#trying to assemble some writing to motivate me to write again

[cuntrytaylor]

i'm rereading some of my college writing and this part kind of rocks

[c-monthecob]

To R.H

Synopsis: Maybe you should've given it to him yourself... Tokyo Revengers High School AU A/N: Trying to step out of my comfort zone and actually write stuff, but it is so hard to stay motivated. 2nd time writing a one-shot, so please go easy on me. I know my writing ain't good 🤧

☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎

What if he said no super loud? What if he laughed at you? What if he ripped it into a million pieces and tossed them in your face?

You'd crawl into a hole and die. That's what you'd do. Never show your face again for the next ten years. Nobody would ever let you live the rejection down. Especially that asshole Shion.

So here you are. Trying to convince yourself that this wasn't the coward's way out. That leaving it in his desk was just as brave as handing it to him yourself.

You're not a scaredy cat. Emma doesn't know what she's talking about. If you were such a scaredy cat, would you be sneaking around the halls during the assembly?

A scaredy cat would be too afraid of getting in trouble with the teachers to do this. They wouldn't be sneaking into the classroom of the strictest teacher. They'd be at the assembly with everybody else. Listening to the principal complain about how low the test scores for the school are. Staying silent for an hour-long school-wide lecture.

This requires lots of courage. So, no. You aren't taking the coward's way out.

It was easy to find his desk with the alphabetical seating and initials written on a laminated note card and taped onto the desk R. H Here we go.

After six years of silently pining. Being nothing more than a friend of a friend. You were finally gonna face your fears, with one little letter, pink, glittery, and sprayed with your best perfume to "Really draw him in," as Emma put it.

You slid it into his desk—his very messy desk at that, fighting the urge to go back and rip that token of embarrassment into shreds. The deed was done. No going back now. You poked your head into the hallway, just had to be sure nobody saw you. Not that you cared if they did.

"I think I left my headphones in my desk."

Okay, maybe you did care.

You made a dash down the hall and turned the corner, disappearing right before the voice’s owner could catch a glimpse of you.

And just as you did. He showed up.

Rindou Haitani.

Retracing his steps to find out where he left his headphones, along with his brother. Ran Haitani, who was only tagging along as an excuse to skip the assembly.

He poked his head into the classroom, hoping the teacher wasn't inside. She'd send them right back to the assembly if she caught them. Ran didn't seem nearly as cautious.

He shoved Rindou inside and strolled in right behind him. "Why'd you do that!? What if she were in here?" Rindou snapped. Ran rolled his eyes and shut the door. "If she were, then the lights wouldn't be off and the door wouldn't be wide open." Okay, he has a point. "Now go ahead and check your desk."

He crouched down, feeling around for it. Just as he expected. It wasn't there. But then he felt something else. Something that wasn't a candy wrapper or crumbled homework. "What's this?" He picked it up, turned it over, and read the front. To R.H., written in dark red glitter pen ink.

"Is that a love letter?" Ran mused, leaning over Rindou's shoulder. His little brother never really got attention from girls. It wasn't that they found him unattractive. Just very intimidating. "Open it! Open it!" Ran shook Rindou with excitement. Shoving Ran off with an unnecessary amount of force, Rindou carefully opened the letter.

"To R.H."

☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎

"Come on, Y/n! Don't chicken out now!" Emma pushed you back onto the bench, keeping a tight grip on your shoulders to stop you from moving. She's stronger than she looks. Apparently, blonde hair isn't the only thing she and Mikey have in common.

"What if some creep shows up while I'm waiting?" you whined. Emma ran a hand over her face in frustration. "That's why he's here." She pointed to Draken, who sat on a bench not too far away, his head rising and falling as he nodded off.

His presence didn't even put a dent in your nerves. Because there were things even Draken couldn't protect you from. Like rejection.

You couldn't help it. The spiraling thoughts. The possible outcomes. There were so many things that could happen, and you were downright terrified of each one.

"What if he shows up with someone else and they record me getting rejected!?"

"Y/n—"

"What if I get so nervous my voice cracks and I embarrass myself. You know my voice cracks when i'm nervous!"

"Y/n—"

"What if he points out things I didn't even know I could be insecure about!?"

"Y/n—"

"What if—" "Y/N!" Emma shouted, scaring Draken awake and effectively shutting you up. She let go of your shoulders and let out a sigh. A heavy and tired sigh. "Y/n." She cupped your hand in hers, giving it a light squeeze.

The stern look on her face— the one she only had when she was upset—made you lower your eyes to the ground, but she was quick to lift your head back up. "It's not the end of the world if he says no," she assured. But if that's true, why does it feel like it will be? Why can't you ever see the brighter side of things? Why is every outcome you think of negative?

"He's a nice guy, he'd never try to humiliate you like that. You know he wouldn't." He really is a nice guy, although he doesn't look the part. With that permanent scowl and all. Some people find him to be intimidating, but not you.

You know he would never hurt a fly. It's one of the things you like most about him.

All those scenarios where he's mean and nasty don't sound anything like the boy you've loved for the last six years.

That's an entirely different guy. Nothing like him at all. Well... not to you at least.

You know he's better than that. So why can't you think positively?

Emma gave your hand one last squeeze of reassurance before letting go and walking back over to Draken. "And if he can't see how amazing you are, I'll kill him myself!" she said, grabbing Draken's hand and dragging him off to a better hiding spot.

So now it's just you. And hopefully soon to be him.

Any minute. He should turn that corner any minute. Right here, right now, you'll say what you've always wanted to say. Three words, just this one time.

Footsteps.

You tore your eyes away from the corner, suddenly finding the beetle crawling around on the ground fascinating. The footsteps were loud. Really loud. Or maybe you're just hyper-focused on them. Either way. They were getting closer. and closer, and closer, and—they stopped.

Right in front of you, just like you feared. He didn't say anything, and neither did you. Maybe he was waiting for you to look at him? Unless his answer was yes, then he could keep dreaming.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the letter, and holding it right in your face.

No.

He was definitely telling you no. Out of all the ways he would've said it, you didn't think about him handing it back. This was so him. Nothing too loud like you'd imagine.

You took the note back, mumbling a small "I understand." You couldn't look at him. Not now. You'd burst into tears. You just wish he'd say something. Let you know what he was thinking at the very least.

But the voice you heard wasn't the same scratchy and high-pitched voice you knew. "I didn't know you felt that way about me." This voice was deeper, smoother, not his.

Looking up with furrowed brows, your face contorted into one of confusion as you locked eyes with the wrong pair of brown eyes. Rindou Haitani. "What?" you frowned, looking around. Maybe you were being pranked because what the hell was he doing here?

"You and I don't really talk much, y'know, so this is a shock for me." Rindou was blushing. Hard. His ears and cheeks might as well be on fire with the way they were burning. He could swear his heart was about to jump out of his chest.

A girl—A pretty one at that—was confessing to him. He's never been on the receiving end, so he'll admit. It feels nice to be wanted. "We could get to know each other if you want." He nodded his head in a random direction. "There's a nice cafe that's still open. We could grab something and talk if that's okay—" "Rindou." You cut him off. Your voice was soft; it had to be.

Because this was going to be awkward.

☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎

"What the hell is he doing here?" Emma whispered, watching Rindou hand you the letter. She was very confused right now. She knows for a fact that Rindou isn't your crush, so why does he have the letter?

Draken scratched his head, just as confused as his girlfriend about the younger Haitani's presence. Should he step in? Was he bothering you? He can't tell if you're uncomfortable, you still have your head hung low.

"I told her to go into Mrs. Tanabe's class and leave it on his desk. How did Rindou end up with it?"

That's when it clicked. Why was Rindou here and not him? Draken placed a hand on Emma's shoulder, drawing her attention away from you. "He's in Mr. Tanabe's class, not Mrs." Ever since those two got married, people always mix them up. A real nightmare for freshmen.

"But Mikey said—" "Mikey hasn't been to school in months. He doesn't even know what class he's in." He really doesn't. Draken has to walk him to class on the rare occasions they do come to school.

☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎

Rindou wished that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Damn, this was embarrassing. Keep you up at night kind of embarrassing. Ran will never let him live this down. And neither will that asshole Shion. Especially that asshole Shion.

This is something he's got to take to the grave. "So, you got me mixed up with someone else, huh?" Rindou cut off your string of apologies. "Uh, yeah. You guys have the same initials." Rindou hummed, taking the letter back from you. "R. H," he muttered, "I'm the only one in my class with those initials."

"Yeah, I figured." Rindou handed you the letter back. "Ease up on the perfume, will ya?" You nodded, even though it wasn't your idea. Maybe you should redo it. There were some parts you cringed while writing, anyway.

"So who was it for?" Rindou asked. "Oh, you probably don't know him." You doubt that he did. You've known Rindou since 5th grade, and he only learned your name in the 8th. Sometimes you think you just weren't important enough to be on his radar. So yeah, you doubt he knows him.

"Try me," he challenged, plopping down in the spot next to you. You clutched the letter, absentmindedly tracing the initials.

"Ryohei Hayashi."

[lurkingshan]

Last Twilight Episode 12

A month ago, I never could have predicted that I’d be sitting here trying to assemble some thoughts to explain how on earth this show went so badly off the rails. I am truly taken aback by where this story landed, and I advise anyone who wants to think of it fondly to just pretend it ended at episode 9, and even skip the finale if you haven’t watched yet. Before I get into it, let me just start with a word of praise for the cast, who did a great job with their performances and kept this show afloat when the writing fell apart. And boy, did it fall apart.

In my view, this narrative had three main threads it was addressing: 1) Day’s journey to accepting his disability; 2) unresolved family trauma; and 3) Mhok and Day’s romance. And in the end, it failed on all three of them. I am going to dig into this and I am not feeling particularly nice, so if this is going to hurt your feelings I suggest you stop reading now. 

Day’s Journey

Just…wow. We have been afraid of this turn the entire time and trying to hold out hope that the show would not go there, but here we are. I started laughing out loud when we got to the end of part 3 and Mhon’s phone went off with an alert for a new eye donor, and then just stared incredulously at my screen as we time skipped AGAIN to a Day whose vision had been restored for years (last week I joked to @bengiyo and @waitmyturtles that once a drama starts using time skips it becomes addictive and they never stop, and—welp!). What was this entire show for? Why did we spend twelve episodes with Day grieving his vision loss, learning how to cope, and finally accepting his blindness only to completely undercut it at the end? The first part of the finale was so much about how he was thriving—finding a new career for himself and becoming self-sufficient and growing so much on his own—only to give us an ending that implied he could not actually have his happily ever after without his vision restored. 

And this is in fact the message they sent by coupling the return of his vision with the return of he and Mhok’s relationship, and giving us a happy ending rooted in his contentment at having his sight back. They even went back to the Last Twilight mountain to completely tarnish the thematic resonance of the original scene. Calling back to the beautiful memory of Day “seeing” the sunset and experiencing “a moment so good that you feel like you can live there forever” as he accepted his disability with this scene of him seeing the real sunset with his restored vision was so hurtful to me that I actually got angry. Day didn’t need his vision back to get a happy ending, and I absolutely hate what this communicates about disabled people’s capacity to live happy and fulfilling lives. This show has created many writing sins but this is the most unforgivable to me.

Family Trauma

The show began dropping the ball on this one a few weeks ago, but this finale put the nail in the coffin. We spent most of this episode at Porjai and Night’s wedding, an event that might have felt meaningful if the show had let us see any of their romance. I’m grateful to Mark Pakin and Namtan Tipnaree for their beauty and charisma because it’s the only thing that made me care about those scenes at all. Rather than actually being about them, however, this wedding was used primarily as a clunky vehicle to deliver heavy-handed messages about “second chances” to encourage Day to get back together with Mhok (more on that in the next section). 

I did enjoy the brief nods in this episode to the brothers continuing to have newfound harmony in their relationship, but where the show really lost me was in their attempt to bring Night and Day’s dad back into the mix and imply some sort of resolution between him and Mhon. Mhon, a woman whose perspective on their split we never actually saw, whose motivation for her choices and behavior toward her sons were completely elided by the narrative, who was forgiven and made peace with offscreen during a time skip. I was never given the chance to understand her or what this relationship meant to her in the first place, so why would I care about these scenes with her making her peace with this man? I continue to be so confused about where this show chose to spend its time, and why someone with Aof’s track record on developing strong and narratively important familial relationships dropped the ball so much with her. 

The Romance

Okay, let’s get into it, and remember what I said about not reading if this is going to hurt your feelings! My criteria for considering a romance successful is I have to believe the relationship is mutual, beneficial to both of the pair, and that the couple is prepared to weather future challenges. Last Twilight’s romance fails on all three fronts, and it all comes down to the total imbalance in the relationship that persisted right through the final scenes.

This entire narrative has been Mhok bending to Day’s will, giving Day what he needs, forgiving him for everything, and letting him make all the decisions about the relationship, and the finale was regrettably more of the same. In episode 11, Mhok made a mistake when he lied to Day about turning down the job in Hawaii. But he made that mistake out of grief and fear, and Day didn’t care—he unfeelingly rejected him and his pain and ended their relationship without a second thought. That was potentially forgivable as a momentary lapse borne out of instinctual hurt, and could have been repairable had Day reconsidered soon after and extended Mhok some grace. But in this episode, we find out Day blocked Mhok and refused to communicate with him again after that night, and has left Mhok completely in the cold for three years after he failed to be perfect one (1) time.

And this episode? Was on Day’s side in this conflict. Mhok is the one to return and start pursuing Day again. Mhok is the one to broach the topic of their breakup. Mhok is the one to thank Day for breaking his heart and tell him he did nothing wrong (y’all, I almost threw something at the screen). Mhok’s grief and trauma go completely unaddressed in this finale until they try to play the Rung card for one last moment of sentiment. Day cries to his mother about how he just doesn’t know if he can forgive Mhok. And in the end, Mhok makes the grand gesture, missing his flight to go to Day and stay in Thailand with him despite the successful life he has built in Hawaii.

The cognitive dissonance I felt watching this play out was extreme. I rarely see a writer misunderstand their own characters and relationship conflict so thoroughly. In order to believe in this romance we needed to see Day finally show some empathy for Mhok, take responsibility for his own mistakes, and be the one to make an effort this time. We needed to believe that Day has the capacity to be a supportive partner to Mhok even when he’s struggling. But Day didn’t demonstrate any of that, and so I simply don’t believe in this relationship. I don’t believe Mhok can trust Day not to abandon him again when some other major life event intervenes and Mhok is less than perfect. And that’s a shame, because the show really almost had something here with these two. 

And that’s all I got. What a disappointment this show turned out to be. If you need me, I will just be over here in my little corner imagining the Night and Porjai romcom that we never got and pretending the rest of this show ended several weeks ago.

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers pt. 8

Gif not mine, as always

Trigger Warnings: Smuttttttt. Horribly written smut.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Masterlist with parts 1-7 here

Chapter Eight

Translations: котёнок - Kitten; malyshka - baby; lyubov - love; dorogoya - darling; I probably missed some… I should have probably been doing this the entire time, no? Eh… My b.

A/N: Its uhhh.. My first time writing smut for the public so uh… be gentle pls? Lol. Lemme know how it went. Writing dialog and smut makes me cringe haha. This was also written while I was in the hospital. Is it bad that the 5 day stay was almost a vacation compared to life? Haha, living the dreeeaammm. Someone pls hit me with their car or something so I can go back and have 0 responsibilities for another week. Promise I won’t sue 😛

Once again, edited while floaty. Apparently that’s the only time I can get the motivation to open my laptop. In my defense, I’m currently in the middle of a move and starting a new job so pls forgive my laziness. I’m a tad overwhelmed. It’s finnnne. 

____________________________________________________________

During your time at the aquarium with Wanda, you hadn't noticed how late it had gotten. Logically, you knew it was around dinner time because you both had just eaten, but you didn't realize until you both entered the dimly lit cottage that it was so dark outside. Despite the long day you’d had, you weren't ready to go to bed just yet. Body thrumming with an unfamiliar energy, and you could tell it stemmed from Wanda's hand still holding onto your waist. Now that you were home, it would be socially acceptable for her to let you go, but instead, she chose to linger.

Never one to enjoy having others in your personal space, regardless of if you were touch starved, you were thrilled to discover that you didn't mind the witch being so close to you. In fact, the mere thought of being separated from her made your stomach roil with anxiety. Looking at the redhead next to you as you traversed the hallway towards your room for the evening, a new kind of craving overcame you. This one was different from the hunger you had experienced just before dinner, and you realized that you couldn't get enough of the witch’s touch and presence.

Reaching your shared room Wanda finally moves to separate from you, and as she heads opposite from you, her hand falling away, you make a split-second decision. Well. Decision was being generous. More accurately you allowed your impulses to take over, unable to think logically - you couldn’t let Wanda get too far. Not that there was anywhere for her to go in a bedroom you both shared, but your brain wasn’t exactly running on all cylinders at this time.

“Wait!” 

You don’t know what, or even if you were thinking, knowing only that in the scant few feet the witch was away from you, your whole world felt like it was collapsing. A lightly calloused hand shot out as you turned to grab her hand again, and in your exuberance, you accidentally ended up yanking the woman towards you. In an unexpected feat of grace surprising both of you, you managed to catch Wanda. Despite her velocity, you were able to use her momentum, spinning both of you. A small jolt of pain wracked through your bones as your back landed harshly against the smooth wall, with Wanda safely in your arms. Chests heaved for air, both of you having fully expected to collide, ending up in a heap on the floor.

After the initial surprise wore off, both women giggled, though neither made a move to separate. “What is it, Y/N?” the older woman asked. Amusement colored her gaze, mixed with something else you couldn’t quite decipher. You were still learning new facial expressions to this day. 

“I-” You started then stopped, trying to assemble your thoughts and determine just how vulnerable you were willing to be. “Thank you, Wanda. For today. For… everything. This was..” you trailed off, unable to find the words. “Everything.”

You hoped Wanda would understand what you meant by that even if you yourself weren’t quite sure just yet. What you were sure of is that you wanted to return to Wanda at least a fraction of the care and devotion she had shown you in all this time. You knew you didn’t want her to walk away, heart aching at the concept. What you didn’t know was what you wanted to do next, you hadn’t exactly gotten that far, but you couldn’t stomach the thought of being apart from her.

The redhead’s gaze softened at your words. “You don’t need to thank me, lyubov. You deserve so much, and I just want you to be happy.” 

The words “with me” went unspoken, though she was dying to let them out. Instead, well-manicured hands lifted the tips of her fingers to gently push some fallen strands of your hair from  your face, as she studied you curiously. A feeling you both were on the precipice of something settled firmly within the witch’s chest. Wanda was fairly confident she knew exactly what that something was, but she wouldn’t plunge you into anything you weren’t yet ready to fall into.

Though certain in her assumptions, Wanda was unable to clearly read your surface thoughts. A jumbled mass of emotions, each thought no more than fleeting before another took its place, your mind was a whirlwind. The next steps had to be taken by you, and if you weren’t up for that yet, the redhead was content with where you both were at this moment. 

A palpable tension filled the air, conveying an unspoken awareness that something transformative was about to occur. Anticipation lingered in the atmosphere, creating a delicate blend of nervousness and excitement. There was an understated, magnetic attraction that drew you closer to Wanda. Completely unaware as you were, enthralled by the alluring softness of her lips which stoked a longing within you to know if they felt as velvety as they appeared, you were unconsciously learning forward.

It was a moment of breathless expectation, where time seemed to stretch. The world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the beauty of the impending inevitability. Eyes finally connecting with Wanda’s, a silent, mutual understanding was shared, and in that moment, you made a decision.

”May I…?” your voice a husky tremor, thick with emotion.

Never had Wanda found you more endearing than in that moment. Your innocent consideration that you would need to ask her permission after everything. As if she hadn't been waiting for this very moment for so long. As if this wasn’t what she had been waiting for since first discovering the Darkhold, and all the possibilities of a multiverse.

“Please, Y/N.” The witch’s reply was all but a breathy whisper.

As your lips and hers finally connected in a gentle, exploratory kiss, an electric current seemed to pass through their bodies, igniting a fire within your souls. It was a moment of pure magic, a culmination of all the emotions and desires that had been building between you both. Breaths mingled, blending together in a perfect harmony of passion and longing.

The softness of the kiss spoke volumes, revealing a depth of connection that you were certain words could never fully capture. A tender exchange, filled with a delicate balance of vulnerability and trust. Each touch, each movement of Wanda’s lips against yours, was deliberate, as if she was savoring every precious moment of this newfound intimacy with you.

With every passing second, the world around faded away, leaving only the two of you enveloped in a bubble of pure bliss. Time seemed to stand still as you explored this uncharted territory together. A feeling as if something inside, you hadn’t known had been missing, was now perfectly slotted into place. Home.

When it came to kissing you, Wanda marveled at the stark contrasts between your Avenger variant, and you. While your other variant was self-assured, often taking command of a kiss with practiced skill, you, on the other hand, were gentle and tentative. It was evident that you were willing to let Wanda take the lead, which she found incredibly empowering, almost addictive. She knew she should probably take this first kiss slowly for you, however, your submissiveness was simply too delicious for her to pass up such an opportunity.

Long, slender fingers came to rest just under your jaw, firmly holding you close, Wanda using her body to press you harder against the wall, as if trying to merge your two bodies into one. A gasp escaped you at the length of the witch’s body pressed so intimately against you. Wanda, ever opportunistic, took advantage of your open mouth to deepen the kiss, her lithe tongue swiping softly at the seam of your lips in askance. 

You couldn’t even fathom a moment where you would ever deny Wanda this request, opening your mouth to grant her the access she desired. Her skillful tongue sensually slid against yours, eliciting a barely suppressed whimper from you. With a little coaxing Wanda was able to entice your tongues to engage in a seductive dance, leaving you breathless and heady. 

Eventually, the kiss broke, leaving both of you craving more. It had opened the door to a world of possibilities, and in that moment, everything changed. The bond between the pair of you had deepened more than you could know, and more than Wanda had hoped for. Despite initial reservations, your heart knew then you would follow Wanda anywhere, irrevocably tied to the witch forever. There was no one you wanted or trusted more.

While trying to catch your breath, no words were spoken. Taking this moment, your intrusive thoughts began creeping in because of course they were. Desperately you hoped the woman wouldn’t view the kiss as a mistake, praying that you measured up to your superhero counterpart. That you were truly what she had been looking for all this time, even if you weren’t anything special.

You would do anything to have her lips on yours again, and briefly a thought occurred to you that this woman could murder you, and you would probably thank her for the privilege. Therapy, maybe you should ask Wanda if she could get you in to see a therapist, because that wasn’t concerning at all. 

It wasn't in you to feel ashamed just then though, not when the very thought resonated in your soul. Gods, was this what you had been missing your entire life? And it had been right under your nose, for ages you had been unknowingly depriving yourself, hellbent on self-sabotage.

As you finally caught your breath, the witch gazed at you hungrily, causing a shiver to race down your spine.

"What do you want, detka?" Wanda asked, voice sultry. She tilted her head as if curious, but in reality, she was relishing in your disheveled appearance, eyes raking over your blown pupils, and kiss-swollen lips. So responsive for her, and this was only a kiss. Your first kiss with her, to be specific. Wanting to completely ruin you, it took every ounce of self-restraint for Wanda to wait for your answer instead.

Chest heaving, your brain struggled to pull together enough brain cells in order to provide her with an answer. When you finally spoke, your voice had a throaty quality you had never heard before.

”You. I want you.”

Green eyes, the color of jade, sparkled in such delight they could have practically illuminated the room with their vibrant glow. As you stared into her mesmerizing gaze, you got lost in her presence. Your mind was a myriad of thoughts, unable to focus on anything else. Every word she spoke, every movement she made, had a profound impact on you. As if the witch had cast a spell over you, weaving her magic effortlessly, and you willingly succumbed to her enchantment, eager to be under her captivating influence. 

A mischievous smile played upon her lips, adding an air of mystery to her already enchanting demeanor. The grin hinted at the hidden depths within her, the playful intentions that lied just beneath the surface. So, as Wanda’s mischievous smile lingered, you couldn't help but be drawn further into her web of enchantment, willingly surrendering yourself to the metaphorical spell she had cast.

"Oh, lyubov, will you let me ruin you?" she asked teasingly, her voice filled with impishness and a hint of excitement.

Swallowing nervously, you felt desire building deep within you. Your experiences in this matter were limited, but you trusted the former avenger all the same. Still, you had a sneaking suspicion that whatever Wanda had in store for you would likely test your limits, even if you had no idea what those were yet. Eagerly, you nodded, ready to throw yourself headlong into this unknown, trusting the witch implicitly.

The moment her silky lips met yours once again, a hunger ignited within her, surprising both of you with its intensity and passion. Wanda pulled you close, her fingers curled in your hair, keeping you in place as she plundered your mouth. You could do little but let her lead the way, trying not to embarrass yourself with how much she was turning you on. Her sharp teeth tugged on your lower lip before biting down hard enough to draw blood. A pitiful whine was barely restrained by you as Wanda lapped at the new wound she had caused.

Deciding to test your boundaries during the kiss, the redhead gently wrapped her other hand around your throat. Not tight enough to cut off your oxygen supply, but the pressure did restrict some of the blood flow to your brain, leaving you in a deliciously foggy haze. A breathy moan escaped you, which Wanda eagerly swallowed as you gladly ceded control of the kiss to her. Pride out the window, you were no longer capable of trying to withhold any sounds she could draw from you. Wanda found it delightful that so far you were proving to be the perfect little котёнок for her. The redhead eagerly anticipated discovering what other surprises you had in store for her.

The other hand not on your neck moved from your hair down to the first button of your shirt and hesitated. “Is this okay, Y/N?” She asked, voice surprisingly soft for someone who currently had one of their hands wrapped around your neck.

Sluggish thoughts hazy with lust, you nodded with what would have probably counted as an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm. Having someone as gorgeous as Wanda in front of you, asking for your consent, you found you couldn’t be bothered by your eagerness. You were a simp, and you were fine with that. Anything to get more of Wanda touching you.

The former Avenger grinned, finding you utterly adorable. She was charmed by how needy you were for her. Unable to help but revel in the power dynamics between you, relishing the opportunity to challenge your blissed-out mind and watch as you struggled to comply with her demands. It was a delightful game for Wanda, and she was going to have fun training you.

Before she could continue though, the witch wanted you to be absolutely sure. Regardless of how long she had waited for you, if you weren’t truly ready, Wanda didn’t want to push you. She wanted all of you, everything you had to give, but if you still weren’t ready, weren’t sure, she could wait. Wanda would wait forever if she had to. 

 “Lyubov moya, if you want me to stop at any point, just say the word, and I’ll stop immediately, okay? Full stop, I promise, and I won’t be upset with you.” she insisted, voice thick with longing as her nose grazed gently across yours in a reassuring manner. 

Even now, Wanda was always putting your safety and happiness as her top priority, endearing her evermore to you. How could you have ever doubted that this woman had anything but your best interests at heart? The purest of intentions?

Knowing it was a bit over dramatic, while you appreciated her reassurances, if the witch didn’t do something in the next few seconds, you felt like you might combust. Releasing a needy whine, you hoped to convey your desperation to Wanda who only chuckled at your behavior. 

“Relax, malyshka, I’ll take good care of you, I promise. But first, I need you to use your words, darling.” The hand on your throat easing its grip a little, allowing more blood to your brain, giving you back some of your intellectual capacity.

With Wanda’s body covering yours, you petulantly ground against her in the hopes of achieving any sort of friction, causing her lips to quirk upwards in an amused smirk. You weren’t going to get out of this until she had confirmation of your understanding, and if she happened to tease you into a petulant, writing mess in the process, well, that was just the cherry on top.

Giving in, you let out a keening whimper. “I understand Wands, please. Just touch me. Please!”

A wolfish grin overtook Wanda’s face at your begging. Green eyes locked with yours, and she could see the desire and longing in your eyes, mirroring her own. The way you looked at her, with a mixture of vulnerability and trust, made her heart flutter with a sense of joy and fulfillment. You were willing to surrender yourself to her guidance, to allow her to take the lead and shape you into the person she knew you could become. That kind of implicit trust and faith you had in her shot her arousal through the roof.

With each passing moment, Wanda's excitement grew, knowing that she had the opportunity to train and mold you into her perfect little котёнок. She relished the thought of all the fun games that lay ahead, confident in her ability to guide you towards your full potential. Your willingness to submit to her desires fueled her passion, making her all the more determined to own you completely. This power was the ultimate high, and she didn’t think she could ever get enough of it.

Her hand moved from your throat to wrap around your waist with a firm yet gentle grasp, pulling you closer to her in an undeniable display of ownership. The touch of her hand on your hip sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, igniting a fire within you that you had never experienced before. It was a possessiveness that transcended the boundaries of mere desire, a possessiveness that spoke volumes about the depth of her emotions for you.

Far from being suffocating, her dominance was a testament to the strength of your bond. A tangible manifestation of the passion that burned between the two of you, it was a flame that only grew stronger with each passing moment. Her assertive touch was a declaration, a proclamation of her utter devotion and fierce protectiveness towards you.

In that instant, you couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings. A sensation that both thrilled and comforted you, it was a magnetic pull that drew you closer to her with each passing second. Feeling as if you were the center of her universe, the focus of her unfaltering attention, and you visibly preened under her attentiveness. Your hands which were clenching the bottom of her shirt held fast, unwilling to let her move more than a few inches away.

Now that she had your consent and had subtly established your place with her, Wanda's svelte hands returned to the task of unbuttoning your shirt. Unable to resist the allure of your lips for long, she passionately kissed you once again. As your lips moved against each other with a sensual rhythm, Wanda swiftly unbuttoned your shirt. Before you knew it, your shirt was completely undone, revealing your torso to her exploring hands. A shiver ran through your body as her slightly cool palm pressed against your abdomen for the very first time, the gravity of her body pressing you further into the wall. While you had felt her touch on your skin before, it had never been this intimate, this exhilarating.

As her hand glided over your bare skin, heat coursed through your body, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. The flames within you steadily stoked by every caress. Your breath hitched as her touch lingered, tracing delicate patterns along your abdomen.

Growing desperate you deepened the kiss. Your hands instinctively reach for her, moving from the hem of her shirt to tangle in her hair as you pull her closer. The magnitude of the moment was almost too much, feeling the desire consuming you from within.

Wanda's lips slid against yours with a fervent hunger. Her roving hands continued their journey, tracing every curve and contour of your torso with an almost reverent touch, sending pleasure coursing through your body. As your lips moved in perfect synchrony, heightening your senses, it left you yearning for more. The room was filled with a heady mix of desire and anticipation, as you both gave in to the draw of the moment..

Lost in the haze of passion, you couldn't help but give yourself completely to Wanda's touch. The way she explored every inch of your body with a delicate yet possessive hand left you breathless, craving more of her commanding aura. It was a dance of pleasure and surrender, a symphony of sensations that left you craving her touch like a drug. You had never needed anyone or anything as much as you needed Wanda to continue doing whatever she wanted to you.

As the kiss broke, both of you gasped for air. Wanda, still breathing heavily, leaned back to take in the sight of your newly revealed skin, her eyes darkening with want. Though never having been confident in your own body, often choosing to cover up, to hide in your self-consciousness, the way Wanda was looking at you now though left no doubt she liked what she saw. Yet still your insecurities plagued you, especially now that you were no longer covered up and there was nothing for you to hide behind.

The witch didn’t need to read your mind to know where your thoughts were going. The expression on your face, the way you tried to curl in on yourself made it plain. Voice thick with desire, Wanda needed to reassure you. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N. Don’t ever let yourself believe otherwise.”

Though you didn’t truly believe her words, her tone and the way she held you like she couldn’t get enough was almost capable of convincing you in and of itself. You decided then that throwing yourself into this was the fastest way to get out of your head. Throwing caution to the wind, you slammed your lips against Wanda’s again, desperate for more of her.

Impatient, you couldn't resist the urge to guide Wanda's hands lower, craving for her to touch you more. Deft fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, sending a surge of pleasure  shooting through you, and tearing a quiet gasp from your mouth. Your body responded eagerly to her every caress, arching into her hands, silently begging for more. Emboldened by your response, Wanda's touch grew daring, her kisses to your neck pressing harder leaving red welts that would purple over by tomorrow. Her marks on you would tell all who you belonged to. Her fingers began exploring your body with a newfound confidence. The touch was both gentle and possessive, leaving you with the utter clarity that she wanted to mark every inch of you as her own, even the parts of you no one else would ever see.

The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, heavy with desire. Feeling the urgency building within you, your body pressed closer to Wanda's, seeking to ease some of the pressure within. Her touch was all at once overwhelming yet not enough.

Determined to elicit every delicious sound she could from you, one of Wanda's hands finally moved to your breast. Gently she cupped it while her thumb teased you by gliding around your areola, avoiding your hardened bud. She took great enjoyment in your whimpers and gasps as she teased you. If she had it her way, she would keep you like this, never giving you quite what you wanted. Wanda would ease you into that eventually though. For now, this was enough.

Eventually she had mercy on you, letting her thumb lightly graze across your nipple. A deep, throaty groan emanated from within you, your hips bucking against hers, unbidden. Taking the opportunity you had presented her with, Wanda slotted her knee between your thighs, applying firm pressure just where you needed it most. You whispered an exhaled curse as your head slumped forward onto the older woman’s shoulder. Your grip on her tightened, the urge to just rut against Wanda’s leg nearly overpowering what little was left of your rational mind.

Wanda could feel the subtle grinding of your hips against her leg, and she encouraged it, pressing harder each time you arched towards her. The witch grasped your hips firmly, helping to set your rhythm as you desperately sought more friction between the apex of your thighs.

For someone who hadn't even taken off their pants yet, you were surprisingly worked up, but you were far too focused on chasing your high to be overly concerned about it. Sensing how close you were, Wanda pulled away from you, calling forth a keening whine from you. The older woman chuckled softly at your desperation. Her raspy voice next to your ear made you shudder. 

"Patience, dorogoya, I don't want you to come just yet unless it's in my mouth or on my fingers."

Wholly unprepared for her words as you were, they almost single-handedly threatened to ruin the witch’s plans as you nearly came on the spot. Wanda was aware that you had likely never edged before, and while she should have shown some mercy, she found no enjoyment in that prospect. Her intention was to have you so drunk for her to the point where you would become a helpless, trembling wreck, willing to do anything she desired just to reach that peak. Then, she planned to repeatedly push you off that ledge so many times that you would be a boneless, quivering mess for her by the time she was done with you.

As her words hung in the air, you felt a mixture of anticipation and hesitation. This was a new territory for you, one that you weren't entirely sure of what you were getting into. But as you looked into Wanda's eyes, filled with desire and a touch of mischief, you couldn't deny your feelings. You wanted to experience everything she was willing to show you, to give yourself fully and trust in her to guide you through this journey of pleasure.

With a deep breath, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper, "I trust you, Wanda."

A smug smile played on Wanda's lips as she gently held your cheek. "Good," she purred, her voice laced with satisfaction. "I promise you won't regret it. Now, let’s take this to the bed.” She didn’t want your first time together to be rutting up against a wall.

Wanda grasped your hand, leading you the remainder of the distance to your shared bed. Once there the witch assisted you in removing the remnants of your clothes, gently pushing you backwards onto the bed. Before joining you, she took a moment to admire your naked body, as you looked up at her with a combination of desire and excitement. You were uncertain of her intentions, but the fact that you were willing to trust her filled Wanda's heart with joy.

With a gaze that could only be described as ravenous, she studied you and quietly uttered a curse. "Fucking exquisite" she husked, hoping to drive home her words from earlier.

Squirming under her intense gaze, you blushed deeply at her compliment. No one had ever called you that before, not in your entire life. The longer you laid there, alone under her scrutiny, the greater your need for Wanda grew. Before you could ask her to rejoin you, she was already removing her own clothes with purpose. You waited with bated breath, as Wanda revealed her body which you swore could have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Honestly, you thought it was a little unfair for someone to look so perfect. You felt absolutely privileged to be in this moment with her, that she had chosen you of all people to witness her glory. No one you had ever seen, in person or even on tv could compare. Wanda was a goddess, and you wanted to worship at her altar.

The redhead knew she was an attractive woman, but your loud thoughts were giving her quite the ego boost. She had you right where she wanted you, but Wanda would be damned if she allowed your self-deprecation to continue. There was not a single doubt in her mind that you were equally deserving to be here with her.

“Your thoughts are loud, malyshka.” She almost giggled at how red your face turned when she called you out, reminding you of her powers, and your gaze dropped.

 “While I’m flattered, darling, you need to know.” Wanda said with certainty as she began crawling up the bed towards you. Once she had crawled up the length of your body, the witch trailed her fingertips along your thigh, and up your torso to your face. Curling a graceful finger under your chin, she tilted your face upwards until you made eye contact.

“You are stunning, lyubov moya. There is no one else I would want to be here with right now. Not in the entire multiverse, believe me, I’ve looked. No one but you. Can you trust me on that, Y/N?”

Green eyes searched Y/E/C for any sign of lingering insecurity. With the witch looking at you so earnestly, your doubts faded into the background. They would likely never be completely silent, but in this moment, those thoughts were just white noise. Speaking was currently too difficult for you so instead you simply nodded at her words.

No longer able to hear your uncertainty as loudly, Wanda felt you were ready to continue. “Good, but just to make sure, I’m going to show you.”

Before you could ask what she meant, Wanda kissed you again. Her hand, which was previously under your chin, caressed down your chest and cupped your breast. She gave it a gentle squeeze, causing a soft sound to escape your throat.

As Wanda's touch re-ignited the flicker of pleasure within you, her lips and tongue traced a path of heated kisses down your neck, leaving a hot trail of saliva behind. Her skilled hand continued to explore your body, evoking an oeuvre of gasps and moans. Eventually, her lips settled on one of the places you desired the most, enveloping your nipple.

Once Wanda's lips closed around your hardened bud, a jolt of pleasure shot through your body, causing you to arch your back in response. Her tongue teased and circled the sensitive bud, sending ecstasy pulsating through your veins. While Wanda continued to lavish attention on your aching nipple, her other hand trailed down your body, caressing and exploring every inch of your skin. The combination of her skilled touch and the intense pleasure coursing through your body made it difficult to think or focus on anything else. 

Her hand continued its exploration, gliding over your skin with a feather-light touch. Every brush of her fingertips, each flick of her tongue against you sent your arousal to new heights. Your senses were completely consumed by her, the world around you fading once again into a distant blur.

Completely at Wanda's mercy, you found yourself basking in her every touch and caress. The pleasure she was bestowing upon you was the best high you had ever felt, addictive and irresistible. Your mind was filled with a primal need, a craving for more of the pleasure that only she could provide.

Wanda switched breasts, moving to lavish attention on the other one ensuring it didn't feel neglected. Her hand continued to tease your flesh, raising goosebumps to form on your skin. 

Unable to sit still, your own hands came up to tangle themselves in the redhead’s hair. Head held firmly in place by you, Wanda's hand slid lower, exploring the wetness that had pooled between your thighs. Svelte fingers teased your entrance, and you gasped as the anticipation nearly undid you.  Back arched, begging for more, you whispered a “please!”

Helpless to deny your plea, Wanda's fingers dipped inside you, your slick allowing them to slide in with ease. You moaned lowly as she began to move her fingers in a slow, deliberate rhythm, curling and stroking against your most sensitive spots. The pleasure built within you, radiating through your body like an electric current.

Your hands tightened in her hair, pulling her closer to you as your hips instinctively rocked against her hand, seeking deeper pleasure. Wanda matched your movements, her pace increasing, driving you closer to the edge. Her lips found yours once again, swallowing your moans as the pleasure consumed you.

The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, the wet, almost obscene sound of her fingers moving inside you, and the symphony of your pleasure. Each stroke of her fingers sent you spiraling further into this rapturous euphoria, your body trembling with desire.

Lost in the carnality of the moment, you could feel the heat building within you, the pressure mounting until you were teetering on the edge. Sensing your imminent release, Wanda's fingers quickened their pace, driving you towards oblivion. Moans growing louder, they mingled with the sound of your ragged breaths.

“Are you gonna come for me baby?” She asked, voice dripping sweetly with lust, not letting up the pace even a little. The woman knew what she was doing to you, and couldn’t resist drawing it out just a bit. 

Beneath her, you squirmed and bucked in place, desperation eeking off you in waves. You hadn’t exactly had many partners to begin with, and you had certainly never been especially vocal with any of them. Wanda couldn't have you being all shy on her now though. She wanted to hear each and every sound she could possibly draw out of you as proof of how good she was making you feel, her fingers hitting that special spot deep inside of you that had always been just out of your own reach.

“Now dorogaya, use your words. Are you going to be a good girl and come for me? If you can’t answer me then I guess I should stop.” Wanda slowed her pace and you all but wailed your frustration.

“Yes, yes I’m going to come. I’m so close, Wands, please don’t stop!”

Truthfully that should have been enough for her but sadistically she wanted to push your boundaries further still. She smirked at your pleas. 

“I won’t stop, Y/N, but you can’t come until I give you permission.”

You didn’t think you had ever been on such a precipice of euphoria before. It was right there if only Wanda would let you. Part of you wanted to ignore what she said and let yourself go, but the part of you that yearned to be good for her won out in the end. 

You begged pitifully. “Please Wanda, please let me come! I’ll be your good girl, please, just let me come!” You would say anything the woman wanted as long as she would let you finally finish.

It was positively sinful how your submission made Wanda feel. She wanted to experience you like this every day for the rest of your lives. The tremor of your voice as you begged, how quickly and completely you accepted her commands, it was positively sublime.

“Well when you beg so prettily for me, how can I resist? Be a good girl, Y/N - come for me.” Her fingers curled deliciously, mercilessly hitting your new favorite spot. 

With Wanda’s permission, the world shattered around you as your orgasm crashed over. Your body convulsed with exquisite hedonism, every nerve ending alive with sensation. Wanda's name were the only words from your mouth as you rode the high, your orgasm careening over you in a tidal wave of pleasure.

For Wanda, feeling your wet heat tighten around her fingers, practically refusing to allow her to pull back to even help you through your peak, was so perfect. You didn’t know it, but it was enough to make Wanda topple over the edge alongside you, her head dropping to the crook of your neck while she whispered sweet nothings in your ear, struggling to bring you gently down from your high. 

As the aftershocks of your release subsided, Wanda gently withdrew her fingers, her touch lingering for a moment before she pressed a soft kiss to your lips. She held you close, her presence a comforting anchor as you came down from the heights of pleasure. You whimpered at the feeling of emptiness after being so joyously full.

Breathless and sated, you nestled into her embrace, feeling a profound sense of contentment and connection. And as you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt that this was just the beginning of something beautiful between you both. You had made the decision to trust Wanda with your body, heart, and soul, and in this moment, everything felt so right.

Wanting to return the favor, and make Wanda feel as good as you did, but as you tried to shift in her embrace, the former avenger simply held you tighter. Feeling rejected, you wilted in her arms. Perhaps you had already failed to live up to her expectations, so much so that she didn’t even want you to touch her. How heartbreaking to have failed so soon, to never get the chance to prove yourself.

Voice soft, Wanda alleviates your fears. “Not tonight, darling. Tonight was all about you. Rest with me for a little while, detka, I just want to hold you. May I do that, Y/N?”

Murmuring a quiet assent, you settled into the comfort Wanda provided. You both laid there, basking in the intimacy you both had just shared, feeling content and happy. It wasn’t long until your eyes began to droop, signifying you were about to nod off.

Sensing how close you were to sleep, the witch gently roused you. She giggled at your grumblings for the disruption but insisted you both needed to clean up. Shaking your head, you whined as you tried to hold her in place with you, unwilling to let her go for any reason. Wanda  had to actively restrain herself from cooing at your adorable stubbornness.

“Come on now, it’ll be just a few minutes and then we can go back to sleep, okay darling?”

Petulantly you shook your head, and Wanda full on belly laughed, holding you tightly to her while she did so. Her laughter was infectious, and you couldn’t help but chuckle as well, knowing you were being a bit ridiculous.

Eventually, both of you calmed down, and Wanda pulled away from your embrace, mentioning that she would be right back. You let her go, but you pouted the entire time she was in the bathroom. After a few moments, you could hear the sink running, and then the witch returned to you with a warm, damp washcloth in her hand. With an unprecedented level of care, Wanda cleaned between your legs, removing any trace of the night's activities, while being mindful not to overstimulate you.

“There we go, detka. All clean. Let me just throw this in the sink, and we can go to sleep.”

Doing exactly as she had said, Wanda quickly returned, swiftly maneuvering her way into the cozy bed beside you. With a few gentle movements, she skillfully arranged the soft sheets to envelop both of you, creating a warm and comfortable cocoon.

Once she was finished setting up the sheets, you wasted no time in crawling back into her arms, burying your face into the divot where her neck and shoulder met. You felt like you had been through the wringer, but in the best way. When she had gotten up to clean you both, with her no longer being in your arms, your emotions had run all over the place. Now all you wanted was to be as physically close to the redhead as possible, to reassure yourself that she wasn’t abandoning you after such a vulnerable act.

Wanda was not at all opposed. Quite thrilled in fact, and as she held you, one hand came to gingerly trace random shapes along the side of your face, whispering nonsensical words of love and solace. Pillowy lips placed a soft kiss to your forehead.

As you drifted off to sleep, feeling safer and happier than in your entire life, you heard Wanda whisper in her native tongue. You were curious, but too far gone to ask her what she meant.

“я так люблю тебя, дорогая. (I love you so much, darling.) I promise I will always keep you safe, and I will never let you go.”

A/N 2: ... Why do I have a higher word count for a chapter with smut than any other chapter? .... Reasons. We're going with "reasons". So uhhh... yay? nay? Yeet myself off a cliff? Also if anyone wants to be added to the taglist just lemme know in the comments.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop

[milanvenuss]

so what inspired your version of Bell?

I wanted a test subject/j

No but I do really enjoy brainwashed protagonists or experiment characters. My friend dragged me to CoD mw initially but the moment I landed on Black Ops I just got attached to Bell and wanted to try and make my own 😔 I enjoy people's Bells overall, they're so fun and motivated me to try myself

For background I wanted something I was more familiar with, so between Kazakhstan and Belarus I ended up picking Belarus and the concept of a male Bell ended up becoming another OC lol. More yap down below

I wanted Bell to reflect or mimic Adler and Park for obvious reasons. Same strong ideals, just different sides. Other characters that strongly inspire my Bell are Quanxi, Jinx, Irina Spalko (i first considered Cate Blanchett as a faceclaim) and Vanessa Ivess- and Eva Green ended up being a perfect face claim for Bell (her performance it's just oigHGHH beautiful)

Type O Negative and Sopor Aeternum are the vibes I wanted to go with. Though when I'm writing i usually just play the Alexandrov Assemble (considered giving Kharitonov's name to Bell too)(gave it to someone else). Whatever tends to come in the decaycore and fleshcore tag also inspires some of my artwork (⁠´⁠；⁠ω⁠；⁠｀⁠)

Minor inspirations that came up with doing research of the Soviet Union, cryptography and Belarus: Zoya Voskresenkaya and Petrus Brovka. Mostly their background and work, but in a minor level again. My main inspo for Bell is still Adler 🗿

Can't forget to mention Gorgophone and Perseus from mythology themselves ☝️☝️ though those 2 are way happier and successful than my Bell has ever been. I want a jaded Bell who can be worse or do better as a person- but time gets cut short.

I think that's all for now, thanks for passing by 🤧🖤🖤🖤

[rahkshirock]

Hypognosis RPG

Hey yall, Name’s Lynn and this is the start of a series of posts I’m going to be writing about the game I’ve been making for a while now. The current draft is one that I’ve been doodling around with for 2 years, and now that it’s looking like it might be playable in some capacity in the next few months, I figured I’d do my best to spread the word and see if I can’t get some eyes on this.

So what is Hypognosis? It’s a game about character's limitations, blind spots and frustrations. it's a role-playing game born out of my love for and frustration at a lot of other fantasy rpgs that I’ve seen and played. It’s a project to try to replicate the sorts of tense situations and decisions I see in other kinds of fiction, that I really want to bring to the table and play out with my friends, but just haven’t been able to.

Put another way, when I see a great sword fight in a show or movie, it rarely looks like one that I play in an rpg. The points at which tension is built are different, the stakes are different. I can’t play out the tension of fencer’s footwork, of the sting of sweat dripping into my eyes as I attempt to gauge when my foe’s attention wavers. Now I could *role-play* those things for sure. After all, it's collaborative storytelling! You can *say* whatever you want and it’ll be the case! However the *games* themselves rarely have rules that support those sorts of things. And I needed to try my hand at it to see if I could.

Now let me quickly say that I’m not putting down the thousands of excellent games that’ve been made over the last decades, both by big publishers and by small-time hobbyists like myself. I’m under no illusions that I’m putting forward something revolutionary or that any one piece of this project hasn’t been done before and perhaps better in a multitude of games. But there is a creative spark within me that If I don’t exercise, it will burn me up from within. I adore role-playing games! And when I love something I inevitably want to try making my own, whether it be painting, music, video game or tabletop rpg. What I want most of all is to create, and to let other folks have fun with what I create in turn.

So, let's ask that question again: what is Hypognosis? It’s a game set in a dangerous and fractious world where people have very recently been given access to miracles and elemental magics. Players pick from a wide array of heritages and motivations born out of the history of the world and the conflicts that arise from it. Factions within the setting move to unearth ancient secrets, expand their power, or to invent new technologies. The world is moving, and the players will drive it and be driven by it, forced to act on their limited perspectives and ability.

On a more immediate level, this is a game about rolling dice. The GM sets the stakes and situation, and the players assemble a pool of dice of various shapes to try to affect it. Their characters’ skills and the circumstances of the action determine the size of the dice used, from the D4s used as penalties to D20s used for wildly powerful but unpredictable forces. Once the dice are cast, the players barter for re-rolls and trigger abilities until the effect resolves. Some players might add two dice together to count as one larger number, others tally up the numbers of doubles and triples to contribute to the number of successful dice. The act of rolling dice is shared among all players no matter the role they play, but the outcome of the same roll can vary dramatically depending on who rolls it according to their Fate, the closest thing in this game to a character class. 

Teamwork is not just encouraged with a simple bonus to rolls, but with the overlap of abilities between characters applying to the same roll, letting them debate and cooperate exactly how to finesse a bad roll into a narrow success. Simultaneously, drama between characters in the group intentionally drives wedges in carefully laid plans, causing strife in crucial moments… or in what should be simple tasks.

This brings us to combat, a (very fun and engaging) tragedy when groups clash over failed communication or clashing goals, and tension is at maximum. Movement and Positioning plays a crucial role, with characters dancing in and out of each other’s range. But this game doesn’t ask for a carefully drawn grid or measuring tape. Instead distance is measured in whether characters are Pressed against each other, Close within each other’s reach, circling each other’s Orbit, or Far enough that they aren’t concerned with each other at the moment. Moving away from an opponent is the most sure-fire way to protect yourself from harm, but also removes your ability to harm them in turn.

Focus is the main resource a character tracks, a measure of their all-too-finite attention in battle. Trying to get a grip on the flow of the battle farther than one’s own hands is a herculean task when you see a big guy in heavy armor bearing down with a hammer. Rather than simply bludgeoning your way past the opponent’s defense to drain their Life Force, instead leverage the time available to force the opponent to react to your tempo, wearing them down through a brutal flurry of well-practiced and efficient swings to deliver a mortal blow when their focus wavers and they’re too dazed to stop you.

Whether attacking one opponent or an absolute horde, whether working alone or as an entire group, dice rolls are quick and singular. The same roll that determines if a character’s blade strikes true will also determine the amount of strain it inflicts on the enemy and the wounds which may result. In the same way, a GM will make one collective roll for an entire army of opponent units attacking, assuming they’re all in the same group. Hopefully this will help to pare down on the length of combat in what is objectively a pretty complicated system.

All in all, this is a massive project with a broad scope and a broader fictional world that i want to breathe life into. It’s going to be a long time before it’s done, but I want to play it sooner than later, and maybe make enough money to feed myself while doing so. As such, while I’m writing more posts like this in the next few days, I’ll be working on my main focus this last year: a playable dungeon crawl in the universe with a prototype of my game’s engine. If you’d like to help me make this a reality, please donate even a tiny bit to my Ko-fi at https://ko-fi.com/rocketdog96. every little bit helps!

[nutcrawler]

X-Men 2024, or, what the fuck should I read this year?

As someone that wasted the last week catching up on all current X-titles, here's the long short on which books are nice

Uncanny X-Men

The first one I read because it has my boy Kurt, with Rogue, Gambit, and Wolverine, traveling a bit and hanging out in Louisiana until the plot comes to get them with 4 new younger mutants being hunted.

Exceptional X-Men

This is the slice of life book. Kitty Pryde is a bartender in Chicago, while she balances trying not to fuck up her wlw dates twice in a row with rescuing every baby mutant that she crosses paths with. Pretty gay, I like it, it has good writing.

Adjectiveless X-Men, aka X-Men

The Scott Summers Show, I would actually recommend this one above Uncanny, as it seems to be the "true" book the x-events are moving around. Scott & Co. living in Alaska, Beast is back and trying to cure Magneto, Glob and Quentin are here too. If you are only gonna keep up with one book, this one wouldn't be a bad pick.

NYX

Or, the Young Mutants Pride book. The Kamala Khan/Laura Kinney book. Pretty focused on the "community" aspect of mutants, issue #3 has a scene that really highlights this with regards to where you belong, what you hide, etc. So pretty gay like Exceptional, a Morlock even mentions scalie fetishists. I don't really like X-23 but she's good with Kamala in this book.

X-Factor

Reality show mutants with a side of "you can't work for our oppressors." Leans pretty comedic when not focusing on mutant oppression and the question of integration. Oh yeah btw all these books are wearing their politics on the sleeves, some more than others though.

X-Force

Forge made a device that tells him where shit is gonna hit the fan, and he's assembled a team to keep shit together, and if they do their job right, nobody will know. Clearly building to something, so the action focus is a little dull for me, but the couple writing between Captain Britain and Askani is nice. Forge is hiding something because he refuses to take off his psi-shield.

Sentinels

The edgy book, people dressed like sentinels and hunting down mutants. The letters page at the end of issue #1 was explicit about how they are pulling the energy of Robocop and Starship Troopers, so if you like fascy tacti-cool stuff, this is the one. Not hating btw I love Verhoeven, I saw some posts on 4chan about how this book is triggering the libs but that's just cope.

The solo focused books:

Dazzler

Mutant and proud, and on tour! That's it, there's only been one issue. Includes an entire mutant pride song called Out and Proud. Didn't particularly enjoy this one.

Storm

Wanting to begin her political career, but starts with the harsh truth that a local nuclear disaster was the fault of a mutant instead of negligent engineers. She also gave herself a megadose of rads and has hours to live. Also only 1 issue out right now, but decent.

Phoenix

Jean Grey, space cop (except she helps people). Has a very strong "actions and consequences" theme. Phoenix's history is constantly brought up Jean works to rehabilitate her reputation. Also some kind of fatherhood theme going on, Jean inadvertently gets an alien girl's dad killed which is slowly working its way around to be a problem for Jean again; Jean also run's into her father in law, who brings her to some Asgardian zombies, it's a whole thing. Not too bad imo, but as the "cosmic book" it's kinda all over the place.

Wolverine

Absolutely unhinged, my boy Kurt gets shot in the fucking face first issue. But it was to motivate Logan to be a good boy, so seal of approval.

oh there is also From the Ashes Infinity Comic that is p good, a sort of anthology where every 3-4 issues is a different story, I actually really liked it despite the Infinity Comic format

So that's the first 6 months of post-Krakoa, p good so far, will keep reading for sure.

Mystique #1 comes out in a few days which I'm kinda hype for, she finally got married to Destiny last year so Marvel's premier lesbian couple is thriving.

So long true believers, and remember:

[reni-reads]

Reni Reviews

The Murder Game by Tom Hindle

Finished: 10th February, 2025

Genre: Murder Mystery

May be for you if you like: Whodunnits, multiple POV

Synopsis

One house. Nine guests. Endless motives for murder...

Guests assemble at Hamlet Hall for a New Year's Eve party to remember. They are to take part in a murder mystery game with a 1920s twist, and everyone has their own part to play. But the evening has barely begun when one guest is found dead - killed by an injury to the head.

Someone is playing by their own rules. And in a close-knit community, old rivalries run deep...

Review

Okay so I finished this book, and it's another one of those "I don't have much to say about it because it was so bad"-books. It was so bland that I couldn't even hate on properly lol.

The Characters

were all boring as hell, not gonna lie, and 16 (!) was just too many of them. Most of them didn't even have big or relevant storylines. The central characters were all later tied to the main plot points in some way, albeit in a very hamfisted way at certain points - but a huge chunk of the characters just existed to bolster up the story with petty, meaningless interpersonal drama. The story would have benefitted greatly from a smaller, but more exciting cast that is worth caring about. Like, two characters died and I didn't even care for any of them - the second I even forgot existed until they died!

And what I HEAVILY dislike about the book: THERE WAS NO DETECTIVE?!? IN A MURDER MYSTERY??? ADVERTISED AS A MUST-READ FOR AGATHA CHRISTIE FANS? WHAT???

Like, everyone in the cast tried to play detective but just, failed? They were all bad at their job. Two of them get props for trying, but in the end, nobody sufficiently filled that role, which is an actual crime for this genre.

The Story

was very bland. The setting and premise were actually interesting, but then... nothing came out of it. The murder game part was ditched almost immediately (and there were sooo many options how to include it! Argh!) and the "1920s New Year's Eve party"-setting also didn't even matter in the slightest. There were no cool references to the Golden Age of detectives, no atmosphere, no nothing. The book could have happened on a random business trip in a modern style hotel and it wouldn't have made a difference, which was greatly disappointing.

I've already alluded to the story itself feeling insignificant overall - again, only a few characters were actually relevant to the overarching plot. There were multiple plot threads that the author tried to weave together into a coherent story, but it felt very forced and convoluted. It just wasn't a satisfying story, and the ending chapter just felt offensive to me lol.

Final Thoughts

Well, the book cover lied to me. "A new heir to Agatha Christie" is definitely not what this was. This book was more like "What if we create an empty husk of a genre that Agatha Christie pioneered?"

I'm sorry but it was bad.

To end on a positive note: The cover is beautiful and captures the attempted vibe perfectly.

Rating: 🧁

Plot and Storylines: 🧁

Characters and Relationships: 🧁

Writing Style and Narration: 🧁🧁

Entertainment: 🧁

[nicholsroy]

November updates & December goals

Blog | Monthly updates

It's nearly December (which, side note, is wild - does it feel to anyone else like this year, in particular, just flew by?), a time where things tend to slow to a near-halt in terms of productivity as we prepare for various winter holidays. In terms of the personal writing schedule I maintain in my head, however, it feels a bit like things are busier than ever. Without further ado, updates and follow-up on November's goals are as follows:

November updates

NaNoWriMo: Absolutely blew this out of the water like a boss.

Nah, I'm totally kidding. I'd be lying if I said I was upset about this, though, because I "failed" for the best possible reason - I regained my full motivation for putting together LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE's final manuscript, and have been fully focused on that for about the last 10-15 days. That being said, I did count all new words from scene editing toward the NaNoWriMo goal. Here's my (approximate) breakdown:

Warmups/drabbles: ~1,098

THE DOTTED LINE reoutline: 2,036

SUPERNOVA zero draft: 6,700

LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE scene editing: ~3,000

I extend my encouragement and congrats to everyone else who took part, regardless of whether or not you "won". As an old curmudgeon who's participated in the challenge most years since 2008 (won five times, excluding one Camp NaNoWriMo win), my philosophy about this and similar challenges is basically: even if you don't "win," you've probably written more words this month than you would have otherwise. I know I did.

Query preparations:

I still can't believe I'm seeing this low of a chapter/WC discrepancy for this novel.

Goals for the final version of the manuscript, other than line editing/playing around with prose, fixing plot holes/inconsistencies, addressing beta comments, and fact-checking, include making the novel more marketable/more of a "typical" thriller in any way I can that doesn't affect the overall story. This has included things like restructuring the novel to make it "truly" dual timeline (ie. chapters now alternate consistently between THEN and NOW segments across both Acts), choosing strategic areas to end chapters and to split the Acts and main story arcs, and limiting individual chapters to 5,000 words maximum. This has resulted in more and shorter chapters, but it's also, weirdly enough, allowed me to more easily incorporate content about core story messages and themes, address some kind of unfinished/potentially unsatisfying plot threads, and develop parts of Gabriel's story that were previously lacking without completely obliterating the word count. I am very excited about this, especially because some of the aforementioned plot elements have been major headaches for years!

With the new structure, I've set myself a WC goal of 50,000 words per Act (bringing the total to 100,000 words). My actual goal is 110,000 words for the novel, but I want to try to leave myself as much wiggle room as possible for whatever new scenes/partial scenes/bridging scenes I need to add to close gaps with the dual timeline structure.

After this process is finished, I'll need to do a final readthrough for consistency, and then it's capital-D Done (until an agent asks me to edit it again, anyway)!

In terms of preparations for the actual querying process, I added one agent to my query list this month (and am considering adding a second).

Reading: I'm now 10 books (83%) into my reading goal for 2023!

Read this month:

The Keeper by Jessica Moor

December goals

Currently, my only writing priorities for December are:

To finish the line edit and re-assembly of LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE, Act I;

Get at least a good chunk into the line edit and re-assembly of Act II;

Finish my query letter (finally).

I may also participate in another NYC Midnight challenge this month (a 250-word flash story this time), but this will depend on a few different factors.

I will also read at least two books in order to finish my 2023 reading challenge. These will most likely be A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara and Angels Before Man by Rafael Nicolás, unless something else comes up prior to the end of the month.

[howdybesties]

Russian Twists

finally finishing the gym trilogy ~ I started this a year ago - I don’t think I have it in me anymore but I wanted to post it.

“Keep those toes up if you can!” Dimitri barked the order to the class.

“I’ll keep my legs up too if he wants,” murmured a woman a few rows behind Rose and Lissa.

“Remind me again why we agreed to do this?” Rose whispered to Lissa.

Rose was well aware of why they were doing this. This being a summer course for Royal Moroi looking to enrol in Christian’s defensive magic course in the fall.

—

When they first started training Moroi in defensive magic, they realised a glaring fault in their plans. Moroi had no stamina whatsoever. Within ten minutes of Christian’s fire drills, his students were exhausted. So it was Christian’s great idea to ask Dimitri to teach a physical conditioning class once a week.

“Rose was able to catch up with her peers after a few months with you! Imagine what you can achieve with out of shape Royal Moroi,” Christian explained weeks ago at dinner, ignoring the death glare Rose aimed at him.

Trying to set a good example for her people, Lissa decided to join in as well.

“Are you sure you want me leading class?” Dimitri was hesitant, too aware of the dirty looks he still received on a daily basis, from both Moroi and Dhampir.

“If anything it will prove to others how non-Strigoi you are! What kind of Strigoi would be patient enough to teach a gym class?”

—

Which is how on a Friday evening, a group of thirty Moroi were assembled in a newly refurbished gym room doing a set of thirty Russian Twists.

Twist, elbow, ground, up, hold.

“I don’t think Rupert would notice if I needed extra coaching time,” the woman’s friend responded.

Twist, elbow, ground, up, hold.

“Maybe we can arrange for some private sessions,” the woman whispered excitedly.

Rose wanted to turn around and give those women a piece of her mind. Her man was not someone to ogle at or proposition.

A peek at the clock on the wall gave Rose some reprieve.

Only fifteen more minutes. She could handle this for fifteen more minutes.

Twist, elbow, ground, up, hold.

“Great job everyone, I am seeing major improvement from many of you. Let’s take a 5 minute break.”

Rose stood up to go grab water when Dimitri’s voice rang through the room again.

“Guardian Hathaway, may I see you for a moment?”

The attention in the room was on her as she made her way to the front.

“If anyone would like extra sessions, Guardian Castile would be happy to assist you. My fiancée and I will be on leave soon to celebrate our engagement.”

It was still new to hear Dimitri calling her his fiancée, but to say it in front of a group of Royal Moroi was daring.

What he did next shocked her even more.

He pulled her in for a searing kiss. Passionate but brief, Dimitri pulled away far too quickly for Rose’s liking. But it didn’t matter.

As she looked at the group, Rose smirked at the disgusted faces of the two gossiping women earlier. Her claim was clear.

The boy is mine.

* Author’s note. Men doing absolutely the bare minimum to keep women away is killing me but alas even in fiction I can’t write anything that isn’t true. Also Taylor did Hey Stephen as a surprise song last night and that just feels targeted for some reason but I was motivated to write so yay! I’ve been listening to Ariana Grande too so yeah.

[robertschwartz]

New Writes Old Wrongs

That's a nonsense title for this post. I haven't written in this thing for about three years or so. I feel like I just broke out of the Instagram/social media doom-scroll trance. I feel like the minutes I'm experiencing right now are slow and time-dilated because my brain hasn't set foot on the solid presence of time in many months/moons.

I used to write a lot. It was an escape. It was a last-ditch effort to assemble the water-warped jigsaw pieces of my existence and try to force two like-colored pieces together in the hopes of assembling a greater vision or image of my life's meaning and path. I, of course, don't believe that there is such a thing as an objective meaning to anyone's or anything's life. I think meaning is just a construct, and if you so much as feel inclined, you can find a goal and get real gushy about it and call it your purpose.

What I do for work does feel somewhat like my life's meaning in that I have a feeling I get when I'm leaving work: a smile pulls at the edges of my expression, and a little room heater gets plugged into my heart. I feel good. I feel gratitude, fortunate, and some proto-some version of giddy. I laugh at work, I have friends at work, I have love for people I work with—love.

The only thing that eludes me now—and that's nearly the perfect word, but not quite—is a loving partner whom I'm excited to start a family with, and a home (the money to own and comfortably operate a home).

The person I work with that I probably love the most is not an available partner. Though that doesn't really bother me in the slightest. It gives me a pop of hope that such people exist and that I can feel pretty enamored with someone if they've got all the right traits: personality-wise, physical-wise, value-wise, and intelligence-wise.

I'm on the dating apps during the holiday season, and the apps are really popping off right now. I think it's just due to the fact that loneliness is the ever-present weather pattern that rolls in with the season right on cue with the freezing rain and somber snow.

I continue to not find people who want to have a family, and very rarely do I feel motivated to continue talking to someone after the date, even when the date goes quite well. I had a date with a cute little dentist with a great wide smile and bang-on personality, and yet after the date, the phone felt heavy in my hand, and my desire to reconnect again with her was as appealing as washing a dish. Sure, I have a dishwasher—it’s the easiest thing in the world—yet I just… don't wanna. Probably the sexiest dish never washed, but I suppose a dish nonetheless. I think a lot of my desire is secondary to their desire, which is usually pretty unfortunate. I think if they seem excited to talk to me, then I get excited to talk to them. But generally, the opposite impetus never really happens. I'm not terribly excited to talk to anyone. I don't find most people that exciting at all. That blows. I think the person I feel most excited to talk to might be that one guy I friended on Instagram, and we share incredibly inappropriate memes with each other. I do get a lot more than I would’ve expected from that Insta relationship.

There was an Instagram post where someone said a quote that was: "It is not the object of life to fit in with the crowd, it is to escape, and to find yourself in the ranks of the insane."

I think I got that mostly right the way I phrased it. I like this quote very much. I forget who it is attributed to. Oh, actually, I think it was Marcus Aurelius. Which is unexpected. But I do like that quote very much as I see culture as a trap. I also think we are predisposed to follow culture out of a basic necessity to survive, yet it is a great strength to demonstrate that you can cast off the oppressive script of mass culture and break free. It's real magic. To do it and change the world, bending the culture with your arrogance and insistence, is the highest form of courage. Though, if someone has no aptitude for absorbing social culture and can only move to the beat of his broken drum, then it is not courage at all. Generally speaking, that could either get him or her celebrated as an artist or celebrated as a dead artist long after they have been murdered for their heresy.

[mi4012mariaperera]

Set Design (pt. 7)

31/08/2024

Hi everyone! I'm back again with another set-related post. So, the thing is, we got good feedback from Dinendri for our nighttime shots. However, the daytime shots weren't that impressive. The background looked cartoony. So, we decided to make some changes to our background and give the daytime shots another try!

Unfortunately, when we came back to uni after our break, we discovered that our set was broken. Someone had messed around with it and dropped it TOT. But that wasn't going to demotivate us from taking those daytime shots. We have to get it done one way or another!

Luckily for our group, I'm glad that Ayodya, Shiza, and I had the motivation to work towards taking our broken set and bringing it back to life!

Here are some work-in-progress photos of us fixing the set on Thursday! (29/08/2024) :-

We headed over to Print-mart to get some printouts of a clear sky and some rural-style buildings to fit the Khandwa setting. We also had to get some mounting tape to stick on the pillars firmly onto the background and also for the building stand.

And just in case someone tried to mess with our set again.... we decided to leave a little note ;)

(We couldn't write it in Tamil :( )

Final work in progress (30/08/2024) :-

Even though we didn't have lectures yesterday, we decided to come to uni to assemble the set and take the photos for our story boards!

(Also happy to report that our note was effective :D)

Here's a picture of Ayodya, Shiza, and me assembling the set: -

The assembled set ready for lighting and pictures:-

Here's our work in progress photos for takings pictures of the set:-

For lighting, we actually used a 'warm light' (From the storage room) and a 'white light' (an emergency lantern I brought). Nishitha helped us set up the yellow light. We used the White light to add some additional lighting to important areas that were being shadowed.

Shiza was our official photographer for all the set pictures: including our storyboard pictures.

Before I conclude this post, I would like to give a huge shoutout to Indusara (Gangubai group) for helping us carry the lights from the 6th floor all the way up to the 9th.

A special shout out to Thameena (Se7en group) for helping us with carrying lights, setting up the lights for certain shots and also for holding the background boards.

And of course, the loudest shoutout to my amazing teammates Ayodya and Shiza for having the same dedication and motivation as I had to pick up the broken pieces of our set and make it into a much better daytime setting.

At first, the 3 of us felt demotivated and upset after looking at the broken set. But we didn't let our optimism meter run out. We planned everything out well and overall, I believe we did a good job. I'm glad they had the determination to fix the set because I know I wouldn't have been able to do it on my own.

Thank you, guys! <3

That's all for this post! I will post some of the best pictures from our set shoot in my next post. Stay tuned for further updates :D

[tamiveldura]

I'm autistic and have ADHD, and I'm a chronic illness spoonie, and I'm here to tell you that A System is your friend. You don't have to write every day. You don't even have to write once a week. But you do need a system or routine that you can activate when it's Project Time.

I have been writing to-deadline for about 6 years now. I have never missed a deadline, but a few of those first ones were skin-of-the-teeth and I've been perfecting my systems ever since so that never happens again. I can't handle the stress.

The deadline is not a healthy motivator. Though my ADHD peeps will agree that it is effective. I've spent the last 6 years figuring out how to avoid Crunch Time.

The answer is a system.

I do not write every day. I do not track wordcount. I tried both of those and they don't work for me. (Maybe they work for you. Try it, but try other things too. Don't force it.)

Your system will be unique to you. But you'll figure it out by trying other systems on until you assemble the pieces that work.

My process looks like this:

Idea or deadline: either I've thought of a genius plot or I've chosen to tackle a project with other people (like a multi author series, or an anthology). Both of these trigger a new file in my scrivener wherever the story belongs.

Setup: I have a brainstorm document, an outline document, a draft document, a notes document. These keep the project contained.

Ideating: most writers really love this stage of a project, it's where all the great excitement of discovery lies. I dump all of this into my brainstorm document.

Plotting: works very well for me. Might not work for you. I organize all the tangled things in the brainstorm document into a structure. I check the beats of my chosen tropes. I hunt down plot holes. I scene block characters and action sequences in very rough terms just so I have large movement gestures. Emotional arc.

Drafting: not my favorite task, NGL. I dictate the initial draft and it's not good. I'm not trying to come up with beautiful words and amazing turns of phrase. I could, but it would make this part take 10x as long and it doesn't need to. Often this is a very dull series of simple sentences just to work my way through each scene. My goal here is to literally convert the plotting notes into the correct tense and sequence of events. Nothing more.

Revision: I like this part because I don't have to do the heavy lifting of "what happens next?" I already know what happens, now I get to make it pretty

PWA: proofreading. Not my strongest skill, so I use Pro Writing Aid to jumpstart me. It really helps with passive voice, which I'll slip into when tired.

Editing: paid. Not everything gets a paid pass. Some works go on submission. Others are released naked into the world. I do a lot of short stories.

Publishing: formatting, cover art, audio art, uploading, audio upload, newsletter announcement, promo scheduling, etcetcetc

Ok so these are the general steps of authorship, but what is the dang system?

The system boils down to two things:

1: days I decide I'm working

2: days I decide I'm not working (number 1 can turn into number two if it's a bad day)

By default I work Monday-Friday from about 1 pm to 4 pm. Weekends are off. Any day my husband comes home early gets cut short. Any day he is off I'm also off. Any day I wake up with no spoons, I'm off. Any day I realize I'm feeling stressed, I look at the calendar to check deadlines and book a week off. I take a week off after every novella or novel, but I'll go two or three short stories in a row. I take December off, usually starting at Thanksgiving and ending a week after new year.

You may be seeing a trend here. I take a lot of time off. It turns out, when I started giving myself the time I needed to rest and read and relax without guilt, my output on workdays skyrocketed.

Side note: you are probably not living with a sugar daddy paying the bills. I'm really fucking lucky to have funding in my corner. But REST is a requirement and you must do your very very best to protect your resting days/hours to the death.

Tami, I hear you say, what is the system? The writing system. The system that keeps you getting up every Monday-friday and having the energy and attention (if not the motivation) to work every day on the book?

Rest is the system. But the system is Deliberate. The system is Attentive. The system asks: is today a rest day? If yes what storytelling are we consuming to refill the well for our next workday?

It's not restful to doom scroll Tumblr "looking for inspiration." It's not restful to binge 6 seasons of Survivor in two weeks. Both of these things have their place, but when was the last time you deliberately planned your rest to be fulfilling and recharging? When was the last time you gave it any more thought then "I'm just tired."

The first day I decided to rest on purpose, I slept for 12 hours straight. The next couple of weeks were solidly 10/11 hours per night. That has since eased up to about 9 or 9.5, but it's 9ish Every Single Night. Before I decided to rest, I was only giving myself 6 or 7. Did you know some symptoms of chronic exhaustion are indistinguishable from dementia? I had no idea how much sleep I really needed.

If you're still here (I appreciate you), this is where we get to the work. You have rested. You have refilled the creative well. You wake up and decide Today Is A Writing Day.

Cool. Open the document and read your most recent chapter to figure out where you left off.

Take a glance at your notes or your outline if you have one.

What scene sounds fun today? Start writing that one, [put brackets around anything questionable] or that you have to look up later (do it later!) and as soon as you come to a point we're you've exhausted the initial energy of the day: STOP.

Write a few notes to yourself about where you think this is going next. And put it all away.

Congrats, you've probably been writing for 20 minutes. Maybe 50 if you had a good run. Perhaps you managed more than 1k. Maybe. I can only break 1k/hr when I'm dictating.

But Tami, the book is NineHundredThousand words long this will take forever.

Yeah, it will. It's a novel. But if you rest and you refill the well first, you will have more and more and more workdays.

You wanna write a book in a year? You're running a marathon, but you've gotta build up your muscles. It takes months, years, to train for a marathon. And you know what a marathon runner needs to train well and hard?

REST.

Writing Tip - What ‘Habit Over Motivation’ Actually Looks Like

We’ve all heard the writing advice that you can’t rely on motivation to get you through writing a book, sometimes you need to force yourself to do it and make a habit of it. And a lot of us will scoff at that or find it too restrictive or boring, it leaves us feeling like it’s a chore rather than a fun activity

As someone who only worked out what people actually mean by it recently, let me explain my take on it

You’re not always going to be inspired to write, you’re not always going to be motivated to write, but if you only write when you’re motivated it’s gonna take a crap ton of time - and writing anything to completion already takes donkey’s years as it is. Forming a habit is going to enable you to write consistently, and thus even unmotivated or uninspired progress is still made. Hence, sometimes you have to force yourself to write

But writing too much will make that habit impossible, or at least it becomes a chore and not a fun activity. You need to give yourself realistic goals to meet, even if it’s only something small. Write for ten minutes a day, write 500 words every week, any snail’s pace progress regardless of how insignificant it may seem. Something small enough that it doesn’t drain you but frequent enough that there’s still a habit being formed, there’s still consistency to it

I used to only write when I was inspired and motivated and could get myself to start writing, and even then the word count would be inconsistent. It could be weeks or even months between proper writing sessions. But now that I have a baseline for productivity, I have a baseline for consistent progress. And I’m only on 1K words a week! And if that doesn’t work, you can do less, or go by time spent writing if that’s a better metric for your writing style!

There’s no such thing as not enough progress when it comes to forming a consistent habit; if you can get at least one word per deadline (day, week, whatever) then that still counts as consistent progress

What everyone else seems to think of is “You must get this big amount of words written daily, think of it as eternal NaNoWriMo, if you miss even one day you’re a failure and you’ll never get the book done, SUFFER FOR YOUR ART!”

Just do what’s comfortable and it’ll be fine, no worries

[luvwich]

wip whenevers

i was tagged by @ghostoffuturespast to share some work in progress! there's a lot of work and not much progress to speak of but here's a run-down of everything in active development

shanghai 57

some cp77 characters for the this story i've been piecing together. that's regina jones and an OC of mine, mariano torralba / tiyo nano, in their wild youth! (their middle age is wild but their youth was, too)

the fic is mostly-outlined and i'm in that stage of trying to catch a vibe on character voice, setting, all that good and extremely difficult stuff

hypercritical season 3

elsewhere in that universe i've been plotting this nameless post-canon fic that continues mike and vania's story from where crescent&redwood left off.

i will put my cards on the table, a lot of this one is motivated by me wanting to continue their "dynamic" with johnny, lol. (throuple airhorn) (i reveal my cards with a flourish and nobody is surprised, because i have posted excerpts of this before and because it's me)

but i'm also really grooving on the quasi-solarpunk setting where we last found them, and wallowing in the angst V feels after her decision to do the surgery and fuck people over.

Amidst a five-by-two grid of other structures, V's was the last greenhouse on the left. It was a ramshackle assembly: panes of reclaimed plexi-glass bound together with scrap metal and thick cords of hope. A dinky little thing that seemed always on the verge of failing. Though one or two bad storms had jeopardized its integrity, it was still here. She smiled over a shoulder at it as she plodded over the darkening ground toward dinner.

sometimes i do weird shit like use graphviz to plot out what i think the emergent themes of a thing are. i don't know if this helps me in any way but it's fun. the nonsense i'll go through just because i want a blorbo threesome i stg. pointing and laughing at myself.

royal blue

i'm writing a follow-up chapter to that fucking bummer one-shot i wrote about valerie and river a little while back. i can't leave them miserable like that!

breached (smutty collab)

i worked with @streetkid-named-desire on a one-shot with their OCs VG and batsheva and it turned out really cute :3 lookin for beta readers rn!

V's interface dribbled into the emptiness, everything but the maze and mouse thinning out into wavering lines. He could feel what she was doing through his avatar. The sensation wasn't quite the same as when he was in realspace, but it sizzled through his nerves like the aftershock of a dream. Somewhere in the netrunning chair's hardware, bits and bytes were scrambling to make sense of the feeling of Bea's wet, beautiful mouth dancing over his cock. The result was an exhilarating, electric connection that felt like neither life nor the Net.

bg3 bros helping bros

last but not least this is most likely the next thing i'll actually publish, and it's A Bit Different for me! i was possessed by the idea of Rugan and Gale having a hush-hush no-homo encounter a while ago and reeled off some lil bits for the fabulous Zhentil Keep discord. for whatever reason (probably because i have 80 other things to work on!!) i picked this up again over the weekend.

Now, Gale wasn't the slightest bit wrong. It was a nice cock, and anyone who espied it had the right, nay, the duty to say as much. But how'd he manage a glimpse from so many paces away, at the edge of moondark at that? Perhaps he'd deployed some perverted hocus-pocus in order to steal a look at the Zhentarim serpent. 

i have some kind folks beta-ing this, and i really need a title. it's the first thing i've written for bg3! i was trying to ship rugan with my tav but this scene has gripped me and i kind of love him with gale more now?? it happens

[bladiegfs]

Hello! can you write Jing Yuan and Sampo with a s/o who wants to do his make up but turns out to be a make out session? thank u!!

here you go!!

gorgeous

➵ warning(s) applicable: none

➵ wc: 808

➵ they were simply meant to help you practice your skills, but you were far too gorgeous with that focused, determined look… how could they resist you?

Jing Yuan 'so kindly' volunteered to help you. So here you were, face close to his as you put a brush to his face.

“Stop moving so much,” You click your tongue. “Or I’ll mess this up.”

“I’m not moving.”

“You just did. You moved your mouth,” You reply.

Jing Yuan laughs. When your narrow your eyes in mock irritation, he laughs even harder.

You chide him, “It’s not that funny.”

“I don’t think it’s funny, I think you’re being cute.”

“Cute?” You raise an eyebrow. “If this is your attempt at making me forgive you for moving around, it’s not working.”

“I’m not trying to butter you up. I’m telling the truth.”

“Sure. Now, close that mouth. I’ll add a little gloss.”

Jing Yuan nods. You turn to take the tube from the assembly of supplies you’ve put atop Jing Yuan’s desk. You then open it and trace along Jing Yuan’s lips, holding your breath for absolutely no reason.

When you finish and look up at Jing Yuan, he’s already looking at you. Almost a complete turn-around from your demeanor mere moments go, you quietly say, “There. Done.”

For a moment, you two only look at each other, waiting for someone to move, for something to happen.

And he does the first move, gently taking your chin in his fingers, and tilting your head before pulling you into a soft kiss.

Jing Yuan pulls away from the kiss far too soon. Just as you were about to speak, Jing Yuan sloppily wipes his lips with the back of his hand, leaving a shiny trail of lip gloss on his cheek. He then urgently pulls you into another kiss, cupping your cheeks with his hands.

Getting all too aware of the way your breathing starts to get shallow over time, Jing Yuan pulls away. Pretty, Jing Yuan thought, licking his lips. You both stay quiet, gazing at each other with dazed looks, still catching your breath.

Suddenly, a knock. A familiar youthful voice speaks from behind the wooden door, “General! General! You’re late for our scheduled sparring again!”

You give Jing Yuan a look. You whisper, “You were supposed to be somewhere.”

The knocking grows even more persistent. “General!”

Jing Yuan sheepishly laughs. Then, he calls out, “A moment.”

Then, Jing Yuan presses a quick kiss on your lips. “I’ll gladly be your practice dummy next time again, okay?”

Sampo was crafty and you know that. He has a way to get what he wants; he makes use of his charm, some properly placed words here and there, throws in a smile for good measure, and before everyone else knows it, they’ve done exactly what Sampo wanted.

And right now, he has you on his lap as you focus on lining his eyes. The cap of the liquid liner was between your teeth as you narrowed your eyes in complete focus on the task at hand.

The shit-eating grin he’s obviously holding back doesn’t help… or those hands he’s got on your waist.

“Sampo,” You firmly say, the name muffled in your mouth due to your teeth biting down on the cap.

“Yes?”

Taking the cap out of your mouth and snapping it back on the liner, you say, “You’re not good at hiding your ulterior motives from me, you know that?”

“What ulterior motives? No such thing!”

Unamused, you raise an eyebrow. “Easily agreeing to me doing this when you’re usually in a rush?”

In a mock dramatic tone, replies, “Is obliging suddenly suspicious now?”

You decide to get straight to the point. “It sure is when you pull me in to sit here. You just want a kiss.”

And Sampo doesn’t even try to deny it. He simply gives you a smile and says, “Oh? Seems like I was caught, after all!”

You give him an unamused look. Still, you rest your arms on his shoulder and you lean closer.

“Just one,” You warned. “So you can reflect on your actions.”

Sampo only hums happily in reply. Another victory for him, you think. He’s damn lucky you can’t resist kissing that stupid mouth on his face.

You press a kiss on his lips. His hold on your waist tightens— and like habit, your free hand travels to his hair, playing with dark strands as you move. You could feel him smile into your kiss. Then, your other hand lets go of the liner in your grip and both your hands hold onto him as he deepens the kiss with a tilt of his head.

When your breathing turns labored, he pulls away with a triumphant smile.

You huff in pretend annoyance, mind still hazy from the kisses you exchanged. “I told you… just one kiss.”

“But it was just one kiss, like you said,” He reminds you with a cocky look. “That was just one.”

[ohlovxrr]

first class || charles xavier x reader

i’ve been on an x-men binge and fell into a hole of james mcavoy and charles xavier again, so here we are. i haven’t written fics in a long time, so i tried to again. i’m uncreative so like the title is just the first movie because of the fact that it’s set during that time. kind of like self insert cause there’s a few bits and pieces where there’s canonical plot and interactions, so disclaimer for that. anyways, hope you guys enjoy! ps also don’t have enough energy to find a fitting gif so maybe i’ll find one later maybe i won’t. we’ll see

words: 5.8k

warnings: not proofread (i spent three days on this so i don’t have the energy anymore haha), writing lacks emotional depth, drug use and mentions, intent of murder, thoughts of (murder, rape, suicide, etc.), poorly written two paragraphs about kissing, angst, we ignore moira and charles’ romance cause... duh, it’s x reader and it’s too difficult for me to work around it rn a haha

masterlist

The rooms were always the same. They were dark, illuminated only by the dimmest of lights emanating from the occasional lava lamp or fairy lights. Fairy - ironic word for such situations, such rooms. Filled so heavily with smoke it made it hard to breathe, let alone see. And the floors; the floors always felt different. 

In hindsight, it was probably the one thing that had her realizing the rooms were never actually the same. Sure, they had the same smell, the same overcrowdedness and moving bodies, the same darkness, even the same taste, but the floors testified to the difference each room held. 

Sometimes, when the world would freeze and all the people around her became nothing but a mesh of warm bodies, she could hear the floor creak under her feet with every step she took. There she was - the house right down the street from her. 

Other times, the floors felt sticky under her shoes. She assumed it was tequila. There were always too many bottles around to count, surely there would be spills. Or, some poor guy could have pissed himself like that one time. When her shoes sounded like velcro as she walked across the floor, she was at the house all the way across town.

In any case, she felt the same ankle up. One of her favourite parts had to be the way the music always abused her ears - so high, it made her feel lightheaded. More so than she already had been both. Sex was not nearly regular enough for her to compare, but she knew what she would feel every time the music was loud enough to make her head buzz and throb with a vengeance was more erotic than anything anyone could ever do to her.

The place could change but the scene never really did. Down to the people - she knew this for sure. She knew every beating heart around her like they were her own. She never only felt it there, but in her head as well. Even as it buzzed, she felt it. Sometimes it tore at her skull as if trying to escape - ironic.

Now, why did the scene change one evening in 1962? She told herself it was fate, but it had merely been wishful thinking when she knew why. How did she know? She knew the man sitting next to her on the worn down couch, nearly entirely unconscious and reeking of weed and vodka, knew the girl across the house, the girl across the house knew the man next to her and that - so on and so forth - meant she knew all three of them, even though they didn’t know her. So, for two new men to walk into the house, their eyes focused - focused on her - changed the scene entirely.

Now, the music became nothing more than an assault on her ears; the lights became too bright at the same time as the dark became too dark; the air became heavier than usual; and she sobered up at the feeling of something - someone - in her head. Then, it all caved in. It was as overwhelming as it always was, but she was used to it enough to handle it for a little while, at least whilst remnants of her high remained. She couldn’t say the same for the shorter of the two men she saw keel over at the pressure.

He got over it pretty quick, from what she could tell. “Charles Xavier,” he introduced himself as, “This is my colleague, Erik Lensherr.”

A quick trip from the couch to the door had her standing on the lawn of the house of the night with the two men. Crickets could be heard fighting against the sound of the music blaring from the house as she swayed on her feet, making wet sounds in the grass from earlier rain. Charles stood not much taller than her, charm emanating from him and the way his piercing blue eyes seemed to smile despite his furrowed brows and mouth set in a straight line as he stared at her, waiting for a response with his hands tucked into his coat pockets. Erik stood taller, stoic and calculating.

“And?” She crossed her arms across her chest, both in discomfort and the fact that the chilly night air had begun to bite at her skin, her long sleeve doing nothing to help. “I should care why?”

If the incident earlier wasn’t enough, the way the both of them looked at her was enough for her to know why. “What’s your name?” Charles asked, having her notice then the English accent on his tongue. 

The second she gave it to him, he smiled - almost sympathetically - at her and hummed, “You have an incredibly busy mind, Y/N.”

“And you have an incredibly nosy one, Charles.” That had Erik letting out a chuckle, one that felt like approval to her ears.

Never in a million years would she dare say yes to anything of the sort the two men proposed to her that night. A team of mutants; not necessarily that she thought it was absurd or a horrible idea - no. It made sense, not factoring in their current climate, to have a team of mutants fighting against the evils of the world. The horrible idea was to have her join. No, she wanted to tell them, “I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking too,” Erik agreed with her, catching both herself and Charles off guard, “We’ll be going then.”

He offered her his hand. She didn’t know how long she stood there staring at his outstretched arm. Sometimes her high slowed time - it could have been five seconds or five minutes. When she finally looked away from his hand, up at him, she saw he stood unwavered and patient.

“You don’t have to, you know.” Her eyes shot to Charles as he broke the silence. He shook his head, brows still furrowed and mouth set in a straight line. “You’re under no obligation.”

For Charles to know, she understood. He had just been in her mind long enough to know that most of it wasn’t even hers. For Erik to know and offer her his hand made her wonder just how desperate he was to assemble the team - for whatever reason that she was about to find out in a moment.

“We leave now.” Was all he said after he tore his hand from hers.

An hour hasn’t even passed when she found herself on a plane with the two men, mind still buzzing but this time not with a high. This time, with an overwhelming anger and anticipation. The way Erik didn’t make eye contact with her and Charles sent worried glances her way throughout their trip to their “base” was enough to tell her that they knew she had already been briefed on what was happening - the reason behind their assembling of a team. Rather, she knew specifically of the personal motive behind it.

All it made her heart feel like it was beating a mile a minute. It pounded against her chest so hard she was sure at least one of them could hear it. So badly did she want to hide out in the plane’s bathroom and take something to stop the pain, but it was off the table. For now.

Soon enough the flight ended, and she came to find out their “base” was a covert CIA facility where they placed the other mutants they rounded up before her. She just as quickly met and said goodbye to Moira MacTaggert, a CIA officer working with Charles and Erik to stop Shaw. His name alone sent sparks of rage flowing through her veins.

She was left with the group when the three went off that night. There, she came face to face with Raven, Sean, Alex, Hank, Darwin, and Angel - or, Mystique, Banshee, and Havok. Darwin and Angel were “self explanatory”, considering they were already nicknames and described their powers fairly well. Hank was just… Hank.

Her turn came around quickly, once everyone settled down from Alex’s show of his “gift”, when all heads turned to her, sitting at the end of the couch. Raven smiled at her - she liked her, she was sweet - “What about you? What’s your power?”

“I’m,” She paused for a moment, the eyes on her making her anxious and curl into herself hoping, praying, another mutant wouldn’t touch her. “I can move things. With my mind.” She gave a tight smile to Raven and nodded her head, as if to reassure herself. “I can move things with my mind.”

Raven’s smile only widened, excited by either the prospect of her being able to move things with her mind or the opportunity to give her an alias. She assumed it was the latter. She excused herself to the washroom just as Raven asked the group what they thought. “We’ll have one for you once you get back! Promise!” Raven called after her.

Body filled with anticipation, she nearly ran to the washroom, willing the door closed behind her after she entered. It was small, but clean - CIA property after all. 

She tried. She really did. Albeit, making contact with a mutant was always the worst; Erik especially. The trauma, the pain, the thoughts. All them clawed at her brain, as though they were tearing through it layer by layer until nothing but them remained within her skull.

Nothing could stop her from taking out the small baggy in her back pocket and tearing it open. Nothing could stop her from taking it, only to feel a rush flow through her. It would take a bit, but soon enough she would stop feeling them gnawing on her very existence. Soon, numbness would wash over her and she could just be no one.

She guessed she was in the washroom for about half an hour. Staring at her reflection, at the floor, at the ceiling, at anything, but when she made her way back to the room, she found it in disarray. Music was blasting from the radio, chairs flipped over, Raven on top of the couch dancing as Hank hung from the ceiling light, the rest of the group messing around with their powers. She couldn’t tell if they were experiencing some high of their own or just happened to have gotten their hands on some alcohol.

“What are you doing? Who destroyed the statue?” Moira’s voice broke her out of the trance she was in watching the group. Slowly, she turned her head to see her, Charles, and Erik walking over as everyone else froze. Moira was angry, that much anyone could tell, but the two men were unreadable.

Hank was the first one to reply back, jumping down the ceiling, panicked, “It was Alex.”

“No. Havok.” Raven seemed to stay unfazed, still standing on the couch with a wide smile on her face. “We have to call him Havok. That's his name now…”

Raven’s words melted away from her. Her focus wasn’t elsewhere; it was simply nowhere at all. She stared at everyone in the room, yet no one at all. So caught up in nothing she didn’t notice Charles himself staring at her until Erik uttered something under his breath and walked away with Moira following, brows furrowed in what looked to be confusion. Just as she caught his eye, he looked away.

Directed at Raven, he spoke firmly, “I expect more from you.”

Not long after, they had gotten word that Shaw would be in Russia, and so she was left with the group of mutants when the three left alongside the CIA to get their hands on him. Before, it would have made her wonder what purpose the group of mutants really served if they didn’t want them there to help. Now, after the incident, she understood why.

By no means were any of them prepared for such a task. She couldn’t claim to be either. She only agreed because she knew a part within her would hate her for not coming and at the very least trying to help.

Just when she thought she and the solemn group couldn’t be any more of a liability, she was proven wrong. Because now Sebastian Shaw stood in front of them, smug and irritating as ever, after having his lackey drop an unsuspecting CIA to his death in front of all of them and cornering them. 

“Good evening. My name's Sebastian Shaw, and I'm not here to hurt you.” She was sure she wasn’t the only one assuming he had taken out every single CIA operative in the facility to make it this far; a thought that filled her being with even more dread than she was already feeling at the sight of him. “My friends, there's a revolution coming. When mankind discovers who we are, what we can do, each of us will face a choice. Be enslaved or rise up to rule. Choose freely, but know that if you are not with us, then by definition, you are against us. So, you can stay and fight for the people who hate and fear you. Or you can join me, and love like kings and queens.”

They all watched, both shocked and betrayed when Angel took the hand Shaw outstretched, standing by his side even when he murdered Darwin in his attempt to stop him with Alex. She didn’t see it - she turned away the second Shaw released the energy he’d taken from Alex into Darwin. She heard it, though. The explosion. When she turned back, as Shaw, Angel, and the men he had brought with him retreated, she saw nothing. There was no sign of Darwin; not even a speck of dust.

Suddenly, her chest tightened and the clawing came back.

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

The person who happened to almost send them home also happened to be the one who provided them a new place to train their powers for the fight with Shaw. Charles was entirely serious and extremely close to sending them all home; “They’re just kids.” But Erik made it clear to him that they couldn’t be anymore, not after Shaw.

Charles lived, alongside Raven, in a massive mansion that had been entirely too big for her to take in, but it provided the perfect space for them to train their powers. Each of them were assigned rooms by Charles personally that day. 

He took the liberty of walking them each there. She didn’t know if it was just her or a Charles thing, but he stayed quiet. Unusual for a man that had so much to say. But then again, with what they’ve already been through, she couldn’t imagine he was feeling very chatty. She certainly wouldn’t have been in his situation. Granted, she would be feeling the same way now, but in her predicament by this point, she wouldn’t mind someone else’s verbal company.

The second he guided her through the bedroom

door, she began to take in the sheer size of the room, feeling bigger than life itself in the way that she was feeling. The bed was even better; huge and looked as though the softness of it would swallow her into a warm hug. Her first instinct would have been to jump right onto it, but the fact that Charles ceased to leave and instead remained planted there, giving her a look she couldn’t make out once she turned to face him, made her fight against her urges.

She opened her mouth in an attempt to utter an “Are you alright?” but never got the chance. Instead, Charles spoke as soon as her mouth opened, slowly, as if to make sure she understood every word he was saying like she had been incapable of doing so before, “Training starts tonight, but I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”

With her brows furrowed in confusion, she nodded, and Charles began to walk away. He stopped by the frame of the door, back to her, and spoke again, “Try and get some rest.”

With that, he shut the door behind him. Now, she was left in the room alone, tiredness washing over her. Awaiting the next day, she decided to fall into the cloud that was the bed and fall asleep while she could.

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

The next morning was when Charles asked to see her - by Raven. The young woman led her over to a room, an odd dome shaped one, where Charles stood waiting. He wasn’t the same as the night before - uncomfortable, was the only way she knew to describe it - welcoming and encouraging.

“We’ve got plenty of work to do,” Charles spoke, hands in his pockets, as she entered and Raven excused herself elsewhere. Looking around, she could see evidence that training had started last night, namely Alex’s. Dark scuff marks were streaked across walls of the dome on the end farthest from them and small balls of fluff on the floor remained, assumingly left behind in the midst of a quick clean up of training dummies that had been torn open.

Despite the mess, several other objects were placed across the floor. All ranged from light to heavy. Chairs, weights - it looked to be anything he could have been capable of carrying in with the help of the others.

She stopped in front of him. “What’s this?”

The man’s smile widened before he started, rather loudly at that. “Well.” He moved towards the objects then spun around to face her, arms outstretched. “This is the beginning of your training.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking at the man unimpressed. “You want me to move this stuff around?”

“You’re not just moving stuff around.” Charles shook his head, arms dropping to his sides as he declared. “You don’t need to move everything here. I only need to see how much you can handle.” His head tilted as he looked at her, blue eyes meeting her own as his expression retreated to one of curiosity. “And how you handle it.”

She didn’t think the professor was aware of the innuendo within the situation, so she let it go despite the sweet stomach dropping feeling that came over her. Instead, she shrugged. “Then what?”

“Then,” Charles hesitated for a moment, “Erik was able to move a satellite dish. If it happens to be possible-”

“A satellite dish?” She laughed incredulously, “You can be serious.”

Charles nodded towards her, challenging her statements as he took a few steps forward. “And what is it that’s making you believe you’re incapable of doing anything similar?”

“Look.” She shook her head, looking directly at him when she said, “I can move the average household item, shut a door and maybe, just maybe, bust it down, but I couldn’t push your couch across the room, let alone move a fu- a satellite dish.”

Charles’ brows furrowed. “And that’s what you believe?”

She hummed. “That’s what I know.”

“Well,” he sighed, disappointment written across his face that sent her into a spiral, “There’s not much we can do if you don’t believe you can better yourself, is there?”

The second he walked past her was when it felt as though ice water had been spilt onto her. A mixture of confusion and gloom washed over her before she turned to see Charles’ back, still moving towards the door. “What?”

He stopped in his tracks at her exclamation, waiting several moments as if contemplating before he turned back to her. Carefully, he asked, “Why do you take them?”

She shook her head, looking almost offended. “How did you-”

“Your mind,” Charles confirmed, “It gets quieter.”

The offence on her face never ceased, but the uncomfortable mixture of feelings she was overwhelmed with had her shrug in response to his question. Charles only nodded and gave her a tight smile before turning back.

She closed her eyes, resigning herself with huff. She could go back to the life she had come to know and hate, or she could take the second chance he was giving her even if it did include the prospect of some suffering.

“I don’t take them for fun.” The sound of her voice made Charles stop again. This time, he waited. “When I touch a person I don’t just take every experience. I take every memory.”

He turned around to face her once more and gave her nod, signalling her to continue. She breathed in and out. “I see and I feel everything that’s happened to them. That’s a lot and it’s enough, but that’s not why I-”

She cut herself off, feeling herself choke on the words before shaking her head and persisting herself on despite Charles’ look of concern. “I take them because, when I take their memories, I take all of their thoughts too. Every one. So every thought of murder, or rape, or suicide, or any fucked up thing, keeps tearing me apart from the inside out.”

Charles nodded, walking closer to her, choosing his words carefully as he spoke, sympathy written deep in his soft voice, “And they scare you.”

She shook her head. Looking away from him for a moment, she willed away tears she felt gathering. She turned back to him. “The thought of acting on them scares me.”

Although slightly taken aback by the revelation, Charles holds his composure. He nodded before opening his mouth to respond, walking closer as he began.

The only reaction he got was her taking a step back, shaking her head. “I swear I’m not a bad person.” Charles assumed she didn’t want him touching her - considering she took away every thought. “I’m always all these people at once - I don’t even know who I am.”

“Then we will figure it out.” Charles tilted his head, making sure her eyes met his when she attempted to look away. His voice was soft and reassuring to her ears, even if she didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “You aren’t alone, Y/N.”

As it turns, the drugs were having a large effect on her ability to use her powers - the next few days told her as much. By no means was she capable of moving a satellite dish, but she had been able to take her powers to lengths she never thought she could have been able to.

Most of it was due to Charles - he’d spent most of the next few days with her, pushing her, sometimes to the point where she’d snap at him. She always calmed, though, and Charles always remained coolheaded.

Still, they grew closer. Or at least she grew closer to him. She couldn’t tell if the praise, the laughs, the banter, and the willingness to come back together after a fight only meant something to her. She hoped it did - because why else wouldn’t he just give up on her? All that time spent on advancing her powers to defeat Shaw, and he still talked about helping her as though their relationship would continue past this mission.

Part of her wanted to touch him so she could just know. Even if he hadn’t taken such a liking to her as she had him, at the very least try to understand him in his entirety and make a space for herself in his life. Then, another part of her was horrified at what she would find in there.

For the time being, there wasn’t much opportunity to dwell on it. The day they would head out was coming soon, and Erik suggested the group get a good night’s rest. They would all need it.

With her luck, she didn’t know why she thought that sleep would come easy that night. Whether it was due to adrenaline, anxiety, or anything else, didn’t matter. Because whatever was keeping her up had her pacing the hallways of Charles’ estate that night.

She wasn’t looking for it, but instead happened upon a conversation. 

“… no difference. Shaw’s declared war on mankind. On all of us. He has to be stopped.” She heard Charles’ voice through a door as she passed by. Although knowing that he could probably make out the sound of her mind from a mile away, she still stopped by it. She grew even more curious when she heard Erik’s voice. 

“I'm not gonna stop Shaw. I'm gonna kill him. Do you have it in you to allow that?” A moment of silence passed and she shifted on her feet. It made the floor creek. She shut her eyes and bit her lip, nervous, expecting to hear the sound of one of their footsteps coming to open the door and catch her eavesdropping. Whether they heard or not, she didn’t know as Erik continued on, “You've known all along why I was here, Charles. But things have changed. What started as a covert mission, tomorrow mankind will know that mutants exist. Shaw, us, they won't differentiate. They'll fear us. And that fear will turn to hatred.”

“Not if we stop a war,” Charles’ voice wavered on a line of urgency and assurance, “Not if we can prevent Shaw. Not if we risk our lives doing so.”

Charles very well could have been doing nothing but reassuring Erik with his words, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually trying to reassure himself. As if the world wouldn’t either discard or abuse them once they’ve served their purpose of their betterment. 

“Will they do the same for us?”

“We have it in us to be the better men.”

“We already are.” Erik’s voice quickly turned from calm to urgent when he next spoke. “We're the next stage of human evolution. You said it yourself!”

“No, no!” She heard Charles attempt to cut Erik off before he sighed. She could practically hear the disappointment in it, although she couldn’t say she felt the same. He only let Erik continue.

“Are you really so naive as to think that they won't battle their own extinction?” She heard him pause. “Or is it arrogance?”

“I’m sorry?” As if Charles had misheard him. 

She shifted on her feet once more as their voices became more hushed, despite the feeling coming from the room becoming more hostile than calm. This time, she was more careful. Nothing made a sound below her feet when she moved closer to the door, pressing her ear against it, as well as her left palm for support.

“After tomorrow, they're gonna turn us. But you're blind to it, because you believe they're all like Moira.” 

“And you believe they're all like Shaw.” Came Charles’ immediate response. Calmly, she heard him continue, “Listen to me very carefully my friend. Killing Shaw will not bring you peace.”

Erik’s voice never wavered when he told Charles, “Peace was never an option.”

Footsteps came far too fast for her to move away from the door. In a split second, she found herself leaning against the door to crashing into Erik’s chest when he pulled the door open. For a moment, Erik stood staring down at her, watching her attempt to recompose herself and attempt to apologize. She didn’t get a word out before he moved past her and walked away.

She watched his form retreat before she turned back to the room. Standing in the doorway, she saw Charles sitting in the chair facing away from her. With his eyes closed and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed, “You realize I can hear your mind from across this house?”

She took a step in, almost reluctantly. She didn’t imagine Charles would be content with anything she had to say, but maybe she could make him understand. “Erik’s right, you know.”

Her words had Charles’ eyes snap open. He got out the chair, setting down the drink he was nursing on the table next to him, before he turned to face her. “Excuse me?”

“Peace isn’t an option ‘cause we’re never gonna get peace.” She shook her head, desperation in both her voice and eyes as she stared into his. “Erik thinks they’re gonna turn on us. They might not, but it doesn’t mean any of us will get any peace. They won’t all be like Shaw, they won’t all be like Moira, but most of them - most of them will just be human. They’ll fear us and they’ll judge us. It doesn’t matter how harmless we are or not.”

She watched as Charles took a step forward, his head tilting to the side, expression unreadable as his voice remained calm. “You can’t be serious.” It was a statement - a wrong one.

“Shaw needs to die,” She spoke with assurance. She felt her eyes fill with tears, Charles watching her suck in a breath and release as he began to walk closer to her, before she spoke in a whisper, no longer trusting her voice, “Shaw needs to die for what he did to us. We’re going to kill him, Charles.”

They’re faces we’re merely inches apart, chilling her to the bone as he looked at her. What she thought he would never do is what he tried the second he began to raise his hand, speaking quickly to her when he asked, “Us?”

His hand almost cupped her cheek when she turned her head away from it. Immediately, his hand froze. Charles watched her profile as more tears welled up in her eyes and her lips began to tremble. Voice weak and tearful, staring away from him, she pleaded, “Please don’t confuse me. I can’t-”

“I know you feel it,” Charles’ other hand came up to guide her face back to him despite her, whispering carefully, “But it is not your cross to bear.”

His hand was warm against her cheek. Comforting - enough to make her mind go blank. Wishful thinking, of course, because soon the clawing in her head would come back with a vengeance at having a man such as Charles touch her. For now, though, he felt safe. Stable. Enough so that she could close her eyes for a moment and let the tears fall as he leaned down to her and let his forehead press against hers. 

“You can’t help but feel his pain,” She felt his breath against her lips as he spoke, his voice the same soft and soothing as she’s known it to be, “But you can decide what you do with it.”

She shook her head gently and pulled away, but still letting Charles’ hand rest against her cheek. “It’s not just-” she whispered to him, mouth feeling dry as her eyes avoided his, trying to piece her thoughts together. His hand slid down to the base of her neck, guiding her eyes to his. She licked her lips before she swallowed. “I barely knew Darwin, but he killed him right in front of us. And it was cruel and scary and I couldn’t even make myself look at it when it happened.”

“I know.” Charles brought his other hand up to brush away slow falling tears she hadn’t even known began to escape. He voiced nothing but concern, letting her continue as if he knew what she was going to say next. 

Her hands reached up to wrap around his wrists, not to pull his hands away from her, but to simply hold onto them. Almost as if they were an anchor to make up for the tears she now felt were falling faster down her face as she realized. “For the first time, I think I want something, I feel this anger and fear, because of my head. I saw it first and I felt it first. It’s mine, and now I have a real responsibility to take care of it.”

“Not with murder.” Her hands tightened around his wrists as he brought her face closer to his own. A frown on his face as he desperately told her, “I meant it when I told you that we would figure this out together. You told me you were never your own person, that you don’t even know yourself. We were - we are - going to bring you into existence. I beg you, Y/N, don’t let yourself be brought into this world as a murderer.”

His words, as beautiful as they were, only half registered within her brain. All she found herself focusing on then was how close he was. She would think back later and come to realize that it was because the only thing making her tears stop and giving her the will not to commit a murder was the prospect of approval she would get from a man like him. From someone who could never understand her struggle, someone who never tried to or tried to make her feel as though there was some way out. From someone who wanted to build on it and show her the strength she could find within it.

Realistically, she knew he would have a few words for her if she ever outwardly admitted to him that she used approval as a means for bettering herself, but it was the best she could do at the time being.

Charles’ brows furrowed as he watched her face, spaced out and regarding him with an expression not even he could read. Somewhere deep down, though, he knew he had gotten through to her. His lips curled up slightly, speaking lowly with amusement evident in his voice, “Now where did you go?”

Her eyes shot from his lips to his eyes once more. As quick as they made eye contact, she leaned forward to press her lips against his. Lips soft, she kissed him carefully, one hand moving to cup his face. Only in the last few moments did he respond to it by kissing back.

She pulled away, looking at him nervously and letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in. Her mouth was dry again. “I’m sorry-”

She was cut off by Charles’ lips on hers once more. She kissed back instantly, sighing into the kiss in content. Feeling Charles smirk against her lips and deepen the kiss, she put both hands behind his neck, pulling his body closer to hers. He took her lower lip between his teeth, pulling slightly as he let his hands trail down her body to her waist, pulling her to make sure there wasn’t the slightest gap between their bodies.

Their lips broke apart, but only long enough to allow for a quick breath. Charles pushed his lips back into hers as her hands snaked down to the collar of his dress shirt, playing carefully with the top button.

Eventually, their lips broke apart as they caught their breath. Bodies still pressed together, Charles leant forward to rest his forehead onto hers, her eyes still close, for a moment before pressing a kiss to it. He placed his chin on top of her head and rested there, her head resting against the crook of his neck as she felt him - anticipating what it would feel like to feel nothing but him.