#I need to be Less Online here for at least a while | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

clever-and-unique-name · 2 years ago

Text

Oh. Something in me is snarling and snapping. Okay.

Sorry, most of you aren't going to have a lot of context for this because it would take far too long to explain and these feelings are melting my brain. The short story is I made a discord server 4 years ago for friends with OSDDID and just left it yesterday.

I still have a couple friends there still. So I've been kept abreast of the conversations that happened in the wake of me leaving. Because nothing can ever be discussed openly, to the face of who it's about, right? That's a big part of why I left in the first place.

So, some things, to recap, mostly for my sanity. Sorry, this is going to get extremely long, because I want to say all I need to say.

Initially, I made the server to foster a small, intimate community of people with OSDDID. One of those people is someone who groomed me as a teenager.

Over time, some of the people there helped me realize I was in a toxic relationship with that person. When things finally came to a head and that person left the server (2? years ago?), I was...very not okay. But I had people there supporting me through it, and we got closer through the fallout. I am genuinely thankful for their support through it. It would have been exponentially more rough without them.

Time passed. I went from being unemployed to working full time. I had less time to spend socializing online, partially due to the strict divide between our work-parts and home-parts. I began to neglect my friendships, and though we tried--god, we really did try--we just couldn't figure out how to talk more than maybe once a week, when the right alignment of parts were out to be Home and Social in the way we felt we needed to be. And it just dwindled from there.

At some point around there, I started talking to B. We bonded over our shared love of art and character creation. She was welcoming to all of my parts, insisted on talking to anyone who was present. A novelty for me, to be individually recognized and not have to hide anyone. She got me on my stressful days and rough nights--vulnerable times I didn't feel I could share with people previously. We have talked every day for two years.

Resentment began to grow from the people I'd previously been close to. Obviously...it hurts to be told that someone doesn't have space for you like they used to, while they're clearly engaging in a close and intimate friendship with another person. I tried to reassure that I still cared about people, and tried to reach out when I could, but it kept cropping up with different people in the server: you don't care about me anymore, we're clearly not friends anymore, well you can make room for her so why not me. It was almost like clockwork for a bit, once a month someone new would step forward and I would try to put out the fire again.

(The thing is, every single one of these people expressed that they completely understood and sympathized/empathized with my limited social ability. They insisted that our level of contact was fine, until it apparently wasn't and they confronted me about it. So as I was having a conversation with one person with them saying "No it's totally okay that we don't talk much, I still love and care about you sooo much!", I was fielding a convo from a different person who had said the same thing to me weeks/months ago, talking about how I had actually been horribly neglecting them and that we weren't friends anymore.)

Then around a year ago, that person I mentioned, the one I knew as a teenager, created a new account to bypass my blocks, and reached out to me again. Trying to "apologize" for something, the subject of which had me questioning if someone I knew was tipping them off to things I was processing semi-privately. Right at the crescendo of all the other social issues.

Lit match. Powder keg. Boom.

I withdrew hard. From absolutely everyone but B. I didn't know who to trust with their reassurances of "we're totally okay, love and care about you!" I didn't know who harbored resentments. I knew, from past experiences, that there were people in the server prone to gossiping with each other, and I had stepped on their toes by pulling away from them. I mean. That's how we had bonded in the first place--by us privately talking about the person I knew, among others. You know what they say about bad karma.

I all but disappeared from the server, owner in name only. I fought the urge to delete it, and instead promoted others to mods so I could further remove myself. Every time I attempted to talk there, I was overwhelmed with anxiety to the point of physical illness. I tried to convince myself that it was all in my head, that I was just having attachment trauma, that I could sit with my discomfort and everything would be fine. More and more, it felt like the only person I could truly trust to be emotionally attached to was B. Out of 20-odd people, 6 had heel-turned and told me I hurt them with my distance. I was just waiting on the rest to do the same. And waiting. And waiting.

And suddenly, a couple days ago, another server "friend" (I hesitate to call anyone that because it was impressed upon me, multiple times, that I was not being a friend to people) blocked me. I found out when I went to send them a meme and discovered I couldn't. I thought I was used to it, I thought I couldn't be blindsided anymore. But it had been a while since it had happened; I thought everyone who had a limit with me had reached it.

I checked our convo history. Yet again: us talking about how much we understood each other, how we're both prone to isolation, how we still cared about each other.

Upset, I told B, who was also friends with them. Who immediately found out she was blocked too.

So we both decided to leave the server. We announced it yesterday afternoon, and hung around to talk a bit, wanting to leave as little confusion as possible without outright calling anyone out. We knew there were people there who didn't know about any of this going on (I'm so sorry for all the drama that's been dumped on your feet, guys.) We also knew there were people there who had been talking about all this behind our backs--we just didn't know how many. Again, the suspicion and speculation and "when will it happen again" was really what was eating us alive.

We left amicably. And then as soon as the doors were closed, of course people stepped forward to talk about how I had just stopped caring about them to focus on B instead. As if it was that simple. As if they had stopped at any point to talk to me about it (and the ones who did vehemently denied that it was an issue of comparing our friendship to mine with B.)

Caring was never the issue. I cared about people until they blocked me, or outright told me I wasn't a friend to them anymore. I kept caring about people, against my fears that it would end like that again, because it's just my nature to care. But caring in silence doesn't feel like much of anything, does it? I know that. I'm sorry for the way I've made people feel from that. But connection is a two-way street--where the hell were you? B has talked to me every day for two years. When someone talks, I respond. If you wanted me there, where the hell were you?

#I'm probably dropping this and dipping for a bit #I need to be Less Online here for at least a while #you can still reach me on discord or on my alt account #I'm just. Man I need to touch grass. In a non-deprecating way.

36 notes · View notes

lonely-coconut · 2 months ago

Text

Blinkie.World preview!

Here is a preview of Blinkie.world, my blinkie collecton site! The goal here is to collect every blinkie on earth (but only if they're free to use, and can be credited). They're all sorted into these color pages, and also sorted into tons of sub categories on other pages (like food, animals, holidays, etc etc). This is what some of the color pages look like now! Once I have at least 300 blinkies in each color, then I'll consider the site full enough to go live! I'm aiming to get it online by Art Fight (aka by July this year).

Do note that this isn't actually an accurate representation of how many I have. I have thousands more than this! I just have to code them all in. It's not as quick as just an image tag and a link, because it also needs to be named, linked to it's source, tagged so I know what categories they're in, have a link to a screenshot that proves who the creator is and their terms (in case the credit link dies one day), have alt text, and have hover text which says the creator and a description of what the blinkie says! So, it's not like this:

It's actually like this:

And that's for every blinkie! You can probably see how this is so time consuming, but I think it's worth it. I've never seen a blinkie collection with 6,000+ blinkies, much less every single one credited, and even less sorted into dozens of categories! It's like I have a blinkie for everything, while also knowing the creator of each, and being able to easily search for a specific one via the sorting system! It's especially good for helping others find blinkies, and helping people get the sources for blinkies they already have! It's also great for finding blinkies to use for your ocs (which is my initial reason for doing this).

I'm very excited about this. I really think this could be a very fun resource for people, and that aside, I just really like having so many in my possession. I love to see them. I even have blinkies that I've downloaded before they were deleted off the internet! That's very exciting to me. I have blinkies that are straight up lost media, and I'm happy to be able to preserve them.

Of course as I said, it's going to take forever to add them all, but I'm chipping away at it. I shall not be stopped! Also, if you want a blinkie in any of these screenshots above, just let me know! I'll get it and it's source for you, easy peasy! I'll post more screenshots as significant progress is made, but for now, it's back to downloading blinkies!

#blinkies #blinkie #150x20 #page decor #web graphics #blinkie.world #wip #web resources #carrd resources #reentry resources #neocities #old internet #old web #indie web #unrelated but goes to show how popular the color blue is lol #Or... have I been uploading with a bias?#hm.....

5K notes · View notes

comicaurora · 1 year ago

Text

I've been reading some stuff on punitive justice, and it made something click for me that I've observed a lot online but haven't been able to put into words before.

When someone does something wrong, that's bad, and the damage it does needs to be repaired while the person needs to try to do better in future to minimize repeating harm. We learn it in preschool - say sorry, don't do it again. If they keep at it, remove them from the situation where they can do the harm until they prove they're responsible enough to go back in.

So if it turns out someone DIDN'T do anything wrong, that should be a relief! There's no damage to fix, no internal errors to correct. Less work for everybody, literally no harm done. False alarm, all good.

The thing I've observed is, lots of people want them to have done something wrong. There's almost disappointment when it turns out there's no harm done. And I think that's because of this general undercurrent of punitive justice as morally righteous and desirable: someone does something wrong, you get to punish them. Turns out they're innocent? That's disappointing. Find another reason you get to punish them, or find another bad person you get to punish. But at the core of it is that desire to punish someone. Someone you can hurt in a way that makes you a better person for hurting them.

This particular brand of almost cannibalistic pseudo-justice is super common in tumblr, one of the most ostensibly liberal spaces on the internet; I see more borderline savagery in online discourse here than in the actually toxic parts of the internet that are just openly cruel for cruelty's sake. It's always thrown me for a loop, and has frankly also hurt me, because on the rare occasions I get personally dogpiled, it only actually stings when it makes me worry that I've legitimately hurt someone. If I did something wrong, or more realistically when I inevitably do something wrong, that would make it good and right for people to give me shit about it every day until I'm dead.

The thing that clicked for me most recently was this bit in Ijeoma Oluo's Be A Revolution:

Punitive justice is specifically, uniquely appealing to people who have suffered injustices. Of course it's the Tumblr zeitgeist. Everyone here is a marginalized person failed by at least one system. Punishing someone for perceived injustice is how someone the system has deemed worthless proves their value in blood, even if the person being punished hasn't harmed you directly - even if they haven't harmed anyone. "Righteous" anger isn't about the target in these cases, it's about the inflicter. This is how much my pain is worth.

And that kind of violent validation is so alluring and so very dangerous. It seeks an outlet, wearing the justification of justice. Who's in reach? Who's an acceptable target this week? What's a good reason to use?

Is there anything they could do that would make me stop?

#not aurora

7K notes · View notes

street-smarts00 · 6 months ago

Text

Santa Doesn't Know You Like I Do

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Your first Christmas with Spencer and you get his name for secret Santa.

WC: 1.8k

Tags: Fluff, Secret Santa, friends to lovers, one use of Y/N I think A/N: Sorry I went MIA :( I got busy with school. I hope to push out many ideas while I’m on break tho. Here’s something cheesy and festive for the holiday season I hope you enjoy! (not beta read don't kill me)

Nothing was right. Nothing you found was the right present.

This was your first secret Santa with the BAU and you picked Spencer's name out of penelope’s mug. At first you thought it would be easy to buy a present for him because you knew him so well. In almost a year of being with the BAU you grew the closest with Spencer.

What you didn’t expect was your present ideas to not live up to your own expectations. Nothing you came up with could live up to your own standards. Of course your “slight” feelings for him definitely affected this, but you tried to tell yourself that wasn’t true.

You ran through dozens of ideas. Clothing, a new scarf, tickets for a play, special edition of a book he loved. But nothing felt like the right present.

You almost gave up in your search for the perfect present for him. The gift exchange was in less than a week and you still had nothing. Sitting at your desk in the bullpen you considered settling with one of your first ideas.

While getting up to refill your coffee mug you noticed Spencer’s attention was focused on his computer. He sat there deep in thought with his brows furrowed and lips in a fine line. When you walked by his desk you saw he was playing an online chess game.

“Working hard or hardly working?” you joked.

He popped out of his focus from your presence. “I finished my files a little early,” he responded bashfully.

“Are you at least winning?”

He smirked, “I’ve won four times. But that’s not even the fun part. The fun is doing different plays every time and seeing what the computer comes up with as the best response.”

That’s when it hit you. An idea for Spencer’s gift.

Finally something that felt like a good gift for him. At the end of the day you rushed out of work to go to the craft store and get your supplies. You worked on the gift everyday after work.

Soon the weekend rolled around and you found yourself at Rossi’s. His living room had the biggest Christmas tree you’d ever seen. Everyone’s gifts sat there for the evening. After dinner you all sat down to exchange gifts.

“I want to go first!” Garcia exclaimed. She jumped up from the couch and hurried to the tree to grab her gift for JJ.

JJ excitedly opened the gift bag to find a small black and grey purse with a colorful crochet keychain. The idea that Garcia also handmade part of her gift gave you a sense of relief.

“Oh this is so pretty. Thank you so much,” she beamed, admiring the bag and twirling the keychain. Garcia squealed in happiness before JJ offered a hug to her.

JJ then handed over her gift to Rossi, a bottle of scotch. He smiled and thanked her for the bottle saying how his collection needed a new addition.

He stood up and brought his hands together looking at the tree. “My turn.” He grabbed a thin box wrapped in silver sparkly wrapping paper and walked over to you.

“For you, my dear,” he handed you the box.

Your eyes widened and lips perked up at the gift. It may be a little silly but, part of you wished that you were Spencer’s secret santa. You reminded yourself that the possibility of you both picking each other's names was unlikely. The possibility of some things being the same between the two of you was … unlikely.

You ripped back the paper to reveal a large eyeshadow pallet. Upon opening it, you saw an array of beautiful shades you couldn’t wait to try out.

“Rossi, this is so sweet. I love it,” You thanked with a bright smile.

Now it was your turn. Everyone’s eyes only made the moment more stressful. You got up and grabbed the box with a nervous hand. What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought it was too cheesy or corny? What if he thought it was useless as he already owned two of them?

You tried to quiet your thoughts as you handed him the box, but they had no intention of leaving.

“Merry Christmas Spence,” you said softly.

When you turned and walked back to your seat you neglected to see the rising blush on his face.

Spencer glanced down at the white and red striped paper. He carefully peeled it off and opened the lid to reveal a chess set nestled in between red tissue paper. The board spaces were off-white and royal purple with corresponding chess pieces the same colors. When he picked up the wooden pieces and saw small leaves and flowers painted on them. The King and Queen specifically had crowns in a shimmering gold.

“Wow look at that,” Emily admired.

Upon further inspection he noticed the small human imperfections in the details. The way not one leaf or flower looked exactly the same. Or how the clear coating over the paint was slightly streaky in some spots.

“Did you paint this?” He asked.

You nodded your head and answered , “Yeah I did.”

A faint “awe” could be heard across the room from Garcia.

“Y/N,” Spencer started, his voice full of admiration. “This is … beautiful.”

The butterflies in your stomach were getting restless.

“Really?” you asked, not able to hide the smile spreading on your face.

“Yes! It’s Perfect,” his eyes sparkled at you. “I love it. Nobody’s ever given me something like this.” He beamed at you with a smile that made you love sick.

The realization that you both were not alone set in and Spencer cleared his throat before closing the box. The gift exchange continued as Spencer handed over a present to Morgan.

The rest of the night was filled with catching glances and far away looks between you and Spencer. He seemed to feel more relaxed in a way after receiving your gift. Not that he was acting any differently. He just seemed more open. With the group and with you.

You lived off that feeling the whole evening. The idea that you made him happy. You helped him see he was appreciated and loved.

Not that he had to know you loved him.

He didn’t know that. Right?

As the hands on the clock passed you announced your departure and said your goodbyes. You stepped outside and felt a chill against your skin.

You held tight onto your keys as you walked to your car. The snow had just started to fall. Occasional little flurries fell down from the sky.

“Wait!” Someone yelled from behind.

You turned to find Spencer trying his best to run but not slip on the icy parts of the driveway. When he got closer you noticed his cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink. Probably from the cold weather you thought.

“I wanted to formally say thank you for the chess set,” he explained.

“You’re welcome,” you replied with a smile. You stuffed your hands in your pockets away from the cold. “I’m glad you like it. I was worried you’d find it cheesy.”

He looked confused. “Why would I find it cheesy?”

You shrugged, “because I hand painted it.”

“But that’s what makes it perfect,” he reassured. His voice is sincere and soft. “It’s personal and shows you care.”

His eyes widened. “Oh um-“

He suddenly remembered why he rushed outside and scrambled for something in his jacket pocket. It was a small cube shaped box wrapped in paper covered in snowflakes. Quite fitting for the weather.

“I know I technically wasn’t your secret Santa but I still wanted to get you something.”

You took the gift from him with a slack jaw. “Spence-“

“This isn’t because you were my secret Santa. I still wanted to get you a gift regardless,” he reassured.

“I- Thank you,” you started unwrapping the gift.

“It’s not homemade like yours but I hope you still like it.”

”It doesn’t have to be homemade for me to-“ the wind was stolen out of your lungs.

The gift was a small gold and white music box you immediately recognized. You opened the lid to reveal a ballerina in a pink tutu spinning as Sleeping Beauty Waltz played. Your heart ached as you admired the tiny dancer.

”Is this the music box from that antique shop in Seattle?”

While on a case in Seattle, you and Spencer went to an antique shop to ask the owner about evidence found at the crime scene that was purchased there. You fell in love with a beautiful music box in one of the aisles.

“It is. I saw how you looked at it in the store and in the car you said it reminded you of when you used to do ballet. So before we left Seattle I went back to the store to get it for you. I thought it would make a great Christmas present.”

“But, that was three months ago.”

He sheepishly smiled and his cheeks only got more red. “Yeah, I had to keep it a secret for a while.”

Your heart rate started to pick up as the butterflies returned. “I can't believe you went back and bought this for me,” you muttered in disbelief.

“Of course I would. You mean a lot to me and I knew this was something that would make you happy.”

You admired the music box before carefully placing it in your purse. “Thank you so much. I love it.”

His smile grew and reached his eyes. His eyes looked beautiful in this lighting. The Christmas lights from the house made them look practically golden. Even in the freezing cold you could melt from his eyes.

He shifted his weight and licked his lips. He seemed wrapped around the words in his head. “I also wanted to ask if maybe you’d want to go see The Nutcracker with me.”

Your heart damn near stopped.

“It’s playing at the theater downtown. I was thinking if we don’t get a case then we could go see the show on Friday. Maybe, if you want to, that is,” he rambled in nervousness.

“I’d love to,” you beamed.

His face brightened at your eagerness, but his nerves were still present. “But not as friends. As a date?”

You chuckled, “Yes Spencer, I would love to go on a date with you. I think the nutcracker is a perfect first date.”

“Great,” he said with relief. “And maybe afterwards we might have time for a game of chess with my new board.”

God he was cute.

“That sounds great.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic

1K notes · View notes

fozmeadows · 3 months ago

Text

Something I'm working on lately is trying to find healthy approach when it comes to engaging with opposing viewpoints re: discourse and politics. Because yes, there are trolls and bad actors, and it's seldom worth wasting your energy on them; but particularly online, you can't always immediately distinguish these people from, say, a teenager grappling inexpertly with difficult topics, or a boomer working with outdated language and assumptions, or someone who's been given bad information - and these are all people that it can be worthwhile attempting to reach, even if you don't always succeed. I don't want to burn myself out, but I don't want disconnect, either, and so I've been thinking: what approach best allows me to remain optimistic while still drawing boundaries?

Here's my current solution: to treat potentially difficult conversations with strangers like a rewilding project. A sort of social conservationism, where the idea is to untangle what you can in passing, leave behind a few potential seeds, and then move on: a project of impact over intent. Nobody expects conservation efforts to succeed in a day, and it would be foolish to fixate so heavily on trying to plant a single tree in arid soil that you've got no energy left for more achievable goals. Inevitably, you'll encounter areas that can't be recovered - or at least, not by you - in which case, any time you spend making sure of their unviability is just due diligence, and only becomes a waste if you commit yourself to trying to salvage the unsalvageable. But by the same token, you don't want to over-engage with a healthy area, either. You want to see what's needed, give it a push in that direction if it's within your capabilities, and then keep going.

And maybe this is a strange way to think of things, but I'm finding it helpful. The fantasy of completely flipping someone's perspective if you can only find the exact right thing to say is a powerful one, but it's not a realistic expectation to carry around for 99.9% of interactions, and as such, there's a need - for me, at least - to detach the success of the exchange from the visibility of the outcome. I can't see into someone else's head, and in all probability, I'll never speak to that particular stranger again: therefore, my concept of catharsis needs to change. So instead of thinking, Did I change their mind? and considering anything less than a yes a failure, it's better to ask, Did I do my best to give them something to think about?, because realistically, this is all I can actually do. I can't control how a stranger receives what I say, but I can make an effort to be clear, calm and comprehensible, and that ought to be worth something.

#discourse #personal #politics #communication

795 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 1 year ago

Note

Hello,Do you have any tips for recovering from internet brain rot? It's like my patience has dried up and if there's a huge amount of text (even about topics I'm very interested in) that I have to read, I get annoyed and just don't interact with the material at all.

I have multiple tips!

TL;DR (Because of course I generated a wall of text): Take a break from the internet, create a schedule for getting yourself used to reading longer texts, take breaks while reading, and perhaps reconsider how you interact with The Internet and the world in general.

Here are the basic "to reduce the brain rot just don't interact" tips:

Take a break. Give yourself time off from The Internet (for these purposes The Internet is the social media industrial complex; clickbait news, recommended videos, social media sites, etc. You don't have to totally check out of email or your local news site, just get away from the huge time sucks). I'd say to take at least one day a week where you're online for less than an hour a day, and to maybe work up to doing a week-long break from whatever the main agents of rot are.

Once you've identified the main agents of rot, give yourself a time limit or set up rules for yourself. I don't let myself look at social media in bed, for instance; no staying up late on my phone, no scrolling before I get up and start my day. I don't give myself a strict time limit anymore, but for a while there I was very firm about "you only get to go online 4 hours a day" with myself.

Don't comment (or at least only share the things you really want to share). If you feel the need to argue, or if you feel pressured into sharing something, don't. Step back, maybe even open the post in a new tab or send it to yourself, and come back later. If you've been thinking about it and have decided it IS something you care enough to talk about, share it. If you look at the tab and feel stressed out or still feel reactive, close the tab and walk away.

Go out and interact with the real world in a non-work capacity for a few hours a week; take walks or go shopping or go out and take pictures of insects. Touch grass so that The Internet is not the only thing you're doing with your downtime.

Here are the "work on reading longer texts specifically" tips:

Set a reading goal for yourself. Maybe you want to read one New Yorker article a week, maybe you want to read all the way through news articles, maybe you want to read novels like you used to in high school. Figure out what your actual goal is and articulate that goal to yourself.

Set up a practice schedule and gradually increase the amount of time you're reading. Don't go from short tumblr posts to a novella, go from short tumblr posts to slightly longer news articles, then to slightly longer essays, then to a novella. You can do this in literal paragraphs if you want to - maybe your goal for your first day is to read five paragraphs in a row, and the second day is seven, and the third day is ten, etc, until you are comfortably reading for longer amounts of time without counting paragraphs. (Try this with books from gutenberg.org; read a classic you haven't read a few paragraphs at a time and if you find yourself going over your paragraph count, let yourself run with it. If you finish a book, good for you, find another one and start again.)

Set up a maintenance schedule. If your goal is to read longer news pieces, try to read a longer piece every week and try to read to the end of every news article you open. If your goal is to read novels or longer nonfiction, try to read a book a month (maybe setting aside dedicated time each week to read, maybe Thursday evenings are book time now). If you find yourself falling back into old habits, take a break from The Internet and do some more rigorous practice for a while.

If you find yourself getting frustrated while you are reading you can also take a break! Read until you get frustrated and then *instead of switching to a different page or closing the article* close your eyes or look out the window or away from the screen for thirty seconds (count 'em! count out the time in your head) and then continue reading. You can also take a longer pause and sit and think about why you're getting frustrated. Is it the subject matter? Is it just looking at this text for longer than a couple minutes (if you are experiencing FOMO because you're reading for another few minutes instead of scrolling, the harder tips at the bottom are going to be important to you)? Are you comfortable? Are you reading this text to procrastinate from something and the procrastination is making you nervous? Are you trying to read to the bottom of your dash and reading a long post is taking up more time than you want while scrolling? Are you bored? Genuinely and very seriously: are your eyes straining and does your head hurt (if this is the case when is the last time you had your eyes checked or your glasses prescription updated)?

Here are the much harder "examine yourself and reassess your reactions to things" tips:

Work on re-training your attention span.

Identify something that you enjoy and find deeply engaging, and schedule some dedicated time for that thing. Set a literal timer (it can be a short amount of time at first) and sit down and do the thing without switching to a different website or opening up an app on your phone. This can be re-reading or watching a couple episodes of a show you like or listening to your favorite album while you sit down and draw. What's important is to spend a longer time focusing on doing something you DO like before attempting to spend a longer time focusing on something you DON'T like.

When you're starting on things you DON'T like, start with things you mildly don't like, or that feel tedious but aren't actually unpleasant. One way I do this is by transcribing poetry; I look up poems that I connect to and I transcribe them into a notebook that I have for that purpose. I enjoy having the finished product, but I don't enjoy the process, so it takes some effort to stick with it. Maybe there is a boring book you have been trying to get through, maybe you need to detail your car, maybe you've been trying to take up embroidery - these are good things to make yourself pay attention to (having music or a podcast on can help, but avoid watching videos or opening social apps)

When you're okay at that kind of thing (doing something not actively unpleasant) work on your attention span for things you ACTIVELY don't like. I don't think you should be a masochist about this, but you should work on being okay with doing unpleasant things for a sustained period of time. All of us have to do unpleasant stuff sometimes, and it's better to be able to pay attention to it for an hour at a time than it is to put it off forever.

This leads into the next Big Tip which is:

Work on being less reactive

Find something that you dislike; I'm going to use conservative talk radio as my example.

Expose yourself to the disliked thing for short periods of time (under ten minutes, maybe under five minutes).

Work on moderating your emotions during the time spent exposed to the disliked thing. If it makes you angry, work on intellectualizing the anger without becoming agitated by it. If it makes you sad, work on accepting that sadness without letting it drag down your mood. This isn't precisely about becoming numb to stimuli, but it is about being more in control of how your emotional reactions impact you.

Analyze the disliked thing. Why does it make you angry? Is that on purpose by the creator of the thing? Would it make someone else angry in the same way? How would you explain the anger to a neutral third party?

Consider responding instead of reacting. Let's say you're seeing a lot of very sad and upsetting things online and it's making you sad and upsetting you. You re-share these things because you don't feel like there's anything else you can do or you get angry when you see people sharing incorrect information, perhaps you argue with people about this. Now try looking at the upsetting things through the lens of point number four. This has upset you; how has it upset you? And once you've thought about how it upset you and have articulated that to yourself, find out what you can DO. I cannot make conservative talk radio go off the air, but I can support the groups harmed by conservative talk radio; thus there is no point in me getting upset and angry about conservative talk radio when I could be helping the people they target instead.

And that gets us to the last big tip which is:

Ask yourself if you are spending your time in a way that is enjoyable and edifying.

We all have limited time in our days and limited time in our lives. If you are finding yourself frequently frustrated online, it's a good time to consider whether you want to be spending so much time online.

If you feel like The Internet has become a rat race in which you can't read more than a few paragraphs without getting frustrated, there's a good chance that not only are you spending too much time on The Internet, but you're also spending it on doing things that you don't particularly like.

A realization like yours, Anon, that you are getting frustrated with any longer texts, can actually be really helpful because it provides a good opportunity to look at what you're engaging with and consider the questions:

Is this something I enjoy?

Do I feel good when I do this thing?

And that's a great way to figure out how to get rid of things that are leading to your background frustration. Maybe that looks like paring down the list of blogs you follow, maybe that looks like unsubscribing from some youtubers and podcasts, maybe that looks like uninstalling apps, maybe that looks like blocking a whole bunch of people and terms on your socials.

I don't think that everything we do has to help us grow as a person or expand our consciousness or anything like that, but I do think it's important to prioritize doing things that you like and doing things that you feel good about.

Like, I'm not doing something *wrong* if I spend an afternoon on Youtube watching drama channels every once in a while, but if I come out of a few afternoons of watching youtube drama channels feeling restless and anxious and like I wasted my time - even if I enjoyed myself while I was watching - it's probably a good idea for me to take a break from drama channels and see if there's something I can do instead that will make me feel better.

ALSO, A NOTE:

You are an animal that requires significant enrichment in your enclosure.

Think about tigers. Tigers in captivity are going to be excited to get high-value treats for any reason. They will eat and enjoy the treats. But if a tiger in captivity is only given the treats and never given any other form of activity to engage with, it is not going to be a happy tiger. If you start putting their treats in a pumpkin or a puzzle feeder or giving them toys to play with, that is going to be a much happier tiger.

Please give your brain things to play with that are more than just treats (though it does need some treats!). Make yourself a happy tiger. Your brain need a puzzle feeder, not a treat button.

5K notes · View notes

minholuvr333 · 1 month ago

Text

what if minho was actually an alien with tentacles? what then??

pairing; lee know x reader

tw; porn with plot (kinda), alien!minho, fem reader, NSFW, oral (fem receiving), tentacles, predator x prey dynamics, double penetration, unprotected sex (be smart), bondage (i think?)

you have really never had many opinions about aliens. do they exist? probably. do you want to meet them? it would be cool. but overall, you’ve never believed the UFO sightings online and you’ve made peace with the fact that you will probably never see an alien in your lifetime.

enter: minho. at least, that’s what the creature/man/humanoid that just slipped into your bedroom window said it’s name was. you know, after you calmed down and stopped screaming and told the police you accidentally dialed their number, you were safe and they did not need to perform a wellness check.

minho has violet hair, pale lilac skin, and narrowed eyes- like a big cat, looking for prey. his eyes flit around the room as you make him a cup of tea, this poor alien (who is very real and very much sitting in your desk chair) is lost and confused. he kind of looks less like a big cat, and more like a domestic one.

you learn that minho is in fact from another planet- another galaxy entirely. he was running from something, you aren’t sure what, but he landed on earth. he was trying to find shelter when he saw your window, he came inside because he felt the soft purple glow from your LED lights was comforting.

minho gets comfortable fast. he took over your spare bedroom, spends his days lounging on your couch and learning new things about the human world. every evening you teach him how to be a normal human dude and he listens intently, blinks slow, deep purple tongue flicking out to lick his lips every so often.

minho is… hot. like, ridiculously hot. when he showers he likes to walk around in sweatpants with no shirt on, towel hanging limply from his shoulders. he runs lilac fingers through violet hair and you blank out, forgetting what you were saying. sometimes, when you’re sure minho is in his room doing whatever the fuck aliens do, you get your favorite toy out and moan his name into your pillow.

here’s the thing: minho has tentacles. this is a fact you didn’t even know until one day when he was helping you put dishes away. a plate almost crashes into the floor- except, a deep purple tentacle, honest to god tentacle, whips out from minho’s back and catches it mid air. you barely have time to process what had happened before he pulls the tentacle back into his body, safe and sound.

and here’s the thing: that is so fucking hot.

you’ve never seen minho eat. he likes learning to cook, and likes making dinner for you, but he never participates in eating the food. sometimes you offer him a bite. he takes the fork in between plush purple lips and wraps his tongue around the food, but grimaces when he swallows. it’s not what i eat, he would say.

and minho is- well, he’s looking skinny. a little frail. his cheeks are a little sunken in, he’s hungry. but you have no clue how to help him, so you just ask. what’s the worst that could happen?

what you weren’t prepared for it a dark purple flush on his cheeks, tongue poking into his lip and fingertips twitching. you couldn’t help, don’t worry about it, he says. but clearly, you worry about it.

in fact, you worry about it so much. it isn’t until late at night, way past midnight when you think minho is in his room, that you realize what he eats. while you’re thinking of him, hand between your spread thighs, favorite toy in hand, a chill suddenly runs down your spine. shivering, you pause.

something is watching you.

then, minho. he has been peeking through the crack in your door, but now he moves forward. stalking, like a predator hunting down prey. you gulp, and against your better judgement, you feel even hotter as he draws closer.

he is eerily quiet, watching you- watching the hand between your thighs, watching your soaked pussy clench around your cute little toy. he clenches his jaw as he draws closer, a loud pop coming from the bone.

so hungry, minho mouths the words, but that’s not his voice. it’s animalistic, a low timbre that just serves to make you more wet. he crawls onto the bed, stealthy, making no noise. having no survival instincts whatsoever, you pull the toy away from your clenching hole and spread your legs wider.

minho devours you.

he keeps clawed hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open, while his tongue absolutely drinks you in. he circles your clit, sucking the bud into his mouth feverishly- like he’s starved. you cry out, hands gripping and pulling violet hair.

but he doesn’t stop there. minho quickly finds your messy hole, sucking and licking at your puffy cunt like it’s his greatest meal. his tongue fucks in and out of you- longer than a human tongue, long enough to press right against that sweet bundle of nerves inside you.

then, his fucking tentacles are out. first there’s one, whipping out of his back and coming to wrap around your waist, holding you still. then another, binding your wrists and pinning them to the pillow above your head. another, running across your tits and latching onto each nipple, sucking. finally, one last tentacle comes to your core, slithering into your entrance and making you scream.

it doesn’t stop. minho looks like he isn’t anywhere near finished with you. next, he’s pumping that thick, pulsing tentacle in and out of you at a faster pace than you can even keep up with. he stills sucks and licks at your clit, pushing and pulling you along the bed as he pleases. you’re helpless, couldn’t get away if you wanted to (you don’t want to).

finally, finally, you cum. wrapped up in thick, purple tentacles, one fucking you so deep you can feel your stomach bulge, minho’s lips wrapped around your aching clit. and he still isn’t done.

the tentacle that was inside you pulls away slowly, minho cooing as you whine at the loss. he makes a show of showing it off, the suckers covered in cum, the deep purple of it coated in white. then, the tentacle is moving to your mouth. and you open right up.

minho is practically purring, now seemingly less hungry more turned on. his boxers come off, his dick is fucking huge, and he wastes no time in lining up with your needy hole.

when he slides inside of you, it’s to the hilt. when you try to scream, it’s muffled by the thick tentacle in your mouth. the one around your waist tightens.

so fucking good, minho moans, eyes squeezed shut. feel so tight, pulling me in so deep.

there’s a look in minhos eye now- crazed, but satiable. he seems to be considering something. then, his eyes light up. you gulp.

another tentacle- stemming from his back, thicker and veinier than the others, crawls towards your entrance. you whimper, pussy clenching at the idea of trying to fit not only his huge cock, but also that thing inside you. you couldn’t do it. there was no way.

minho disagrees.

the push at your entrance, the feeling of two long, giant, cock shaped things filling you up- it’s too much. it’s so much. your head is spinning, body shaking like a leaf, and minho is fucking grinning. he looks maniacal, eyes half lidded and pushing his cock in further and pulling the tentacle halfway out before doing the same thing in reverse, fucking you endlessly with the appendages.

you start crying- you can’t help it, you feel so good- and minho is delighted, licks the tears right off your cheeks. his hand moves from your thigh, towards your center. he pinches your clit, the bite of his mean fingers enough to send you toppling over the edge again- hard.

you might black out for a second. when you come back to yourself, minho’s tentacles are gone. he is walking towards the bed, clothes in tact and a sleepy, content smile on his face. he looks full.

you did so well, minho says, pressing a kiss to your temple as he climbs into bed behind you. your sheets are clean, you are too. a big t shirt that doesn’t belong to you is covering your spent body.

now i can eat when i need to, minho hums, snuggling into your shoulder from behind. your heartbeat skips at the feeling, you scoot closer to his warmth. maybe you’re okay with being a meal for an alien, as long as it’s him.

a/n;

i couldn’t get this out of my head soooooo sorry to make yall read my nasty thoughts (not sorry btw) this isn’t proofread at all, i just had to ramble about minho with tentacles. i may edit it later

send requests for monster!skz x reader if you’re a freak :3 :3

#lee know x reader #minholuvr333 #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #x reader #minho x reader #reader insert #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee know smut

409 notes · View notes

bunny-jpeg · 5 months ago

Text

heart-pounding satisfaction

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, teammates au, driver!reader, mean!reader, (implied) sub!max, reader is a bitch (affectionate), mean & degrading language (also dirty talk), face sitting/masturbation

a/n: i can imagine fans hating the reader for being so vocal, especially towards max, but in the world of formula one, it's do or die. i need these fuckers to get nasty!! this fic is also nasty as hell, don't look at me....

max had fucking lost it. he was convinced he had lost it. you two had been teammates for close to six months now. three months of off season, three months of the twenty-twenty-five season. and you drove him up the wall.

this was a teammate up in the making, red bull's savior, their prince and the princess plucked from haas and placed in a car next to him. it should all be roses, singing birds and happily ever after.

but you couldn't be more disinterested him. almost hostile. as you said to the press, "i am here to win. i respect max's previous teammates, but i won't fumble because someone needs a fifth title." not even glancing over at your teammate.

after that, other women felt boring. any city on the globe, he could easily find a lovely lady for the evening. someone to spoil with orgasms and a rocking bed, a tale for her to tell her friends the following afternoon. but lately it had felt like the only thing that got him excited was you. when you were mean.

it had been a long time since someone was mean to him. aside from comments online or snide comments from other drivers. everyone knew he was in charge, and his teammate should be second on command. but you had zero interest in that. he hadn't complained, and instead played along with the niceties of teamsmanship. he only did it because he didn't want it to stop.

he liked it, he liked it a lot.

and while max was in a self inflicted dry spell. you were taking a liking to the new found fame you've acquired. max had gone to get you from the hotel room a few times and every time a man had sheepishly left your hotel room.

"sorry, mate." they'd often say. that or, "holy shit, it's max verstappen." and only scurry off when max glared at them. willing to give these guys some action, but not your teammate? cruel woman.

regardless, he let your words tumble off your tongue. venom that turned into honey in his brain. the more you spoke, the more he wanted to jerk off. you had ruined him without a second touch.

as you lazily held the trophy for the canadian grand prix in your hand on the way back to the hotel in montreal. you leaned up against the wall of the elevator and laughed, "fourth, verstappen." your tone mocking, "i'm pretty sure if you were less of a bastard on the second turn you could've given stroll the podium he wants. he could've over taken piastri... you could've as well, but you've become comfortable."

max swallowed and the elevator door opened. he didn't exit until you did first. you reached around him and pulled him close to you. you looked marginally up at him and he said, "i...i'll win next time." he could already feel the red in his face.

you laughed, "sure, sure, verstappen. why, is daddy coming to visit?" you gave him a mocking look. you acted like you weren't heavily scarred with your own daddy issues. you at least had the option to never mention the man who pushed you until you broke through any barriers to get into f1.

he hated that he was getting aroused. that he could feel the spike in his soul as his heart skipped a beat. it could be cute if another woman was mean to him. but when you did it, it blew a fuse in his mind.

you laughed and looked at him, "you gotta get over it one day, max. if you don't that fucking bastard is going to outlive you." there was a moment of honesty, "if i want to beat you, i'd like you alive." then squeezed him for a moment more.

he swallowed then asked, "do you hate me that much?"

you pulled away and stalled in your step for a moment, you collected yourself quickly and said, "no... as much as you'd love to hear it. i don't hate you." you looked at him briefly, "you love being the villain. the lion, mad max, whatever else they call you. i'm just giving them the drama they want." you looked at the trophy, "beating you is just half the fun." you went to open the door to your room and max pressed himself up against you which made you drop the trophy and get squished between his solid body and the harder door.

"be mean to me. fuck... be fucking nasty with it." the words poured from his mouth, "just, be brutal." he swallowed, "but please, just give me a taste of you. i hate those bastards that get to fuck you every weekend. get to feel and taste you." he pressed you further, "give me a hard time and let me have my way with you."

you exhaled deeply and felt a quickening of you heart rate. you were quick to respond, "well then, verstrappen. why don't you make yourself useful and help me get my key out."

you could already hear the cheering in max's head as he helped you open the door. that you only assumed grew louder when you two started kissing. your arms wrapped around him as you got into the room backwards, your trophy left behind in the hallway. almost tripped over your shoes, but clothes were of little issue once max got your red bull branded t-shirt of you.

clothes tossed variously throughout the room before you two ended up in bed together. you rank your fingers down his chest and exhaled deeply. "you're a pain in my side, max. from the moment i met you. you were always the golden boy, the champion. god's gift to racing." you pinned him down on the bed and he shuddered.

"k..keep going." the heat was high in his face. he could feel the stagger of his heartbeat. it felt good. your words sounded like heaven, but yet it sank him down to the pits of hell.

"oh my god, you're pathetic! do you hear yourself, max? four championships and you're still chasing a prize that you'll never get." you straddled his chest and put your hands on his jaw. you looked down to stare in his eyes, "but yet you live in my head rent-free."

he exhaled, "imagine what you do to me." grabbed your hips and pushed your cunt over his mouth and nose. he gripped your ass and pressed your sex against his face and groaned loudly.

you had to brace yourself with your hands so you didn't go nose-first into the wall. his pace was brutal on you, his licks were sloppy. he was messy with his movements in a desperate attempt to bring you pleasure.

he was less like a lion and more like a desperate dog. you moaned loudly and held your position against the wall as he desperately ate you out. like a man starved.

you really had burrowed into his brain and invade every empty space in his skull until his thoughts were swamped with you.

"jerk yourself off, you useless idiot." you spat, "you're so used to girls getting you off. if you want to get off, you actually have to work for it. can you do that? actually work hard for something." you clenched your thighs around his head.

max kept one hand on your hip and the other around his leaky, achy cock. he groaned as he pleasure himself. it was hot, to see a sort of moral collapse on a four time world champion. that even a man with power, could be reduced to a moaning slut. you wondered how wet you could get lips.

if your wetness could stain his mouth as he made pleasure shoot through your body. you held onto the wall with one hand and a his short blond hair with the other. you shuddered and felt your nipples grow hard, "this feels fucking wrong." you yanked on his hair which only made him jerk himself off faster, "you have driven me crazy. everything you fucking hard, most would kill for. i at least want to give you a run for your money. actually make the wins feel real, because when i take over. when i beat you, it'll only make the victory sweeter." you arched your back a little more and moaned loudly.

the movements only continued and you felt the pleasure course up your body. the heat in your breathing as you closed your eyes for a moment to compose yourself. you croaked out through an intense feeling of pleasure, "fuck, max. i didn't know honestly that you got off to it." you panted heavily, "if i knew, i would've been nicer. but knowing your perverted ass, you would've gotten off to it. you would've loved if i was gentle and mean to you. a firm yet cuddly hand." you let out a sharp exhale and a small moan.

max would easily admit that any attention from you would go right to his cock. he continued to tease the blunt head as he orally pleasured you. the feeling of your thighs on his face and head. your pussy right up to his mouth and nose. he could feel the lack of oxygen, but it only increased the pleasure in his body. he felt like a live wire, he felt like a hurricane. it was an intense feeling that pounded in his chest. it left him sexually starving, a lion without a feast as he devoured you. and the way you tugged on his hair only drove him more mad.

"you love being used like that. hoping that i'll give you praise one day. but you're just a stupid, stupid boy. a toothless lion, a failure to your country. and your fucking family. you're a failure to me and that stupid trophy we left outside was evidence of that. do better, be better and maybe you'll be someone worth being on the same track at me." your words laced with venom, but held heavy sexual want as the pleasure continued to course through your body. your chest heaved and your pulse pounded. it felt hot, you felt hot. it was erotic in a way that would make most disgusted.

how dare the world champion be used like for your sexual gratification. while he pathetically jerked himself off. you allowed him to breathe out of his nose and his pants were heavily as air allowed blood to be pumped to somewhere other than his cock.

you hissed through a tense jaw as he continued to orally pleasure you, "you deserve to be some low-level job. get off the track and make yourself useful by picking trash off the stands." it only made him jerk his cock off harder. you panted heavily as the words tumbled out as pleasure near hit its peak, "get out of my way, i refuse to be second fiddle to you. i refuse to be in your shadow." you clenched your thighs around him tighter, "i am better than you, max verstappen." your voice toxic.

but yet, it made max cum all over himself. he groaned loudly and panted against your cunt as he continued to stroke himself to overstimulation while he continued to lap at your cunt hungrily. max had lost it, he had officially lost it.

it was the most erotic thing that he had ever been a part of. and years and years of a life like this had made him experience many interesting things. this topped everything. you groaned once more and felt the pleasure curl up inside of you.

it was becoming too much, with one more slew on words, "you cum to me calling you weak.. huh? interesting. i guess the great max verstappen is weak just like every other man. why call you a god of racing when i can make you whine and beg like a dog." you coursed under your breath. and then you came. you admitted to yourself, it was the closest to heaven you had ever be. damn max verstappen, damn him. you slowed your pace down and got fully off of his face before you got into bed.

he wiped his face with his hand and tried to go in for a kiss, but you put a hand over his mouth. you looked at him dead in the eyes. he looked at you quizzically.

"oh, you're not shutting me up until i can make you squirm with my words, verstappen. now get yourself hard again, i'm not done with you." <3

655 notes · View notes

altcvnningham · 8 months ago

Text

canis major

adler x bell!reader

summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3

tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k

a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.

The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.

Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—

The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.

The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.

But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.

He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.

But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.

The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.

He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.

And you step out of the car.

A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.

Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.

He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.

And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—

Bell.

It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—

—you feel someone watching—

—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.

The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.

There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.

You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.

Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.

The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.

And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.

You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.

You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.

Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.

But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.

(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)

The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.

Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.

419 notes · View notes

river-selkie · 4 months ago

Text

It took me 7 years to figure out my theriotype. Here's what I learned.

Hi everyone,

I've been in and out of the community for a few years now and during that time, I've had to do a lot of introspection and stablizing. I'm an adult now at 23 and have been questioning my alterhuman identity since I was around 15 years old, but knew I was "other" since I was very small. Here are some little points of wisdom I'd like to give to people who are new, confused, have been questioning for a while, or whatever else they might be feeling or experiencing.

1. Identity is often impermanent. You will change a lot, especially if you are a kid or teenager. This is to be expected. Don't be surprised if you're often confused or unsure about yourself. Even as an adult, I still question my label and I expect that from myself. I just question it less so than before and feel more firm in how I see myself. Let yourself try a million labels and test the waters a thousand times if it's going to help you feel sure of yourself. Gender, hobbies, therianthropy, all of it is allowed to be tested, dropped, changed as needed. Just be wise about it and meaningful. It can take years before you even begin to settle down at all in some cases. You may even consider things you wouldn't have considered before with experience, i.e. going to places you've never been able to go before. And please, don't be afraid of questioning the "common" theriotypes! We're a minority of individuals in the world as it is, you can identify as a wolf, cat, or dog if you feel it best suits you at the time!

2. Being an adult will change your experience. You will probably go from being very animalistic to being less so. It will be in the background of your life, but you will still experience it. It will just be different now. It may even seemingly fade away all together for a time (human life is stressful after all), but it is common for things to ebb and flow. Don't expect to experience every possible feeling, shift, or even high intensity animality 24/7 like you may have as a young kid or young teen.

3. Your therianthropy might go away with time or you might realize that the term doesn't suit you anymore. That's okay. You weren't an impostor or a fake, your experience was still genuine. Let yourself be honest with yourself. You also cannot fake something you are not actively faking. You would know if you're faking what you're feeling because it would be intentional, and it could also come back. Regardless of the outcome, don't fret on what might or will happen, focus on the present and now. How you feel in the now is more important than the future sometimes.

4. Social media is not the end game of therianthropy. Living your therianthropy is. Not everyone will approve of you, and the amount of followers and comments you have don't dictate your validity. Don't fall into the trap of being a certain way to please others. You are meant to explore yourself, not put on a facade to entertain everyone else. Don't scramble for a label just so you have a "role" in this community, and you don't need to post every single thing if you don't want to. You have a role in this community even if you're looking at the whole spectrum of animals and honestly, I love following people who question things anyways. Anyone who considers you a fraud for it or puts you down isn't worth your time or energy. A label of any kind isn't worth crying over or feeling like your value or opinion is dependent on it, especially online.

5. Not everyone has your best intentions at heart. This is self explanatory. Be careful about who you tell about your therianthropy, and especially be careful about people taking advantage of your therianthropy to hurt you. This is especially true online where anyone can lie about their real intentions.

6. How you see yourself comes above all else. You are human too, at least biologically. Not everything you experience will be a theriotype thing, and your experience doesn't need to be perfect. When I was growing up, research down to the fine details meant everything. Now, I identify as what feels right and makes me feel complete. I am not perfect in what I identify as, and I never will be. I am an animal having a human experience. It is to be expected that I will experience lots of things, including empathy, odd cravings, and weird reactions. Focus on what soothes you, what you expect when you look in the mirror, and the overarching way you feel in life. Look at your shifts, look at how you feel in various situations, etc. Research helps, but in the end, it's your label(s). You could even not be a therian at all, you could be a spirit of some kind or a fantasy creature etc. Keep your horizons wide and your doors open.

7. Psychological and spiritual therianthropy are both equally valid. One is not more "real" as an experience than the other since it's a belief and an experience as a whole. Your therianthropy could be caused by a mental illness or be related to neurodivergence, but that's fine. You're still a therian, whether you believe it's because your soul is an animal or because your mind is one or both. Even if your therianthropy disappears one day, the experience is still valuable and is real to yourself (which is who it matters to the most).

8. Therianthropy is a spectrum. Some people are deeply animal and never waiver, never lose their traits, and are perpetually the "perfect example" of their theriotype (note: social media makes them seem this way!!). Others feel it very lightly and may have no shifts at all and experience their therianthropy in a more gentle, symbolic way. Both of those and everything in between is real.

9. Being otherhearted is just as valid as being a therian, and can still be just as important. Identifying WITH something can easily be as impactful as identifying as something, and can have important meaning that's worth being appreciated. I've been rodentkith my entire life because of the wild mice that I watched growing up, and those have a deep, explainable history to me. I talk about it just as much, and it impacted my life drastically even if I don't currently identify AS a mouse. It's okay to even just be otherhearted and nothing else.

10. My final point: just be genuine about it. Be gentle with yourself. Be kind. Be safe. Remember to live your experience offline too, and remember that everything you see online is idyllic and romantic. You are going on your journey in the way that is meant for you, and no one else can tell you who or what you are. You can trust yourself, and even if you're "wrong", you weren't wrong for considering something. Walk on your path, and expect that stumbling now and then is just part of the hike. You've got this.

[Reposted from my Reddit if this seems familiar to some critters!]

#therian #otherkin #adult therian #nonhuman #therianthropy

241 notes · View notes

demonic0angel · 3 months ago

Text

The Cult AU

As inspired by this post and this post. AO3 version is here.

CW: emotional breakdowns, implied torture, codependency, 5k+ words

“Danny,” Sam said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I’m not, though?” Danny answered in a confused tone, putting his gloves on. When he turned, Sam stood there in her battle attire, flowy robes and plants that covered her protectively.

Danny stared at her for a moment in slight bewilderment before he said, “Take those off. I’m going in with Dan and Dani for a chat, not an interrogation, Sam.”

Sam growled. “They won’t be enough. Let me and Valerie come with you. We can protect you.”

“No. This is Jazz, we’re talking about. She’ll never hurt me. And like I said, it’s only a chat. I just want to see what’s going on.”

Sam narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “You think you can bet on it? You think she can’t hurt you?”

“Hell yeah, I can bet on it. She won’t hurt me.”

Sam sighed loudly before she said, “At least wear armor. Dani and Dan aren’t wearing armor either, but you should at least wear some.”

Danny shook his head. “No. And I’ll say it again, Jazz won’t hurt me. Besides, we're only going to talk. There's no fight to be had."

Sam sighed again, almost a groan. Then she muttered to herself, almost in complaint, "How could Jazz have turned to this in only 2 years? We were finishing our high school educations! We were supposed to be back here having a graduation party! Instead, Jazz is starting a damn cult?!"

They had only come back a day ago from their high school graduation, only to be met with news that the Ghost Zone was rebuilding from civil war and that Jazz had started a cult. Supporters of the cult had ambushed Danny when he came in, desperate for his attention and help as their god.

Danny had been horrified to see that in the two years he had been gone from the Ghost Zone, Jazz had somehow become a cult leader.

It was a jarring transition from peace within the human world to chaos within the Infinite Realms.

Danny frowned.

He thought of Jazz and the words she spoke to him two years ago, when he couldn't choose between taking the throne at the age of 16 or continuing his education as Jazz had encouraged him to do.

("It's okay, little brother. I'll keep the throne warm for you while you graduate!"

"But what about you? I'm supposed to be King since I turned 16. You're 18 now, you should be..."

"It'll be okay! I'll keep your Kingdom safe."

"And yourself? You'll keep yourself safe too, right?"

".... yes. Of course. We'll both be safe and ready for when you come back. Work hard, do your homework, and apply for college as fast as you can, alright? You can take online courses when you're king!"

"Ugh, don't treat me like a kid!"

"You'll always be my little brother, Danny. I'll do anything for your success."

".... I know. Thanks.")

Danny said, "Sam. Don't say that. It's probably something... not too bad. It's no one's fault."

Sam glared at him. "You clearly blame someone."

Yes.

He blamed himself.

He knew that Jazz had called him several times in the past two years when he had been gone, but as his exams mounted and he reveled in his newfound freedom, he answered her frequent calls less and less.

He knew that she needed him. That she didn’t have anyone else. That she was lonely.

He just… got lost in his own space.

He had no one to blame for Jazz derailing into insane ideas like cults but himself.

"Yes. And it's not Jazz, so don't say that."

Sam scowled, but begrudgingly nodded.

Danny eyed her. "Take off your armor. We're not going to fight."

Sam obeyed, glowering. However, her grumpy expression soon eased into something more thoughtful as she asked, "Practicing ordering me around for when you take back the throne?"

Danny gave her a small smile and hummed.

The door slammed open, startling them both. Tucker stumbled inside and then said, "I have information. I know where Jazz is and I think I know who's with her."

Danny's eyes went wide.

"Who?!"

Tucker swallowed at the sight of his blatant fury and then cleared his throat.

"Spectra. Penelope Spectra has been Jazz's advisor for the past year and... I think they're going to execute a heretic for the first time today."

————

"So what do we know?" Dani asked as all three of them flew through the Ghost Zone. "We just have to retrieve Jazz and defeat this cult, right?"

Danny frowned. "I guess, but keep the bloodshed to a minimum."

Dan clicked his tongue. "And why should we?"

"Because Jazz created this cult. She cares, at least a little, about them, so keep the killing to a minimum. From what we've been able to dig up, the cult is called 'The Religion' and Jazz calls herself 'the Matriarch.'"

"What does the cult worship?" Dani asked. "There's gotta be some sort of god, right? Is the cult worshipping Jazz?"

Danny grimaced.

"Err... no. The cult worships me, Danny Phantom."

Both Dani and Dan stared at him blankly. Then they shared a look before shaking their heads.

"Oh, Jazz," Dani sighed. "She's really gone off the deep end now..."

"Are we really surprised?" Dan growled. He turned to Danny with a glare. "She's only human and she's been holding up the fate of the Infinite Realms for 4 years! It should've only been two, but she's been sacrificing sleep and peace of mind to make sure that your throne would be secure and safe while you go and finish your high school education! Frankly, I'm more surprised that she hasn't even killed a single ghost since she became Queen."

Dan finished his heated rant with a vicious glare and a spat out, "It's your fault that she's come to this."

Danny closed his eyes.

In ways, Dan was out of line and blaming him for nothing. After all, he too, like Danny and Dani, had minimal contact with Jazz over the past two years, no matter how much he tried to argue about it. But even he knew that logic did not make the guilt go away.

No matter what, it was Danny's neglect and carelessness that made Jazz feel like she had to go off the deep end.

Why had she resorted to killing again?

(He knew why. She loved him, but to her, he was the little boy she raised since young.

Even now, she did not consider him as an equal, only someone she had to protect.)

His heart felt painful. He didn’t know how to describe the heaviness in his chest and the worry he felt as they continued traveling through the Ghost Zone to get to Jazz before she could execute someone.

Danny sighed.

"I know. That's why I'm taking back the throne now. I'll release her from the crown and take back my rightful place as the King."

Dani sighed too. "We're overthrowing her," she said. It wasn't a question, more like a forlorn statement.

"Yes. Let's keep the bloodshed to a minimum. C'mon, I hear that she's still in the cult place. She's going to try to execute someone so let's try to hurry."

Both Dani and Dan frowned before they followed him to fly to where Jazz was.

The building she was in looked like a cathedral built in the old times, with tall towers, sharp angles, and plenty of windows. It was enormous, with black and white marble walls and stained glass windows. It looked beautiful, but also in a way, haunting. The cathedral was enormous and towered over them like it wanted to eat them alive.

They all shared a determined look and then went inside without another word.

When Danny stepped into the cathedral, everyone took one look at him and then dropped to their knees in a deep kneeling position. All of them wore black veils on their heads, as if they were in mourning.

In the middle of the room was a ghost who was bowed over an execution block, who looked at him and then sagged in relief.

However, Danny was soon distracted by the sound of everyone else speaking.

Their chants echoed within the cathedral's tall ceilings.

“All hail the King! All hail our God! All hail Death!”

Goosebumps rose across his skin.

Their obedience made his stomach churn and he felt the urge to vomit. He almost wanted to turn around and leave just from that, feeling extremely unsettled. He glanced backwards to see Dan sneer as Dani similarly tensed, eyes wide as they looked at the rows and rows of ghosts kneeling.

There were so many of them.

How had Jazz been able to accumulate so many worshippers?

The urge to throw up nearly took over Danny's senses again. His insides twisted and he felt faint, bile rushing up his throat.

"Oh, Jazz," he couldn't help but murmur. "What have you done?"

Each and every one of the cult members were surprisingly and horrifically obedient. None of them moved away from their bowing, stiff and still, covered in veils like unmoving statues intent on showing him worship. Danny looked at Dan and Dani, both who nodded, although Dan looked disgruntled to be listening to him.

All of them wore their old costumes. Although Dani and Danny had outgrown that old uniform of theirs, they still wore it today in hopes of snapping Jazz out of whatever craze she had. Hopefully, they reminded her of the vows she made and how much she loved heroes.

He wasn't really sure what he was going for.

He just wanted his big sister back.

Danny clenched his fists as he tracked down the traces of his sister. Dani and Dan stayed behind to take care of the cult members.

He tracked her down through the long, empty hallways, full of marble statues and gray decor. He eventually ended up in front of a room with a tightly shut door. There were faint traces of Jazz everywhere, a trail of her soul that he could sense.

He stared at the door before he broke the door handle and then slid inside, uncaring of the damage he left behind.

Jazz stood in the middle of the room, holding a sword quietly, as if in thought. She turned when she heard the door open and they both paused at the sight of each other. The greenish light of an open window fell upon her, casting soft shadows for a perfect painting. Spectra stood next to her, colored in red and smiling sharply, completely disrupting the scenery.

Danny tilted his head as he observed Jazz.

She looked right back at him, but he couldn't see her face. She wore black and white robes with turquoise accents, covered in elegant armor and sparkling jewelry pieces. A starry veil covered her face, as well as a large headpiece that weighed everything down.

She looked authorative and regal. Like a deadly queen.

He hadn't seen her in such a long time, but he still couldn't see her face.

He glanced down at the sword in her hands, long and shiny and sharp.

Was she going to personally execute someone?

"Jazz, it's good to see you," Danny said with a small smile. "You're still huge."

"And you're still short," Jazz replied curtly. There was something in her voice, like she wanted to tease him and make him laugh but the energy required to do so had left her.

The sword in her hands did not lower.

"Your Highness!" Spectra crooned. "You're back from the human world! Did you have a good time?"

Danny ignored her and looked at Jazz. "Jazz, it's time to stop this. All of this. You don't have to do this anymore. You can stop now."

Jazz was quiet.

Spectra gasped, as if personally offended for Jazz's sake, "Your Highness! You can't just say that! Jazz has done all of this for you! Shouldn't you be grateful to your loving, caring big sister?"

Danny narrowed her eyes. "Who gave you permission to call her by her name? She is Her Majesty and soon, she'll be Your Highness. Watch your tongue."

Spectra gasped again. "What! Are you... are you overthrowing your sister?" She looked at Jazz with wide eyes of disbelief.

Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Was she seriously trying to start a fight with this nonsense?

Jazz was still silent and Danny frowned at this, eying her.

Danny ignored Spectra, who bristled at this, and said to Jazz, "C'mon, Jazz, let's go back. Please put down the sword. I don't want you killing for me, okay? Don't worry about a thing, I can take care of this for you."

He looked at her earnestly. He could not see the expression behind the veil, but he knew his sister. Her hands were clenched tight around the hilt of the sword, her knuckles white against the metal.

And of course, Spectra had to speak up again.

"You mustn't listen to him! He's only just come back, he doesn't know anything! You should continue as you've always done. We have plans, remember? Remember who all of this is for," she said, placing a manicured hand on Jazz's shoulder, a tad awkwardly due to Jazz's height.

Danny couldn’t hold back rolling his eyes this time.

Jazz did not speak.

Danny said, “Whatever she told you, Jazz, it’s probably not true. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. Please, Jazz.” He didn’t want to beg, but he would if it got him his sister back. “Please, let’s just go back home.”

“Don’t listen to him! I’m here to help you, Jazz. Haven’t I always been here to help you? He’s going to disrupt our plans. You must strike him down. It’s for his own good. He’s just a boy, you know that,” Spectra crooned, stroking Jazz’s arm. Her hands trailed down until she clasped at the fist holding up the sword and she lifted Jazz's arms, raising the blade to meet Danny's face.

Danny glared at her furiously.

The sight of someone else touching his sister had always unfuriated him, but he absolutely couldn't stand seeing this worthless ghost who thought she could control his big sister touching her like she had the right even more!

His powers crackled around him before he swiftly smothered it, taking another deep breath.

“Shut up,” he snapped. “Get away from her! You’re nothing but a powerless, manipulative psycho who wants to leech off of my sister. Back off!”

Spectra gasped. “What! I’ve been doing nothing but help Jazz this entire time! But... where have you been? You’ve been in the human world, having fun, dating people, getting an education, while your big sister suffers here! I’m helping her! What have you done, while your poor big sister runs herself ragged trying to keep everyone alive for your future reign? You're so selfish!"

Danny snarled. He clenched his fists as Spectra so easily threw the fact that he had unwittingly abandoned his sister to the Infinite Realms in his face. His claws flexed and the urge to attack her rose within him sharply.

How dare she.

How dare she!

Danny took a deep, forceful breath as he loosened his fists before he turned to Jazz with a hard look that he quickly tried to soften. “Jazz,” he said again, “please come home with me.”

“Your Majesty!" Spectra insisted, shaking Jazz a little. "You should strike him down before he ruins any more plans. You must not hesitate! You’re the Queen! He’s going to take the rightful throne away from you!”

“Jazz, please.”

Jazz visibly faltered, looking between the two.

Danny perked up at the sight of her conflicted appearance, but Spectra grew incensed at her hesitation.

She practically went ballistic, her green eyes flashing as her red painted lips stretched into a snarl.

Spectra screamed. “C’mon! Strike him down! Don’t be a coward, Jasmine Fenton! He’s here to capture you! He’s here to take down all of the things you’ve done! Remember who you’ve done this for!”

Jazz slowly dropped her arm, her grip loosening.

Danny's smile grew, as Spectra shrieked, “What are you doing?! Fight! You must fight him! He’s taking down everything you’ve worked so hard for! What are you doing, you stupid girl?!”

Danny immediately glared at her in fury as he snapped, “Shut up! Don’t you dare talk to her that way!”

He looked back at Jazz and his gaze softened. “Jazz, come here, please.”

Her entire body looked like a wilted flower, with her slumped shoulders and lowered head. The sword was pointing down at the ground now.

His heart broke for her.

“Don’t listen to him! He’s going to hurt you! Don’t you remember what we’ve been doing this for? He doesn’t know better! You did this to protect him, remember?!”

Danny responded as if Spectra hadn’t been talking at all. “Jazz, come here. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. But I know better now. I’m older now. You’ve been protecting me for so long.”

He smiled softly and opened his arms as he said, “Let me protect you now. Come here, Jazz.”

“Don’t,” Spectra hissed. “You’re smarter than this. You know he’s still just a child. Only 18 years old. You can’t trust him to know what he’s talking about.”

“Jazz,” Danny said, lowering his arms for a moment.

“You must get rid of him now!” Spectra’s voice grew even more frenzied. “He’ll ruin everything! You were supposed to be great! You were supposed to be better than this! Do it! Jazz, do it! GET RID OF HIM!!”

Danny gazed into Jazz’s face, still covered in that stupid veil.

For a brief second, he worried that she wouldn’t relent. He worried that she would fall for Spectra’s tricks and turn away from him. He worried that he wasn’t able to reach her.

But as he looked at her, as he stared at her statuesque form, at the way her robes couldn’t hide the armor wrapped around her like she desperately needed the protection, the way she stood still like a deer in headlights, he suddenly knew what she would do.

She was his big sister.

His only big sister.

“Come here, Jazz,” Danny repeated. He couldn’t help the way his voice cracked and his eyes watered. He inhaled a breath to calm himself down, opened his arms again, and said, “I missed you. C’mon, Jazz. Let’s go back home.”

Jazz was silent.

Spectra practically shrieked, “KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW!!”

Without warning, Jazz dropped the sword and then ran towards him. She flew into his arms and almost ran him over. Although she was heavy, Danny was not that weak, vulnerable 14 year old boy who couldn’t keep the crown on his head anymore. He was 18 now, ready to pull the heavy crown off of his sister’s head and take the responsibility for himself.

Danny breathed a sigh of relief as Jazz collapsed into his arms. Her veil flew off her head from the force of her collusion with him, landing on the floor with a flutter and a clack of her jewelry.

She sobbed and Danny held her tight, pulling her into his embrace so for once, it was him who was holding her and protecting her from outside forces.

For once, it was her who could let down her walls and be kept safe within someone else’s arms.

Each one of her tears fell onto his skin like boiling water. Each droplet made his body burn.

These were the tears of his big sister.

These were the tears of someone who desperately needed his help.

What was the use of being a king if he couldn’t even help the ones that depended on him? What was the use of being a hero if he couldn’t even save the ones that he loved? What was the use of being a brother if he couldn’t even be there to support his siblings?

As Jazz cried into his chest and began mumbling apologies, Danny sighed and squeezed her, gently pressing his cheek to her hair.

“Don’t worry, Jazz. I’ll take care of everything.” His voice was much more steady than he felt.

Danny lifted his gaze and stared at Spectra, who was full on trembling now. Her expression was horrified and scared, and she took a full step back when the full weight of Danny’s gaze landed on her. Danny rubbed Jazz’s back, ignoring her rapid fire murmurs as she sobbed and begged for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she mumbled, her words slurring over each other with her weeping.

Danny ignored her words, just trying to soothe her.

He would forgive her for anything.

(After all, he had forgiven her for what happened to their parents.

This was nothing compared to that.)

Though there was someone who he could never forgive.

Danny gave a bland smile to Spectra, who stiffened further like a horrified cat.

He had never wanted to kill anyone more than her.

Even when he had been strapped to his parents’ examination table, even when he had learned the truth of Dan’s life in another timeline, even when he had been humiliated and scorned by the people he was supposed to protect, he had never felt such a cold, unsympathetic hatred inside of him before.

His teeth and fangs itched for blood.

But his sister needed him more.

“It’s over,” he mouthed to the woman across from him, before he bent down to pick up his sister. An arm went underneath her knees and another steadied her in his hold. Jazz was limp, clutching tightly onto him, almost clawing at his skin as she continued crying. Danny calmly lifted her and then floated out of the room, where Dan and Dani were already waiting, eyes drawn to the still figure in his arms.

Immediately, their expressions changed, pupils sharpening at the sight of their big sister.

Danny gestured behind him. “Spectra’s still in there.”

Dan immediately darted off without another word. The door shut behind them and screams erupted before Danny moved Jazz away from the shrieks of pain. Her robes trailed behind them but Danny ignored it, adjusting his hold on Jazz as he left Spectra to her fate.

Dani followed them, carefully playing a hand on Jazz’s hip to test her reaction. Her soft cries had stopped, but she was as responsive as a block of wood.

“Jazz?” She called. “You alright?”

Jazz shook her head, burying her face into Danny’s shoulder as her arms squeezed tighter, almost choking in its tightness and grip. Danny hummed and said, “Let’s get her home first. She surrendered, so make sure to tell everyone that. Dani, can you also… uh, tell everyone else to go? Try and tell them that the cult is disbanded.”

Jazz whimpered.

Danny stroked her back and then said again, “Go, Dani.”

Dani scowled, but did as he said. Danny then went home, ignoring anything and everything in his path. Sam and Tucker, thankfully, did not say a word at the sight of Jazz in his arms and only directed everyone away from them both.

Danny finally entered Jazz’s room and placed her on her bed.

She turned to the side, away from him, curled up slightly in her pretentious, extravagant robes. They scattered around her in sparkly hues that looked distressing when contrasted against her pale expression and somber mood.

Danny stared at her.

She didn’t move.

Danny said softly, “You don’t have to tell me anything now… but you should know that we’ll have to talk later. But Jazz, also know this. No matter what you say, you know that we’re on your side. I’m on your side. No matter what, I— we’ll protect you.”

Jazz’s voice was weak. “I wanted to protect you.”

“I know. You’ve always protected me. But I’m 18 now, Jazz. I’m an adult. When I was 16, I was an adult in the eyes of the Infinite Realms too. I’m releasing you from the throne, Jazz. From now on, I’ll take on your burdens, like how you did for me.”

Jazz could only repeat, “I wanted to protect you.”

Patiently, Danny said, “I know. It’s my turn to protect you now. Rest up. We’ll definitely talk later, okay?”

She was silent.

"Unless you want to talk to me now? Why did you start all of this, Jazz?"

Jazz shifted and Danny waited, sensing her desire to speak.

“…. I’ve been having dreams lately.”

Danny paused and tilted his head. “What kind of dreams?”

He had to wait for her to speak again, as if she was unsure and afraid.

When she spoke, her tone was softer than ever, almost a whisper.

“……. Dreams of a boy. He protected me. He saved me and Dani. Sp-Spectra… she talked about him to me. About him and you. She told me that… she told me that you would’ve wanted me to do these things. I only wanted to protect you.”

Her voice cracked and her words wobbled. She curled up further, almost a ball now.

Danny was quiet. He thought of Jazz’s first year as Queen and that faithful night where a boy had saved her and Dani.

The memories began to return, like a flood from an open gate.

He winced as his head spun from new memories.

Danny began to recall that boy who had stayed with them for only 6 months before he left the Ghost Zone after being revived, devastating Jazz. Clockwork had sealed up their memories of him, but had Spectra manipulated Jazz in the wake of her memories returning?

“I see. Anything else?”

".... I did it all for you, Danny. Everything."

Danny closed his eyes.

When he had been young and childish, he had hated Jazz's stifling attention, the way she smothered him and treated him like he was a child, like he wasn't worthy of standing next to her.

As he grew older, he began to see things her way and gained a new appreciation for the ways she had protected him. Even when he had been alone for two years in the human world, finishing his high school education and growing up into an adult, he hadn't realized just how much she had protected him until he had lived on his own.

He sighed. "I know."

He stared at her still form before he said, "I love you."

His face couldn't help but flush.

He felt embarrassed for being so mushy, but Jazz was his big sister and she needed the comfort. She needed to know that he loved her.

No matter whatever lies Spectra fed to Jazz to make her do all of this, he needed her to know that he would back her up, no questions asked.

He would make sure that she would not be punished or treated differently for her reign. Like she always did for him, he would clean up after her mistakes and let her know better privately, so she could learn from her failures while knowing that he would remain by her side.

Just like what she always did for him.

Jazz did not say anything in response to his words and Danny awkwardly continued, "Do you want anything?"

"I want Robin," Jazz said immediately. Her voice jumped from her blurting out her words so fast. Then she abruptly fell silent, her face still turned away as her body went stiff.

Danny did not know what to say.

Robin had been a 15 year old boy.

He would be 19 now.

He was most definitely not Robin anymore. He was alive now. Different. Not the way he used to be, laughing loudly as he teased all of the Phantoms, staying by Jazz's side as she worked through the paperwork given to her, escorting Jazz to her many events as Queen, and playing around with them all when they were still just kids, carefree and happy.

Robin would probably never come back.

He couldn't come back. Not unless he died again, and even then, he would never be the boy that cared so much about others.

Danny swallowed around the lump in his throat and patted Jazz's hip again. He decided to ignore what she said, knowing that she hadn't truly intended to say it aloud. “Want me to call someone to help you out of your clothes?”

“… I want Dani to help.”

He was a little relieved to be moving on from this uncomfortable atmosphere. “Dani? Got it. I’ll call her in a little bit. Rest. You won’t get in trouble for any of this, I’ll make sure of it.”

At those last words, Jazz whimpered and then turned her head before she started crying again into her bedsheets. Danny was a tad surprised that she still had the hydration needed to cry, but he waved away his thoughts as her soft sobs and bitten off whimpers only made his heart twist even further in his chest. He had an extremely strong urge to sink his fangs into Spectra’s throat and rip out her voice box.

He would settle with knowing that Dan was already torturing her within every inch of her afterlife.

Danny reached over to stroke Jazz’s hair as her body trembled from the force of her tears.

Eventually, she fell into an uneasy sleep, stains on the silk sheets underneath her face. Danny moved her off of her tear stains and then called for Dani, who quickly arrived and moved past him into the room to help Jazz out of her ceremonial robes.

Danny left the room and was immediately caught by Dan, who was covered in green ectoplasm. His expression was stone cold, but there was a dark satisfaction in his eyes.

Sometimes, Danny could not stand even looking at Dan, but no matter what, they were technically the same person. One of the few things they could agree on was Jazz’s safety and happiness.

“Is she alive?” Danny asked. His tone was so venomous that it even surprised himself.

Dan huffed, “Of course. I’m not stupid. She has to be alive for us to blame everything on her.”

Danny snorted coldly. “Good. Jazz is…. not doing great. I’m not sure what happened, but Spectra was manipulating her by using my name and… Robin’s name.”

He inwardly grimaced a little at the thought of him. Danny remembered thinking he was cool and awesome, but he was probably different now, wasn’t he?

Not to mention…

(Danny couldn’t help but blame him too for Jazz’s current state of mind.)

Dan’s next words surprised him.

“Robin? That brat who hung off of Jazz for half a year before being revived?“

Danny raised an eyebrow. “You remember him? I only just recalled his existence moments ago.”

Dan shrugged carelessly. “I didn’t care enough for Clockwork to seal my memories of him."

Danny scowled and shook his head in frustration. “Everything is so complicated. We’ll have to talk to the Observants, then Clockwork, I’ll have to interrogate Spectra myself, then I have to take down the cult and talk to the citizens and then I have to prepare for the coronation, not to mention, we all have to talk to Jazz and help her and—“

“Ugh, shut up!” Dan snarled and Danny scowled at him. He sneered before he crossed his arms and said, “What the hell do you think we’re here for? You have your loser friends, don’t you? They must have some use to them. Use them and let’s get all of this solved so we can help Jazz and take the burdens off of her shoulders. She’s dealt with enough in this shitty Ghost Zone.“

Danny rolled his eyes.

Why was his entire family so weird and fucked up?

He said, “Fine. We have to get this done. For Jazz’s sake.”

Dan huffed and repeated, “Fine. I’ll talk to the Observants about what happened and make sure that Spectra is blamed for Jazz’s actions.”

Danny sighed deeply. “Don’t kill them. The last time you killed one, Jazz had to apologize to them.”

Dan sneered again and crossed his arms.

“The things I do for her…” Dan mumbled to himself in disgust, but he shook his head and then floated off.

Danny watched him go before he similarly shook his head to wave away the thoughts in his brain.

He began the trip to see his friends and ask for their assistance. His speed grew with his urgency, hoping to finish up quickly so he could go back to Jazz.

He had a sister to comfort and a coronation to get to. Hopefully, she would feel better to talk soon, because they needed to plan.

It was time for him to take back the throne and become the rightful Ghost King.

|||||||||||||||||||

Me when I tell someone that it'll take a while to finish the cult one-shot and it comes out less than a day later: 🤥

I’m obsessed with siblings who are codependent. Siblings who depend on each other and have each other’s backs no matter what, siblings who will kill and die for each other, oooooooh I’m literally deranged.

Angst to me should be very vulnerable. I do love making Jazz cry, sorry not sorry.

Small essay on Danny and Jazz’s relationship: I’ve always found it interesting how Danny treated Jazz in the show. Like idk about you, but while Jazz can be annoying and seen as a know-it-all, with the way Sam and Danny treat her, it’s almost like she’s the most annoying person in existence. I can guess various reasons why, but it’ll be too long so wtv. That is why when I write in Danny’s POV, he acts like a brat around her and is the only one to see her flaws, but ultimately, he is extremely protective over her and depends on her for support and familial love. Jazz’s relationship with Danny is inspired by Supernatural’s Sam and Dean, Demon Slayer’s Nezuko and Tanjirou, Fullmetal Alchemist’s Edward and Alfonso, my own preferences, and most importantly, the Christmas episode ‘the Fright Before Christmas’ where Jazz protects Danny as their parents argue. Jazz is very much parentified and the only one that Danny trusts in his household and vice versa. As such, both Jazz and Danny are extremely codependent and protective of each other, but while Danny is nonchalant ab it, Jazz is extremely chalant ab it. Danny gets embarrassed about being a sister’s boy, but if push comes to shove, he would destroy the entire world and become Dan 2.0 if she ever died, no questions asked.

Why is Jazz lowkey obsessed with Robin? In my hcs, Jason left the Elsewhereness/heaven in order to go back to Bruce. While he explored the Infinite Realms, he saved Jazz and Dani. Bc Jazz basically fell in love at first sight, the two spent a lot of time together and Jason helped her in her duties for the next 6 months. When he was revived, he left her behind (and forgot her) and bc Jazz was so distressed, Clockwork sealed up all memories of Jason. Jazz had just started remembering him and Spectra manipulated her feelings about him and Danny to do her bidding, so her obsession/love is more amplified than normal.

Did the mention of Jason surprise you all? :3 I do love combining AUs and ideas together. I feel like my version of DPxDC canon is confusing (even to me) so if you have any questions, ask away bc I’d love to answer them and organize my thoughts :D

281 notes · View notes

elliespassagerprincess · 29 days ago

Note

DARK CONTENT HURRAYYYYYY

May i please ask for a abby anderson x reader where she meets reader at the same time she meets lev and they have a casual thing (casual at least for reader) and when they get close to where the readers destination abby keeps trying to make her change her mind and go with them because shes father reader's mother and lev is baby?

(btw you are so tea sister)

No place but you - abby anderson x reader

hi anon!! I love this idea wtf, i dont know why i havent thought of this soonerrrrrr. Also thank you pookieeee<33 i hope you enjoy:)

pairing: abby anderson x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts and ideas:)

HUGE WARNING: Manipulation / Psychological Control, obsession, power Imbalance, isolation, captivity, mature themes, violence, emotional abuse, murder, mental health themes, toxic dynamics, PTSD, possessiveness, emotional volatility, references to violence, implied threats, reader is a mother figure to Lev, trauma bonding

summary: when Abby meets you at the same time she finds Lev, it’s supposed to be a pit stop—just a shared journey through the wreckage. What begins as a casual connection on your part becomes something far more dangerous for Abby. With Lev calling you "mom" and Abby slowly realizing she can't let you go, things spiral as you near your final destination.

masterlist

This story contains dark and emotionally intense themes—please read with care. You are responsible for what you consume online. Please read the warnings before reading.

Seattle was still coughing smoke when you met Abby.

She emerged from the fog of blood and ash with Lev behind her—barefoot, wary, young. You hadn’t meant to cross paths, not really. You were passing through on your way north, chasing some half-wild rumor of a safe commune that still had greenhouses and solar grids. You didn’t believe in it, not truly. But it was something to run toward instead of running from.

Abby had a bullet graze on her side, and her knuckles were cracked open. She asked for gauze and stayed the night. You didn’t mean for it to become a thing. It just did.

She wasn’t soft, but she wasn’t cruel. And in this world, that counted for a lot. She was quieter when she looked at you. Less blunt. She watched you when she thought you weren’t watching back.

Lev took to you instantly.

“Are you a mom?” he asked one night while you tucked a blanket around his small frame.

“No,” you said softly. “But I had one. She’d like you.”

He smiled. “I think you're like one. Can I call you that?”

You said yes, without thinking. You didn’t realize it’d be what tore you apart.

Abby started coming into your tent at night. It wasn’t a declaration—it wasn’t anything. A brush of hands while you passed a canteen. A glance that lingered too long. A silence too heavy with breath.

She didn’t talk about it. She just slipped into your sleeping bag one night and pressed her back to yours. And you let her.

No words.

It was casual. You weren’t looking for anything. She wasn’t giving anything. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But there were nights her hands shook when they touched you. Nights she kissed you like she was trying to carve your name into her tongue. She looked at you like a storm that might abandon her.

You didn’t know what to do with that. So you did nothing.

A few weeks in, you noticed Abby started walking slower.

She asked more questions about where you were going. What you expected to find there. Whether you had people.

“Do you trust them?” she asked one night.

You were sitting around a low flame, Lev already asleep with his head in your lap. You didn’t answer at first.

“I don’t know. I just… I need to try.”

Abby didn’t nod. Didn’t agree. Her jaw clenched tight, eyes on the fire.

“You’ve got people here,” she said after a long beat. “Me. Lev. You don’t need anyone else.”

You laughed. Softly. “Abby…”

“What?”

“You barely know me.”

“I know enough.”

It was subtle at first.

She stopped talking about the destination. Started talking more about detours. Safe routes. Places to hide out. When you insisted on staying on track, she started offering to go ahead and scout—but she’d be gone for hours. You were always frantic until she returned, and she knew it.

Lev didn’t notice. He trusted her. Trusted you.

And every time he called you “Mom,” Abby looked at you like it hurt.

No—not hurt.

Branded.

It came to a head a few miles out from the commune.

You could see the smoke trails from their fires on the horizon, clear as day. Your heart felt like it might actually beat again for the first time in months.

That’s when Abby lost it.

She stopped in the middle of the trail. “You’re not going.”

You turned, confused. “What?”

“I don’t trust them. It’s too exposed. They could kill you.”

“They could save us.”

“I’ve saved you.”

That made you go still.

“Abby, this was never—”

“You’re his mother,” she snapped, pointing at Lev. “You’re mine. You belong with us.”

Your breath caught. “This wasn’t supposed to be real. We said it was just—”

“Well, it’s not just anything to me.”

She stepped forward. Grabbed your hand, hard enough to bruise. “Please. Don’t go.”

You shook your head, voice barely a whisper. “I have to.”

Abby’s hand trembled.

“I’ll lose you.”

“Maybe it was never yours to keep.”

She let you go. But you didn’t stop looking over your shoulder.

And she didn’t stop watching.

You should’ve kept walking.

You were almost there—close enough to hear dogs barking in the distance. Smoke from the commune's chimneys curled gently above the trees, promising warmth, maybe even safety.

But you hesitated. You turned to check for Lev.

And that’s when Abby tackled you.

Your head hit the ground so hard your ears rang. The world spun. You tried to fight back, but she was already on top of you, pinning you down with the weight of someone who trained for war, who survived on vengeance and discipline and something darker beneath.

“Abby!” you screamed.

Her hand clamped over your mouth.

“Shhh. Don’t make me hurt you.”

Your heart shattered at the way her voice broke when she said it. Like she meant it. Like she didn’t want to be this.

But she already was.

You kicked and squirmed under her, until finally she let go—just enough for you to speak.

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered, voice ragged. “Lev will see this. He’ll hate you.”

Something shifted in her face.

“No,” she said, shaking her head violently. “No. He needs you. He needs us. We’re a family.”

You stared up at her, chest heaving.

“This isn’t love, Abby. It’s a cage.”

“I’m keeping you safe.”

“No, you’re keeping me.”

Her lips quivered. “It’s the same thing.”

She dragged you to a small outpost she'd scoped out days before—a rotted ranger station half-submerged in moss. She’d stashed supplies there. Blankets. Water. Rations.

She’d been planning this.

Lev arrived three hours later, confused and scared.

“Why aren’t we at the commune?”

“She changed her mind,” Abby lied smoothly. “She realized it’s too dangerous.”

You tried to speak, but Abby squeezed your shoulder—just hard enough to make you stop.

You smiled at Lev instead. “We’re okay, baby. I just need to rest.”

Later that night, she sat beside you as Lev slept.

You curled in a ball by the fireplace, wrists bruised from where she’d grabbed you. She knelt down and brushed your hair behind your ear.

“I’ll make you love this life,” she whispered. “You’ll see. One day, you’ll thank me.”

You stared at her, hollow. “You really think that?”

She smiled. That broken, glassy smile.

“I already do.”

Time passed strangely in that cabin.

You stopped marking days. Abby would go out and bring back food, medicines, sometimes books for Lev. She still touched you like she had a right. She still kissed you like she believed it was love. You stopped fighting it. Not because you loved her—but because you loved Lev.

And Lev? He didn’t know.

He called her “Abby” and you “Mom” and told you he was happy.

The day he drew a picture of the three of you and gave it to Abby, she cried. You sat in the corner and didn’t say a word.

At night, when Abby held you like a trophy on her chest, you finally understood: she didn’t want freedom or truth or even happiness.

She wanted permanence.

And you? You were the only thing she ever thought would stay.

It was always snowing now. The cabin was half-buried under it, crooked and graying with time, but still standing. Like you. Like her.

You stirred the pot over the fire absently, the scent of venison and sage filling the room. Lev would be home soon from hunting—fifteen now, taller, sharper. Still gentle. Still innocent in the ways that mattered. You’d kept it that way.

You heard Abby’s boots before you saw her.

She came through the door with the wind behind her, snowflakes caught in her hair, blood on her sleeves—again.

“You were supposed to stay home today,” you said without turning.

“I heard movement in the woods. Just a patrol.” She came closer. “You’re mad.”

You shrugged. “I stopped being mad a long time ago.”

She stepped behind you, wrapped her arms around your waist. You didn’t flinch. You never flinched anymore.

“You’re warm,” she murmured.

You didn’t answer.

That night, after Lev fell asleep, she sat across from you at the table, sharpening her knife in rhythmic strokes. You looked at her and saw the same woman who once begged you to run with her. The same woman who dragged you into the woods and called it love.

And yet.

“I dreamt last night,” she said suddenly.

You looked up.

“I dreamt you were gone,” she whispered. “And when I woke up, the bed was empty. I thought—” her voice caught. “I thought you’d left. I almost broke the door off the hinges.”

Your heart didn’t race. You just watched her. Quiet. Tired.

“What would you do?” you asked.

“If I left?”

“If I left again. For real.”

Abby looked down at the blade in her hand. Then up at you. Her eyes—those relentless eyes—weren’t angry.

They were calm.

“I’d bring you back.”

She said it like a promise. Like a vow. You didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say. The fire popped. Outside, the wind howled through the trees. The snow kept falling—white, weightless, and suffocating.

You got up, walked to the window, and stared into the woods. There were no roads anymore. No signs. No tracks.

Only the cold.

And Abby.

And Lev.

No place but here.

No fate but this.

No way but forward.

153 notes · View notes

teapartyprincess4two · 1 year ago

Text

Call Out My Name- J. Webber

pairing: OFcreator!reader x CoStar!Jake

classification: angst, smut

inspiration: request1, request2, Call Out My Name by The Weeknd

warnings: 18+, MDNI, literal sex, mention of online sex work, use of y/n, jealousy, slight cursing, Daddy kink, arguing, possessive!Jake, FWB (kinda?), slapping, cream pie, camera usage, somewhat pervy/ gross side character, smoking & alcohol

summary: When you film a video with somebody else, Jake’s jealousy takes over.

—

Your whole life you’ve been known to tell a good lie. You’ve never been necessarily sneaky, you’ve just always been a good actress; a good pretender.

That’s why it’s easy to pretend that Kevin, the man on top of you, is making you see stars. He’s jabbing his penis inside of you like a double edged sword, managing to make every angle less pleasurable than the last.

You put on the performance of a lifetime, but only because the cameras are rolling. A red, blinking light stares back at you to taunt you; to let you know that it’s not over until he’s done.

So, you arch your back off the bed, kiss all over his body, wrap your legs around his waist, chanting words you don’t mean. Words along the lines of, “It feels so good,” “Just like that,” and “Faster! Harder!”

The whole time, as Kevin pounds into you at an ungodly, un-pleasurable pace, all you can think about is Jake. Jake always managed to make you feel good even when the cameras were off. Yet you somehow always find yourself under subpar men.

A loud grunt, and a sweaty forehead against your shoulder pulls you out of your trance.

“Holy fuck that was good!” Kevin groans, his voice choppy as he attempts to catch his breath. His entire body collapses on top of yours, suffocating you under his weight.

This is your grand finale, the big show!

You let out a high pitched moan, claw at his back, and shake beneath him (as much as his weight will allow you) as you praise his hard work.

“So good! Fuck! I’m coming!”

You sit in the moment for a while, uncomfortably adjusting yourself under Kevin as the camera continues recording the awkward silence.

Finally, when you decide this entire interaction needs to end, your palms press flat against his shoulders to push him off of you. His body rolls onto the opposite side of the bed, chest still rising and falling rapidly as he comes down from his high.

You throw on a robe and walk over to the camera, turning it off and looking expectantly at Kevin. He smirks at you, misreading your expression completely.

“Already ready for round two?” He chuckles. “Couldn’t get enough of the stallion, huh?”

He stands up and begins walking over to you while stroking himself, ready to engulf your frame in his arms.

You scoff, picking his clothes up from the floor and shoving it into his chest. “Let’s see how many views this gets. Then I’ll think about it.”

Kevin wears a dumbfounded expression as you kick him out of your house. You’re definitely NEVER collabing with him again, no matter the views.

—

Loud music bumps through the club speakers. A cold drink sits in Jake’s hand, the same drink he’s been nursing all night.

All week he’d been looking forward to a night out with his friends, but now that he’s actually here, he’s not sure he’s enjoying it as much as he thought he would. Maybe it’s just because you haven’t arrived yet.

Kevin stands across from him, retelling stories that everyone is only half-listening to. For as long as Jake has known him, he’s hated Kevin. Everything from the way that he walks, talks, dresses, and even the way that he name drops all of his collabs.*1

As an online sex worker, Jake knows that collaborations between creators are no strings attached and meaningless (for the most part at least). But as Kevin says your name, and describes in detail how good the sex was, Jake can’t help but feel jealous.

“I had her in every position you can think of,” Kevin boasts, holding his arms out as he thrusts the air. “I don’t think I’ve ever made someone cum that fast either,” he continues, pretending to slap ass as he continues his gross display.

Jake scoffs, unintentionally gaining Kevin’s attention.

“Jake! You’ve filmed with her before, right?” Kevin asks.

Jake’s done more than film with you, but he’s not the type to show off. “Yeah, we’ve collabed here and there.”

Kevin jabs Jake’s side, “So you know how tight that pussy is then.” Jake’s heard enough, he shoves Kevin away from him and downs the drink that was still in his hand.

He sucks in through his teeth, slamming the glass onto a nearby table before pushing his way out of the club. “Fuck’s his problem?” Kevin says in confusion, watching as Jake disappears outside.

Jake doesn’t know why he’s so upset, or even why he’s jealous in the first place. He knows you’ve had sex with people other than him, it’s literally your job, but for some reason it gets under his skin ever time.

The thought of you under another man —even if it is just for work— and enjoying it makes him see red. Sometimes he wishes your relationship wasn’t so transactional, that he could have you all to himself even when the camera wasn’t rolling. But he’s forced to accept the fact that what you two share is purely business.

Jake now stands outside of the club, back against a rough brick wall as he tries hard to think of anything other than you. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, craving the burn that smoking brings him to distract his mind. He’s quick to light the stick and take a long drag from it, blowing in the general direction of an approaching figure.

The street is dimly lit, causing him to squint his eyes until you finally come into view. It’s almost like his jealousy summoned you.

Immediately you notice Jake, excitedly skipping over to him as quickly as your tight leather dress will allow you. “Got one for me?” you ask, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at his cigarette.

You look so happy to see him, but his face doesn’t mirror your expression. He’s quiet, trying to keep to himself as much as possible before his mind inevitably reminds him of Kevin’s words.

He pulls another cigarette out, watching as you place it between your lips and wait for him to light it for you.

“How come you’re not inside?” you ask through puffs of smoke. Jake can’t stop looking at your lips, reminiscing on all the times you wrapped them around his cock while a camera was pointed at your face.

“It was getting loud in there,” he replies simply, before mindlessly continuing, “Plus I couldn’t listen to Kevin keep talking about how good it felt to fuck you.”

You grimace at the mention of his name. “Kevin’s here?”

Jake’s jaw clenches, fingers flicking the cigarette onto the floor. “Don’t sound too excited,” he scoffs with an eye roll.

What the fuck? You choke on the smoke, coughing loudly as you reply, “I’m not?”

“Whatever, let’s just go inside. Everyone’s been waiting for you.” Jake’s pushes off the brick wall, ready to walk past you and into the club, but you stop him by standing directly in his path.

“Move, Y/n,” he grits, stretching his neck out to avoid eye contact.

“No. Why are you being so pissy?”

“I’m not. Now move.” Jake tries walking around you, but you just scoot over and block him again.

“Jake,” you say sternly, trying to pull his attention to you, he’s upset and stubborn. “Look at me.”

Finally, he meets your expectant gaze, and the look in his eyes is one you’ve only ever seen during sex. “C’mon, wouldn’t wanna keep Kevin waiting,” he grumbles, a clear displeasure evident in his tone.

Finally, it clicked.

“Are you jealous?” You tease, chuckling slightly. His expression shifts from annoyance to embarrassment, mostly because he never thought you’d catch on or that he made it so obvious.

“You’re jealous!” You exclaim, trying hard to hold back your laughter. Once again, he scoffs, but he’s terrible at hiding his embarrassment.

“Aw Jake, don’t be jealous,” you tease.

“Video did get a lot of views though.” It’s true, the video brought a lot of traction to your account, but so did every single one of your other videos.

An idea pops into his mind at the revelation, but you don’t give him time to respond before you’re turning on your heel and excitedly walking into the club.

—

All night you’ve been working towards making Jake more jealous than he already was. All you had to do was stand close to Kevin, chat him up a bit, and pretend to be interested in whatever he quipped back. Kevin was definitely getting the wrong idea, but if it got you closer to Jake, it didn’t matter.

Jake’s eyes have been glued to you from the moment you entered the club, trained on your every move. His blood is boiling, his jaw is clenched, and his fists are bawled.

He needs to come up with an excuse to get you alone as quickly as possible, just so you two can make a video of your own. Honestly, he’ll be content for some alone time with you even if the camera isn’t involved.

Jake watches in jealousy as your hands grip Kevin’s bicep, supporting yourself as you throw your head back in laughter. Surely Kevin isn’t that funny.

Kevin’s arm manages to escape your grip and slither around your waist, his hand resting on your ass before squeezing it. You know Jake’s watching, so you let Kevin put on a show.

When Kevin slaps your ass, loudly and proudly, Jake decides he’s seen enough. So, he walks over to you without a real plan, but he’s being fueled by rage and jealousy.

Jake leans down in front of you, whispering into your ear, “Meet me in the parking lot.”

You struggle to hear him over the music and Kevin’s hold on you makes it hard to scoot in closer to him.

“What?” You whisper shout.

“Meet me in the parking lot,” Jake repeats, gritting his teeth and sending an unreadable look towards Kevin.

He’s quick to dismiss himself from everyone else, bidding his goodbyes as he walks out into the parking lot. As you watch his brooding figure disappear, your thighs subconsciously clench together. For some reason, the miserable, possessive aura that radiated from him was causing a heat to grow within you.

After some minutes, you make up an excuse as to why you need to leave. Something along the lines of, “I have an early day tomorrow.” Luckily, no one questions your excuse, or the way you giddily skip out of the club, not even Kevin.

When you exit the building and round the corner into the parking lot, you spot Jake leaning against the hood of his car. A cigarette sits between his lips, the lit end blinking with each inhale.

“No Kevin?” He says with a sly grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “I can go get him if you want?” You turn on your heels, pretending like you’re going to walk back into the club.

“I was kidding,” he grumbles, pulling your body into his roughly. You slam against him, your crotch hitting his already erect member.

Jake’s arms wrap around your waist, both hands landing on your ass. He squeezes firmly, massaging your skin repeatedly.

“Why’d you call me out here, Jake?” You ask, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

“You know why,” he hums, applying pressure to your back until you’re basically grinding.

You decide to tease him, knowing that he’s so unbelievably horny that it’ll work him up even further. “I don’t know why, Jake. Care to explain?”

He’s still grinding himself into you, his breath becoming heavy with every passing second. Jake’s mind is going crazy with the thought of you on the back of his car, camera in your face, praising every inch of his body.

Jake’s head falls onto your shoulder, mouth latching onto the skin of your neck in a soft, sloppy attack of kisses. “Just thought we could… you know, make a video of our own,” he murmurs against your skin.

You want to give in, to take him right there in the middle of the parking lot, but you know that the further you push him, the greater the reward.

“We’ve made enough videos. They don’t bring in as many views as my other ones…” you say, stifling a moan. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t have to know that. Your videos with Jake are easily the most popular on your account.

“… As my videos with Kevin.”

Jake’s lips come to a halt, hands becoming stiff on your ass.

“Yeah?” Jake says.

“Yeah.” You reply, a stubborn underlying tone in your voice.

He unlocks his car, opening the back seat. “Get in.”

“What?” You laugh, slight confusion written on your face.

“You heard me,” he growls.

As you begin crawling into the backseat, his hand lands a firm slap on your ass.

“We’re gonna see how many views we can get you.”

—

Even though this is what you’ve wanted all night, now that you’re in the backseat of Jake’s car, you feel nervous. You’ve filmed videos like this before, yet you feel like a virgin anxiously awaiting to be touched.

Because you’re in a car, you have none of your camera equipment, so you’re wondering what Jake will record this on.

“C’mere,” Jake murmurs, catching sight of the way you anxiously play with the hem of your dress. “What happened to all that confidence?” He teases as you make your way onto his lap, finding a comfortable position over his crotch.

Instinctively, you grind onto him, but his hands are quick to stop you. “Uh uh. I’m in control, baby.”

“You were acting like a stupid brat. You think brats deserve to be rewarded?” He asks, pulling his phone out of his one pocket. You don’t answer, but you don’t have to because he does it for you, “They don’t. They get punished.”

The phone’s flash shines in your face, a clear indicator that he’s started recording. Suddenly, you become shy, because even if this is what you do for a living, it always feels more vulnerable and real with Jake.

A shocked gasp escapes your lips as he swiftly maneuvers you so that you’re lying across his lap. Your tight dress has managed to ride past your hips at this point, providing Jake the perfect view of your ass which he gladly captures on camera.

“You know what happens to brats, Y/n?” Jake asks, his unoccupied hand massaging your thighs and ass.

Your voice is squeaky as you try not to get lost in the feeling of his hands all over you, “Mmm— No.”

Suddenly, he delivers a quick slap to your bum. You weren’t expecting it, and you’re so lost in the moment that all you can manage to do is squeal.

“You like that?” He taunts, focusing the camera on the red handprint that’s forming on your skin. You bite your lip and nod your head, batting your eyelashes at him. Not only did you know that this would rile him up, but you actually did like that.

“Fucking brat,” he grits. Jake’s hand lands on your ass again, only slightly harder than before. The sting courses through your body, eliciting the smallest moan from you.

He delivers another slap. “I won’t stop until I know you’ve learned your lesson.” Slap.

You cover your mouth, attempting to muffle your moans and whimpers. But it’s no use, you’re enjoying this much more than you’d care to admit.

If it weren’t for the wetness that formed in your panties, you might’ve allowed this to continue all night. But, as he continues delivering slap after slap, all you can think about is the erection that is poking at your stomach.

So when he proposes the question, “Have you learned your lesson?”

You’re quick to reply with, “Yes. Yes, Daddy.”

The pet name flips a switch in Jake. It’s the first time anyone has ever referred to him as that, and he’s instantly addicted.

“Say it again.”

You crawl back into his lap, sitting right above his crotch. Your fingers weave through his hair and tug the strands.

Slowly, you lean close enough for your lips to graze his. “I learned my lesson,” you whisper, “Daddy.”

“Fuck,” he whimpers. Suddenly he doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to remain in control. There’s something about the way the word sounds coming from your sultry voice. It has him weak.

You grind onto his cock as you connect your lips with his. The kiss is sloppy, needy, and tastes of desire. Jake’s completely forgotten about the phone, tossing it to the side and allowing his hands to roam your body.

His strong, rough hands travel from your ass to your boobs, pulling the dress down until your breasts are free. He hungrily latches onto your nipples, sucking and nipping at the sensitive buds until your head is thrown back in pleasure.

Your body continues gyrating against his, the material of his jeans providing you with the slightest relief. It still wasn’t enough, though, you needed to feel him, all of him.

You pull his face back up to yours, capturing his lips in another heated makeout session. Moans and groans are swallowed by the kiss as his tongue slips into your mouth. You’re breathless, but the kiss is so much better than oxygen.

One of your hands begins palming him through his jeans, fumbling with the button and zipper in an attempt to free his cock.

“Please fuck me, Daddy,” you beg against his lips.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck you so good,” he grunts, watching as you pull his pants down. Jake’s cock springs free, precum already leaking from the red, swollen tip.

As you pump him slowly, spreading his natural lubrication along his shaft, he uses one of his fingers to pull your panties to the side. The fabric pushes against your clit and the pressure is soon replaced with his fingers as he circles the bundle of nerves rhythmically.

You’re quick to position yourself over his cock, sitting on the tip momentarily before sinking down on it completely.

“Jake— fuck!” You moan, throwing your head onto his shoulder. Jake’s size always manages to overwhelm you.

You’re about to start bouncing on his dick, but he stops you with strong hands on your waist.

“That’s not my name.”

Rutting your hips in response earns you yet another slap to the ass.

“Don’t be a brat. Say my name,” he growls.

You clench around his girth, desperate for some sort of relief as he continues to hold you in place.

“Say.” Slap. “My.” Slap. “Name.” Slap.

Your asscheek is red and stinging, the need growing deep within your core. “Jake?” You tease, feigned innocence laced in your voice.

In an attempt to reposition himself, he bucks his hips upwards into you. You whimper at the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix.

“Wanna act stupid?” He asks, mostly to himself. He grabs the long forgotten phone, its flash once again illuminating your exposed body. “I’ll fuck you stupid then.”

In one swoop, Jake lays you on your back in the backseat. Your tits jiggle against the fabric of your dress that’s pooled beneath them, an excited giggle being the only thing keeping you from moaning.

“You won’t think shit’s funny when I’m done with you.”

His large hand slithers up your body, wrapping around your neck as he begins pounding into you relentlessly. Small hands wrap around his wrist as you try adjusting to the feeling.

He’s fucking you so fast, so good. Muffled and strained moans ring through the car, harmonizing with the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

Jake’s still pointing the camera in your face, capturing your fucked out expression perfectly. He expertly angles the camera down to your wet cunt, biting his lip at the sight he’s met with. His length plunges in and out of you repeatedly, squelching as it’s coated in your slick.

“Jake— I—,” you stutter through your words, the euphoric feeling of his dick suffocated between your walls clouding your mind with lust.

He pulls out of you completely, immediately missing the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him, but he needs to teach you a lesson.

Your hips lift from the leathery cushion beneath them, chasing his cock in a hungry haze. You whimper and claw at the wrist that’s wrapped around your throat, begging desperately for him to stuff you again.

“Say my name,” he commands. Your nose scrunches in indignation.

His grip on your throat loosens, that same hand traveling down to his aching cock. Jake teasingly traces the tip along your cunt, earning another hip buck from you.

“You know what to do, baby,” he teases.

“One word will give you everything you want.” He slaps the tip against your throbbing clit. You want to continue playing this game, but you know you won’t last long.

You sit up, propping yourself up on your elbows. The camera has the perfect view of your face and your pussy that clenches around nothing.

Your eyelashes bat against your cheeks as you bite your lip. “Please, Daddy. Please fuck me.”

As soon as the pet name leaves your mouth, Jake is diving back into you in a hungry frenzy. The force pushes you back onto your back. His pounding thrusts have you seeing stars, his tip kissing your cervix each time.

“Was that so fucking hard?” He grunts. One of his hands grips your waist, providing him with the leverage necessary to continue fucking you deep and hard. The other hand, is focused on filming every beautiful second of this. From the way you look wrapped around him, to the way your mouth falls open because of the sheer pleasure coursing through your veins.

His grunts bring you closer to the edge, especially when mixed with the filthy words that fall from his lips. “Did Kevin fuck you this good? Did his dick have you squirming and whimpering like this?”

You’re too fucked out to respond, causing Jake to pound into you even harder than before. “Hmm? Did he?”

“No, Daddy. No one fucks me this good— fuck!” Your eyes screw shut as he fucks you at a particularly delicious angle. “Only you do, Daddy. Only you.”

You feel your climax approaching quickly, so you slither your hand down to your clit. Your fingers rub circles into the sensitive bud as you chase your high.

Jake’s orgasm must be close too because his hips stutter and his movements become sloppier, a string of curse words and moans melodically falling on the skin of your neck.

“I’m coming!” You squeak.

Your legs convulse and shake as your orgasm washes over you, your core clenching around Jake’s cock as he continues pushing and pulling inside of you.

“Fuck. You feel so good, baby. So, so good,” he praises as your plushy walls continue clamping around his dick.

He’s so unbelievably close, all he needs is to hear you say his name one last time. “Say my name, baby. I’m so close.”

You chant the pet name like a mantra, kissing his sweaty chest and shoulders repeatedly to help him reach his orgasm. He loves the way you say it and would gladly listen to you say it forever if he could.

Jake’s hips snap into you one last time as hot, sticky ropes of cum paint your insides. A breathy, animalistic moan racks through his body as he collapses onto you.

For the first time in a long time, the weight of a man’s body on you doesn’t feel suffocating. Instead, it feels comforting and you’d love for him to remain this close to you for as long as possible.

But, unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. So, as you both recover from the powerful orgasms that just surged through your body, he pulls out of you slowly.

You immediately miss the feeling of him inside of you and as he turns the phone off, you find yourself wishing you were still under the spotlight, because maybe then the moment would last longer.

You sit up and adjust your dress. “Hope you got your footage,” you comment, attempting to sound nonchalant. “It’ll get a lot of views.”

Jake pulls his pants up, sending you a bewildered look. “You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m sharing this,” he chuckles.

Your brows furrow in confusion, a slight twinge of embarrassment painting your expression. “Was it not good enough?”

As you await his response, you crawl into the passenger seat. He follows suit shortly after, joining you in the driver’s seat.

“Was it not good enough?” He scoffs, restating your question like it’s an insult. “It was too good.”

A blush forms on your face. You don’t know what it is about Jake that always makes you feel like a giggly teenage girl.

“It was too damn good, baby. And Daddy doesn’t like sharing.”

Instinctively, your thighs press together. He always managed to rile you up within seconds.

“You’re mine, don’t forget that. I’m greedy,” Jake states.

You nod your head slowly.

“And whatever Daddy wants, Daddy gets.” His right hand rests on your thigh as the other works the steering wheel. *2

“Yes Daddy,” you whisper, earning yourself a squeeze. If it meant he’d fuck you like he just did, you were going to continue calling out his name.

—

MASTERLIST

a/n:

okay so I’m writing Arranged CH.2 rn, but this idea just came to me based on the two requests (linked). Also, I need a smut break tbh I NEED TO WRITE SOMETHING FLUFFY AND/ OR ANGSTY. which is what Arranged is perfect for 😏

I’m trying to gain the motivation to write frequently again so I can post more, but it’s a process. I’m getting there guys.

Thank you my sweet anons for these reqs (linked), hope you enjoy!!!

- L.A.M.B 👼🏻💗

—

1* Kendrick V. Drake, thoughts? Personally, I’m team Kendrick 🤔 the songs are too damn catchy

2* I know he says “whatever daddy wants, daddy gets,” as a joke, but let’s pretend he says it to get us all worked up. okay? Okay.

—

taglist: @nickgetsmewetter @sturniololovers @raysmayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03 @k-l-a-w-s @maryx2xx @biggesthat3r @herxyzblog @getosuckers @sturnioloarchive @tillies33ssss @fratbrochrisgf @aurizp @riasturns @sturnikitty @sturnrc @sturtriple16 @sillyfreakfanparty @imwetforyourmom @mattslovelygf @certifiednatelover @cartiiwannagotoplutoo @luvr4miya @somegirlfromasgard @l0vergrlll @pepsicolapussy333 @unbruisable @sugrhigh @khxna @wh0resstuff @jnkvivi @callsignwidow

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐 if your user is striked through, I wasn’t able to tag you :(

976 notes · View notes