#I just need to edit the formatting on this chapter before I post it there

[writereleaserepeat]

Are you still actively writing Hear No Evil? No pressure either way, just thought you should know those guys live rent free in my brain :)

I'll admit that I've left both these asks sitting in my inbox for way too long - I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to get to them, and thank you both so much for asking about Hear No Evil <3

TL;DR - Yes, I'm still actively writing Hear No Evil, and it's not going to be abandoned. I appreciate all of the love and support I've received for this story so far, and hope to get the people more of what they want very soon!

Longer Answer - While I'm still actively writing and working on Hear No Evil, it has some real problems that I need to address narratively and character-wise before I start putting out new chapters. I started writing it just for fun, as my own personal foray into the original fiction whump community, over a year ago. I've changed a lot as an author in that time and learned a lot more about what makes a compelling whump story.

Our still-nameless whumpee was merely a vessel for my whumpy ideas rather than a fully-formed character, and it really shows. The foundation for the rest of the story is very, very weak considering what's been posted so far. There's very little room for either whumpee or caretaker to grow and change in a meaningful way. To keep writing them this way, without making significant changes in the foundation, is simply unsustainable.

The plan is simple, and already in motion - I'm rewriting the chapters that have already been posted. They're going to be new, improved, and much more robust with character development. It's going to be the same story, hopefully just elevated. This is going to make what I hope is a much more satisfying story that lives up to reader expectations in the short and long term.

So, uhm, yeah! Sorry if that's not the answer you were hoping for, but it's what's happening. I do this for fun, but I still want to post things that I'm proud of, and the current iteration of Hear No Evil just isn't that. Thank you everyone for your patience and continued support of my whumpy writing <3

[catscidr]

// what's the difference between scotch and whisky anyways //

i. note — /edit/ i said i would fix the formatting later and Now is later hi hellooo. sorry for not posting, i suddenly couldnt bring myself to write for more than five minutes at a time lmaoa ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) but i hope the dottore enjoyers like this at the very least. rn im working on chapter 3 of fbbts and a darker, separate dottore/reader one shot and a couple of jjk fics if anyone would even be interested in reading them lol. but in the meantime, here's drunken shenanigans ft everyone's favorite war criminal ii. includes — dottore x gn!reader, webttore (beta) and omega cameos. various mentioned harbingers iii. cw — fluff, crack sorta, alcohol stuff, dottore is ooc because he's Not Sober, everyone is clingy. fun stuff yk iv. wc — 3,5k -> ao3 link

It’s a popular stereotype that Snezhnayans are heavy drinkers, but the fact lies within the fatui. They’re shameless; whether it’s showing up to work inebriated or drinking on the job, they’ll hold onto the ‘snezhnayans have a high alcohol tolerance’ stereotype with clenched fists and a bottle at their lips. 

However, that fact only applies to the lackeys—agents that are stationed for hours on end without a break, agents that, at times, need liquid courage to face the horrors that come with the job. The Harbingers are an entirely different case. 

They balance each other, in a way. Where Tartaglia can down three shots of fire water and come out virtually unscathed, Damselette would rather not be caught within a hundred meters of a drop of alcohol. Where The Knave occasionally enjoys a glass of wine in her office, The Balladeer sneers at the choice of drink. 

None came together to go out for drinks, if not because of their job taking up a lot of time out of their days. No, none of the Harbingers were really close enough to let themselves be seen so vulnerable, if one dared drink themselves to the point of being unable to walk in a straight line. 

Thus, there had only been rumors circulating the halls of Zapolyarny palace. Hushed speculations spoken between coworkers, told with an air of excitement. No one has ever seen their Lords in a state other than wholly glorious, so it’s only human nature to wonder just what they would be like if their dignity were knocked down a peg—how they would be if they indulged in simple human vices. 

There are two kinds of Harbingers; ones that lack any rumors about their drinking habits, and ones that are so intriguing that if you were to strike up a conversation with a fatui agent, you would start theorizing about what kind of drunk they’re like before saying hello. Tartaglia and The Knave are part of the former, along with The Rooster and The Fair Lady. The latter consists of (unsurprisingly) The Balladeer, our sweet Damselette, and the two big shots at the top. 

Rumors of The Captain’s drinking habits are usually quite short-lived. People either have too much respect for him to speculate about something as childish as how he acts when he’s had too much to drink, or fear him too much to risk spreading rumors. 

But regarding The Doctor... 

It’s no secret that, even if he is eccentric and has a penchant for unconventional research methods, he has quite the loyal following. Agents will rally to defend him if they hear anyone slandering him, insisting that he’s reasonable and logical. ‘If you simply do your job, you have nothing to worry about’ is what they’d say. 

Although he’s amassed his fair share of fans within the fatui, they’re unlike The Captain’s loyal following; The Doctor’s subordinates are the first to whisper theories about their boss’ drinking habits. He’s only part human now, so maybe alcohol doesn’t affect him the way it does normal people like Tartaglia. Oh, but he seems the type to need to unwind occasionally, so maybe he has a secret stash of wine somewhere in his office? What if, in his free time, he creates various concoctions and cocktails to drink? 

Seeing as he understands science deeper than anyone else, mixology should be a walk in the park for a scientist as lucrative as him. 

Wrong. 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” 

The glare sent your way is nothing short of vicious. There stood in front of you one of his segments, the one with the infamous short fuse. “Why are you here?” 

You internalize the sigh you want to let out, deciding against making him mad when it seems he can’t even stand straight for longer than a few seconds. 

“Lord Pantalone dismissed me early.” You strategically omit why he let you go in the first place. “Where’s Prime?” 

As per anything retaining to Il Dottore, your relationship was unconventional at best. The term closest to what you were, if you wanted to describe said relationship, would be lovers—but... not quite? Still. Neither you nor Dottore cared enough to put a clear label on it, so you’ve resorted to letting people speculate— it can be quite entertaining to listen to people guess while being loud and wrong, anyways. 

You used to work under him as one of his many researchers. When you both started taking your relationship seriously, he threw in the idea of promoting you to being his personal assistant; that way he could (give you special treatment) have someone more competent than his last assistant take care of “menial tasks” like his tedious paperwork. 

You refused the generous offer, insisting that it would be unprofessional to work under him as his partner. After many late-night discussions (and stubborn headbutting of differing opinions) you both have come to an agreement in which you would work for Lord Pantalone as a financial planner. 

(You finally managed to convince him by bringing up how you could, hypothetically, pull some strings on your end in his favor—that you could persuade Pantalone to allot more funding for his research. If he had any shame left, it would have been embarrassing how quickly he shook your hand to accept your conditions.) 

Now, while you spent most of your time in an office in The Regrator’s office building near the Palace, you occasionally came by to drop off documents. Of course, you would use your short trips as an excuse to go see Dottore (even if you could do so at any time anyways, given how much authority he had.) 

However, sometimes you just want to work. 

You’ll leave the comfort of your cubicle to go see him and the extensions of himself, sure, but you still had a job to do. Papers piled up, clients grew impatient, and even your boss wasn’t immune to their nasty attitude whenever he held a meeting with a particularly irritating client. Thus, sometimes you wished you could truly focus, lose track of time and work until your wrist forced you to take a break. 

This wouldn't happen today, clearly. Seeing as one of Dottore’s lackeys rushed to your office to bring you to the Haeresys, you most likely won’t be seeing your desk until further notice. 

Now you were stuck with a cryptic Beta, trying your best to use what little knowledge about the clones’ machinery you managed to wring out of your stubborn lover. 

“Where’s Prime?” You run a hand over your wrinkled coat sleeve, keeping your voice calm and steady. Patient, else you’d be subjected to the segment’s indignation. 

“Dunno.” 

You sigh. Is he a scientist or a child? “You do know. Where is he?” 

“I told you I don’t know!” He throws his hands up, accidentally striking his mask in the way—effectively leaving it to rest at an angle on his face. Most of his mouth showed now, instead of the half you’re used to seeing. And the holes for the eyes don’t quite go where they should... 

Blinking, you take in the sight in front of you while he calms down. His crimson eyes were glassy, and his lips formed a permanent pout, vastly out of character for a segment that supposedly represented The Doctor at the most volatile stage of his life. Azure locks curled around his cheeks, though they were usually tucked out of the way. His clothes were all wrinkled, in a way that left you wondering if you shouldn’t tend to him instead. Dealing with his attitude is annoying, but it’ll be amusing to think about later, I guess. 

“Do you really not know...?” 

“No.” 

“Then, do you know why I was called to the lab?” 

“No. Yes... probably not. Uh,” he crosses his arms over his chest and loses his balance for just a second, “I think I do.” 

You raise an inquisitive brow, silently encouraging him to continue. 

“Give me a second.” Beta shuts his eyes, shoulders slumping. His mask was still crooked—you had half a mind to fix it, but held back the twitch in your fingers. After a few seconds he pipes up, uncrossing his arms to reach out to you. 

“Come.” 

The segment grabs your wrist and drags you into the hallways of the Palace, ignoring your yelp of surprise and the stares of various agents lingering in the halls. You pass by ornate statues and paintings, the sight more unfamiliar than not. 

“Beta, where are we-” 

“Hush, I can’t walk when you’re talking my ear off.” 

...Right. Something is definitely wrong. 

After about five minutes of running around like headless chickens you tug your arm back, making Beta turn around indignantly. You lift your hands up in front of you before he can speak. 

“Did you mean to bring me to Lady Signora’s office?” you ask, lips curled up into a small smile seeing his mask still laid crooked on his face. With a gentle hand you fix it, cold fingers grazing his burning cheek. 

“...” 

Beta’s brows furrow as he avoids your gaze, huffing dramatically. Poor guy, you mused. 

“Alright, let’s go to the lab, then. He must be there, right? Where was Prime last time you saw him?” 

“...his office, probably,” he murmurs. 

With a nod and a smile akin to someone doing some gentle parenting, you place a hand on his back and help guide him to Haeresys. The stairs were hard to walk down, but with just a bit of patience and a bit of Beta clutching your arm while shouting that you were trying to assassinate him, you make it down in one piece. 

You remove your gloves and place your palm into the scan, then input the lengthy password to open the laboratory’s large doors. They slide open, revealing the absence of normal researchers and noise. You spot Omega standing over the remains of a ruin machine with a clipboard in his hands and look back towards Beta. 

“Go sit, I’ll go ask Omega about Prime’s whereabouts.” 

The clone nods, trudging his legs along to lay down on the leather couch tucked away in the lab. 

As you put away your large coat and hang it up in the small rack near the doors and make your way towards Omega, you notice the slow rhythm of his handwriting—when he’s usually seemingly speedrunning writing down notes, he’s now leisurely writing away, unaware of your presence. 

“Omega.” 

The latter turns to you, masking his surprise with a small smile instead. “My dear,” he practically purrs, putting away the clipboard in a swift movement, placing the pen in his coat pocket. 

“I was alerted that something was... off, with Prime. Do you know where he is?” 

And where you thought Omega would pick up on Beta’s lack of decorum, you were sorely mistaken. The clone walks up to you with that same smile brightening his features, placing both hands on your shoulders oh so gently. 

“He’s in his office. But enough about him, I haven’t seen you in a while, beloved. Why must you keep me away from you?” he muses, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. You tilt your head to avoid being stabbed by his mask’s beak, raising your hands to press against his chest to make some distance. The action proved to be futile, of course. 

We saw each other yesterday, you murmur. “I’m sorry, I’ll get back to you in a moment, alright?” You offer him a warm smile in hopes that he’ll listen, seeing as he seemed to be quite... mushy. 

It works, and he lets you go with a curt nod, retreating to go... somewhere. You didn’t linger around long enough to figure it out, since you knew where to go now. 

Walking across the lab, you note how things seemed to be more out of place than usual. It couldn’t have been a researcher, they always had to clean up after themselves, courtesy of their boss. So, the mess had to be caused by them... 

You finally stand in front of his door, raising a fist to knock. A yelp leaves you as you’re whisked away, the door slamming shut just as quickly as it swung open. 

“Dottor-” 

“Can you fucking believe how inept these agents are? They dare speak to me with such disrespect after delivering the lousiest job I’ve ever seen.” Dottore rambles, pulling you deeper into his office. You observe the state of his workspace, namely the papers scattered onto the ground and the... bottlecap on the floor, right next to his trashcan filled with crumpled up paper...? 

“Showing up in the lab with their damn hands empty save for the half empty bottle of scotch they tried to hide. Idiots were too shitfaced to notice how I noticed.” 

“Okay, Dottore, what are you-” 

He gestures wildly as he speaks, his hands the only way for you to read him as his mask hid most of his features. The blue lines taunt you; though you’re tempted to take it off, you feel like he might just lunge at you if you did. 

“And then they had the gall to insist that the bottle was theirs when I confiscated it.” Dottore pushes you down to sit on the couch, a small oof leaving you in consequence. “Anything that enters this fucking lab belongs to me, I’m the boss, I decide what flies and what does not.” 

Absolutely unaware of your muffled giggles as you piece things together, he keeps ranting, turning his back to you as he stomps away towards his desk. “Not to mention these damn lackeys have had multiple warnings up until now,” he spits out. “Lord Harbinger, we’re sorry! We’ll clean up the lab to make up for this offense! Lord Harbinger, it won’t happen again! Who do they take me for, a moron?!” 

The higher pitch he uses to imitate (and make fun of) the agents almost makes you lose it. But you keep your composure, sitting demurely, listening. 

Dottore comes back with a bottle in hand, orange liquid swirling around the thick glass as he stumbles closer to where you sat. He joins you without warning, creating a dip in the sofa next to you—almost forcing you to lean onto him for support. His free arm drapes over the back as he sighs loudly, making you stifle a laugh behind your hand. 

A pregnant pause stretches between the two of you as his anger simmers down to embers. You lean forward, attempting to take a look at the label on the bottle in his hand. 

“What’re you holding there, love?” you ask sweetly. Glancing up you’re able to steal a peek at his eyes from underneath his dark mask—Archons was he absolutely gone. 

It takes him a second to respond, almost as if he forgot you were even there in the first place. 

“Whisky.” 

“I thought it was scotch.” 

“Same thing.” 

“No it isn’t.” 

“Yes it is.” 

“No it’s n-” 

“It is.” 

Maybe it wasn't the brightest thing to do, messing with him while he’s this inebriated. But it sure was entertaining. 

“Alright. Well, how much did you drink?” 

“A sip or two.” 

As if on cue, he brings the bottle up to his lips and takes a swig. Your grin widens, thoroughly entertained by the show; who else had the privilege of seeing The Doctor so drunk he could barely formulate something that made sense? 

You bring his attention back on you as you place a hand on his knee, leaning close. Dottore immediately snaps into place, gaze flickering down to your lips from the proximity. 

With a swift hand you grab the scotch from his hands, inspecting the amount still left in the bottle. If he said it was half empty when he confiscated it, then... 

“Dearest, did you drink a quarter of this bottle?” You're not even supposed to drink it straight from the bottle, either is what you wished to add, but seeing how defensive he was already, you figured it would just make things more complicated than they needed to be.

As if stung by the Tsaritsa’s delusion, he immediately stiffens and defends himself. “I did not, I told you I only had a sip.” 

The way his bottom lip jutted out was almost cute, if you dared to describe him in such a way. Compliments could wait though; you had answers to seek. 

“Mhm, a sip. Well,” you put the bottle down on a coaster on the coffee table and turn to face him properly, “what happened to the segments? They’re all a little... woozy.” Your fingers trail his arm, tracing circles in their wake. 

Dottore swallows, Adam's apple bobbing as he opens his mouth to speak. “We’re connected, albeit loosely. They could be affected by the few sips of scotch I drank, though I would have some work cut out for me if that were the case. I can’t let them be so weak after all.” 

The way he spoke sounded, for lack of better words, pouty. 

Was he... sulking? 

“And since we’re connected, I know you spoke to Beta ‘n Omega earlier.” 

He most definitely is. He's even slurring his words, now...

“Yeah? I was asking them where you were so I could check up on you, baby.” You chuckle softly, taking the liberty of putting his mask away. Bright, glassy red eyes stare down into you, and you hold back the urge to smother his face in kisses. 

“You didn’t have to talk to them, you could have just asked me.” 

“I was looking for you, so I couldn’t have.” 

“Why not?” 

You scoff, smiling as you adjust yourself on the couch. Dottore notices and takes the liberty of pushing you down, laying his head down so his ear is on your chest, cheek pressed up into you. “I’m sorry, I’ll ask you next time,” you respond. 

That satisfies him, enough to render him silent for a handful of seconds before he speaks up again. 

“...I need to get back to work,” he huffs. 

You bring a hand up and run it through his disheveled locks, careful not to tug at the small knots in the hair at the back of his neck. Twirling the hair of his mullet you hum, noting how his weight seemed to grow heavier as the seconds passed. No way is he going to get any work done if he falls asleep here. 

“Take a break, you deserve it. In the meantime, you can think of a suitable way to punish those stupid agents from earlier, right?” 

A quiet hum is all you get in response. You look down expecting to see his unnerving red eyes to be staring up at you, but you’re met with the sight of his features completely lax instead. Azure hair pools around his face, settling on your chest where his face rose in time with your breaths. 

You would have dimmed the lights and turned off his computer if you knew he was going to keep you hostage on the couch. Though you can’t really complain at the turn of events; it’s rare for Dottore to be the one to initiate skinship in the relationship. 

It was quiet, but you managed to hear the low dear? that left his lips. You hum, not wanting to speak as to not break the quiet atmosphere lulling you to a sense of peace. 

After a minute of silence, you decide to repeat yourself—this time a little louder than before. “What is it?” 

Another minute passes, just as quiet as the last. The sound of his slow, deep breaths fills the room, accompanied by the low scratches of your nails on his scalp. His hair parts where your fingers tread through it, and you quietly note that you should trim his hair soon. 

Il Dottore’s poor alcohol tolerance will always be a mystery to the public, because there’s no way you would ever let anyone in on the way he cuddles up to you when he’s had too much to drink. 

[aayakashii]

touch starved

small fic after I saw @berrygoodjob hc about Alan being touch starved...... couldnt stop thinking about it afterwards. This might have a part 2 if I get more ideas, but we'll see.

Gender neutral MC mostly (mention of a skirt). English isn't my 1st language so I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Also, I usually post on ao3 so this is my first time posting a fic on tumblr, if the formatting is wonky, I'm sorry!!

Edit: changed it to 2nd person pov to match the future chapters.

"Captain?" you knocked gently on the hardwood door right on front of you. It looked sturdy and way too thick for a normal bedroom door, but then again, this is the room of a ghoul.

You wiped the sweat of your palms on your skirt, afraid you'd somehow smudge Professor Dante's careful handwriting as you clenched the papers against your chest.

You hated doing this. Not necessarily presenting another batch of mission papers, no. Even if a mission puts your neck on the line, there are some ghouls you could trust in a heartbeat, like most of the boys from Frostheim and Jabberwock.

What you hated is being right there. In that exact place.

You hated being in Vagastrom.

"Captain? Alan, are you there?" you knocked again, a bit more forcefully this time, since maybe he just didn't hear you behind the door.

The smell of musk and sweat was everywhere in that place, suffocating you, making your heart race with anxiety and fear for your safety.

There were men everywhere, wherever you looked. Scary, burly, big, probably-loose-with-their-morals men who followed you, hungrily, with their eyes, whenever you strode inside the garage and into the dorm rooms.

They wouldn't come near you, though. They knew messing with you was messing with not only their captain, but the captains of other houses and Darkwick itself. Being cursed an honor student had its perks.

What you dreaded, in fact, was seeing Vagastrom's vice-captain. The cunning, untrustworthy, venomous, undeserving of his position as vice-captain, Kurosagi Leo. You shivered thinking about his lifeless eyes and smile filled with hidden intentions – he was the true reason why you despised being in Vagastrom.

The door opened right before you lifted your hand to knock a third time as your anxiety peaked as you thought about Leo.

"What are you doing here?" the man in front of you gasped in surprise upon seeing you before him.

"I told you to send me a message before coming to Vagastrom if you ever needed to talk... You're not supposed to walk alone around here" the Vagastrom Captain sighed after lightly scolding you "Come, you can enter."

Alan was different, though.

You followed behind him, staring at his broad back, while his right hand massaged his left shoulder. His room smelled like eucalyptus, a welcome respite, and you breathed in deeply the comforting scent while he turned around and looked at you.

Alan was nothing like Leo.

People would talk and talk about his past, about how he was a scary deliquent who might have killed someone; about how he must be terrifyingly powerful if he controlled all of those delinquents on his own for so long; about how his stigma is made for destruction and pain; but every single day, all you could see were the way his eyes were kind and gentle as he looked at you.

"Are you okay?" he said, stuffing his hands inside the pockets of his pants, shoulders stiff as ever "No one messed with you?"

"No, no," you shook your head, smiling to prove you were in one piece. "Everyone always leaves me alone in here. You don't need to worry. They know I work with the ghouls, so I guess that's all the protection I need. The only threat here is Leo, but he only threatens my mental health, to be fair." you said, laughing humorlessly.

Alan winced and looked apologetic at your comment.

"... Sorry. I still gotta learn to control him."

You shook your head once again.

"It's not your fault, Alan. You're a great captain." you smiled. "Speaking of being a captain, Professor Dante asked me to deliver these papers to you. It's a bureaucratic mission though, no outside work. Apparently, there are some student records missing, something in regards to personal information being omitted by some students."

Alan gently grabbed the papers from your hands, surveying the information as he sat down on the couch in the middle of his room.

He sighed deeply after scanning all the papers, rubbing his temples in a manner he probably have picked up from Frostheim's vice-captain, and slumped against the back cushion.

"Um... Is everything okay, Alan?" you asked, sitting beside him.

"... Yes. Just... a bit tired." he murmured.

You hummed in thought, surveying his face as he stared blankly at the ceiling. The dark circles under his eyes were very obvious under the fluorescent lights.

"Have you been sleeping properly? Resting?" you asked, tilting your head, trying to make eye contact with his reddened and tired eyes.

"Can't. Work has been piling up."

"You know you won't be able to work well if you're burnt out, don't you? Even ghouls need to rest, no matter how strong they are."

"..."

The extremely stoic man stayed silent, avoiding your gaze at all costs. For someone everyone called scary, he could act like a kid who had been caught with their hand inside a cookie jar at moments.

You sighed.

Your hand moved on its own before you could even register what you were doing. You felt the unexpected silk of his hair against your fingertips as you patted his head to comfort him, much like he had done to yourself many times previously.

Except, instead of gladly accepting it like you usually do, Alan flinched and scooted away from you and your hand, staring at your face, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock.

"I'm sorry!" you said, not sure of what you had done wrong, while shutting your eyes and putting your hands up like you were a bank robber who just had been caught by the police. "I was just! I didnt... I mean... I'm sorry!"

"Ghhh!"

You tentatively opened your eyes, hands still up, after hearing Alan emit what could only be described as a choking sound.

The Vagastrom Captain, Alan Mido, one of the scariest men in Darkwick Academy, had one of his hands covering his face as he stared wide-eyed at you.

And he was beet red.

"I. Uh. I'm. Uh..." he gasped, struggling to form a coherent sentence.

Your head raced, a million miles per hour, as you saw him look away from your eyes, trying to put distance between the both of you on the sofa and get into terms with his own sudden embarrassment.

'Huh? Is he worried about hurting me? But… I thought his stigma only worked on his hands? Maybe my enhancement ability makes it work wherever I touch? Is that why he's so worried? But he wasn't even moving when I patted his head, maybe he was just caught off guard by me touching... him... Oh.'

Alan tried to recompose himself, still looking everywhere, but your direction. His cheeks still flushed red, while he scrunched his eyebrows in what appeared to be confusion, as if he wasn't understanding his own reaction as well.

'Oh. He's... incredibly touch starved, isn't he?' The thought dropped into your mind, like a single coin dropping into a fountain. Drip. And you were fully unable to shake it off.

It made sense despite it all, you figured. People barely approached Alan, as he was seen as a God by his house-mates and as a criminal by those outside Vagastrom.

He was incredibly hard to approach, his quiet personality making it hard to talk to him and his stoicism making it hard to figure out what he could be thinking.

Yet, there he was, like an open book. His red cheeks, stuttering words and wandering eyes saying exactly what he was thinking – what he wanted.

Before you could talk again or act on any more impulses, Alan forced a few dry coughs and cleaned his throat, picking up the papers once again as he got up fast from his seat. His face gradually went back to his usual color, and so did his stoic expression.

"Well, I will get to work on this as soon as I finish my job at the garage. Thanks for the delivery." he shook the papers way too eagerly. "Will message you once we can start working. Please close the door once you leave."

Alan strode away fast, still avoiding any and all eye contact, and quickly left you alone in his room. You stared at the diligently closed hardwood door that seemed to create an ocean of distance between him and yourself, barely forming a coherent thought.

Outside, two little Like Doves peered inside the small windows near the ceiling, daring you to start creating scenarios in your head.

You shook your head, trying to get rid of any speculations of your own. Creating scenarios was a job for the you before sleep, the one who had time to feel anxious and overthink your daily situations.

And if your phone beeping was any signal, right now you had other ghouls to assist.

[staarboyyy]

Necessary evils | Negotiations chapter ii

Ben [ Soldier boy ] x reader | no pronouns

explicit - minors dni

tags / warnings ; dubcon, reader has vagina, intoxication, weed use, cocaine mentions, slight angst, porn with a plot, destructive mutualization, lap sitting, pleasure denial, grinding ("the knee thing"), slight underwear fetish, m!masturbation, couch sex, free use elements, creampie, verbal threats, reader takes initiative (aka fucks around and finds out, with feelings!), is soldier boy a warning? if so, soldier boy antics!,

summary ; after the night in the alley, you cant help but wonder caused it all.

word count ; 5.3k

a/n ; [ Reposted with a full ending and edits ! Thank you for the support, even on accidental posts :"D] can be a stand-alone fic, but really meant to be a chapter 2 for my first fic on tumblr, Negotiations <3 thank you all for 200 followers, ill never be able to express the gratitude in my heart that has flourished in this community!! heres to writing format improvement, cheers! *tink!

Ben grunted as he pushed himself from the creaky motel couch, sighing quietly while his eyes scanned the room silently - As he landed on a small shoe box pushed underneath a desk, he bent at the waist to grab ahold of it, sliding it out with a hum. Upon flipping open the lip in time with sitting back down on the couch, made way for the harsh and bitter smell of weed and tobacco. His large hands sifted through the different items, plucking a glass pipe and grinder from the box and setting it next to him. The motions of this gave way for a strange familiarity, the smell, and movements of packing the bowl reminding him of hiding weed from his father decades ago. He was always insistent a boy like him should be 'straight-edge', clean, and practically from marble. He gave a quiet chuckle as he brought the pipe to his lips, glancing up at the ceiling. Before down towards the floor. No way in God's green earth had his father made it into Heaven. He gave a light stomp as he flicked the lighter over the bowl - It was muscle memory, though since his father died he made it a point that he'd never rest, not even after death. With a gracious inhale, Ben's lungs filled with smoke, pulling down the thickening barriers of his throat, mind reeling black and white grainy family photos. It made him sick to dwell on his family. Though the exhale cut sharp through his lips, throat stiffening at the burn that sliced that part away from him. He went in for another, heel coming down once more to thump against the floorboards, a smirk now pulling at the corners of his lips. Smoke filled the apartment, not unusual for this time of night, even as it made its way into your sleeping nostrils.

Working with Hughie and Butcher was not your intent. You told yourself this, as you watched the two men unfold into animals, lacing their arms with bands and injecting temp v at any opportune moment. It made it difficult to sleep, knowing the two were out at night, rampaging the streets in hopes of finding Soldier Boy's past team; And also the tense presence of Ben sitting on the couch, just a foot or two away. You stirred at the strong smell, shifting slightly as you adjust yourself on the worn-in couch, propping your elbow up on the armrest with a soft grimace. It wasn't comfortable by any means, but the exhaustion of the day had hit you like a freight train.

"How long was I out?"

"An hour or two. You fuckin' crashed, figured you'd need it."

Nights such as these came with a sense of peace; Like a lion and crane feeding at a watering hole, side by side with eyes unwavering as you do what they must to get by. The peace was faint, gritty between Ben's fingers as he packed a bowl down gently, shifting his jaw. He brought the lighter up to the pipe once again before his eyes set on you- The bowl sizzled as he inhaled, smoke drifting from his nostrils as he effortlessly pulled from the pipe, puffing it as if it were a cigar. His next motion came at a strange interception of his mind and body, hand moving to offer the lit pipe towards you. He gave no words, though it seemed he wouldn't have been able to conduct them into genuine conversation nonetheless.

Typically, you'd shake your head, or wave your hand, leaving the Supe to his devices - Though, the crickets shrouded the night air, pulsating through the thin windows and swelling at the shine of the moon, thick clouds parting like curtains to expose the soft light. This wasn't a night typical for you. You reached out, pursing your lips slightly as his rough skin grazed yours, his thumb lingering on your smaller fingers for a few moments. You tentatively brought the pipe to your lips, eyes casting over the man; He looked painfully human like this, relaxing back into the couch, spreading his thighs with a grunt as he looked back toward you quizzically. You pulled from the pipe, thumb pressing against the small hole, releasing as the bowl crackled a hot orange. The smoke cut down your throat in a harsh wave, coasting over your muscles with a hitched breath as your grip on the pipe tightened slightly, tears wetting the corners of your lashes at the fire lit in your lungs and throat. The smoke escaped you in small puffs, between coughs, dishing in the occasional sip of water from a crinkled 'room service' water bottle. It seemed to entertain Ben strangely, watching you quietly as you recovered from the harsh breath of smoke with an extended hand to take the glass piece back from you. The thick veil of smoke in the air twisted in ribbons as you spoke.

"Remember when you talked about our deal? What made you," You trailed off, recalling the night with a creeping burn ringing in your ears, the feeling of his hands seared into your mind.

"Mhm." Ben didn't miss a beat replying in a deep hum, his eyes now settled closed as he relaxed back into the couch with a sigh. "I don't know. "

He knew the question was coming, though with the anticipation came no rousing answer; In truth, he didn't know. He hadn't been drawn to you before that night, and now finding his pulse speeding due to just being in close proximity of you was... A shift. That was for sure. Ben shifted his jaw slightly, head leaning off to the side a bit. Sex was materialistic, something traded, an exchange - Kissing though. It made Ben's fingers clench into slight fists beside himself, pulling in a slow inhale as his mind returned back to the alley. Your lips against his. The thrum of Ben's heart began to pulse in his temples, rushing down his abdomen as he recalled the feeling of it all. His eyes opened, shifting his weight and keeping his gaze pinned to the space in front of him.  "You think I'm a bad guy?"

"...Yes." You weren't sure what he wanted to hear in that moment, his blue eyes fixated on the spot in front of him as your attention fell from his expression to his hands. How they fisted the spaces in the couch beside himself; Yet the geiger counter Hughie left behind remained still. Not rage, not frustration, or a slew of memories. You couldn't place what was eating away at him, not exactly. Though as you confessed yourself, in a single word - The first thing to come from Ben was a chuckle. His fists uncurled, clearing his throat as his eyes moved over the room with a shake of his head. The answer didn't seem to satisfy him - He didn't know your scale of what was and what was not bad, no way to place where he was in your mind, let alone on a metaphorical scale of morality. He brought a hand to his face, palm, and fingers rubbing at his stubble before looking over toward you. His expression was unreadable, not necessarily negative, the lingering breathy chuckle leaving behind the remains of a smirk. Ben wet his lips, parting them for a moment.

"You scared'a me then?" Ben breathed the question, his tone far different from the one he asked a few moments ago. It was a hardened thought as if he'd already concluded the answer before he even asked - Though he wanted to see it. That moment where the searching in your eyes falls to a fearful pricked gaze, goosebumps on your skin as Ben's question truly dawned on you, the man tilting his head slightly, brows still furrowed. He knew that you were scared, but his face read he had no inkling of such a thing; A truly evil man, is one who can be good when he chooses to be.

"Do you want me to be?"

It was a good answer, one that left Ben in yet another warranted corner, grappling with his rather intrusive blood flow. With another shift of his weight, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, inhaling sharply through his nostrils. The dust of cocaine surely didn't go unnoticed, Ben wiping the remainder of it from his upper lip with his thumb, and rubbing it over his tongue. He wouldn't let any go to waste, especially considering Butcher would be now... less inclined to support his rather persistent habit. It showed though; That widened gaze, pupils dilating and lips parting just enough to make way for slow breaths - The smell of whiskey and tobacco. He was always high, smoking even more than Frenchie, but there was a strange tension when he cut lines on the coffee table in front of everyone. It was a different level, the elated silver of his blue eyes pinning people to the spot, unwavering, unblinking. Terrifying, And yet there you sat.

"I think you're already past that. The whole scared thing. I mean shit, you're damn well traumatized."

"I'm stronger than you realize, you know?"

"I could pin you with one hand and take you over my knee with the other." Your throat dried, his gaze inspecting your reaction with a tentative inhale, breathing out a hum as he reached for the pipe still white-knuckled in your hand. He wasn't wrong - He had proved that, yet your stomach twisted into a tight knot at his little hesitation to make it crystal clear. His index and middle finger curled inwards twice, gesturing to the pipe with his eyes still searing into yours. You handed it over with a quiet sigh, eyes breaking away from his before he could dig himself deeper into your mind. You weren't sure how he did it, explored the darkest pits of your mind and clutching them with a forceful intimacy. You recalled the kiss, intermingled with hitched gasps and pleads for mercy, as your hand grazed his. It was warm, his ravenous hands working in stark contrast to the sudden plush in his voice and groans. It was nearly human. Ben paused for a tense moment, eyeing the pipe and parting his lips as the warmth of your skin rested against the callous of his own. You chewed your lip, sneaking a glance at the man who now visibly gathered his thoughts, tensing his jaw as he surrendered the words away, pursing his lips to punctuate his silence.

Sometimes you still wonder what he was going to say. Before he pulled his hand back from yours, before clearing his throat as he caught your stolen glimpse. He set the pipe down onto the small table, watching the bowl fizzle out with you, the black layer slowly crumbling to a dull white ash.

"I was going to ask why you kissed me,"

"I know." You tensed, half expecting him to be far past dozed off during the rolling periods of silence between you. Your eyes moved from the long put-out bowl to look in his direction, though he was already looking at you. The weight of his gaze fell onto your shoulders, beading down your body in slow waves. Ben wet his lips, pursing them once again; And you knew that was all you were going to get. It was nearly impossible to pry him from his mind when he sunk back, his eyes distant for a bleary second, before being blinked away, darting around for the closest vice to pull him back.

But there you were. His vice. The drug no material high could compete with, your soft lips shaping into words he could hardly conceptualize past the thick veil of his rushing pulse. He wanted to constrict himself, for the sake of himself, clench his damn fists and look away from your lips. He swallowed, jaw tight as you leaned closer to him in an inaudible allure, tying the both of you to a painful high. You could feel his breath, hot against yours as he inhaled slowly, his hands unlocking themselves from the couch to reach toward you.

     As Ben's large hands moved, he inhaled deeply, his eyes never leaving your lips. The warmth of his skin against yours sent an electric shiver down your spine, and you found yourself leaning your body closer to him. He swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat and conflict in his eyes, the battle between his selfish desire and his self-control. But as he allowed you to press your weight against his own, his lips brushing against yours, you knew that he had lost the war. 

     Bens's lips moved against yours, slow, painstakingly hesitant as if you were made from glass. His hands moved to your waist, pulling your body closer to him as he deepened the kiss. You could taste the weed on his tongue, mixing with bitter liquor, the soft scratch of his stubble rubbing against your skin. You moaned softly against his mouth, your hands moving to his chest, clutching tightly at the collar of his sweatshirt, still dotted with water from his hair. He groaned, the sound deep, and pulled from his chest, a breath of surprise passing his nostrils as you pulled yourself impossibly closer to him. Your legs rested beside his, straddling his lap as your fingers moved to his cold wet hair, tangling themselves through the soaked strands. His tongue traced your bottom lip, his mouth practically watering as you began to grind yourself down against his stiffening cock. A familiar pulse strung itself in your desperate movements, an instinctive dance you couldn't help but lose yourself in, your heart thrumming in your chest, heartbeat quickening in your ears. You took in a ragged breath, lips still pressed messily to his as his hands gripped your hips with a pleading grunt.

"What're you doin' to me, huh baby?" Ben whispered against your glossy lips, his eyes still closed, forehead gently resting against yours. You wish you could answer feasibly, and bring your swelling need to words, but the feeling of being against him was intoxicating. His grasp was like steel, unwavering, fingers moving in practiced gropes, invasively pulling your thighs further apart with little effort on his end. Your struggles, the moments your thighs hitch together or your back arches an inch out of place, were hardly anything to him. His hands molded you in forceful need, the heat of your skin and the sound of your breathing; He wanted it all, all of your weight against his statuesque body, the feeling of the gathering heat between your thighs grinding against his cock. 

"Deals a deal," You reminded the Supe with gritted teeth, pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck. Though it did nothing, hardly feeling like a tug, he tilted his chin up, relaxing his shoulders into the couch. Your heart thundered in your chest - You felt like a mouse balancing on the paw of a lion waiting to strike, as you pestered and teased him. He clawed into your hips, palming your ass with a shudder as you lowered your head to his jaw. Your lips traced his stubble, humming softly as you reached his neck, grinding your hips down against him.

"Oh, is that what this is?" Ben spoke in a shallow rumble. "I should'a known better." You felt yourself lift from his lap, his hands bringing you into the air with ease to lay your back on the couch, grunting softly as he pinned your hands beside your head, positioning himself above you. Your breath swam shallow in your chest, swirling from your lips in a mix of moans and echoed pleas. For just a split second, the crushing heat of fear cut through your arousal in a searing slash, your thighs quivering, instinctually going to snap together. Ben's knee caught the space between your legs before you could deny him further, his pressing need to predict your movements drawing a whimper from your throat. He was like stone, no matter how your thighs wriggled, it all resulted in your clit pressing snug against his knee. You could feel your cheeks burning, rushing with the same heat that pulsed itself in your aching cunt. Ben watched your expression shift, releasing your wrists slowly as he pressed his knee experimentally against your heat. You let out a pitiful mewl, watching him slowly reach one of his hands down to grope his clothed length, the veins in his arms bulging as he dipped his fingers past his waistband with a sharp exhale.

     The noises you made stirred something in him, his cock twitching with each strained breath that caught your throat. Ben tugged the waistband of his sweatpants down, wetting his lips with a strained grunt as he freed his aching length. You shuddered, feeling his gaze on your face as you watched him wrap his hand over his thick shaft, moving in time with a slow grind against your pussy. Precum pearled at the tip, his thumb rubbing over his slit with a sharp exhale as he gazed at you hungrily.

You'd never forget those eyes, obscured by the drape of his dripping hair as he stroked himself to the image of you before him. Sweat beaded on his temple, brows arching as your back did, letting out a soft grunt as his eyes clung to your features. Ben's other hand released your wrist; He knew well enough he didn't have to restrain you to get what he wanted. His fingers traveled over your arm, rough palm rubbing against your burning cheek, before hitching his grip to the waistband of your thin shorts. His thick fingertips pushed past the fabric with an eased grunt, stretching the elastic band down to expose your underwear. Ben's jaw tensed before his lips fell open to take in a gritted gasp, gripping his cock as it pulsed at the mere sight of you. Your thighs swell over the edges of your underwear, the pearls of sweat pooling in the curves of your features. The air was thick with your hot breathing, eyes pinned on his cock, and how you affected him with each piece of clothing peeled back. Though by the time you had shed your shorts, his patience had worn thin, standing to his feet to properly rid of his sweatpants; Your breath caught in your throat as you did your best to keep up with the man's motions, how quickly his muscular arms crossed over his wide shoulders, pulling the sweatshirt from himself. Scars etched through his skin behind his chest hair, moving with his body as he sauntered toward you.

"Take everything but those lil' panties off, before I rip it all off you sugar."

You manage to comply, prying away the fabric confining your now sweat-glazed skin, pooling in the curves of your body. You could hear his breathing hitch with every article shed from your frame, your shirt discarded messily over your head. You were left as he wanted, as he demanded, head lulling off to the side as you looked up at him. Ben looked almost smug, satisfied as his hand, unmoving at the base of his aching cock, began to stroke slowly, lips parting as he admired you. Your hands clutched at the spaces beside you on the couch, imagining how your nails would feel grinding into his shoulders, raking down his back. The heat wound tight around your senses, breathing shallow as he took two steps toward you, free hand extending to tap your knee with his index and middle finger.

"Open these up, don't be all innocent now." He spoke in a husk voice, blue eyes perched on your chest, admiring how it contoured in decadent shadows with each of your delicate breaths. You wanted to hesitate, though his calloused fingers remained unmoving on your knee. Your body rushed in a hot pulse, cheeks searing as the thought dawned on you.

If you didn't open them, he would simply do it for you.

"That's it now, pumpkin." You shuddered from his pleasure at your eyes leering away from his invasive stare, knees wobbling slightly as you spread them for the man in front of you. They were a simple white pair, nothing special you thought; You dimly remember pulling them on this morning, eyes raking over yourself in the mirror with a chew of your lip. You would never imagine someone taking such a violent and carnal need to see you like that - Like this, Ben's fingers sliding down from your knee to the soft of your thigh. He kneaded your flesh, shamelessly jerking his cock as his touch left a fire in its path, rampaging your mind as he drew closer and closer to your needy heat. A whine hummed through your chest, perhaps racketeering with a man known for his selfish dalliances was less than wise, you thought - Regret, hesitation, it pulsed in your mind in an evil concoction, it strung tight in the path of his hot touch, how small grunts escaped him with each arch of his rough palm against his member. You wanted to sputter an excuse, your lips parting, the words about to spill from them; Before his hand rested on your cunt. The strings that tightened your throat, binding each one of your movements to him and his reaction to you, snapped. Your stomach fluttered as if you were on a rollercoaster, the aching tension of the rattling chain releasing, the traction giving way to an indescribable rush and sending you rocketing downwards. You knew you were being pulled, chained, and bound to the force of a man above you, all by the tips of his fingers now circling your clit in time with his strokes.

"Fuck," You huffed shakily, hardly able to conduct the electric shivers stippling your movements as you let your weight relax into his fingers. Your hips rocked slowly, clit pressed snug against the calloused warmth of his fingers. Ben's hand moved with a deliberate rhythm, his thumb flicking over your clit as his fingers danced circles around it. He watched your body, the way your chest rose and fell, the way your eyes fluttered, and your lips parted. His breathing grew ragged, and he grunted with each stroke of his cock, the head glistening with precum. You felt the fire inside you, spreading from your core, igniting every nerve ending. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only your body, Ben's touch, and the sounds of your own ragged breaths.

"Look'atchya," Ben whispered, his voice thick with a pillowy rumble. "Soaking through your panties," You didn't didn't respond, your throat too tight to form the words. You only nodded, silently pleading, the motion of your head sending another lashing rush, the pangs of denied pleasure practically agonizing.

Ben's eyes met yours, a hunger and a want for you in them. He licked his lips and leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek. "You're fucking depraved," He whispered, his fingers dipping pulling at the thin cotton, hot against your sensitive flesh. He smirked, his thumb now toying in circles over your clit, pulling it taut with each pass. "Gettin' all wet for a bad man like me,"

Your back arched with a moan, head falling back against the couch, his words sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. The way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you, it was all far past intoxication. You felt like you were drowning in lust, the water rising higher and higher, threatening to swallow you whole. His fingers played with you, circling your clit with a deeper pressure, teasing you, making you squirm.

Ben's other hand slid up your thigh, grasping the underside of your knee, pulling you closer, and simultaneously spreading your legs. His cock, thick and heavy, rested on the soft mound of your pussy, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. You whimpered, needing more, needing him.

"Please, Ben," You begged, your voice a ragged whisper. You'd damn yourself later for sounding so pathetic eyes stinging with tears of need, cheeks hot with your desperately rushing pulse. He watched you for a sick moment, holding his thumb to your clit, lips twitching into a sadistic smirk as your squirmed frantically. You shuddered out a gasp, frustrated and desperate. His fingers stilled on your pussy, Ben's rough palm now stroking the base of his member. Your body jerked slightly, the denied pleasure mingling with a bitter pain. Ben's lowered the head of his cock, letting his girth slide between your pussy lips with a strained grunt. Pressed against your glossy entrance, rubbing against it in slow circles now, your hands reached his shoulders, nails carving into the muscular flesh.

"Beg for it."

And you did. You remember your lips hanging open, drawing in shallow breaths as you couldn't tear your eyes from the tip of his cock; How he teased you with each small breach. Tears wet your lashes, shame and need wrestling in your chest with each heaving breath between obscene words. You couldn't recall the words, the magic phrase you spoke to please him just enough to give you what you craved more than anything. It was too foggy, too spun out by the responding movement of Ben's hips.

"Nasty little thing," The man praised, hooking your knees against the curve of his elbows, yanking your ass to the edge of the couch. You cried out quietly, unable to gather your breath before the hot boiling mix of pleasure and pain began to wash over your sweat-glazed body. He slid inside, slowly at first, lip twitching as he groaned quietly. Your cunt pulled him in, the velvety breathlessness of your moans and pleads beckoning him to fill you. When his hips hit yours, the pillowed warmth of your ass slapping gently against his thighs, he admired you for a fleeting second - How your cunt wrapped over the hilt of his cock, your hips already rocking as the bitterly sweet familiar feeling of him swept you away entirely. You'd never admit to him how perfectly he fit inside, how a tugging part of your heart yearned to hear his soft moans, to hear him plea for you. Though with a hesitant draw of your eyes to meet his, you could feel the ice-hot revelation shackling your aching cunt around him, how his refusal to use you slowly seemed to short-circuit your blinded mind. He knew what you wanted; But he knew the darker side of you as well. The part of you that could never love him, but craved his calloused touch, the taste of his whiskey, the smell of his smoke. Ben thrust violently into you, the couch creaking in sharp squeaks as he practically lifted your ass from the edge of the couch, eyebrows knitting together as the new angle set a flame in his movements. Your breathing couldn't keep up, sweat dampening your hair as your hands uselessly held onto his shoulders with white knuckles. Your words floundered from between your plush lips, eyes rolling back with the rushing force of each one of his thrusts. It spun your feeble mind, melting in his hands, your grasp falling away from his shoulders with a pathetic sob. It was useless; Whether you were moaning in ecstasy, or fighting tooth and nail, he could use you when he saw fit. Use you brutally, your cunt quivering around his invasive cock, his hands moving to your waist now.

"Stop your fuckin' squirmin'!" You hadn't realized you were until his rough hands pinned you down to the worn fabric of the couch below you. He palmed your hips like a sex toy, admiring the feeling of your pussy continuing to milk him despite stilling inside of you. The head of his intrusive member pressed and rested in the small curve of your cervix. His eyes sized you down, undressing your naked body, pulling the innocence from his perspective of you; This is how you wanted him to treat you? To admire you for a transient instant before reeling his hips back, and snapping them forward with a vulgar clap of your ass. He stayed deep inside, only pulling out a few inches before slamming back, stamping the head of his cock against your cervix, pushing you to your absolute limit - All with a sickening smirk on his face, beads of sweat falling down in small pools down the curve of his jaw and prominent edges of his muscular neck and chest. Your hands explored every inch of his skin, drinking down whatever opportunity to feel him, to pry underneath the facade. Sparks flared behind the thin lids of your eyes, lashes wet and messy with tears, cheeks aflame as your body followed in smoldering suit. Ben didn't let up his thrusts, the telling pulse of your eager cunt, the incandescence moans choked from your throat. "That's it now angel, that's right - That's it, soak my cock, baby." The man's voice was mesmeric, unable to pull his attention from the unsteady breath in your growing moans. The undeniable limerence pulsated in his veins, the simple sound of your voice threatening to spill him over the edge. The ambrosial tone of your connection bound your senses to him, all the hot sparks that frayed your skin now tightened themselves in your aching cunt.

"Cum for me," Ben's words hardly pressed past the thick veil that lashed and licked hungrily at your heartbeat and body, a hot white pleasure shocking your quivering cunt. The man above you groaned, pulling your hips down to meet his, the sudden sensation of his cum filling your convulsing cunt washing over your hot skin. You tensed, legs locking around the other's waist. He gripped the back of the couch, splintering and cracking the wood underneath his iron grasp, shuddering out a hissed breath with each shallow thrust of his hips. His movements slowed, drips of his sweat dotting your skin, the heat of your mingling breaths thickening the oxygen you gasped desperately for. Slowly, he pulled himself from your pussy, letting out a strangled moan as the tip popped out, his warm cum following in a slow trickle.

Your eyes were half-lidded, eyes swimming up to find Ben, watching his toned body pull away from you, his slick cock still half erect, your juices dripping messily down his strong thighs. Your legs shook, still raised, as if stuck in that obscene position until he demanded you do otherwise - Though when the warmth of his palm met the soft of your trembling thigh, he pushed down slowly. Your legs relaxed, meeting the couch with a grunt, Ben's hand lingering on your skin for a brief moment. You knew the pain would come later, the bruises flowering over your hips, returning to the silent tension that Ben insisted was better for both of you. He took a seat beside you, his chest rising and falling with a steadying breath before looking towards you with a lazy chaste expression.

"You tell anyone about this, I'll fuckin' kill ya." You couldn't help but turn your head, speaking softly between gasps for air.

"If you were really going to kill me, Ben - You would have done it already."

[fauxriot]

007. first draft | (download now)

First Draft is a story outlining template meant to help with planning your next big writing project or your next NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). I know, as of posting this, there's less than a week to spare before NaNoWriMo '22, but I hope this finds the right people in time, and that it can be helpful! I LOVED making this template and adore the imagery/colours, but I would love to see how people customize this to fit their own projects! This template is FREE, so PLEASE consider reblogging so that fellow NaNo'ers can find it!!

INCLUDED This is a semi-in-depth template with 6 unique Landscape-Format pages. • Synopsis/Intro. • NaNoWriMo Word Count Calendar. (The calendar is set for November 2022, but with some table know-how you could edit it for whatever month you need!) • Character/Worldbuilding Descriptions. • Notes. • Chapter Outlines. • A Timeline of Events. There are detailed instructions on how to edit the timeline yourself, but you can also delete the page if you want.

HOW TO USE/EDIT • When you gain access to the doc, use “File > Make a Copy” • Do NOT remove the credit/links on the pages. • To replace images, click on each image separately and select "Replace Image." • The colour palette can be entirely customized, as it's all just highlights. • There are instructions on how to duplicate pages and how to use the Timeline page.

ETC . . . • Feel free to contact me if you have questions or need help! • I sometimes stream the creation process of these templates on Twitch and would love if you dropped by! • Likes are lovely, but reblogs go far here, so please consider sharing! • Find more info in my pinned post or about page!

[steamberrystudio]

07/07/2024 Tumblr Devlog

Hallo everyone!  Time for the tumblr update! Whii~iich I think I may have skipped a couple - it looks like I did that annoying thing where I wrote up an update and *forgot to post it*. 

Sorry about that! 

So what have I been doing lately? Well. Lemme tell ya.

I wrote 23,000 words this week, for one. I am ded. ┗( T﹏T )┛

But let's jump into the details because in the most recent update I see, I was still revising chapter 10.

Summary:

Finished revising, proofreading, and formatting chapter 10

Revised Asher ending sequence

Revised Daaz ending sequence

Finished drafting Kav's endings sequence

Finished drafting Noel's ending sequence

Finished drafting Raif's endings sequence

Worked on a ton of UI changes and improvements

Worked on some sprite tweaks

Received some new BG art!

Writing:

So as you can see, lots of writing progress since my last update. 

I finished revising chapter 10 and coding it. It turned out to be 88,000 words coded.

I revised and formatted Asher and Daaz's ending sequences into the game. Those two were already drafted and just needed to be cleaned up and put into Renpy.

The remaining four character still needed to be drafted but I had paused to revise the entire script so I could make some necessary plot fixes before I tried to draft the remaining endings. 

With that done, I've moved into finishing up the draft.

Currently I have Kav, Noel, and Raif drafted and Yren in progress.

And that will be all the main game content complete!

The current un-coded word count amount is 625,000 words. 💪

Art:

So I have completed some CG work since my last update but the main thing I've been working on art-wise is UI updates and changes. 

A lot of small changes to the general aesthetic as well as implementing a lot of small additions I've been contemplating for a while as QoL improvements.

Such as a little indicator that shows when you are in a "character branch" and things like that.

I've also made a few small tweaks to some of the sprites - mostly just making their expressions a little more dramatic since they were reading a bit flat to me. And, of course, adding new outfits. Always new outfits. LoL

And of course, new BGs from both artists.

Background are around 76% complete currently.

Other Stuff:

I guess UI goes in here too since in addition to the "art" aspect, there's the implementation aspect as well.

Once you change the look of something that has to be coded in, of course. 

I ended up deciding that I want to experiment with moving the sprites around a bit more - mostly moving them a bit closer and then further away depending on the scene, what's happening, and how many characters are on screen in a given moment.

There are several benefits to this including keeping the screen from being static for long periods but also, there are a couple of characters that the player will really benefit from being able to see their faces up close (mostly Raif and Yren).

So yeah - in addition to redesigning some of the screens, I have also been implementing those changes bit by bit.

The game definitely looks quite different now. I recently saw a playthrough of the current prototype that's on Itch and was astonished because I forgot how it looked when it was first released. Ha ha. It's gone through a lot of changes. 

Noel no longer matches the ceiling, for one! Amazing.

Upcoming Weeks:

I will be working on finishing up Yren's ending sequence and hope to get that done in the upcoming week - which means another heavy writing week. 

As I've said elsewhere, I have been calling them "ending sequences" but in reality this is the last three chapters of each route which is about 20,000 words total for each character. I have about 3000 words of Yren's done and I'm actually only shooting for about 15,000 for the rough draft because I invariable add dialogue and variations when I edit, which means I have to undershoot the draft so I don't overshoot the word count during revision.

So yeah, I'll be completing Yren's final three chapters, then revising Kav, Noel, Raif, and Yren and formatting them into the game, which will give me the "final" word count for the project.

And then I will be "done" with the writing (in quotes because...you're never done with the writing until it releases. LoL

I should definitely be done with drafting and revising by my next update here but I can't really say what I'll be working on by that point. Probably...UI and CGs. Not sure.

We'll find out in the future I suppose! See you then!

[jalenay]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Publishing Update May 4 2024

So my work work is starting to relax - it'll be 'normal' working hours after May 15, but i'm manifesting some early additional free time (by ignoring some of the things i still have left to do) and i thought i'd give an update on my current NWWD plan to fill you guys in (if anyone wants to know) and to motivate myself to, you know, do it.

let me know what you think and if you have any questions! or if there's anything else you want to know!

So the overall plan is as follows:

First Rough Edit - this is basically just changing the POV from 2nd POV to 3rd POV. This is very tedious and currently what I'm doing right now. I'm also making a list as I go for high level updates/changes i want to make. Just thinking about the story as a whole and what tweaks i want to make now that the whole thing is finally done (primarily moving exposition around, if there's anything extra i can remove, timing of when certain things are discussed, and so on).

My Main Edit - this will be more time consuming but probably more fun as i do my main revise and edit of the story as a whole. i'll likely print the entire story out, make edits on hard copy, and then type up all the edits. I will also probably be sending the updated chapters to my main beta, for her opinion. (this would be the person i first texted about Dale in Dec 2021, she deserves first look lol)

Editor - After I'm happy with what I've done, i'll send the entire thing over to my editors, the main ones who worked on DSM. This will likely take a good amount of time (DSM took one month) but in many ways involves less effort from me lol. Just nerves.

Cover, Self-publishing Details - while my editors have the manuscript, I'll be narrowing down what I want the cover to look like and hiring a cover artist. (i've got a short list of artists right now, but i'll probably continue to refine that). I'm bad a visualizing covers and so this will be hard for me, although i have some basic ideas. i'll need to gather reference photos too and then work with the artist. I also want to publish more widely than just Amazon and will hopefully get DSM out to other places as well as a test run before NWWD. Look into more marketing? This is the most miscellaneous of the steps.

Process Edits - actually go through all the edits and notes given to me by my editor. This takes a lot of time (and is mentally taxing - no one likes to read pages of people telling you what you need to fix about what you wrote even if its overall extremely helpful and necessary)

Finalizing - I'll send the edited version to my first beta and another ARC reader/friend. I'll work on the formatting for the book. Coordinating where it will be published and when.

Publishing!

This is a loose list of steps that I mostly defined right now, but are similar to what i did with DSM. As i said, I'm in step one, currently just finished Chapter 25 of 36 of that rough edit.

I'll try to provide some updates on the process at it moves along, if people are interested in hearing about that. I'll most likely keep those updates on this blog, along with any other publishing specific commentary. if any one has any questions or thoughts on the whole thing, please feel free to send them to this blog or comment on this post.

I'm very excited to really dig into publishing NWWD and looking forward to sharing it with you!

Thanks to everyone for all their support - I wouldn't even be considering this (i probably wouldn't have even had a finished draft) with you!

[jccatstudios]

SoC Comic Adaptation and General FAQ

General

Who are you?

Hi, I'm Claire (she/they)! I'm currently studying to become a professional comic creator. I love drawing fashion, expressive characters, and anti-hero action.

Where else can I find your work?

You can find all my work on my website! I'm also on Instagram, Twitter, and Tumblr. You can find my fan art under the handle jccatstudios, and my original art under jcscottart (only on Instagram and Twitter).

How can I support your work?

Besides supporting my work through your lovely comments and reblogs, you can help monetarily support me on Ko-Fi. Your support helps fund my college education.

Six of Crows: A Comic Adaptation

Why are you doing this?

Ever since I read the duology, I always thought it would make a great graphic novel series. When my professor encouraged me to start a webcomic, I took the opportunity to make the comic I imagined into reality. I want to see the whole series illustrated through comics one day. If I got the chance to make the official adaptation, that would be one of my biggest dream projects. I'm also using this project as an opportunity to improve my skills before I graduate.

Will you post it on (insert webcomic platform)?

Probably not. Most online comic platforms are meant for scroll format, and I'm making a traditional format comic. Plus, I post on so many sites already, so I think adding another would take too much time out of actually creating the comic.

Will you draw the whole book/series?

I wish I could! Since I'm not doing this full-time or professionally, that's quite unlikely. It would take years to complete it full-time, who knows how long as a hobby. I'd love to add a six-volume SoC graphic novel series to my shelf, but that of course can't be done without some serious backing. I'm currently working on adapting Chapter 3.

Where's Chapter 1: Joost?

I never drew it! I started with Chapter 2: Inej because I wanted to draw the main characters first. The first chapter of the comic is the second chapter of the book. I name the comic chapters after the book chapters just to make it clear which part of the book they correspond to.

Can I repost your art, use your art for layouts/edits, etc?

Yes, you may with visible credit. If you use it for your profile layout, put my handle in your bio. If you're reposting it or using my art for edits/collages, put my handle in the description. As long as it's for personal use, you can use my art. Do not sell copies of my art, use it in merch, or use it for any sort of monetary gain. Do not use my art for prompting or generating images.

Can I use your character designs and headcanons in fanart, fanfic, etc?

Absolutely! Please tag me if you do. I don't need credit since I didn't create any of these characters, but I definitely want to see what you create. :D

How do you make the comic?

The comic is made with mostly traditional methods with some digital editing. I pencil and ink all of the pages on bristol board. I mainly use the G-pen nib for characters and technical pens for the backgrounds. Once I scan the pages, I do light adjustments to the line art and correct any mistakes. The gray tones come from a single sheet of ink wash adjusted to be lighter or darker. The bubbles and lettering are all digital.

If anything else comes up, I'll add it here! Feel free to send me an ask if you have a question that isn't on this post.

[freshbakedbreadstick]

No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter Three

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Herimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: The promise of taking your return “one step at a time” seems appealing until you realize that it comes with being vulnerable. And being vulnerable makes you run. 

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers. Mentions of death, toxic relationships, grief, angst, strained relationships, minor injuries, arguments/yelling matches, details of anxiety/panic attacks, bad coping mechanisms, mental health issues.

Word Count: 4.1k 

A/N: Hi besties ! ! ! Im so sorry this took so so so long for me to update, unfortunately life had other plans for me lol ironic how i'm writing about anxiety attacks while i myself was dealing with having one basically everyday . Don’t worry about me though , worry more about the heavy angst your gonna read lolllll anyways this one was fr a doozy to write and edit so take breaks when you need it but i promise things will get better in the next chappy ! ! Also, i made it extra long to compensate for my late post lolllll I still hope you all enjoy ! <3

Taglist: @marysucks-blog @shinebright2000 (your both sweeties ! ! ty for being on my taglist, extra love 4 u n for everyone who gets on the taglist <3)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Masterlist

The sky outside your window was a deep shade of blue with black bleeding into its edges. Not a peep of the morning sun had made it into the sky, keeping it a lighter shade of the usual night sky. 

Your hands gripped the edges of the sink as you looked into the mirror, the cold ceramic making goosebumps appear on your skin making you shiver in your pajamas. Your eyes traced your mirrored face, moving from the creases on your skin to the deep, dark bags underneath your eyes. 

You got no sleep last night as you were on the cusp of making a decision you weren’t exactly sure was a good one, but was a decision you wanted to make regardless: you were returning to The Beef and taking it one day at a time, just like how Richie said. 

You didn't even know why you were returning anymore, you just sort of felt a calling when you stepped foot in the kitchen you vowed to never return to.

Your shoulder twitched as you thought about the kitchen of The Beef. You could feel the ghost of Carmy's hand searing into the spot on your shoulder where he rested his hand for a brief second as he passed behind you.

With a shaky breath, you looked down and turned the sink on to splash some lukewarm water on your face. It was time to get ready. 

After quietly moving about mindlessly in your room, you were ready. From one of the many boxes shoved in the back of your closet labeled "The Beef", you pulled out ivory wide leg linen pants, covered in colorful pigments, a cropped sleeveless black top, and an oversized sweatshirt that had a graphic of The Beef on the back. You sighed, looking at your old 'chef' clothes. 

Suddenly, you were pulled into a memory. 

You walked into The Beef, grinning widely as you made eye contact with Richie who was behind the counter. There, he was preoccupied with counting cash from the register but instantly perked up upon seeing you walk through the front door.

You were wearing your ivory linen pants and cropped top as well as the oversized sweatshirt. It was a staple outfit you often wore when helping out at The Beef. 

Richie clapped his hands as you held up and lightly shook the white paper bag in your hand. 

"Hallelujah, my prayers have finally been answered!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands into a prayer formation. 

You snickered and placed the bag on the counter before gently opening it up. Richie then shoved his hand in the bag, making you laugh and scold him. 

As you two playfully bickered, a hulking frame walked over from the kitchen and over to the entryway that led to the front of the restaurant.

"What'd ya get me, baby?" 

You turned to the doorway of the kitchen where Mikey leaned against the frame, his toned body taking up the entire space. One hand rested on his hip while the other stretched up, gripping the top of the door frame. 

Noticing that you were busy ogling at your boyfriend, Richie took the opportunity to quickly grab his dessert from the bag and start eating it feverishly. 

You beamed at him, cheeks rosy, "I got us all our favorite cream puffs from the bakery down the street. The last ones too!!" 

Richie took another bite of his cream puff and groaned, mouth covered in sugar and muffled as we went on and on about how this was exactly what he needed after a long day. Meanwhile, Mikey let go of the frame and slowly made his way to you, eyes locked with yours. 

As he approached you, his gaze never left your own, making you flush. Fuck, his eyes were always so intense. 

You held up his own cream puff, making him lick his lips as he stopped in front of you. 

The world seemingly disappeared around you as he murmured quietly, only loud enough for you to hear, "Feed it to me, baby?" 

The front door slammed behind you, making you jump and grimace. 

"Shit…" you whispered to yourself, not meaning to make so much noise as to avoid waking up your parents.  

After locking it much more quietly, you grabbed your tote bag full of supplies and rushed down the steps to your car. The sky was still dark, but was lighter than before making you anxious about getting to The Beef on time. 

The streets were dead and silent as you passed the green lights. Occasionally, another car would pass by, making your heart race as you feared you would accidentally have your plans exposed early. After all, nobody knew you ended up making this decision to fully return. 

After parking a little down the street to keep your car hidden, you sat in your car, mind replaying the memory of Mikey. You can see the pink flush on his tan skin, making him look so... alive. You can see the way his chest rises as he breathes in, pink lips parting as he breathes out. His hair was well kept despite a long day at The Beef. Before you, he looked well. 

He looked alive. 

But he was dead. 

Your grip on the steering wheel weakened as your arms felt numb. Your hands had even begun to get sweaty, slipping down the steering wheel. 

Your Mikey was dead. 

It has been over half a year now that Mikey died. 

As you continued to sit there, the windows started getting foggy and the interior got stuffier and stuffier, making you feel like you were suffocating.

It's been over half a year since Mikey had died. 

Your right hand had begun to slide its way from where they fell onto your lap and to your tote bag, shaking. Your breathing got faster and faster, your heart racing right until… 

Your fingertips hit cold metal.

Your heaving chest froze, your shaking hands froze, it even felt like your rapid heartbeat froze. 

Slowly, your fingers curled around the keys and pulled them out. They jangled as you pulled them up to view. 

The keychains, all unique and worn down from years of being stuffed into pockets, bags, etc, glistened under the streetlamp. The small square keychain that contained a photo of you and Mikey, squished together but grinning during a trip to Coney Island years ago, seemed to glare at you as it turned in the air to face you.

You threw the car door open and shoved yourself out and onto the street, stumbling as you tried not to fall onto the cold asphalt. Hot tears streamed down cheeks, feeling out of place and unexpected despite your emotions in that moment. You hiccupped to yourself, trying your best to bite down on the sleeves of the sweatshirt to muffle your crying. 

“I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine,” you repeat to yourself, trying desperately to stop the tears from continuing.

You dragged your bag from out of the car, yanking it, body flailing forward as the heaviness of what was inside set in. You hurriedly locked your car and crossed the street, steps heavy as you rushed towards the back door of The Beef.

With a pause, you quickly wiped your face with your limp hands and took a shaky breath. The metal back door was slightly rusted around the metal edges, making it look old in a way that made you shiver as you thought of the night you came here and saw it for the first time in months. With your eyes squeezed shut, you twisted the knob of the door, hoping to find it locked.

Lucky for you, it still was.

You let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in and brought your keys up to unlock it. By now, the sky had barely started to get specks of yellow and orange; you knew that any moment now Carmy would probably arrive. After all, you reminded yourself, he would be the kind to aim to arrive before anyone else and start prepping for that day’s meal service.

You quickly shoved the keys into the lock and it clicked open. After accidentally dropping the keys as if it was hot metal, you got back up and swung the door open, pushing forward over the threshold to turn on the lights. 

You blinked as the lights slowly illuminated the steel appliances of the kitchen and the white walls. It was completely silent, aside from the subtle buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you. It was oddly calming too, standing there in a place of chaos where there wasn’t any. It made the knot that had formed in the pit of your stomach slowly unwind. You were terrified that being in here, alone, would cause you to scream, cry, throw things, or just do something, but you were relieved to feel that you just… you felt… fine. 

Your feet shuffled across the kitchen and to the lockers. Instinctually, you went and stood in front of the locker you used to use and reached up to open it before pausing. 

With a quick step back, you hummed to yourself. You haven’t been there in so long and because Carmy has since taken over, there is a good chance that the locker you left abandoned was repurposed for someone else, but something inside you pushed you to unlock it anyway.

The locker clicked and creaked as you opened it, your eyes widening to find it empty. You eyed each corner before looking down to see a clean and neatly folded apron resting there. The sharpie writing underneath the logo of The Beef was smudged after years of washes and rewrites, but you could still make out your name in Mikey’s writing. 

You reached forward, the canvas fabric of the apron feeling soft under your fingertips as you gently traced the curves and corners of your name. 

Your throat tightened, making you pull your hand back fast, as if burned by the touch of the fabric. 

Exhausted at your own reactions, you rolled your eyes, “Fuck, this is so stupid.” 

You grabbed the apron and shoved your tote bag inside. After changing your shoes to some non-slip ones more appropriate for working in the kitchen, you threw the apron on.

The clean scent of fresh laundry invaded your nostrils, making you sniff as you realized that this was very recently laundered. Your eyes closed and your shoulders sagged, it must have been Sugar that found this somewhere in the mess of the office and cleaned it for you.

You wiped down the front counters and restocked the cups, knowing exactly where it was that all these things were kept in the kitchen. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself as you noticed the paper sign you laminated and stuck to the wall where the cups, utensils, and plates were kept was still there after years. The paper itself was wrinkled and the writing was blown out, having suffered a water related accident courtesy of Richie before you decided to laminate it and stick it back on. Your writing said ‘Please place all disposables here! Thank you (:’ and underneath it was Richie’s messy, blown out writing saying ‘Don’t tell me what to do!’.

By the time you had finished doing the small tasks you used to do in the front, the backdoor swung open with a loud, "Hello?"

You stood up and whipped your head to the doorway of the kitchen. Carmy's voice echoed out again. 

"Richie? Are you here?" 

You quickly ran around the counter and to the doorway, pausing awkwardly once in view of Carmy, "Uh, hey. It's actually me."

Carmy's eyes widened briefly, surprised to see you, "Oh… hi." 

You shifted your weight from one foot to another. 

His blue eyes looked at you up and down, "You uh, found the… the apron, huh?"

You looked down at your apron and nodded to yourself, "Yea yea I found it in my… in a locker." 

Carmy nodded and moved forward, moving to set his things to his own locker and prepare himself to work, "Richie was the one who, uhm, told me where your locker was and I found your apron in the office so… I cleaned it up for you."

His voice got smaller and smaller at the very end of his sentence, making your chest tighten at the mention of where your apron was found. 

You fiddled with your fingers, "Oh you did?"

Carmy hummed in affirmation, gesturing you to follow him as he moved around the kitchen. He led you to the fridge, showing you to some of the empty labeled bins. 

"Help me with restocking these?" 

Everyone else came in that morning, surprised to see you but trying their best to cover up their curious stares and questioning glances to one another. But you, once again, found yourself standing in the kitchen with a knife and cutting board, chopping the vegetables needed for the day. It wasn’t a menial task, prep was extremely important, but the lack of movement made you feel a bit useless. 

After all, you once helped run this damn place.

But you continued, not saying a word to keep the flow going. The key word was that you ‘once’ helped run the place and you didn’t anymore. 

When Richie came in, he yelled out upon seeing you, "Cousin!!"

You put your knife down turned around just in time for him to hobble towards you and wrap his arms around you. 

"Cousin, what are you doing here?" He said, excited. 

You chuckled softly, "I'm here to help but I'm taking it one step at a time." 

He smiled at your words, reminded of your conversation from yesterday. Then, he stepped back, put his hands on your forearms to get a good look at you, and, in a low voice, said, "Are you okay here?"

Your shoulders sagged as you sighed, "Yea yea, I'm fine… but are you?" 

Richie chuckled and nodded his head, “Ah some stupid little stab isn’t gonna kill me. You would need a boa constructor or something like that to do the job… or whatever the hell Eva mentioned she saw on her field trip to the zoo…”

He muttered the last part under his breath, making you smile and giggle to yourself, forgetting all your worries for a split second, before Sugar’s voice brought you back.

“Oh my gosh you’re here?!” 

At the tone of her voice, you jerked back and away from Richie’s grip. Your smile dropped before you quickly plastered it on again, nodding in her direction. But this action wasn’t kept unnoticed, like how you hoped; Richie’s own smile slowly fell into a frown, eyebrows creasing as he looked across your face, trying to read what was going on and why you stopped smiling when you saw Sugar. 

Sugar raced over, smiling but eyes looking concerned, as she wrapped her cardigan around her body, “Hi sweetie! How are you? It’s been a while and I was going to reach out to you.” 

Her normally comforting and kind demeanor made your eyes narrow. The way she spoke to you… it felt… not good. 

But you shook this feeling away, unsure why exactly you were feeling this way over Natalie, one of your previously closest friends. She cared about you, always checked in with you, and for pete’s sake she was your dead boyfriend’s sister! You were as thick as thieves at one point in life. 

“At one point in life…” you mumbled to yourself.

“What’s that?” Natalie asked, reaching out to gently place a hand on your forearm in concern. 

You jumped slightly, having been lost in thought for a second, “I’m fine, sorry, just lost in thought.”

You looked around the kitchen and felt yourself shrink as you realized that everyone there was stealing glances in your direction, eyes quickly turning away when you glanced at them.

“Can i just…” you began, feeling yourself grow more and more agitated.

Natalie nodded, trying to encourage you to say whatever it was that you wanted to say. Richie continued to scan you, head tilting to one side as he tried to piece together what was going on.

All of a sudden, the clanking of pans and the warmth of the flames being turned on started to get louder and hotter. It was like they were right up against your ear, despite being over 5 feet away. Your breath began to irregulate, some deep and heavy and others shallow and fast.

Noticing this, Natalie’s eyes widened, “Oh no, hey uhm, how about we go outside real quick?”

Richie quickly grabbed your shoulders and gently steered you forward and through the kitchen, to the backdoor. 

Carmy, who was in the front at the time of you three talking, came out when he saw you all rushing to the backdoor, “What’s going on?”

“She’s having a panic attack, we are going to get some air!” Natalie said, loud enough for it to echo across the kitchen and over to where Carmy was standing, in order for him to hear over the noise of the prepping.

This seemed to get you out of your stupor. 

You didn’t realize that you were frozen and being led out of the kitchen until in that moment when Natalie seemingly announced to everyone there that you were having a panic attack. In the restaurant that you used to help run. Like it was nothing.

You could feel eyes hitting your back. Although you couldn’t hear it, you just knew that there were whispers either happening or going to happen the second you walked out the door. 

And that made you lose it. 

Whispers that ‘oh, that’s his girlfriend’ and ‘she doesn’t seem to be taking his death well despite trying to move on with someone else’ and even ‘i heard she ran away from his funeral’. Whispers labeling you as so many awful things that you knew you weren’t, but they would never understand why you did it; why you left. No one would understand. No one right now understands.

That made you lose it.

You jerked your shoulders to shake off Richie and Sugar’s hands before pushing forward. You shoved the door, making it swing all the way open with a bang and stomped out. 

Natalie and Richie raced after you, alarmed at your sudden aggression. 

You crossed your arms, a grimace on your face, as you turned to look at them as they stood in front of you.

“What’s going on??” Natalie asked, voice quivering with worry. Her arms winded around her body, hands clammy.

“Cousin, what was that?” 

It made you sick the way Richie’s hardened eyes pleaded for you to tell him what was wrong. But it was Sugar’s careful tone that just made it worse. 

You grit your teeth, rolling your eyes which took Natalie aback.

“Are you… upset?” she said.

You scoffed and threw your arms down to your side, “Are you serious? Actually serious, Natalie?”

Natalie jerked back, making Richie shake his head and speak up, in a calm but agitated tone, “Cousin, what are you going on about-”

But before he could finish, you interrupted him and yelled, “Oh my gosh just… stop!!!”

Your voice echoed in the quiet morning street. The sky was light blue and the sun was still orange as it slowly made its way up the sky. The birds chirped in a harmonious tune that practically said ‘today is a lovely day!’ to those who made their way around town that morning for whatever they had on their to do list. 

But here you were, outside of The Beef again, and this time angry.

“I’m fine!! I don’t know how many times I have to tell you and remind you but I. Am. Fine!” 

The two reeled back for a second, hurt written all over their faces as you yelled at them. 

Richie then straightened up and crossed his arms, his own voice getting louder by the minute “What the hell is wrong with you? Natalie is just trying to help.”

“Oh yea, ‘help’! By treating me like a fragile piece of glass that will break at any second, you're ‘helping me’, right?” with your hands, you quoted each word for help, voice getting louder and louder to combat Richie’s own booming voice.  

“Sweetie, I didn't mean to treat you like that…” Natalie whispered, tears forming in her eyes. 

You groan and turn away, “You talk to me like I'm a child and I'm sick of it!”

“What’s going on?” Carmy said, interrupting you as he walked out the backdoor to join you three, “I can hear you yelling from inside.”

But you ignored him and continued, “Why are you avoiding talking about what happened as if saying the word or his name is going to make me explode? Why?!”

Carmy blinked, “What do you mean why?”

“Stop pretending like everything is fine and normal and that you have to watch me around knives and give me baby tasks to keep me busy as if being around The Beef is going to kill me!” you growled, tears of frustration starting to run down your cheeks. 

Stupid tears. Such traitors. 

Carmy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Nobody is treating you like a child and I'm not giving you ‘baby tasks’, you know this.”

“Really Carmy? You're one to talk, seeing as you don’t even want to acknowledge or talk to me!” 

Carmy cleared his throat, voice low in an effort to control his own growing anger, “I’m not the one who is avoiding you or anything, okay? None of us are.”

Sugar covered her mouth and turned away from you, trying not to let the tears stream down her cheeks. Carmy turned, just in time to see her watery eyes. His jaw clenched as you seethed in front of him. 

“Listen, we all know you're grieving, okay? It fucking sucks that your boyfriend is dead but guess fucking what, my brother is dead and so is Sugar’s brother. Richie’s best friend is dead and everyone in here’s boss and friend is dead too. Your not the only one who is dealing with this so stop fucking acting like everyone here is out to get you for dealing with Mikey’s death!” Carmy blurted out, neck veins bulging as he leaned forward with every sentence. 

Sugar gasped and whipped around, “Carmy!”

“What? It’s fucking true! Everything has gone to shit, yea, but that doesn’t mean you're dealing with it alone! Mikey left a shit ton of people like you, me, and everyone else to pick up the pieces of his fuck ups, so stop acting like a baby and get to work, break is over.”

With that, Carmy turns around and goes back into The Beef, leaving you staring angrily at the ground with tears running down your cheeks and your fists clenched at your side. Richie softened at seeing you cry, but did nothing to prevent Carmy from going on his rant. 

Natalie sniffled quietly, wiping away at her tears as a few rolled down and hit the pavement underneath her. She then turned to you and smiled a watery smile, giving you one last glance of reassurance before turning to go back inside. 

As the door closed behind her, you broke into a sob, your once stiff body crumbling to the floor with a crouch. Your body shook, throwing all the adrenaline you had into each sob that wracked your body. 

With blurry vision, you didn’t see the way Richie sighed before he moved forward, arms wrapping around you with a clenched jaw. His own eyes were beginning to rim with tears as he held you, listening to your cries in agony get muffled into your hands and his chest.

Once your sobs turned into small cries and staggering breaths, Richie helped you get up and lean against the wall. He gently wiped your tears, fingers running the same path that he used to do when he found you upset after a particularly difficult argument with Mikey. 

Then, he left you there. 

He kissed your temple and turned to go back inside, leaving you alone outside with the chirping birds and the warm sun to contemplate what happened. 

“I really fucked up…” you whispered to yourself, sniffling.

And like the way you left from Mikey’s funeral and your exes out west when things got hard, you ran. You took your things silently and without saying a word to anyone about what you were doing and where you were going, you ran. 

[uhohbestie]

TAMN Outline

Since we're so close to the end of TAMN, I just wanted to share what Lock and my outline looks like, especially because neither of us ever used outlines for writing fic before this LOL

The only reason we have one for TAMN is because we were determined to finish this thing within a year of starting it and really wanted to post a chapter a week. Realistically, between work and irl and different timezones, there was no WAY we'd be able to keep up with a weekly posting schedule OR our self-imposed deadline if we were writing on the fly, so an outline was a good way to keep us on track.

(Details under the cut 'cause this got long af lmao)

SO FIRST OF ALL. We have quick chapter markers to refer to just to keep track of where we're at. The obvious ones are as follows:

🐈 Scar POV Chapters 🦜 Grian POV Chapters 🧟‍♂️ Some sort of significant zombie encounter that chapter 💦 Smut

I took this screenshot a WHILE back so Chapter 12 was actually split into 2 chapters, as was Chapter 14. So while the two emojis in Chapter 14 were meant to signify both Scar and Grian's POVs in that chapter, we ultimately just split it into a separate Scar chapter and a separate Grian chapter.

As for the other markers, this is what they mean at a glance:

✔️ Chapter is written ✔️✔️ Chapter has been edited by one person ✅ Chapter edited by both of us; Ready to Post 💯 Chapter has been posted to AO3

The last one isn't in the screenshot above, but is another one we use. And, ofc, if it doesn't have any of those markers beside it, it means the chapter hasn't been written yet.

Other than that, every chapter heading has not only the chapter number, but a reminder of where Scarian are, the time of day that chapter starts at, and how long of a walk/drive to their next destination remains. Plus, the very first point is always the current date and the weather (in Celsius 🍁) for the day. It looks something like this:

For a short chapter like Ch. 6 where not too much happens, the outline is just a handful of points. Also, we put a strike through things we skipped as we wrote when we felt they no longer fit the mood we were going for. (Basically, the outline is here as a guide and we adjust as needed for full creative freedom.)

Now the LINKS at the bottom lead to ANOTHER document where Lock and I's original conversations are sorted, in case we need to reference back to something we don't remember. That looks like something like this:

So when you click the link, there's a pop up that will take you directly to the original conversation about it located in another doc.

Basically, Lock and I had talked about TAMN for months before every writing it, so when I suggested making an outline, Lock was like "yeah, we basically have a skeleton already with how much we've talked about it". So what we did was, I copy-pasted EVERY conversation we had about TAMN into a Google Doc, and then Lock went through and SUMMARISED EVERYTHING in each conversation into The Main Points. After that, I went and put them into chronological order in a new doc which then became the outline we use today! 💫

Thus, when you click on a link from the outline, you get taken to the conversation summary, and if you scroll down past the summary you get to the actual conversation itself, minus our usernames/formatting/timestamps to make it easier to read at a glance:

And then, ofc, the further along we got in the fic, the more complicated the plot and the chapters got. So instead of short and sweet outlines with a link or two to old conversations, we had to come up with a lot of in between events that still somehow added to the plot and moved the story along to the main points we wanted to hit.

This was actually what took me the longest during outlining, and poor Lock kept going "JUST LEAVE IT BLANK, WE'LL FIGURE IT OUT AS WE GO" but I really wanted to have SOMETHING down just to give us a springboard to launch off of, because we had no idea if we'd have time WHILE writing to come up with anything.

(This continues on for more pages since we combined two chapters into one here, but this is the gist of what the outlines turned into per chapter as we got later and later in the fic LOL)

Turned out to be the right call, because it's saved our asses more than once when on a time-crunch! That said, there were a couple chapters where we DID in fact go "idk about what's in the outline, what if we do this instead?" and then do that because it Felt Right. So again, the outline was super helpful but not a hard and fast rule. (Though Lock and I had our fair share of "WHY DIDN'T YOU WRITE WHAT WAS IN THE OUTLINE"/"I FORGOR" moments that have been fun every step of the way 😂)

AAAND, I THINK THAT'S IT! THAT'S OUR OUTLINE! 🎉

Just wanted to make a post for it to document because it was such a novel experience, hahaha! Like I said earlier, neither Lock nor I ever used outlines before, even when writing fics together for other fandoms :')

I've got two completed longfics under my belt from before TAMN in my last fandom and I wrote those completely on the fly as well. Worked out just fine, but like. It took me 2-4 YEARS to finish the fics, and they were both MUCH shorter than TAMN is. 😅 Nothing wrong with that obviously, but it was a lot of fun to try something new and it felt incredible to be able to have a new chapter ready to go each week! ;w; 💜

We're almost done writing the fic and honestly idk what we're gonna do with all this free time once we've wrapped it up... time to come up with a new longfic ig LMAO

IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR, HOORAY! 🎊

Here's a little bonus for you--

From the time I went to a gun range and shot both a rifle (near the head) and a shotgun (the spray by the stomach) and took notes so that we could use it in our fic JHGFDSKJHDF THE CRAZY RESEARCH WE'VE BOTH DONE FOR TAMN I STG 😂😂😂😂😂

[racxnteur]

Incomeless; will proofread your fics! (Or anything else.)

I'm not sure how to head this with a snazzy, attention-catching image given I'm not offering an obviously graphic service like art commissions, but let's give it a go...

Hello, I'm your friendly neighborhood disabled unemployed transgender queer on the internet. I have not posted a great amount about the details on this blog for privacy reasons, but I am currently in an untenable familial/financial living situation, which I am actively working to get out of. My primary barrier to disentangling myself from the pertinent parties is a lack of income. I've been unable to pursue traditional means of work due to being multiply disabled (slash chronically ill, slash treatment-resistant, et cetera...), but I do not qualify for SSI or unemployment, so I am stuck trying to find other ways of making money.

This is where you come in... If you'd like to help, you can:

$$ Hire me $$ to proofread your fics, essays, and more!

Click below for info! (I also may add separate posts for diversity reading and/or other writing- and editing-related services.)

For $0.00855/word *OR BEST BID*, I will vet your work of writing before you publish it, checking for mistakes in spelling, capitalization, & punctuation, missed words, inconsistencies of tense, formatting, & POV, and miscellaneous grammatical errors. Never again need you fear posting a finished chapter and discovering a slew of typos after the fact; no matter how sleep-deprived or late at night the state of writing, I will ensure your text is ship-shape. Or, if you happen to be interested in having other types of writing proofread before submission--essays, comics or webtoons, letters, transcripts, compositions of a personal nature, so on--I will happily take these on at a comparable rate.[1]

Qualifications:

Bachelor's degree in English with a minor in writing

Initiate of international collegiate honors society for English scholarship, Sigma Tau Delta

Active member of the International Association of Professional Writers and Editors (IAPWE)

Former lit editor for award-winning university literary arts magazine

Prior employment in tutoring and teaching English, as well as copy-editing and content writing

Nearly 20 years' writing experience

Previous experience as both fic writer and beta

Incisive eye for typo-hunting and tenacious attention to detail (I have high standards and will make those everybody else's problem... now for pay!)

I will read for content of any genre and all ratings, and am broadly[2] open to any subject matter, kinks, et cetera. I'll also post more detailed guidelines (booking process, any exclusions, additional criteria) on a separate, unrebloggable post so that any edits and updates are always current.

Message me via the chat feature on Tumblr, or send me an e-mail (I will post it on my more info post) to request a quote, bid for a slot, or just to see what I can offer for whatever project you have in mind. And please feel encouraged to share or boost this post! I am in urgent need of any income I can get, and every share counts 😭🙌

. . . . . . . . . .

Proofreading Full Details · Other Services · Support Me (alternatively, Tip this post!)

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

[1] There will be some exclusions to this, such as academic assignments/papers that have style guide requirements; i.e., I will not be your online MLA style checker or anything.

[2] As with anything, there will be sporadic exceptions to this as well, but I will always be up-front about such cases.

[greyplainsttrpg]

5e Villain Arc 2

Last time we discussed 5e's stupid non-name. This time we're going to talk about chapter order.

I saw a post earlier about giving suggestions to 5e Players to "read the rules." While it is always a good time to poke at the children, I don't think that it is actually their fault (entirely) that nobody playing the game knows the rules. The Chapter order of 5e (and most TTRPG books, for that matter) is not conductive to actually knowing how the game works. This is compounded in 5e in particular because the game design is such that you never really have to learn anything outside what your character can do.

It is okay to divide chapters into parts. That's fine. What upsets me is that the Chapters have titles, but the Parts do not have titles. What is weird is that the game's introduction actually provides pretty good names for the three parts, albeit in inconsistent formatting: Adventurers, The Three Pillars of Adventure, and The Wonders of Magic.

Those align pretty much exactly with the three Parts of the book. Why is that not their names? Why must I divine what the parts are by intuition. This is not an abstract art piece--this is a textbook.

More importantly, the order of information is entirely wrong.

The reason why Players do not know how to play that game is because the rules for the game show up in between things that they actually care about. The game is so hyper-focused on a player making a character that it abdicates the responsibility of knowing how to play the game exclusively to freaks who actually want to read the rules in depth. You know: min-maxers and rules lawyers. The average player's interaction with the book is thus:

Read the introduction and get the gist of the game.

Make a Character through part one.

Oh wait, now I need to flip to the end of the book for spells (since more than 3/4 of all characters will have spellcasting)?

The Player FEELS like they have read more of the book than they actually have because they went through the process of flipping through it from beginning to end. However, at no point did they ever get a real understanding of how the game actually functions. They grasp that they have a thing called an action, a thing called a bonus action, and they have some amount of movement, but what these do does not mean much to them outside the confines of what their Character can do with those elements. They never learned what those terms actually mean, because the action economy of the game is not explained until WAY later (page 189). Even if you bother to read this section, it is entirely divorced from other important, very relevant sections. In particular, the exclusion of Saving Throws and Conditions from the Combat Chapter means that it will be even harder to guarantee a player will have read them.

Why are conditions in the appendix? They should not be in the appendix. They are standard things that players will encounter during regular gameplay.

Why are backgrounds AFTER class? Would it not make much more sense to put the background BEFORE the class? It is, after all, your background, the thing you did before gaining a class level. If you pick a background that compliments your Class by giving you similar skills, then you just get to pick random skills instead? This would not be a problem if you picked a background first (which gives you a set of skills without choice) and then you picked the skills from our class. I suppose the problem might still arise from tool proficiencies, but tool proficiencies suck, and they should be done away with, anyway.

Now that I'm looking at it, another case of "why are these in two different chapters lmao."

The reason they designed the book this way is because of the tradition of D&D being laid out in the dumbest way possible. Do not trust Gary Gygax's ability to convey information through text. He was not good at it. AD&D is a disaster of explaining its mechanics to the player, and 2nd edition is not much better.

The formatting of the book also sets a really bizarre trend throughout modern gaming that making a Character is the first thing every new player should do in a system when, like, no? Making a Character is a complicated process in most, if not all, games. At least in the sense that you have to make a lot of decisions upfront. The best way to introduce a player to a system is to have them play a pre-made and put a book in front of them whenever they want to review whatever is listed on their sheet. Once they've played the game, then they can evaluate how to make a Character because they will actually know what they are building towards. The formatting D&D has maintained funnels GMs and game designers everywhere to force new Players into a awkward, decision heavy first couple of hours instead of playing the game.

I'm not saying players can't make a character before ever having played the game. People want to do that sometime for my system; however it is a lot of work and time on my part to babysit you reading the most complex part of the book and answer your questions when MOST of what you are about to ask would be covered during typical gameplay.

Okay, that's pretty much all I have to say about this, I think.

Next Villain Arc Post:

Previous Villain Arc Post:

[kitkatt0430]

Instead of doing a Six Sentence Sunday today, I think I'll do a short tutorial on copying over fanfic from FFnet to Ao3.

So you've got some old fics on FFnet and you'd like to back them up to Ao3, given the instability of FFnet. And for whatever reason you don't have the original files for the fics, or maybe you have edits to the FFnet versions that you don't want to lose that the OG files don't have. Whatever the reason, you're looking to directly copy over your fic from FFnet to Ao3. And you're looking for a relatively easy way to do so, but Ao3's import functionality doesn't work with FFnet web pages.

Never fear! It's actually a fairly easy process to get your fic copied over from FFnet.

First, head over to FFnet and open up the fic you want to port over to Ao3. You don't need to log in if you don't want to, just so long as the fic in question is yours and you can access the page, then you're good.

In a separate tab, open Ao3 and login, then choose the option for posting a new work.

Now back on the FFnet tab, you should be able to directly copy over the title, summary, fandom, and what little tagging was available on that site onto the relevant Ao3 fields in the tab you have for a new fic. You'll also want to take note of the published date on FFnet and back date the new work in the Ao3 tab.

FFnet may not have a lot of useful tag data, but it's pretty easy to replicate and build off that in Ao3.

Now for the hard part. Which is still pretty easy. Getting the fic body, plus any notes in the fic itself, copied over to FFnet.

While getting around FFnet's lockdown on the text of the fics they host is fairly simple - I'm pretty sure it's entirely css based - you don't really need to do that in order to get the body of your fic copied. And, honestly, even if you do have a work around in place to allow copying of the fic's text... you will probably find the following method a lot easier still.

In the body of the fic, right click the first line of the fic, which should bring up a menu with a bunch of options. On Firefox or Chrome you want the inspect option.

This'll bring up the dev tools with the html inspection tab open and, if you give it a few seconds to load, the specific line you right clicked to inspect should become the visibly selected section of the html.

The selected section of the html should be a paragraph (or <p>) element. You're going to want to right click the div (<div>) element that encapsulates that paragraph and the rest of the paragraphs in the fic body. This'll bring up another browser menu with the option to copy, which will bring up a flyout menu when you select it. From that flyout menu, you want the select the option for Inner HTML.

You have officially copied the html for the fic body. And you can dump that entirely in html format straight into Ao3's html work text editor. Then switch it to rich text for easier editing if you want to fix any spelling, grammar, formatting, or aesthetic issues. I typically try to fix at least the line breaks since it took a long while before FFnet adopted real line breaks and so there are a lot of fics where I have various combinations of dashes, em-dashes, equals signs, and other characters as line breaks. I figure, if I'm bringing the fic to Ao3 then I can try to make it more screen reader friendly in the process.

You can also move fic notes around in order to move pre/post fic notes out of the fic body or basically whatever you want to the fic. Maybe re-read it to determine any additional tagging you want to add now that your fic has access to Ao3's much more robust tagging system.

But that's it. You can hit post and have your fic with all it's original notes, and a back dated post date to reflect when it was actually written, all available on Ao3 now.

It's a pretty quick process, all told, and the only real bottleneck you might encounter is any time spent in re-editing the fic between migrating and posting. Even chaptered fics are fairly easy to migrate with this process, since the bulk of the work in publishing a new chapter is just copying the inner html and then moving any notes to the appropriate location before hitting post.

Anyway, for my fellow fic writers looking to move your old FFnet fics to a more stable archive, I hope this process helps a lot.

[popcornforone]

September

From the Marcus Pike Fan Fic Diary

Master list

August

Thank god for a friend sending me a Pike edit. I almost forgot to post this today. Mainly because I’m going away next week & I have a mini plan in place. So let’s see where they are this month.

Synopsis:- It’s your anniversary & you report back to the diary on your special day.

Work count:- 1100

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! PIV sex, pleasure, stimulation, alcohol. This is much shorter & less smuttier than the other chapters but I don’t think it needed to be long. Creepy guy who doesn’t accept no consent, but consent is used for the rest of it.Remember this is in a diary format.

Thanks as always for the read & feedback peoples I hope you enjoy.

I know Marcus spoils me but then there was yesterday. It was our anniversary.

I tell you the story every year diary. How there was a creep who wouldn’t take no for an answer, who was drunk & tried to grope me. I said I’d had a boyfriend as I walked past a table of guys & this red flag man almost followed me into the ladies. Next thing I knew Marcus was standing behind me rubbing my hand saying baby, it’s our anniversary come dance with me. He had a message on his phone so only I could read it, saying he worked for the government & would keep me safe. To make it look real to the creep, we kissed tenderly (with consent of course) & made sure we danced close or were near each other all night & I thought I would never see the hero man again. I didn’t get his number or his surname all I knew was he was called Marcus. But 3 days later, red roses arrived at my apartment, that I shared at the time with 3 friends, asking if I wanted to meet up in a week or a years time for our anniversary. & the rest is history.

We didn’t need to book the day off either of us. It was a Saturday, means we can chill today too. I woke up to his kisses as he was my big spoon, his erection pressing into my lower back & his hand once he knew I was awake, strumming my clit. I moaned away, feeling his affection & love as he pleasured me. I moan was low as he plundered me. Every inch feeling exquisite, he likes me when I completely give into him in bed & when he came the beguiled look on his face was wonderful.

Then I made breakfast. His favourite avocado on toast. I can’t stand it but he says I do something really good with the toast. I don’t, it’s just normal toast, but he ate that down, like a man who hadn’t eaten in months.

As he was in the shower the door bell rang & there was my bunch of red roses, with the same note as every year, dinner in a week or a year. I sniffed them before I felt his arms around me to sniff my air. Whispered words escaping his lips.

“I’ll always be here for you baby, I love you”

We then went for a walk, not to far. The park about 4 blacks away. It wasn’t too cold or breezy. A jumper or light jacket was fine for us. I tried to listen to our conversation but my mind was busy thinking how many times he was stroking my knuckles, that fat flat thumb gliding across. Me thinking of all the other places his fingers & thumbs go when he wants me at his mercy.

We got a coffee & cake by the cafe, which was when I decided to give him his anniversary gift… he cried… he cried a lot. I cried too. The way he held me & then kissed me looking down at the gift diary, it would make even the darkest hearts melt. I know he loves me but I’ve never seen a man look quite so happy & filled with love in all of my life. I told you last week diary about this, it’s now a secret for you me & Marcus.

Then we went home & had decided this year to not go out for fancy dinner for our anniversary but to go to the new cinema down the road. They do dinner before hand, simple food & you eat & drink in your seats & then once the food is cleared away the first half of the film starts & then at the interval you get desert & snack & then you watch the second half. All classic films. As we do both love movies we thought this would be a cool way to spend our evening.

Marcus salivated over every mouthful of his burger & chips. I sat there eating my macaroni cheese with bacon. He used that large thumb to get the mess off my face as it dripped.

“Always making a mess my love ”

“I just like you taking care of me” I replied as I sipped my drink. His beer is almost empty, but we were topped up as our food was cleared. We had the best seat in the cinema

3 rows from the back in a little sofa bang splat in the middle. Room for me to scooch up into the sofa once I had taken my shoes off & rest my head in Marcus shoulder as the film started.

“I’m guessing you’re comfortable baby” he said as he moved the stray hair off my face.

“More than comfortable” I giggle, my hand stroking his thigh as the Shawshank redemption started. The way he held me as we watched. Other than the noise in the screen I could hear his heart beat softly thudding. Each touch from his hand stroking down my bare arms was magical. Like we were just starting to date all over again. This was my perfect moment nothing could beat this. When the interval did come we decided on no deserts just extra popcorn for us both, always a spare bucket so we can mix our sweet & salted.

The film was fantastic, I mean it’s Shawshank, when isn’t it. We then got into a taxi & he peppered my neck with kisses.

“Only you, my Angel, only you” he moaned into my ear.

“Oooh Marcus”

We got back home & went straight to bed. Marcus delicately taking off every item of my clothing, humming before his mouth latched on to my nipple. My body still trembles for him, & as he laid me down & slowly edged his way inside me as I gasp his eyes softened.

“This is the most perfect moment of my life baby” Marcus said as he started to find his rhythm. He was extra slow patient & seductive tonight. “I never want things to change”

“They won’t Marcus, I love you too much to even want to think about anything else”

“Me & you forever”

“No, even longer”

I don’t know what time it was we fell asleep, but the sweat on his chest tasted good as I snuggled into him. He might have been calm & slow but that just meant more pleasure from my man.

Oooh diary, I wonder if this time next year if Marcus & I will celebrate our anniversary in the same magical way. Only time will tell.

October

[deadzonedenizen]

Intro Post:

Ello folks! The time has come that I do something in this place that isn't just lurking and doing the occasional commenting/reposting, so yay first post!

I usually post in reddit more, but I'm slowly starting to lean more into posting here as well. Only reason I didn't at first is because I was still trying to get used to tumblr itself.

I still am.

But y'know, the more I lurked here, the more I wanted to join in on the fun, especially oc-wise. I have a couple ocs that I want to share myself, though I'll probably make a separate post dedicated to detailed descriptions of each + ref sheets. But speaking of ocs, those of you that use wattpad or quotev, might recognize this one.

Yep, that's Bell, my main oc. Chances are, you might have heard of him from my fanfic Ship In A Bottle. The gist of his character is: What if there was someone on the good side who can level the playing field LBD created? The black chess pieces against her army of white?

That's where Bell comes in. The person most think to be just the back-up hero that occasionally steps into battle when MK and Mei need an extra hand.

Gee, I wonder what his powers are.

He doesn't come into public eye as often as the M&Ms do, but that's either because he's busy moving the black pieces on the board...

Or he's just lazy.

His dynamic with the main gang boils down to 'older brother who's supposed to keep the two hyperactive siblings from doing anything stupid, but also wants to see what would happen without getting in trouble himself.'

His ref sheet (using the lego art style) will be posted along with my other ocs' refs + a more detailed description of him. You can find more about them yourself by reading Ship In A Bottle in either Wattpad or Quotev. One thing I want to note though, it's written in a reader-insert format that uses she/her pronouns at the beginning chapters.

This is because I only got the idea of making him a guy in the middle of writing, and I didn't want current readers to feel cheated on. You'll notice in later chapters that Bell shifts more into using they/them pronouns. Maybe when I post the fic on Ao3, I'll edit it with he/him pronouns.

OCs and Characters like Bell, MK, and Mei are also written as teens in the fic, just in case that doesn't sit right with you.

Anyway before I end the post, I'll leave you guys with this. If I had to describe Bell (or the fic in general) in one sentence, I'd go with:

Blue is a really funny color.

So that's my introduction post! Don't worry. Chances are, while you're reading this, I'm already working on the ref sheets and descriptions. Don't be scared to ask questions even if I can't figure out how ask boxes work yet but baby steps!

Here's to my first post on tumblr, and thank you for your time!

[dejabluebabygirl]

I See You - Prologue

Miles Quaritch x Fem! Na'vi OC

Summary: Vira Te Wou Auhew’ite, an albino Na'vi and future Tsahìk of the Tayrangi Clan, The Ikran Riders of the Eastern Sea, keeps needing to save the demon Miles Quaritch at Ewyas command. When she's given a sign to try to teach him The People's way, both she and Miles struggle with their growing feelings for each other.

Authors note: So, this is the first thing I've written in a long time and the first time I have ever posted online so please be kind, I'm not the best with syntax or formatting my writing sadly. BUT I went and saw Avvatar the Way of Water and I'm obsessed with Na'vi/Recom Quaritch. I had a dream about a pink Na'vi (then started researching it and found this old post as the guide for her hair and eye colors: https://forum.learnnavi.org/general-avatar-discussion/navi-with-albinism/ ). After that, I MANICALLY hammered out 5 chapters to this fic. It's messy and imperfect but I hope it will be enjoyed. Slow burn/Enemies to lovers I think is the vibe this is going for as I try to reel in and edit this. Quaritch still had his loyalty to the RDA and humans so I think it would take time, and patience for a real romance to bloom. There WILL be smut but it'll take some time before we get there.

Also, this will HEAVILY parallel Jakes journey in the first movies but not be a retelling. If that's not your cup of tea, sorry.

Rating: T

Warnings: None really, canon typical violence

Words: 1803

--

The first time Colonel Miles Quaritch saw her was when he claimed his banshee. He’d managed to get on the back of the beast and connect his queue but they’d gone over the side of the cliff where the bastards lived and were falling, fast. Was this second chance at life over before it had even really started? 

Then in an instant, she was there. 

A large yellow and pink blur was flying beside him. It was Na’vi female on her own golden Banshee. Miles was falling so quickly he barely had the time to take in that she was the strangest Na’vi he had ever seen. She was pink.

Expertly beside him, she dove on her own beast just as quickly as he and his mount fell, her peculiar blonde hair streaming behind her as she shouted in near-perfect English. 

“Think fly not fall, use the bond!”

“Fly?” When the words escaped the colonel's mouth the creature shot up, back up through the clouds of the floating hallelujah mountains to the Banshee Rookery, back to his team and Spider. 

His success spurred the rest of his team to go on and claim their own Banshee partners but the colonel's thoughts drifted back to the strange-colored Na’vi. Why had she helped in? Had he imagined her? Hallucinated in the face of impending doom? He didn't mention the interaction to anyone.

Once the squad was whole, they rode on their mounts. Spider rode in front of the colonel as they moved in formation through the mountains, the kid seemed to be enjoying it. Quaritch kept his eyes open for the pink Na’vi but no sign of her. He figured, whoever she’d been, whyever she’d saved him, he’d never see her again. 

Until he did.

Miles saw the pink Navi almost immediately once his team had rounded up the sea na’vi village for questioning. She tried to stay toward the back of the group but she stuck out like a sore thumb. She was pink after all, how she’d survived amongst the Blues was a wonder, he’d seen firsthand in the jungle how useful the blue colorings were to helping him and his team blend in. 

He filed away in the back of his brain that she dressed a little nicer than the common natives, her grab was mostly green and beads dangled from her biceps. The most telling sign that she was important was a big ol’ beaded collar around her neck. Savage royalty perhaps? 

Either way, it didn’t help him understand why she’d gone out of her way to help him before but he intended to find out. 

But once he gave the order to burn the hutches, the opportunity to question her was missed. The pink Na’vi took the opportunity of the confusion and anguish of the tribals to bolt to the yellow banshee and fly back toward the mainland. 

The Recom Na’vi watched her soar right over him, her big orange eyes filled with tears unabashedly made eye contact with him. She didn’t screech or scream like the other locals on the beach did, throwing themselves to the ground with grief. No, she looked at him with those big doe eyes like he was supposed to be better than this. It pissed him off that  she had the gall to be disappointed in him for being the soldier he was. 

Miles didn’t enjoy that little twist in his gut, one because a damn native made him feel it and two because he felt it at all. His human counterpart would never be so weak. The pang of guilt was amplified when he looked to Spider, who was grieving just as much as the Blues at the loss of their home. 

“Should we go after that one Colonel?” Zdinarsk asked, gesturing with her gun and popping her pink bubble gum nonchalantly as the flames raged.

Briefly, the colonel considered having her shot out of the sky or pursuing her on his own banshee.

But he did owe the little na’vi a debt and he was feeling charitable today, already not killing the villages Tsahìk for Spider's sake. He really did care what the kid thought, even though he told himself time and time again he wasn’t actually his son, they weren't even the same species anymore. 

“Naw, the fact she’s flying means she’s no use to us. We must have interrupted her vacation.” 

When he got back on the boat he asked the science puke who loved the Tulkun why a Na’vi would be pink, he went into a long-winded explanation that ended with him saying it was like being an albino. It was rare but it happened.

Quaritch had a feeling he’d see her again, he wasn’t a man who liked to believe in coninsicdenece.

–-

When he saw her again, his life debt to her was doubled. 

After being rescued from near drowning by Spider after his fight with Sully, Miles flew on the back of his Banshee for as long as he could back to the mainland. He was trying to make it to the RDA to get patched up but the banshee could feel he was hurt and ultimately it slowed them down. 

They’d made it into the heart of an unknown part of the jungle, Quaritch was weak and took up against a tree, holding his abdomen, his banshee close to keep an eye on him. It was strange to him still that the beast was so loyal to him but it served him well so far. 

As he lay there against the tree, his breathing was labored. He was hurt but he wasn't sure how severe.  

Clutching his abdomen he could help but think of how he was breaking his own original “Pandora Rules” by being out after dark. But tonight he noticed how the forest was filled with bioluminescent life and for once he thought maybe Pandra was the slightest bit beautiful and not brutal. 

The colonel was struggling to keep his yellow eyes open and his breath steady but he saw the slightest of moments among the trees, the dancing of dozens of little bioluminescent dots. 

“I see you” he managed to grunt out, knowing it had to be a Na’vi, here to end him once and for all. 

But the figure approached with caution, not contempt in the low light he was able to make out this was no typical Na’vi. It was the little pink one again. 

“No, you don't see,” She said in English and she knelt down next to him.

Her small 4 digited hands reached for his abdomen, where most of his pain was. 

The colonel's much larger blue hands snatched her pink ones up before she could touch him. She looked annoyed, puffing out her cheeks but Quartich wasn’t about to just start trusting the natives, not after all he’d don’t to them. 

“Help. Let me help.” She urged, attempting to move her hands towards his waist while his hands were still holding them. They didn’t move an inch in his vice-like grip. 

He didn't move a muscle as his yellow eyes stared into her orange ones, looking for some indication of her intention. The color reminded him of the good, warm fire on the first cold day of winter. They were warm and inviting. He continued raking his eyes down her to form to assess how much of a threat she could be. The female was light pink, a blush color with even slightly darker pink striations down her body in place of the normal blue ones the Na’vi had. She squirmed a little but he was too strong for her to really put up any kind of decent fight. 

She had long white-blonde hair with one thick braid down the center of her head that he assumed held her queue, it was surrounded by several smaller ones around it which eventually flowed from braid to curl.  She still wore all the pomp and frills of being an important native, tons of beads on her clothing, and she wore one of the collar necklaces that indicated some kind of status.

Quaritch also took note of a little garter on her thigh that held he could see held a knife made of bone and a small satchel she was carrying. 

She did not seem to appreciate how long he was taking to study her, letting out an exasperated sound and rolling her big orange doe eyes. 

“Fine. Die.” She shrugged and turned her head away like a waspish brat. 

His wounds must have been getting to him because he briefly imagined that if he wasn’t still holding her in place that she would have stood up to stomp her foot. 

“Settle down, sweetheart. Just looking at who I’m dealing with, nothing personal.” Quaritch retorted as he released her.

Miles made quick work to remove his combat vest on his own but winced as he tried to pull his shirt over his head. The little white Na’vi leaned in to help him and he didn’t protest. Once the pair of them managed to wrangle it off of him, the natives' face was too close for his comfort. 

She seemed to notice this too and moved her face back after a beat to start assessing his abdomen and torso, she ran her little hands over his one of ribs and it earned her a full fang-faced hiss from him.  It was surely broken after his scrape with Sully. 

She got up without saying anything and retrieved from big leaves and began applying some foul-smelling paste from her bag to his abdomen that reminded him of cough drops.

Her pink legs were tucked under her delicately as she worked, now wrapping him up with the big leaves as makeshift bandages. 

“Why are you helping me anyways, Princess?” The sharp edge of distrust in his voice. 

“Not Princess,” was all she said, ignoring his question as she finished his bandages and now retrieved a needle and thread. 

Quaritch was not a man who would be ignored. 

Even in his current state, he was bigger, faster, and stronger than her. He grabbed the long white blonde braid that held her queue when she looked down to thread the needle.

She screeched and tears sprang to the corners of her eyes. The little pink Na’vi didn't even try to fight him, she was obviously not a warrior. 

“I asked you nicely, so now I’ll ask you again,” his hold tightened “why did you save me? Why are you helping me now?” 

She frantically said something in Navi but he quickly cut her off.

“No, no, in English.” 

He lacked the patience right now to decipher the alien language. 

“Ewya wishes for you to live,” she spat. 

Quaritch released her and let out a bitter laugh that stung his broken rib.

--

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