst of flame danced around his fingers, briefly illuminating his face from beneath his hood and making it easy for both to see his glare. It faded quickly as he added: "I have been given instructions on how to deal with the intruder. I will see that he is dealt with. Now, go."

He was the Phoenix. They could not outright deny him, even if they wanted to. Their reluctance was palpable but they did turn to leave after a long moment, their footsteps echoing in the distance as the door clanged shut behind them.

The thief was certainly a mouthy one. It was a bit admirable, really, to try to cling to such bravado when it was clear there was nothing that you could do to help yourself. For a moment Joshua felt something uncomfortably close to a surge of pity; surely he could have been doing something better with his life. But... life was not kind to anyone in Valisthea. Not anymore.

"Stand and turn your back toward me." His words came out sounding harsh and clipped, and Joshua grimaced. His act had only been to sell his cover story to the guards, and he found himself struggling to slip away from it. He moved to reach into his pocket, pulling free a set of keys that had been stolen from Cyril's desk.

"I will not be able to reach your bindings if you do not, and I fear there will not be much time to debate this."

[a-tale-never-told]

An Apology.

//Greetings, everyone. I completely understand what you might be thinking at this moment, upon looking at this title. You might be thinking "Is he going to repeat another self-deprecating rant about his insecurities about writing and venting on the blog?". To that commonly referred question, the answer is actually no, surprisingly.

//You see, over since yesterday night, I finally came to a realization of just how damaging my own actions were to this entire story blog, and how much of an absolutely selfish asshole I'd become within the past few weeks, and I am greatly ashamed of my behavior towards all of you and how I treated you all during this blog. That was wholeheartedly never the intention to make you all feel uncomfortable with my own mental health issues and anxiety and stress issues, while also placing the burdens of my self-deprecation on you all, especially those who are dealing with other mental health issues themselves.

//Yesterday, I came to a realization of the numerous key reasons why I end up going on these long, venting rants about my writing qualities and why multiple people have felt put off by the story, and I came to a conclusion: It wasn't just the writing quality, but my constant venting and self-deprecation over the issues of my personal life and my rather embarrassing ways on how to handle my depression, as well as several other factors that we'll get into later.

//I just want to elaborate a bit on why I acted this way in particular and why I'm absolutely terrified of my own insecurities: I fear being abandoned in life, both with my loved ones and with my friends, hence why I get constantly paranoid whenever I trust or talk to someone because you never can officially confirm if you can place your absolute trust and faith in that person, even your own closest loved ones. Throughout my entire life, I've been betrayed, manipulated, lied to, and humiliated by those that I considered close to me in my childhood, with my family being the only ones I could definitely trust.

//While I did make a few friendships back then, I certainly wouldn't call it a friendship as we often fought with one another, then we officially made up, and then we had another argument again, and the cycle repeats itself. I honestly never truly felt what it feels like to even have a friendship with another person or human being, as I've never really experienced any true bonds with others. Most of the time, I'd often get shamed, bullied, and harassed by my fellow classmates for the most ridiculous of reasons, and I, unfortunately, had to take it like it was completely normal, even when I tried to give those people the benefit of the doubt and repair our relationships.

//These types of mental behavior that I exhibit are something that I think most of you are familiar with, Social anxiety disorder. Social anxiety disorder is essentially characterized by sentiments of fear and anxiety in social situations, with blushing, trembling, and nausea, as well as having an overwhelming fear of humiliation and embarrassment. When you have that disorder, you start to feel anxious about how people might judge you or if they treat you with scrutiny whenever you interact with them, thus leading you to fear almost any social interaction, especially things like dates or talking to random strangers.

//I'm not saying this as an excuse for my self-depreciation and venting posts, because there are absolutely zero tolerable excuses for that, but it does offer a rationale or explanation as to why I become so mentally unstable to begin with because I never truly had any form of positive interaction with a human being outside of my family, and it wasn't untill this year where I try to overcome my disorder and tried to socialize more with others, though the mental and cognitive social issues still exist. It's just the fact that I get extremely afraid of other people abandoning me and leaving me alone to rot away, so that's why I become extremely paranoid whenever I see others.

//Another main issue is actually what Mod Bubbles pointed out in our conversation together on DMs: Hormonal teen angst. It's no official secret that we, as teenagers, tend to have those periods in life when we often like to complain and beat ourselves up for every single mistake we make in our lives. That's unfortunately part of the development process of becoming a teenager, and the ways I handled it were... less than splendid to say the absolute least, if the vent posts were any indication to go by.

//And speaking of the vent posts, I finally realized that I officially need to stop making these posts, as not only do they add endless filler to the entire blog, but I realized that it's starting to genuinely make all of you rather uncomfortable with how much I self-deprecate and rant about my insecurities towards a group of strangers and burden the rest of you with my own issues, which is definitely not what I wanted to do, but that might officially stem from another problem that I have.

//It's no secret that I've stated countless times that I'm insecure about my own writing, and how I've been writing this arc, while also being mostly a little jealous of the successes of The New Future and especially A Student Out Of Time, which is incredibly ironic when you consider I owe a lot of the inspiration for this blog to ASOOT and his storytelling, and these feelings of inadequacy and jealousy stem all the way back to my younger years, where I would feel jealous that no matter how much effort and hard work I put, I wouldn't become famous as my other classmates, who essentially became popular due to the growing trends of the late 2010s era. Granted, I had zero idea as to what those societal norms were, but it still infuriated me to see these lazy, selfish, bullies become so well respected, while someone like myself had to bear the brunt of their torment.

//Obviously, Bubbles and Freeze are most certainly not those kinds of people, and I respect them tremendously for being talented in their writing skills, but that feeling of jealousy from my middle school years hasn't really shaken off, and whenever I see an like on those two blogs and look at myself, I always return to those years back in middle school, and that instinct to let out my anger of years of being discarded and treated horribly often comes up.

//However, I have now come to a realization that I cannot continue living my life like this, to constantly be in this never-ending cycle of self-loathing and hatred, as this obviously benefits nobody in the end, and only serves to create more hardship for everyone in this space, and making myself look uncaring towards your feelings and acting like an entitled, narcissistic asshole, which is the complete opposite of what I want to convey.

//So I've decided on a new way to constantly improve my behavior and change for the better, and that's the fact that I will do my hardest to improve myself as a person and a human being. Throughout all of this, I have been discarding your attempts to help me with my mental issues, foolishly thinking that I had it all under control when it had become clear to every one of you that I didn't. And I realize that by continuing this downward spiral of self-hatred and frustration, I'm ending up unintentionally hurting the ones who are trying to help me get better, which was not even the intention at all, and I honestly feel tremendously guilty for doing so.

//If there's any form of advice that is relevant to this entire situation that I need to take, it's that I need to be kind towards myself and others. That means that I'll completely devote myself to giving myself time as well as others the time to reflect and cope with their own mental issues, as well as not constantly thinking poorly of anyone for small things, giving you guys space, showing compassion more frequently, and trying to show you all that I'm not some heartless weirdo that doesn't value your insightful advice on things.

//Two sayings resonate with me throughout this entire time I've been writing this post: "You have to love yourself before you can love someone else" and "Actions speak louder than words", both of which are very important to me not only for my mentality but for my own genuine belief as a person, that we should let our own actions, moral or immoral, speak for ourselves rather than just meaningless, hollow words. It goes a long way in improving relationships with other people, and I feel as if I have been constantly repeating the same phrases and promising that I'm going to better myself as a person without actually showing it. That's going to change, starting from this post onward.

//From now on, I take a personal vow to endlessly work and improve myself as a better human being and a better moderator as well, always trying to take your valuable advice at heart, trying to listen to whatever issues you might have, and constantly offer my advice and support to anyone that needs it here, being far more compassionate and understanding of any problems that you guys have, giving you the time and space whenever you need it, and the most valuable and important life lesson of all is to learn to love myself and stop burdening myself and others with my own socialization issues and mental problems.

//I just want to thank everyone who has constantly stuck around throughout this entire journey, despite my constant venting and ranting about my insecurities and childhood issues. A massive shoutout to people like @freezethunder @creepercraftguy @poisonrozen and especially @a-student-out-of-time for helping me and trying to get me out of those constant depressive stages, always being understanding of my problems, and trying to give valuable advice to heal my mental state. You all are amazing people, truly, and you don't know how much your comments and insightful ways of being compassionate towards others mean to me.

//I absolutely hold full accountability and responsibility for my actions, as I believe that my way of handling the situation was idiotic and at worst, hurting the rest of the fanbase. My sincerest apologies if this post was obviously not what you were all expecting from me today, as I originally never planned to make this today, but rather tomorrow once I finished the Kazuichi asks. But I could no longer put my own mental well-being and the well-being of others around me with my constant self-loathing and endless venting and rants about my failures as a writer. Remember that mental well-being always comes first, and for such a year that was absolutely stress-inducing and nerve-wracking on my physical and mental state in 2023, I felt as if I needed to address this issue because this type of selfish, irresponsible behavior needed to stop at some point, and it's better that I address all of this in one single post rather than let this become a gigantic issue later on.

//I hope you all can accept my most sincere and honest apology, from the bottom of my heart. But I know that these words don't mean anything if I can't show that I've changed and put hard work and effort into bettering myself, and I'm making that commitment to change, starting now!

//This is Mod Sam from A Tale Never Told, signing out. Have a wonderful rest of your afternoon, everyone!.

[jamethinks]

Head canon for Donavan

He was low key a true feminist. He respected women and spoke out heavily against post war abuse. He supported the idea of women continuing to work and defended their right to be in the army. When the media got on his wife’s dick for not having a kid yet he said he was perfectly content never having kids if that’s what she wanted.

He may have been a warlord and imperialist but he still had rather progressive views on women and women’s rights.

And it’s not really a mystery why. Now this is mainly for my fanfic that I will never post so I’m keeping it separate but

The Don Man has never been one to hold biases against people. He preferred to look for direct signs of honesty and relatability rather than focusing on external factors. That’s not to say he didn’t ha our any bigoted views but it rarely affect individual interactions.

A lot of his feminist views were rooted in his relationship with his older sister (an OC), Donna Desmond. She was only 10 months older and was regarded as family disappointment. She was often excluded from conversations and left to stand at the side. She was promptly married off at the age of 18 and her children weren’t even considered valid heirs to the family group. She was seen as unintelligent and hysterical and found herself locked up in her house for the rest of her life after the death of her young children. She is really remembered when discussing the Desmond family to the point where people didn’t even know she existed.

Donathan had a very different perspective on his sister. He didn’t even see her as his older sister but more as his twin flame. They had many common interests and she often assisted with his work and assignments. The played logic games together and he regarded her as his only true competitor. He adored his older sister and to this day still seeks her out for advice.

While at war, Donatello was informed that his sister had suffered a mental breakdown and had to be lobotomized for her own sake. He had always been wary of his sister’s husband and the claims he made regarding his wife’s behavior. However at the time he was too preoccupied with school and later the military to proper investigate the situation. Instead, he trusted the words of the people around him. That his sister was just delusional and unwell.

After he was discharged from the military in 1943 he spent a lot time at home rehabbing from his brain injury. He made many request for updates on his sister and her wellbeing, he even tried to visit her at her home but he was too weak. Once he got back up to his full strength the first place he went was to see his sister after so many years. The week he spent with his sister was the most traumatizing of his life, seeing just how badly the confident brilliant woman he once adored had been torn down and stripped of her own autonomy.

She was as social and communicative as before but there was a clear difference in her intellect. She behaved in an almost robotic way. Her body was covered in scares and bruises. Her once hopeful eyes were dull and strained as she struggled to maintain a cheerful demeanor. It pained Dontholomew to see his sister in this condition, but it also enraged him to think about how long he had been lied to but the people around him. He resented his family for abandoning his sister for reasons he could not understand. But he mostly resented himself for being so passive and not acting on his guts.

One of the first policies enacted by the Jamaican Mafia leader (the Don) was the illegalisation of lobotomies. The decision was quite the left field as he had never expressed any issues with mental health treatments. During most of his campaigns, he also spoke out against domestic violence against mothers and children especially among war veterans. He also once shared the horrors he witnessed during the war of his comrades sharing stories of sexually assaulting women from the Allied countries.

Honestly I have 2500 word book report that I just don’t want to do. So expect more incoherent ramblings from me idk. One day I will tell you about Dionne.

[madamlaydebug]

Do you appreciate life? Are you grateful for what you have in life? Many people focus so much on what they don’t have that they block their own manifestations. The universe responds to our energy so when you’re constantly sending out energy rooted in lack, the universe will reflect that back to you. I remember being homeless & sleeping in abandoned houses, but I was still thankful for my mind & health, & the opportunity that I had to change my situation. I could’ve easily given up and became an addict but I knew I had the power to create a new reality & gratitude was a big part of that. If you’re even reading this right now, it’s because you have a special purpose in life, and I’m grateful for you being here. Gratitude is the key that unlocks the door to prosperity. 💎

[localplaguenurse]

Hee hee! Thanks!

It’s fun analyzing Chibana’s character. You get hints of her anxiety, but you don’t outright spell it for us. I did notice that she had a fixation on putting all her focus and attention on Kei after the huge blow up with her ex boyfriend which I thought was unusual… but it turns out to be an unhealthy coping mechanism to not deal with what life keeps heaping on to her and her own feelings.

Makes sense. Sometimes it’s hard for people to acknowledge their pain and trauma, to downplay it so they don’t have to unravel those messy feelings of pain and anger and sadness.

Not to mention that our thoughts and mind set can be our own worst enemy as well.

Does Chibana have a support circle? I know she has Hana and Kiyoko’s mother… but it’s obvious that two people aren’t enough if they are the support she has. Of course, she has her parents but as mentioned in the second chapter she still has lingering resentment towards them for feeling abandoned during a time she needed them the most.

But with Zhongli, her support circle will no doubt expand because not only will he be supportive of Chibana and Kei, there are also the other Adepti.

And no doubt Venti as well cause no way is he missing out on meeting Morax’s son.

Mental health and trauma is something I take very seriously/personally, so it comes up a lot in my writing. It’s very prevalent and more in your face in my original stories, which I wanna post more of. I’d like to introduce my non fanfic OCs to y’all. Mostly Jason because I’ve at least posted about him a few times.

He’s my favourite guy. I have done awful things to him in the name of character development.

Anyways, Hana is really the only person Mama feels truly safe to open up to. Her relationship with her parents has improved, but they also disowned her for getting pregnant out of wedlock and only came back when she was ready to pop, so she’s hesitant to say anything to them. Akiko is a mom, so she can relate to some of the mom struggles and give advice, but she’s always making some passive remark about how Kei needs a male role model and Mama just rolls her eyes. Yae Miko and Heizou are nice, but Mama’s not full comfortable opening up for one reason or another. She really doesn’t have anyone outside of Hana and Kei who she feels at ease with.

(Something she doesn’t realize is that this affects Kei too.)

Zhongli and the adepti will definitely be a very strong start! It’ll be weird to Mama at first, but seeing how excited her son is to meet the other side of his family puts her at ease. He’s gonna be especially excited about Xiao, and he’ll love Ganyu because of the half adeptus half human solidarity.

[theallsngeye]

on the artist & the world:

(excerpts from an interview for a peer’s essay)

To truly & fully speak on my experience and values as an artist, I feel like I have to give some preface to who I am as one.

*i am both a musical & visual artist, so although this is predominantly in the context of visual art; my philosophy and terms of origin still remains for the former*

I am a self taught abstract artist. I have no former training, no classes, no college. I have no knowledge of color theory or the inter workings of mediums or materials. I feel as blank as the canvas most times.

But I say all this to say that I feel like due to my lack of knowledge and understanding of art, I tend to view it all more spiritually. In a broader sense, I see creativity as being something completely beyond us.

I am merely but a vessel for the ever flowing presence of creativity.

But I mean in todays world, does ANY of that shit matter if it doesn’t have capital gain?

Apparently not.

Every artist is faced with having to equate a value to their work. Work that shouldn’t be measured in any sense. Art that should just exist. As should the artist.

So to combat a world of social media, brand building, content creation; NOT to mention imposter syndrome, financial stability, ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE, systemic oppression and on and on…

I propose the true artist should practice in something I call: creative abandon. (yes, i believe there is a distinction between artists and their intentions and ethics but that’s a conversation for another time)

sounds super dramatic, but it’s simple I promise.

The world is over saturated at the fact that it’s at our fingertips. I believe that’s just the universes call to embrace humanity. Reach within and not out.

What do we love besides what the world and the internet tells us to? Go find the shit that resonates with YOU the most. Do what YOU want to do and simply don’t give a fuck about what everybody says or does.

Abandon the world. Fall into self. Know your Soul. Embrace Creativity. Be You.

Be willing to learn and adapt because you are just a human trying to live and create, and you didn’t ask to be in this ever changing ass world. But all we can do is be water and find our peace in the wind.

And yes, as much as I hate it too, I guess I have to post my art on social media, even if it only gets like 10 likes lol.

I don’t know if it’s my hubris or my confidence but any piece of work I do, I feel like it can change the world or at least garner some sort of love and praise. Confidence is healthy right?

And if I feel like that, I’m sure that there’s artists that share that feeling and experience. I post something I put my heart into on the internet and the reciprocation is short to nothing.

So I started managing my expectations and perspective. Social media brought forth comparison in an ungodly amount. I stopped reaching out and reaching in.

I’m aware that my world is just as valid as the world going on around me. My ecosystem, my little corner of the internet and the world is enough. If the world beyond me one day gets to love and see my work, that would be lovely. But for my own mental health sake, I had to learn how to remind myself that MY WORLD, no matter how small or large, is enough.

I don’t think you get through all this without an extreme unconditional unending love for your art.

…

To Summarize:

- The key to life is your will to learn.

- Be like water and the wind.

- Manage your expectations, but fuck that. I personally practice NO EXPECTATIONS but to each his own.

- Your world and art are just as valid & significant as the the same artist who has a million followers.

- Really love this shit. Please show that you care. Love the art.

and please, remember you’re human.

[eatyourhoneyh]

My phone buzzed twice on the mattress beside my head, right where I left it last night when I fell asleep talking to Harry on the phone. It took me a few tries to get my groggy eyes to stay open, but even catching a glimpse of his name on my screen made me smile.

Harry: Good morning

Harry: Miss you

Without anyone there to see, I let my smile grow until I had to cover my face and roll over as if I was still embarrassed about it. We had only been doing the long-distance thing for five days, but it was working out just fine. Communication was key, and we had figured out a way to do that even with an eight hour time difference. It wasn't ideal, but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

Me: I miss you too

Me: I hope you have a good day at the studio today...or, I guess tomorrow for you

Harry: Yeah, it's only a little past midnight here so I'm still up if you wanna talk

Harry: Or are you busy?

I laughed at the idea that I possibly could be busy. All I had been doing since I've come back to London is clean my apartment and start working on my physical health again, which I had abandoned for way too long before I went to see Harry.

Me: I'm not busy, let me just get my shit together first and I can call you when I get to the grocery store

Harry: Sounds good

I tossed my phone to the side to get up and use the bathroom. Knowing that I was supposed to start my period today, I found myself more relieved than ever that I was jobless, or at least jobless from Redwood. Serving while cramping was a nightmare.

But as I went to change the liner I slept with in preparation for this morning, it appeared to be clean and otherwise untouched. I paused for a moment, hesitantly wrapping it up to toss in the trash.

Before completing the rest of my morning routine, I spoke my own confusion under my breath and found my birth control pack on my nightstand. I double checked the day from the last pill I took, and I was completely on track without a single one missed.

"What the fuck," I glanced around the room as I tried to find an explanation, but then I figured it could have just been the stress of knowing I was running out of time to find a job, or maybe my body was still adjusting to the time difference from Los Angeles. That was possible...right? Besides, I had been late for my period a few times in my life. It's not like it was that far fetched for me.

..........

[kiragecko]

I posted 766 times in 2022

55 posts created (7%)

711 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@whetstonefires

@tuesdayisfordancing

@unpretty

@broosepayne

I tagged 736 of my posts in 2022

Only 4% of my posts had no tags

#described - 78 posts

#undescribed - 44 posts

#neurodivergence - 42 posts

#fandom meta - 24 posts

#linguistics - 24 posts

#people write things - 22 posts

#adhd - 21 posts

#mental health issues - 18 posts

#food - 18 posts

#autism - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#(not sure about the lisp. phonetic accents are slightly painful to read. especially when i'm already dealing with him having my level of soc

I sent 1 gift in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Finally started the first Murderbot novella. It just wants to be locked in cargo holds, and stored in its tiny storage locker, and Not Have To Talk To Humans!

Yes, SecUnit, I understand this urge. I, too, want to be useful without having to feel icky emotions. I, too, want to spend all of my time engaging with media instead of people.

It is SO DISAPPOINTED when the humans ask it to ride in the ship’s cabin with them!

I can’t stop giggling.

148 notes - Posted March 2, 2022

#4

I love autistic writers.

They aren’t a monolith, of course. Every authour is different, no trait applies to everyone, etc. etc. Some of the things I appreciate don’t even apply to all of the half-dozen autistic writers follow on Tumblr. Some allistic people write in similar ways.

But I love the way many autistic people just ... don’t include traditional breathing space in their stories. Most stories ebb and swell, building up tensions and then providing rest, building up emotion and then providing a moment of catharsis. The reader’s speed is faster when the book is tense, and slower when things are calm. All Systems Red (the first Murderbot book, which I finished 10 minutes ago) doesn’t do that. A lot of autistic-written fanfic doesn’t either. Instead, the story moves at the same pace, whether characters are about to die or they’re feeling a bit socially awkward.

The first time I read a story like this, I thought it was weak writing. I felt like I wasn’t properly in the viewpoint character’s head. These days, I love it.

One thing about neurodivergence that is hard to grasp from the outside, is that we frequently don’t WANT to fit in perfectly. Acceptance is wonderful, but fitting in usually requires losing parts of ourselves. Our whole life is trying to navigate a world that forces us into roles that don’t fit, and then people assuming our distress is about not being shaped correctly. The idea we might want to roles to be flexible enough to handle OUR shape seems foreign to other people.

Murderbot isn’t asking us to feel its emotions. We aren’t supposed to be able to fit in its head, understand it completely. Murderbot wants us to accept its perspective, not necessarily share it. And there’s a soaring feeling inside of me at that thought. At the thought of being allowed to connect with what I CHOOSE to connect with, rather than what the authour decided I should. With choosing my own pause points, my own speed, my own reactions.

I definitely connect with Murderbot. I, too, am a socially anxious asexual who doesn’t relate with most of humanity. Eye contact is hostile, and I wore a headscarf as a teen for similar reasons to its love of its helmet. But I love the fact that the story allows me to connect from a distance. We don’t have to be identical to understand each other, and the differences aren’t dissonant. They’re just fact.

I fell in love with my husband partially for this reason. His straight-forward acceptance of the weird, hyperactive person I am. He was interested in me, but didn’t need to understand everything. I think it’s something that many neurodivergent people value - none of us are easy to summarize, but so many people won’t interact with us until they boil us down to a few key traits. The rest of us s supposed to stay hidden, I guess, or maybe abandoned?

It’s so freeing to read like this. I love deeply connecting to characters. Mapping other people’s heads is part of how I navigate the world, how I interact in ways people will accept. (I’ve spent the last two weeks navigating my OWN head by reading fic that goes deep into its characters’ minds. Had some good insights.) But All Systems Red doesn’t ask for that.

It’s such a relief.

184 notes - Posted March 2, 2022

#3

I'm getting really tired of this 'likes don't matter' BS. Likes matter. They just don't help a post circulate.

Likes show the OP that you enjoyed the post. This is often unappreciated by popular blogs, but it matters, especially to smaller blogs. Likes increase the note-count, and signify how many people are seeing and interacting with a post. They are signs of appreciation.

The whole concept of curating your followers' experience breaks down if the only way of appreciating something is reblogging it. I am not going to follow someone who reblogs everything they even slightly enjoy - I want the best of the best. My experience here is good because I only follow people with great taste!

But I also want to tell people I like their post, even if it's a private enjoyment.

Circulation isn't everything. There's value in people pausing to tell you that they liked what you created.

229 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

#2

The Tiger Poem in Classical Maya!

The Tiger He has destroyed his cage Yes Yes The tiger is out By Nael, Age 6

Literal translation:

he-destroyed his-captive-place the-tiger yes-yes he-came.out the-tiger his-writing master-Na'el man[of]-6-years

Transliteration:

ʔu-jomow ʔu-baaknal ʔu-balahm xt xt Joyoy ʔu-balahm ʔu-tz'ibaal Aj-Naʔel Aj-6-habiy

Character Transliteration (ALL CAPS are characters that stand for full words, lower case are syllabic):

ʔu-jo-mo-wa ʔu-ba-ki-NAL ʔu-BALAM-la-ma xa-ta-xa-ta jo-JOY-yi ʔu-BALAM-ma ʔu-tz'i-ba-li AJ-na-ʔe-le AJ-6-HAB-bi-ya

278 notes - Posted March 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Lately, I’ve been thinking a LOT about how Bruce Wayne pretty clearly goes non-verbal when emotional/distracted/stressed. Reduced to grunts, poorly thought out actions, or inappropriate statements (usually in the form of commands).

Shutdowns are a valid way to deal with being overwhelmed. His, however, are destructive. He needs to learn how to work through them in a healthier manner.

-

I REALLY want a Bruce who gets out his phone and writes down what he’s trying to say. Where people who care about him go and sit down, waiting the 5 minutes he needs to craft a response, understanding that the effort he’s putting in is a sign of caring.

I want a Bruce who makes it clear that he needs transition time. That he can’t talk to people while researching on the computer, but if it’s something important, give him a minute or two and he’ll get off and focus on you. A Bruce who recognizes that even though cases ARE important, his family/friends are also important, and he needs to trust them when they say he should switch focus.

A Bruce who turns their nightly medical check-ins into time to hear his kids’ thoughts, because he knows he’ll start hyper-focusing the minute he starts writing his report, so he needs to schedule time for them first.

A Bruce who trains himself into purely defensive physical reactions when he shuts down - protecting himself and those with him, but not attacking until he can make plans again. Who trains himself out of using deadly weapons when his opponent is affecting his judgement - no bladed or explosive weapons when they have hostages and he’s panicking, or they’ve threatened his kids, etc.

A Bruce who makes scripts for when he’s on patrol and needs to talk down villains, or calm down victims. Who includes script writing in his evening prep - making sure he's ready for likely outcomes to his current cases. Who, whenever he can, has someone listening in over coms, so if things go off script, or he freezes up, he can get a prompt.

-

I don’t want a Bruce that gets better by learning how to communicate neurotypically.

I want one who needs to find adaptive strategies. Who has to grudgingly accept that he has limits, and learn to navigate them. Who learns that making things easier for himself makes many things easier for others, because he hurts people less.

I want to see him grow in the ways I’m trying to grow.

3,928 notes - Posted June 17, 2022

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[angeliqueshelleyartist]

Review & Evaluation: Creative and Production Processes

Review Blog Post #1

Looking back at this past month and the work I have created and how I produced it, I was able to learn some things about the obstacles that inhibit my output and time management. In short, I perceive these obstacles to be:

Uncharted design aesthetics

Low experience in mechanical concept designs

Demoralised by industry gap

Adhereing to my Gantt chart

Trouble maintaining focus and self-driven motivation

Leo suggested engaging with art on a recreational level to remedy the art block that can come as a result of foraying into the void of a less-explored design aesthetic. Applying this advice, I have been really impressed with the vehicle designs in Cyberpunk 2077, and was blessed with one of those moments of inspiration when I noticed the stunning and angular gill-like designs protecting the rear windshield on my new in-game car. The shapes, designs and greebling were beautifully balanced in recognisable but tastefully-outlandish designs. I'm a little jealous of the craftsmanship and skill that went into those vehicles, but also feel inspired to try some of the sleek design elements in my own work.

Better observation and sketching with reckless abandon can also help improve my mechanical design abilities. I remember a concept artist saying that to improve your concept work, you need to be curious, figure out how things work, how they fit together. These observations and studies will eventually make it into your own work, adding credibility and believability. To help with this obstacle, I'm going to create moodboards with more research imagery, also looking into less expected places for inspiration, such as the joints on bridges, or the inside of a toaster oven.

The Dunning-Kruger effect may be at play as I consider the paralysis and despondency I feel comparing my work with industry professionals. It's an uncomfortable place to be, but it's a positive sign that if I persist, I'll be able to grow my skill past it's current level. Marc Dalessio’s Learning Curve seems to be based on Dunning-Kruger style observations, but is focused specifically on art skills.

https://stephangiannini.com/2010/12/24/marc-dalessios-learning-curve/

Persistence is key in the period of frustration I am currently navigating. I'll keep creating until my designs creep nearer my "ability to see".

Due to sickness and mental health issues, I'm quite behind schedule. I have some contingency plans in place to try to make up for the time, but this has also been a valuable chance to learn more about my brain's chemistry. Through the process of self-reflection, I've come to realise that I may have a focus deficient form of ADHD for which I'm currently investigating with a GP. We'll see where this investigation takes us, but this could genuinely be life-changing for the better if I am able to treat these mental health challenges.

Looking back over my levels of productivity during past semesters, I was able to be more motivated and driven during group projects as others were relying on me and the social interactions kept my feelings of isolation at bay. To remedy this, I can be more active on the Discord server set up for the MA Concept Art students and also join some more online communities. The only downside to these communities is sometimes they can be so large that work and comments are swept away by the sheer volume of posters.

References:

Dalessio, M. (2010). Marc Dalessio’s Learning Curve. [Online]. . Available at: https://stephangiannini.com/2010/12/24/marc-dalessios-learning-curve/ [Accessed 23 April 2024].

[thegreenaardvark]

Glowing In The Darkness

This is a story that I wrote as an assignment for a creative writing course. I really love how it turned out and wanted to share it with you.

Maintaining a good mental state is something where I have personally my ups-and-downs, and I wanted to talk (in this story) a little bit about the importance of having the right support, and the difference that can make in a person's life. While some sections may seem discouraging and difficult to read, this is ultimately meant to be a story about hope. A diagnosis is not always the beginning of the end. Mental health is like climbing a mountain; in some places the incline isn't too steep and you can manage it on your own, and in other places the land is so steep that you are sure that you'll lose your grip and tumble to the rocks below, and you really need someone to throw you a rope and help you up that cliff.

The character names in this story play an important role. If you have read my bio, then you know that I am a student of Classics as well as English. The protagonist, Seirois Nepenthe, is named using words from the ancient Greek language. The word seirois (shown as Σείριος in Greek) means 'glowing', while Nepenthe is a a combination of the prefix ne- (νη), and penthos (πενθές) and translates as 'that which chases away sorrow'. Another character's name in this story, Gaelan,  translates as 'calm' or 'healer'. 

Thanks for taking the extra time to read this foreword, and I hope you enjoy this short story.

-Green Aardvark

Seirois walked the abandoned hall of rooms. The chipped floor tiling and graffiti-sprayed walls stating the obvious abandonment of the ward. It had been years since he had been here. Though he knew these walls surely held onto countless screams in the years that the ward had been in operation. But the air was eerily calm and quiet. The shattered windows had allowed for the warm Montana breeze to ghost through the long hallway, and Seirois could smell the coloured cosmo blooms wafting in through the air. It had been 22 years since Seirois had been admitted into this ward.

Seirois walked nervously into the blindingly white ward, the pungent bleach smell hitting him straight in the face. For a moment, he considered turning and bolting through the still slightly ajar door behind him before the magnetic locks kicked in, but a glance at the large muscular nurse who had been tasked with escorting him into the ward quickly dissuaded him. The nurse was probably friendly enough; just a regular man with a regular job, but Seirois could see why this had been the ward he was assigned to. The six-foot tall man had a shaved head and a small black dragon tattoo peeking beneath the short sleeve of his scrubs. The long red scar on the man's forearm made the stiches along his own tingle, and he wondered, briefly, if the nurse's scar was obtained through similar means. The nurse gestured to a triage room on the right of the hall.

"Okay, I'll get you to pop in here for a few minutes and talk to Trish," He said calmly, "If you want to give me your bag I can drop it in your room after we get it checked out."

Seirois silently handed a duffle bag to the nurse, and the nurse smiled friendly.

"We're really glad you're here Seirois," He said. Seirois was sure the nurse had meant it to sound reassuring, but the sentiment sounded more like a warden about to flush the only key to the cell block down the nearest toilet.

Seirois took a seat in the ugly plastic hair in the triage room as the nurse took his bag to a station down the hall, where he was certain to turn out the neatly folded contents in order to insure there wasn't a secret stash of razer blades or heroin-filled needles hidden in a pocket somewhere. Five minutes passed before a pant-suit-clad woman walked into the triage room. She was asking a question, but the words did not register to Seirois. She spat out another blob of sound, but after once again getting no response, she jotted something down on a clipboard and passed it to him. Seirois automatically reached for the board to see the words 'name' and 'birthday' messily scrawled across a piece of paper.

"Nepenthe...um, Seirios. Nineteen eighty-six." He mumbled.

"Do you remember why you're here?" She asked.

Seirois lifted his bandaged forearm. "Can you tell me a little bit about what happened there?"

"I'd rather not..."

"It's important for your recovery that you try and talk things through. Maybe we can start with how you got the wound?"

Seirois felt like someone had sucked all of the liquid out of his mouth, and all he managed to squeak out was, "I...cut..." before he began to sob.

"Hey, that's ok," The woman said, passing him a box of tissue, "How about we talk about it in group counselling tomorrow if it's too triggering right now? We also have someone at the desk day-and-night in case you decide you want to try again later on ok?"

Seirois had absolutely zero intention of talking about it later tonight, but he nodded anyway.

He wished he had flip-flops the second he was brought down to the one shared washroom for the unit and told that it was manditory of every patient to take a shower upon arival. The shower floor had felt like tiny pebbles against his bare feet, and he tried not to imagine the plethora of bacteria that teemed between the unreachable fissures. 

After suffering through two embarrassing laps up-and down the ward in his barely closing hospital gown, Seirois finally found the door marked 'Nepenthe, S.' His duffel bag was on the desk, and just as he had presumed, his clothes were no longer folded. He had traded his street shoes for a pouch of small but terrible quality toiletries upon arrival, but at least someone had thought to leave him a pair of papery elastic topped socks. He pulled on the crunchy socks along with his own pajamas, discarding the hospital gown in the corner of the room. He didn't bother trying to talk his way out of eating dinner, figuring that the large nurse was not likely going to buy the 'my plate jumped into the garbage on its own' excuse. It was only hospital food; no more or less appetising than a plate of wet sand, and he managed at least a few mouthfuls.

Days went by; endless days of storm cloud-filled thoughts grinding away at him. The seemingly never-ending rain in his head and storm surges battering against his body only getting heavier with each ticking hour. Trish, who would come to check in on him every few hours, tried to bring him an umbrella, but nothing worked against the storm. Seirois felt like he had been eroded by the years of floodwater beating down on him. The blank eyed patients didn't help, nor did the screaming schizophrenic in the room next to him. Seirois would bide his time, he would eat his sand, and most importantly, he would tell Trish things like 'I'm on a better path' and 'I feel like this is just the first step of my journey.' It was all bullshit of course, Seirois just wanted to go home. If not home, than at least somewhere he could get away from the hulk-nurse warden and Trish-the-pant-suit-lady.

Every night hulk-nurse would come to give him a vitamin to 'keep him strong' and a Lorazepam. Seirois assumed that if the vitamin was to keep him strong, then the Lorazepam must be to shut him up. He wanted to point out to the nurse that it didn't do much in the ways of shutting up what's-his-face in the next room, but figured it probably wouldn't help his case. It wasn't as though the nurse had done anything untoward against Seirois, he was probably just doing what he was told, but Seirois wished the large man would yield his useless attempts to bring Seirois back to shore. He had taken to dropping the pills down the vent in his room. However, Seirois feared that the nurse might have caught on to his plot, because tonight after handing him one of each pill, the nurse crossed his massive arms over his equally massive chest and leaned against the door frame waiting for him. The juxtaposition of the Micky Mouse scrubs he was wearing this evening was almost comical. Seirois cupped the pills in his hand. He tipped the vitamin into his mouth, being careful to keep Lorazepam trapped between his finger and his palm so that it could be discarded later. He took a quick drink from the shatterproof plastic cup on the floor next to his bed. The nurse raised one eyebrow, and Seirois wondered how many times he had practiced before finally mastering the gesture.

"You know," he began, "I was really hoping you would take that this time 'round."

He pushed away from the doorframe and walked to stand in front of Seirois. Seirois didn't bother to look up at him, but the nurse squatted down to capture his eyes. .

"You know, Trish mentioned that you didn't come to group today."

"Guess I was tired."

"And that you wouldn't let Dahlia change your bandages."

"She looked tired."

"So why won't you take the Lorazepam? Do I look tired to you?"

"No..."

"Then?"

"Because...because I don't want to take pills from some guy I don't even know."

"Well, my name is Gaelen and my birthday is in June. I also have depressive personality disorder like you. I grew up on the west-coast, and I hate Brussel sprouts. Does that help at all?"

"You actually think I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Well, have you ever really met someone who actually likes Brussel sprouts?"

"You want me to believe ­you're depressed?

"Why not?"

"Come on, no one who's actually depressed just casually mentions it. It's like a weird bruise, no one goes around showing it off."

"Do you know what happens almost every time you get a bruise?"

"Impact causes breaks in the capillaries and..."

"You heal. You get a bruise, and you can heal."

"It's not a concussion. You can't just heal depression."

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't work like that!"

"Says who? If your friend hits his knee of the coffee table, are you going to let his knee bruise and swell, or are you going to go and get an ice pack? Those pills that you keep throwing down the vent are like an ice pack for your depression. It's not going to fix the problem, but it can help you feel a bit better."

Seirois had never admitted aloud before, but finally, he quietly confessed what he had known for years, "I can't get better."

"It's not a death sentence Seirois, you can get better. I've been doing this for, I think, twenty nine years or so now. I've met a lot of folks who swore up and down that they would never get any better, but they did. It'll probably take a long time, and it's probably going to be really hard, but if you put in some work and maybe take a little medication, it can happen. I know that it is really, really hard to take that pill, but it's time to put some ice on the bruise."

Seirois opened his hand. He looked at the small white tablet staring back him from the centre of his palm.

"How many people?" Seirois asked.

"I don't remember," Gaelen said, "But I think there are at least two in this room."

Seirois felt something wet running down his cheek as he took a deep breath. He grasped Gaelen's hand firmly before sliding the pill into his mouth.

"Good job," Gaelen said comfortingly before adding, "I'm proud of you. Try and get some rest tonight. I'll be at the nursing station until seven if you need anything ok?"

Seirois fished out the piece of newsprint that he had carried in his wallet for the past four years and unfolded it.

Gaelen Lockly: June 7th 1953 - January 26th 2024. Gaelen passed on peacefully during the morning of January 26th, surrounded by his family and friends. He was passionate about his work as a psychiatric nurse at All-Saints Hospital and Surgical Centre. After his retirement, he volunteered at a mental health education centre and frequently worked with at-risk youth within the community. He is remembered by his husband Declan, daughter Kalie, his friends Samuel, Joshua, and Colleen, as well as the many patients he helped over the years. A celebration of Gaelen's life will be held at Redview Community Church at 3PM on January 29th. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to All-Saints Hospital and Surgical Centre.

Eventually, Seirois wandering brought him to the end of the hall, and turned to stand in the door of the last room on the left. There was a well-worn bed on the far side of the room. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the frame of the door. Seirois wondered what might have happened if he had been assigned a different nurse all those years ago. He wondered what would have happened to him of he had never taken that pill, or gone to the nursing station in the middle of the night to find Gaelen when he was tempted to rip away the stitches that were holding him together. He thought back to the group meeting that he had gone to the morning after. He wondered what the faded white line across the inside of his forearm would look like now if he hadn't let Dalia change his bandages. He pushed away from the door frame and pulled a sharpie out of his back pocket, scrawled something on the wall, and turned around to walk out of that building one last time. He went through the broken front door and past the sign on the edge of the lawn that said, "New development coming soon." He bent to pick some of the cosmos blossoms growing on the boulevard so that he could give them to his daughter when he got home tonight. His eyes glanced up-and-down the dilapidated building before finally landing on the window to the room where he had written:

Thank you Gaelen.

[shesey]

Excerpts from The Wall Creeper by Nell Zink

If I tell myself stories, I get very sentimental very fast. So I didn't. I had hypnotized myself because Stephen had a job that could support us both and secretarial work bored me. I saw that I had followed the chief guiding principles of the petty bourgeoisie in modernity and made a virtue of necessity in telling myself my husband was a good lover. ... are you saying that what makes our relationship valuable is my willingness to suffer for you?

I don't see what that has to do with having a good relationship. It should be about getting through difficult stuff together. Difficult stuff the world throws at you, not difficult stuff you do to each other. I'm asking you right now to risk your life and health for my reproductive success.

If I put a picture of you and a baby on my desk, I can get promoted.

I'm sure there are couples that are fated to be together, like they meet each other in kindergarten and date on and off for twenty years, and finally they gie up because they realize they've gotten so far down their common road that there's nobody else in the entire universe they can talk to, because they have a private language and everything like that.

Have kids and turn so weird from the stress that nobody else ever understands another word we say. A couple that's completely wrapped up in each other can get through anything, because they don't have a choice. Right now we have the option of floating through life without b eing chained to anybody, but instead we pile on a ton of bricks and go whomp down to the ground.

I'm sorry. I figured human beings are curious. I try not to avert my eyes when life throws new experiences my way.

... my marriage was starting to feel like an exercise in opportunity cost.

Stephen's grief humanized him. I began to fall in love.

Maybe she was the kind who feels guilty when she commits adultery in her heart?

For the first time in years - or perhaps since infancy, when I hadn't known other people existed - I was certain I was alone, and my prompt gut reaction was to abandon all hope.

Consequently, Stephen was physically revolted by her. As if her failure to notice what was going wrong with the planet was linked to a black, spongy degeneration of her brain that might be contagious.

People talk a lot about midlife crisis, the momentary stress that arises when you finally slack off... It has nothing on unrequited love. Stephen stopped sleeping. He spent his nights staring at the TV with the sound off. He took Provigil so he could go to work. He looked weak and ashen as a ghost. On my knees by the couch, I begged him to take a few weeks off.

Even men in their seventies, talking to me after meetings about an impending block party or the proper sorting of garbage, would raise their eyebrows when I saw I had followed my husband from Philadelphia to Berne and then Berlin. I couldn't come up with a step I'd taken in life for my own sake. On my own behalf, to make myself happy, I'd done all kinds of things, all of them with the aim of staying close to a man. It hadn't occurred to me to be ashamed of myself. I'd thought love was a socially acceptable motivation.

Like me, she had moved to Berlin to be with her husband. The key difference was the kids. I envied her with a pang. An educated woman with little kids (I didn't imagine her having acquired them by any other means than hot sex) is a model of feminist, as well as feminine, virtue. Even her struggle to get strangers to take the kids off her hands is a feminist cause. Her work, bringing up the model citizens of tomorrow, is something society feels it ought to value and is constantly proposing as potentially eligible for pension benefits, unlike my work, which neither involved actual labor nor was anything but an end in itself, on good days, and otherwise not even that.

She hand't planned to drop out, but it was absolutely impossible to be an adequate mother and have a life, she said.

Stephen never had a strategy about anything. He just went ahead and did stuff, then tried retrospectively to figure out why.