#am too exhausted to start on one of my planned writing projects

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Allosexual romance. From what I gather, you don't read it, but is there anything that might tempt you to?

From this ask game!

Wait wait wait wait what makes you think I don't read it? Then I wouldn't read anything 😂

(I currently barely read anything, but that has time reasons 😭 don't try to juggle 3 projects and a mmo, guys. I need a new number on the exhaustion scale.)

I spent years reading the genre of bodyguard/ex-soldier/whatever romance, because there's a good bit of violence and a guaranteed happy end. I also spent years digging around for queer love stories, which honestly ends up being m/m 90% of the time, which usually means there's 2 more penises than I care to read about.

Most of the books in my book recs tag are definitely very allo.

Do I think that drawn out blowjob could have been replaced by a nice whipping? Hell yeah. But oh well. What can you do. With the exception of fewer books than I need my fingers for to count, there just isn't anything out there once you leave middle grade behind.

Sure, there's completely romance-less fantasy epic, but I don't have the energy for that anymore, either. Sex scenes are easier to skip than politics.

But finding so many ace chars (and authors 😅) here has been the best thing that's ever happened to me, and they definitely get a headstart on the scale for falling in love with them.

[bryngmemoney]

✁FASHION FLIRT✃

Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

⭑story masterlist link

tw:none

Writing in between messages!!

🪡Chapter Fifteen: 8-ball

“You have to show me him!” Yuki exclaimed as you adjusted her outfit, making sure everything fit well. “Well, I could show you a picture, but he’s gonna come in right after you, so you could stay a minute extra.”

You two were referring to Megumi, as Yuki had always been one interested in starting conversation on people’s types. You were no exception. She told you that the reason she did it revealed a lot about the person without them knowing, you could see what she meant to an extent but really only she knew what she was talking about.

“Ooo, like how soon after me?” You looked at the time displayed on your phone, seeing the lock screen show the song you were quietly playing in the background for you and Yuki, as you guys were the only ones around. The numbers at the top read the time 5:50. “Like in ten minutes maybe, he said he’d be here around six.”

You backed up, asking Yuki to spin for you, seeing that everything seemed to fit well. “Does anything feel off?” “No, it’s perfect actually!”

“Great! Well that’s really all, you can go and change again, are you staying for a few?”

“Well I am curious, i’ll stick around with you for a bit.”

6:20, and Megumi was no where to be seen. “Is he running late?” Yuki asked leaning her back against the table while she sat down, facing you who was standing up, peaking out the window of the studio room to see if there was any sign of anyone walking in.

“I don’t know, he hasn’t answered the text I sent him.”

“He usually shows up on time?”

“Most of the time, there was just once where he showed up late, but that’s because of something that was happening.” You turned back to Yuki, checking your phone just once again to see if there was any sign from him. “Like how late?” You placed your phone down, sighing before answering “40 minutes..”

“Oh, wow.”

“He made up for it though!” You defended, “He took me out to dinner, it wasn’t really a date because his friend was there too, but still!” Yuki just hummed seeming amused in your story.

“Okay, i’ll wait another 10 minutes max with you then, but if he still hasn’t responded or shown up, we’re leaving.” You yawned in response, not feeling tired because it was late, but instead because this week had really exhausted you with class work. “Can’t we make it 15?”

“Listen, he’s already done something like this before, and you’re tired, just tell him not to show up and talk it out later, but if I was you i’d go and take the fattest nap ever first.”

Megumi sighed after finally finishing his project presentation for his Photo Seminar class. He really needed to try on this assignment, as his last one wasn’t the best. He didn’t fail, but he wasn’t anywhere near where he wanted or needed to be. Stressing over it he was glad to have finally finished his preparation, feeling a weight being lifted off him that is until he checked the time to be 6:38, then it was replaced with panic, remembering he had promised to meet you around six today. He looked for his phone, only to find it and see a text from you already saying you left 7 minutes ago.

Author’s Note: date with megumi officially planned🗣️‼️

tbh i think beer pong is my favorite imessage game

hope you guys enjoyed!

Taglist below, feel free to comment or dm me to be added!!

TAGLIST

@iridescentrays @gumimegz @maya-maya-56 @mamafly @lunavixia @swissy23 @coltsgf @m00nglad3-mp3 @etsukis @xosren @qtnfer @oengleli @harek89 @y-sabell-a @morgyyyyyyy @getolvr @liliumaraneae @k3lbade @aiieera @dancedancey @get0sfav @chuyasthighs0 @hyssoplampflickers @kpopanimen @sad-darksoul @vivi-loves-penguins @kasumitenbaz @talkingsperm @nymphsdomain @inlovewithlondonn @rzcnlb @enchantingkitty @fuyuzemi @lysaray @ni-ki-ismyluv @reneny @frumira @mixzimi @miralunaela @dreamxiing @p3achiee @anianurst

[swagammemnon]

Caught in Honey

Chp 1 | Next

Am I feral over these men? Yes. Feral enough to write a fic in the most disgusting PoV? Also yes. Here are the warnings; more to come as I add chapters. Basically, the premise is you and John are together, you used to be with Simon, but you don't know Simon is one of John's subordinates. Filth and fun ensue.

The keys jangle deafeningly in your lock, hurting the ears that had been subject to the endless pitiful howls of a golden retriever who’d been spayed today.  That on top of the grimy sensation on your hands from your last three appointments of the day being crusty, old, white dogs with crocodile tear stains.  Despite your exhaustion as you tumble through your doorway, you notice your elderly cat is not in his typical post on the keys table by the front door.  Notice that something in your renovated penthouse apartment is… off.

Slipping off your shoes, you quietly pull out the flashlight taser your boyfriend had gifted you a mere month after you started dating.  When you protested, you live in the suburbs for goodness’ sake, he’d replied in that deliciously gravely accent of his, It’s this or I assign a military escort when I’m away, love.  So, you’d taken it, rolling your eyes because you knew you’d never be able to win against him on this particular subject.  This was the first time you’ve ever reached for it.

Tiptoeing down the entry hall to your open floor plan kitchen and living space, you frown as you spot steaming pots on your stove, your cat happily sat at his filled food dish, munching away.  Unbothered furball.

You nearly scream as huge arms ensnare your waist, bag falling to the floor as you’re lifted from the ground.

But then a rough beard, familiar and ticklish, scratches along the shell of your ear.  Your stomach flipping over itself.

“Got you,” comes the familiar growl.

“John!” you nearly squeal, wiggling until he sets you on your feet so you can turn.  The moment you do, his lips are on yours, consuming your entire reality.  Molten heat pouring from this bear of a man into mouth, invading your veins, melting you into his arms.  Your heart immediately skips a beat, galloping faster as you feel the heady crush of his arms around you.  Snaking your arms around his neck, you let yourself dissolve, a welcome end to a long, grating day.  Between breaths, on swollen lips, you whisper, “You didn’t tell me you were back.  I would’ve made you something–”

“None o’ that, love.  ‘S my job to take care o’ ya,” he grumbles, chasing your lips for more.  More heat, more fire.

Still, the guilt twists in your tummy.  Yes, you’ve just finished your fourth of four ten hour shifts this week, but John… he’s in far more danger than you could ever imagine, risking his life on adrenal squeezing, back breaking missions.  Only to come home and cook you dinner… feed you cat .

“But–” you murmur, setting the flashlight on your counter so you can fist the soft cotton of his dark t-shirt.  He’s freshly showered too, smelling of moss, tonka and sandalwood.  The scent slides shackles around your wrists, drawing your arms tightly against his shoulders.

“Hush,” John commands, greedy bear paws sliding beneath your scrub bottoms, slipping them down the round curve of your ass.  “Just lemme feel ya.”  

You shiver as those huge palms close over the globes of your asscheeks, forcing you to your tiptoes.  Grinding your pelvis into his.  Where a delicious heat is already building.  In the end, there is no winning against John in a contest of chivalry.  Dogmatic devotion that had nearly frightened you away in the beginning. He’d shocked you early with that, staunchly refusing to let you open a single door, showering you with affection both verbal and physical, keeping you tucked beneath his shoulder on the inside of the sidewalk.  Small things.  Innocuous things.  Things you’ve never even thought of before as you made your own way in life.  Not until John.  Not until your ex…

But you shut that thought out immediately.  You weren’t together for a reason.  And John, sneaky little shit, had made himself a fixture of your life.  In the betweens of his deployments.  Even during–with bouquets of flowers delivered to your door or your hospital.  Your favorite meals delivered much the same.  Little texts when he could, pictures and videos that always had your hand sliding between your legs.

“Fuck, swee’art,” he groans against your mouth, walking you against the edge of your counter.  “Missed you so much.”  

He shoves your scrub bottoms down your legs, nipping at the corner of your mouth as he leans his weight into you.  Arching your spine with a large palm splayed along your lower back.  John is an extremely tactile man–and you discovered you were too.  John always shoved hands beneath clothing, not to initiate anything (sometimes) but just to soak in the skin to skin warmth.  You voice absolutely no complaints as his palms eat up your skin, coursing from the joint of your thighs and ass, up under your scrub top to scratch along your ribs, thumbs bullying beneath the wiring of your bra to graze the underside of your breasts.

You release a heavy breath, fingernails digging into his shoulders, bones already trembling as your body begins to remember the outline of him.  The weight of his muscles against you.  His intoxicating scent writhing in your nose.  The scrape of his calloused fingers along your skin.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his hairline as he mouths along your chin, his teeth drawn to your throat like a magnet.  Eagerly replacing the marks he’d left on you before this deployment.  Staining you anew as his own masterpiece.  His groan is rapacious, blasted heat scorching your tender skin.  “Let me clean up, first, baby.  I’m–”

“Don’t care.”  Fuck, his thick as molasses accent might as well be glomming onto your body, trapping in honey as the achiness in your muscles bubbles to the surface.  Your silly brain, now hardwired– trained , smarmy bastard–into relaxing, turning off.  His teeth are sharp and thrilling as razor blades against your throat, eagerly waiting for you to cut yourself on them.  “It’s your Friday, yeah?”

God, how you’ve missed his voice, how his hands cup your waist, your generous hips and drag you where he pleases.  Those torturous hands bully under your scrub top, clearing a path for hungry palms and bruising fingers.  You’ve missed those handprints too, painted along your body, a reminder of his strength, his passion, his protection.  Mindlessly, you nod, your gut knotting as he hoists your ass onto the cool counter without even a shred of effort.  If you really tried, if you truly wanted to, you’d never be able to escape him.  His job is his body, and he does it so fucking well.

“My sweet girl’s tired, then.  Working that pretty brain all week.  You deserve a li’l break, don’t you?” he cajoles, luring a wounded, beaten animal into his trap with the sweetest honey.  You go all too willingly.  Even as your cheeks heat in embarrassment, the admittance to your exhaustion, the weakness.   But there’s a reason John is the captain of his unit—perspicacious eyes stripping anyone and everyone to the bone within minutes of meeting.  You’d been no different.  And his idolatrous words cut straight through any walls your ex had forced you to raise, like the months you’d spent building them, fortifying them, were naught but air between you.

Your blurred thoughts shake away as John’s thick fingers suddenly close around your chin, fingertips pressing into your cheeks.  Puckering your pretty lips.  His enthralling jewel blue eyes are lidded and smug, a dangerously sharp edge glinting beneath.

“ Don’t you.”

John has made it his mission to carve self-compassion into your muscle and sinew.  Just as you had made it yours to him.  But it was hard .  After years of driving and driving and driving yourself into the ground.  Just one more semester, just one more class, just one more test, just one more year and you did it .  But at what cost to yourself?  Years of putting yourself aside in pursuit of your dream, it left crippled habits and cruel voices in your head.  Your ex—he’d started to heal the long-callused burns, help you lay your own foundation beneath the heavy weight of your life’s work.

But then it ended…

“Get ou’a your head,” John all but growls, tearing your focus violently back to him.  “You know the deal, love.  When I’m here, I get your attention, mm?”  Releasing your trembling breath, you nod, chin dipping into his warm palm.  Broken down all too easy after your exhausting week, clearing the path for your usually managed anxiety.  John knew that.  He knows everything .  “Now answer my question.”

You nod, a jittery hollowness bleeding through your limbs, leaving achy exhaustion in its wake.

John dips his mouth against yours, plush lips just touching as he teases you with a kiss.  “Words.”

“I do,” you plead, eyes stinging as he gazes sternly (fondly) down at you.

“Mmm, good girl.”

Those two words kick a moan from your chest, has your fingers clenching on the lip of the counter as John releases your chin.  Only to brutally rip your scrub top off, revealing your ugly, old-reliable bra.  You flush, staring down at the ratty thing.

“I would’ve worn something else if–”

“Swee’art,” John soothes, swiping greedy hands up your ribs, eclipsing your breasts in his eager grip.  You hum, both an acknowledgement and a barrier to the whimper threatening to spill over your lips.  Your breasts have been terribly sore this week.  And John begins kneading them with a force that has your knees shaking around his waist.  “Be quiet.  Let me enjoy my girl.”

Your jaw goes slack, already shivering as John hikes your knees over his shoulder, scrub pants tossed away, using one hand to flatten you against the counter before the other tugs the gusset of your panties away.  You jump as his breath fans your wet pussy, true slick only beginning to drip from your entrance.  You can’t help but cry out as his chapped lips seal against your clit, and you need to sink your fingers into his thick hair, grown out and shaggy after months away but your hands are dirty.  Never truly feeling clean from a day in your hospital until you shower. 

But when John wants something, there's no waiting, no denying. And fuck, doesn’t it make your eyes roll?  The long drag of his tongue up your slit sure does, hands curling around the counter’s edge as an anchor.

“Fuck, John,” you moan, lids closing as he settles his broad shoulder between your thighs.

“Looks like my pussy missed me too, eh?” He snarls smugly against you, laying a sloppy, wet kiss against your clit.  “Poor thing, already weepin’ f’me.” 

You gasp as he slides one finger into you, burying to the first knuckle. Not enough.   Not nearly enough after all you’ve had has been your fingers and the little bullet vibrator you managed to save when John pillaged your toy stash.  You don’t need toys when you have me.   Honestly?  You’d laughed in his face, but had been curious if he could live up to the statement.  Well, toys don’t live up to the thorough fuckings John carves into your body.

You whimper, eyes caught on the ravenous glint in John’s gaze as he watches his finger sink deeper. Groaning as you clamp down on the invasion. “Relax f’me, darlin’.”

Your soft, dripping walls tighten despite his command as his finger bottoms out. Curling into the spot you can never quite tease as well as him. Into the spot that has your thighs quivering, your elbows giving out fully and your back hits cool countertop.  One finger, one damned finger he rubs in maddening circles over that gummy, delicious spot inside you.  One finger is all it takes to have you shuddering with the bleeding of your tension.  Giving in.

You sigh, a knot in your spine uncoiling as you fully set the weight of your legs on his shoulders.  It is bizarre, what little things your brain filters out, like tension, until you feel it blissfully drain away.

“There she is,” John coos against your scorching heat, wetly sucking on your swollen bud like it’s his own personal sweet.  You moan through your nose, hips shifting as he begins to pump that single digit in and out.  You can feel the drag of every single callus on that finger. Too skilled and dexterous for his own good.  The slick trickling out of you soaks your panties, dampens your thighs. “Just lay back, swee'art. Lemme take care o’ ya.”

And so he does. In a sloppy, salacious mess. He stretches you on a second finger too soon, hips bucking into his mouth as he swirls his tongue around your clit before sucking the throbbing pearl into his mouth. The sting of stretching on him too soon merely sharpens the pleasure pooling behind your navel.  You scream when he nibbles down, nose buried in the soft flesh of your mons.  His other hand digs into the fat of your thigh, bruising and stalwart, ceasing any retreat.  You can feel his beard scraping at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the friction burning as it shoots straight into your core.  His puffs of breath in between rude slurping and squelching fan like fire over your skin, draggin you further from coherent thought.

Your abdominals flex, his fingers petting your walls in a ploy to soothe the throbbing of your pretty little pussy.  But he merely makes you gasp, flinching as a sharp pulse of pleasure rips through you.

“John,” you moan quietly, breasts aching inside your bra, demanding he just rip the confining thing from your body.

 Sliding in a third finger, the silver-tongued bastard presses his other palm flat over your mons and lower belly, heavy and insistent as though he can make the fingers inside you touch his palm outside.  It makes you groan, arching off the counter though his stony hand keeps you pinned.  You feel so stuffed full, you can almost swear his fingers toy with the gummy tip of your cervix.  Your pretty lips part around the choked out moan John rips from you with a sudden, harsh thrust straight into your cute little womb.

Every time.  Every time your body forgets what it feels like to be fucked by this man.  Every time John carves himself a niche anew deep inside your body.  Fuck, this is only his fingers?

John laves your sopping cunt with his tongue, filthy wet sounds echoing in your ears as he sucks your clit back into his mouth.  Sucking with obscene fervor.  The scrape of teeth has you bucking into his mouth again, and he lets out a rock deep groan, vibrating straight into your core.

“Tha’s it, swee’art,” he purrs against the pulsing skin between your legs, the praise vining through your limbs, scraping delicious quivers against your bones.  “Get ya nice and loose before I split you on my cock.”

“ John ,” you whine, fingernails bending as you press them into the stone countertop.  Heat caresses your cheeks, those depthless eyes snapping up to meet yours.

“Tha’ what you want, sweet girl?” He seats his fingers deep, massaging gyres into your heat.  His smirk is almost mean, mocking sympathy at you as your thighs tremor around his head.  He seats his lips against your clit—a threat as he starts finger fucking you without mercy.  Fast, squelching, your arousal coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down the sensitive skin between your arse cheeks.  

“Gonna give daddy an orgasm?” he croons before dragging the broad length of his tongue over your clit.  Your thighs twitch inward, your stomach pulling tighter and tighter.  John doesn’t stop watching you, your face for the slightest twitch for him to exploit.  You grit your teeth, tears gathering on your lashes as a half-scream leaks past your lips—the pressure, the heat, the intensity of John on you after so long almost fucking painful.  Brows knit together, all that pours from your mouth are beseeching moans, whines as his tongue moves from stroking to circling.  Depressing the bundle of nerves as he swipes it around your slick core.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, finally breaking as you viciously curl a hand in the collar of his shirt.  Wanting to pull him closer, push him away but you’re stuck.  Frozen and at his mercy.  “Fuck, please.”

John listens, mouth sealing against your clit as his fingers brutally stretch you, pounding into you as your  arousal pools embarrassingly in his palm, drips to the floor.  But his eyes merely darken, lids falling to half mast as he moans against you, feeling how your thighs close, tense and shaking.  Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, face pinched as that coil snakes tighter and tighter.  Painful and pressurized and you’re afraid you’ll crack apart once it releases.  Fuck, you’re already twitching, shuddering as the thunder gathers.  Claps with a deafening bang, lightning striking your blood as one last thrust you feel through your entire body ignites the storm.

Your voice chokes in your throat, body curling off the counter, nails digging bloody strips into John’s shoulder as you break apart.  The lightning grips you, John only making it worse as he works you through it, enraptured by the devastated visage you paint above him.  He could die a happy man right here, your voice finally breaking free with a wretched scream, tears tracking down your cheeks as shocks ripple your body.

You can feel your release gush against John’s beard, filthy and wet, the knowledge of how pathetic you became in mere minutes adding a sweet burn to the pleasure.  Clawing air into your lungs, you whine—sob—his name, your body belonging entirely to another being as it shudders, shatters with your stupefying release.  Your abdominals clench, muscles contracted and shaking to the point of ache , stealing more and more of your air.

Finally, finally , your orgasm releases you and you collapse back onto the counter, heaving miserable little whines on every breath.  John keeps his fingers stuffed inside you, his tongue turned supplicant and languid as he licks the last of your pleasure from you.  Licks until you're keening, pawing at his cheek, asking the man to take pity on you.  He does, eventually.  Rising from his knees and gently lowering your useless legs away from his shoulders.  

John presses down over you, letting you feel his sturdy weight as his mouth captures yours in a sloppy, heated, open-mouthed kiss.  You’re too weak to do much more than breath in his scent as he steals two, three, ten more kisses from you.  As though he is starved of your touch, needing to take in as much as he can as though you’ll disappear.

When he pulls back, you’re sluggish, eyes barely open as you pant like a dog in heat.  The man might as well have sucked the last of your energy out.  He sees this, and your belly warms in a calm, safe sort of way as he smiles down at you.  Entirely besotted, entranced, enchanted with the sleepy, fucked out look on your face.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, mm?”

Drop a comment or follow the Ao3 link and tell me what you think! I'm really interested in getting feedback on my first 2nd person PoV piece ever.

[octuscle]

Hey there! I work as a therapist and a few of us were starting to think of the clinical applications of chronivac. We were wondering if you wanted to work together to develop some presets that our clients could use to de-stress and take a break from their stressful lives. I know we have one stressed out university student who could benefit from something like this.

At Chronivac, we are always interested in collaborating with research institutions. After all, Chronivac is not used just to have fun. It is already being used for the treatment of various physical illnesses and also for resocialization projects. The use in the psychotherapeutic field would be new, but sounds interesting according to the research and development department. If the student they are talking about is available as a guinea pig, perhaps send us a requirements profile for a transformation. And we'll see what we can do….

Research Diary Timothy Walker

Day One: My psychotherapist tells me that my burn-out syndrome has progressed to the point that continuing my business studies is out of the question at this point. In fact, I am having a hard time concentrating. Writing this report is causing me great difficulty; my attention span is only a few minutes. Therefore, an experimental therapy has been decided with the psychology faculty, which is connected with a semester off for me. Under certain circumstances, the semester can be counted as an internship. Everything is fine with me. I am just tired. The work on the research diary was exhausting for me. I need to lie down.

Second day: I slept very well. No wild nightmares as usual. I woke up briefly once or twice at most, but went right back to sleep. Michael, who is in charge of the project as pysiotherapist, thinks that this would be a good starting point to work on my physical fitness. We both went running for an hour. I'm exhausted, I haven't moved that much since I started studying. But I feel good. Made myself a real breakfast for the first time in months according to my new nutrition plan. I'm supposed to spend the rest of the day walking on the beach. Let's see if that clears my head.

Third day: Before Michael came for the training session, I was already in the gym for an hour. I'm really enjoying the physical activity. The beach walk yesterday was great. And Michael was thrilled to see the progress I'm making in terms of fitness. Had the first session with my creativity coach today. Seems a little silly to me. But imagining what I would be doing if I weren't studying business was fun. But I have to admit, my head isn't really getting creative yet. At least writing the diary is already much easier for me.

Day four: I need new challenges. The beach run with Mike is fun, but it's not a sport. That's warming up. We discussed that I would go running alone for an hour tomorrow and that we would meet in the gym of the therapy center. I'm supposed to come without a T-shirt. Mike wants me to learn to love my body. To be honest, I already do. I've already jerked off twice today. And think about sex a lot more than usual. Mike also comes in the process. My creative trainer is also quite cute, but he's too skinny for me. I like men who have a lot of muscle on them.

Fifth day: Fuck, the workout with Mike is awesome! I love the gym from the first minute. Yes, the beach feels my home. But the gym is the place that prepares me for that home. Working out shirtless makes the workout even more intense. i can't get enough of Mike's and my sweat beading on our pecs. But I'm so horny. All the time. During the creative training with Kev it just bubbled out of me today. I would so love to be a lifeguard. Maybe not all the time. But on vacation. And on the weekends. The idea made me even hornier. Poor Kev. He's not my type, but I had to nail him during practice. No idea when I last had sex. but this first time in a long time was incredibly intense. Thank God Kev felt the same way….

Day six: Today is uh free day at da therapy center. Mike n kev are already down at da beach, I wanted to pump up da muscles beforehand. I'm looking forward to da sea n da sand. Both make my head so free. Although I wouldn't feel like my head wuz overly full right now anyway. Pumping, fucking, jogging n swimming. That's really all I'm thinking about right now. Kevin says that I certainly wouldn't have to worry about da practical entrance exams for lifeguards. But I shouldn't underestimate da theory. Shit, studying sucks. But I guess it haz to be.

Day seven: I like it when I have da early shift. Da routine of opening da station is relaxing, da beach is still quiet, da few guests are usually relaxed n in uh gud mood. Wuz one of da best ideas of my life to take uh semester off n work as uh lifeguard. My pal mikey told me to lay off this crappy journal. Somehow I thought it wuz important until now. I can't remember why, either. Anyway. Da main thing is that da surf is gud. Den you can have some fun with da surfers afta work. Hehehehe…

[recurring-polynya]

Writing/Art Update (but not really) 8.29.2024

Well, that went worse than expected.

My summers are never good for creative activity--I'm off my schedule, my house is full of people, every week is some new thing to get ready for. I know this, and I tell myself to lower my expectations and just get through it, and then I always end up disappointed with myself anyway. So that's where we are.

Anyway, thank you to everyone who sent in requests for me to do! I didn't do as many as I had hoped, but I did do six of them (including one that I basically just pulled out of my drafts and dusted off, but at least I did it). I do want to reiterate that quite a few of the ones I didn't do was because they were specifically things that I have planned to show up in my regular fanfic. There were also two that I started and couldn't manage to finish, so there's always the possibility that I could finish them someday.

I actually got inspired and wanted to write a B-part for the last one I did, which I started the day after I posted that one, but then I left for vacation, and a whole lot has happened since then. I've gotten, like 1300 words of it written, but I just haven't managed to finish it yet. I'd been kind of hesitating to call the requests "done", because I wanted to get that out first, but I haven't managed to, so I'm calling the requests done, and if I finish that other thing, I'll post it, and if I don't, obviously I won't.

I'm frustrated because I had big plans to get back to writing this fall: I am steeling my nerves to finish a little in love, now and then, which has lingered on far too long without being finished. I was going to be all ready to go by the time my kids were back in school and...well...I am not yet ready. Everything just took a little longer than I expected and then my grandfather passed away (the funeral is this weekend), and it's all just been a lot at once, and I don't feel at all ready to take on a new project. I mean, I had a number of "getting ready" activities I was going to do, and I haven't done them, and I can still do them, it's just not where I expected to be right now. Kind of like last year when I got covid and took all of September having covid and recovering from having covid and being exhausted. How does anyone get anything done in this crummy world?!!

Also, I guess Bleach Returns is coming up sooner than I expected, in the sense that if I want to do anything for that (which I do), I should be working on that in the near term, except that I've put off a little in love for so long and I don't want to keep putting it off. I think maybe the answer is to try to do some drawing for BR instead of writing this year, and try to keep my efforts low-key.

The upshot of all of this is just that I'm not ready to get back to work even though I thought I would be by this time. I do intend to start these updates up again soon, but I just wanted to put this one out there so no one is expecting anything from me. I want to want to write, but I simply do not have the time or the energy or any ideas whatsoever, so I'm just trying to get thru the stuff that's in front of me, and we'll see what happens after that.

[suddencolds]

Loose Ends | Genshin Impact

Happy (late now, I'm sorry!) birthday, @caughtintherain!! I hope it was a good one! :) ❤️

I am hopelessly behind on archon quests (I haven't officially met Kaveh or exchanged more than a few sentences with Al-Haitham) and Genshin as a whole; hence, I feel super unqualified to be writing this. (The last time I wrote anything for Genshin was over a year ago—how time flies!)

That said, please take this Kavetham / Haikaveh fic ft. sick Kaveh—it was fun to try my hand at writing new characters after so long; I hope this is okay!

—

It is only, as far as Kaveh is concerned, a mild cold.

It starts off with a slight twinge in his throat, a rasp to his voice, a headache that a daytime nap can’t shake off. Small annoyances, but nothing more than an inconvenience—the slight hoarseness to his voice is barely noticeable after he clears his throat, and the good thing about the headache and the sore throat are that they don’t show, which means that while he takes extra care to keep his distance with clients, he looks no less presentable than usual.

It’s not exactly his intention to push himself, but he doesn’t go out of his way to take things easy, either. He has plenty of things to worry about already—a meeting with a client to go over a second round of design proposals, and before that, several new alternative proposals to sketch out, in light of the client’s feedback on his initial sketches. Then there’s the delivery of materials to worry about for a different project—he needs to go through the materials to make sure that they line up with the load-bearing calculations he’s done and then, in the following few days, supervise the construction of its most basic foundations. Everything—the delivery, the work he’s paid for in construction, the meetings he’s added to his calendar—is on a tight schedule, and Kaveh has no intention of going back on his promises.

It’s for that reason that he stays up a couple nights in a row finishing the sketches. Kaveh is nothing if not thorough—he considers both aesthetic presentation and practicality in tandem, makes small adjustments to the building at hand, from its most basic foundations to its exterior qualities—sloping roofs and high, curved windows, its circular stairwells and wide, elegant columns. He thinks, too, on how to present his work—his client had said that the first round of designs had seemed too extravagant and asked for something more subtle and understated, but Kaveh believes that even buildings which appear unremarkable can be thoughtful and elegant in their subtleties. The challenge is just in the execution.

And it’s for that reason that he ignores the harsh, grating cough that develops, the headache which only seems to worsen, the exhaustion that he can’t quite seem to shake—then again, is that not just to be expected, when it’s been days since he’s had a proper night’s rest? He’d certainly had his fair share of late night work at the Academiya, back when he’d frequently stay up late to help other students with their work—a little tiredness isn’t anything he’s not accustomed to.

On the third day, when he wakes up congested and shivering, when every subsequent sneeze scrapes at his throat, when he finds himself dizzy and too-hot in such a manner that suggests he might be running a fever, he waves off all of these things, gathers his latest sketches, and heads out into town just before dawn for the meeting.

It goes well enough—he can tell his client takes well to the new sketches for the way she surveys his designs, her eyes bright, and asks him about the feasibility of several new features. The new adjustments will be more work—more work with a quick turnaround, if he intends to keep everything up to their initial schedule—but that doesn’t bother him. If anything, he takes a little pride in the fact that the sketch she’s picked out is one that she is interested enough in to consider adding to it.

Their back and forth takes longer than planned, and by the time he leaves, his voice is slightly hoarse from overuse, his throat so sore that just speaking is enough to make him cough. His client wishes him well—actually, she tells him to get some rest, and to take his time on his next round of drafts, but also taking into account the work he has with supervising construction, he really ought to hurry things up to keep both projects coming along.

When Kaveh finally steps out from the building, it’s raining hard.

Of course today, of all days, he doesn’t have an umbrella on him. Just his luck. Al-Haitham will laugh him into his grave. But he can’t exactly wait out the rain, even if he wishes to—he has lots to do, preferably in the quiet space of his own study, and there’s no guarantee that this inclement weather will let up anytime soon.

So Kaveh does all he can, in this situation—he makes sure his manuscripts are all securely locked up in his briefcase. Then he books it. 

It’s not a long run, but it’s raining hard enough that by the time he arrives before the front door, his clothes are soaked. He wrings the rainwater out of his cape, sets his briefcase down gingerly, and reaches for his keys.

The house—Al-Haitham’s house, technically, though Kaveh doesn’t like to refer to it as such—is very quiet when he steps inside. The lights are off in the central living room, and as far as he can see, there’s no one in the kitchen, or Al-Haitham’s bedroom, or the study. Probably Al-Haitham is out, still, finishing up the day’s work.

Kaveh gets changed.

It’s a good thing, he thinks, that Al-Haitham isn’t home to see how he’s shivering so hard that it takes longer than usual to loosen his cape, to unclasp his belt, to pull his shirt over his head. It’s a good thing that Al-Haitham isn’t home to hear the loud—terribly loud—sneezes that tear through him (too loud, he thinks, to be neatly contained within the four walls of his bedroom), nor the harsh, fitful coughs that he’s been muffling into his elbow all morning. if he were, surely Kaveh would never hear the end of it.

It’s a small consolation that his sketches are dry, at least—safely locked up inside his briefcase, which at least offers the most basic protection against the elements. The new, dry clothes he picks out are a relief, too, once he changes into them. But his hair is still wet, and even though he’s changed, he finds he can’t stop shivering.

He really is a mess, he thinks.

But no one has to know. Not his clients, nor the agencies he’s worked with, nor his mentors and his peers from the Academiya, and certainly not Al-Haitham, so long as Kaveh resolves to stay out of his way. If he can produce a sketch of the building’s layout which exceeds his client’s layout expectations, his situation is irrelevant; the head cold he feels brewing is entirely inconsequential.

So he takes a seat at his desk, reviews his notes from today’s meeting, and gets to work.

—

The next few hours are less than optimal. More than once, he finds himself on the verge of dozing off, snaps awake from the pencil in his hand arcing from a steady, intentional line to a shaky tangent. Eventually, he resigns himself to keeping his head propped up on one hand as he works, if only to keep himself awake.

His head hurts fiercely. There’s a small part of him—a part which he diligently elects to ignore—which tells him that it’d probably go away much faster if he’d allowed himself some proper rest. He can rest when he’s finished, he tells himself, but judging by his current progress, that won’t be anytime soon. 

He’s so focused on his work—or, rather, so distracted by the headache, with the chills he can’t quite seem to shake—that he barely hears the front door open.

Barely, which is to say, he notices it still. Al-Haitham had advised him last night to get some rest—a thoughtful enough remark taken alone, if only it were not immediately followed with something along the lines of, It is in my own best interest if you don’t keep me up all night coughing. As if his noise-canceling headphones would not be a suitable—convenient, even—solution to that.

Just for that, Kaveh resolves to keep quiet, now. Just for that, he stifles each subsequent sneeze, muffles every ensuing cough as quietly as possible into his arm. If Al-Haitham has any complaints for all the noise he’s making, at least he can say he’d attempted to be quiet.

Barely half an hour goes by before he hears the knock on his door.

Kaveh clears his throat. “Come in,” he says. 

Al-Haitham does—he steps fully inside and shuts the door behind him. “Kaveh,” he says.

Kaveh sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Let me guess. I’m being too loud,” he says.

“I can’t help it if I— if I have to— hEHh-!” Ironically, he feels the all-too-familiar prickle settle in his nose. He’s felt it enough times over the past few days to know exactly what it precedes. “Hheh…. HEhH’eEZSCHhhEW!” It’s already humiliating enough to have to be doing this while Al-Haitham is watching. It’s with an awful sense of certainty that he realizes that he isn’t done. “hHEH… hh-HhH-hEHh’iSSCHH-YuE!”

It’s a relief, really, to let out a sneeze properly after he’s stifled so many, though it’s loud, especially in the enclosed space of his room. Kaveh sniffles, rubs his nose on the back of his hand. “Believe me,” he says, clearing his throat, though he thinks his voice doesn’t sound any less hoarse when he speaks up again, “I don’t want this cold any more than you do.”

“You sound awful,” Al-Haitham says, as if he’s merely stating a fact.

“You wouldn’t sound any better if you spent all morning talking to clients,” Kaveh says, with a huff, which—to his great dismay—turns into an untimely fit of coughs. 

“I distinctly recall telling you to get some rest,” Al-Haitham says.

“And I remember telling you it was none of your business when I sleep,” Kaveh says. “I can— hHEHh-!” he turns away—from Al-Haitham, from the desk with all of his papers—to catch a “hH-hhEH-HEh’IISSCHh-yUe!” in one cupped hand. He sniffles again, rubbing his nose, and levels as convincing of a glare as he can muster. “I can take care of myself.”

Al-Haitham frowns, seemlingly unbothered by Kaveh’s… well, rather unsubtle display. “If that was true, you’d already be on the mend by now.”

“It’s only a cold, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says, with a sniffle. “I just have to let it run its course.”

“That sort of negligent attitude is what landed you in this very position in the first place.”

Kaveh’s head hurts. Whatever reasoning Al-Haitham has for why he’s caught this cold, he doesn’t want to hear it. He needs to finish up his sketches, needs to perform the necessary calculations to ensure the foundations he’s drawn are spatially optimized and will take well to any structural or environmental pressure. “Is that all?”

“No,” Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh shuts his eyes, braces himself for an earful. But whatever Al-Haitham is planning to say, he doesn’t get to hear it before he’s veering away again, sharply, burying his nose into his elbow just in time for—

“hhH… hEHh- hHEh’EZSCHhh’ew! HHEH’iIKSHhhEW! Excuse mbe… hh… HEHH’DZSCHh-iEEw!” 

He emerges, slightly teary-eyed, disoriented and blinking, which is why he doesn’t have time to intercept the hand that Al-Haitham presses to his forehead.

It is there only for a moment. Al-Haitham’s hand is surprisingly warm—it’s soft, a little calloused.

Then it’s gone. It takes Kaveh a few moments to parse the feeling in his chest as disappointment.

“You’d better keep your distance,” he says. “If you come down with this in a few days, I want it on the record that I wasn’t the one who told you to step foot inside my room.”

He expects a snappy response, as usual—sometimes, he thinks Al-Haitham has made a hobby solely out of being disagreeable. But Al-Haitham only frowns, watching him with such scrutiny that Kaveh wants to shrink away under it, knowing that Al-Haitham—now, as always—sees him so clearly. “Have you taken anything for your headache?”

It’s not a question he expects. Kaveh must not do a good job at keeping the surprise off his face. “What?” 

“Nothing yet, then,” Al-Haitham says, interpreting his hesitation as a proper response (which is infuriating, Kaveh thinks—he hasn’t even said anything). “How about for your fever?”

“I don’t—”

“If you are going to attempt to deny it,” Al-Haitham says, “You’d have much better luck with something that I haven’t just verified for myself.”

Kaveh rolls his eyes, sniffling. “You wouldn’t have believed me regardless.”

“Probably not.”

At least they agree on that.

Al-Haitham steps behind him, reaches over the desk to snag the papers he’s laid out over it—sketches, meeting notes, architectural blueprints, scratch paper. In one swift motion, he gathers the papers and lifts them out of reach.

“Haitham,” Kaveh hisses, scrambling to his feet. “Those are for a client.”

“I will give them back to you once you’ve recovered fully,” Al-Haitham says, turning on his heels to head for the door. “Subject to my discretion.”

“You can’t just take them! I… n-need…  hEHh… them for… hehH… my… hH-HheHH-hHEH’TZSCHh’YYUE! snf-!”

“Bless you. If you lay down, I’ll consider giving them back sooner.”

Al-Haitham is truly insufferable. Kaveh is truly, never forgiving him, (though later, when Al-Haitham comes back carrying steaming hot tea, which he says has medicinal properties that should help with headaches—procured helpfully from Tighnari, which is why he was out later than usual; later, when Kaveh wakes to a hand on his forehead, a familiar voice uncharacteristically soft, an extra blanket tucked neatly around him; Kaveh finds himself nearly convinced).

[heavy-swing]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Prompt #23 - On Cloud Nine

Content Warnings: None.

Spoiler Warnings: Characters from the 50-60 DRK quests, but no real story beats mentioned.

Summary: Sidurgu Orl should be more upset that this other Dark Knight seems to better at taking care of both him and Rielle than he is, but unfortunately he's too tired to be mad.

Check it out below or on Ao3:

“You look like shit, Sid.”

Aelita stood around a small table opposite the dark knight while Rielle sat beside the fire, warming herself up.

“You’re looking lovely too, Aelita. Thanks.” Sid glared daggers at her– or he would have, if it wasn’t so obvious that he was exhausted.

“That’s lovely of you to say, but sweet talking isn’t going to get you out of this one, mister!” She dropped the performatively cheery tone. “Seriously, Sid. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.” He closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment, before opening them again. “You have slept during the last week, right?”

“I guess, though it hardly feels restful, having to watch our backs. I’ve tried to find places out of the way of the usual patrols, but… well they’re no inn room, I’ll tell you that.”

The words sparked something in Aelita’s brain, and she glanced over to the counter.

“I’ve got an idea. I’ll be right back,” she said, fishing for her coinpurse on her belt as she zigzagged through to the tables to the bar itself, where the innkeeper stood.

Sidurgu watched in confusion as Aelita and the innkeeper exchanged words and then coins, all while Rielle remained entranced by the fire. The innkeep made a mark in a large book, and then turned it to Aelita to sign. She scribbled something down with a flourish, and then set the pen down, opening her other palm to receive what looked like a key. Surely, she didn’t just…

She walked back over to the table, the confident smile of a person for whom everything had gone according to plan all over her face.

“I know you’re not one to try and stay in one place for too long, but I got us a room here for the night. It’s the fanciest one they’ve got, and–” She stuck out a finger to preemptively halt his incoming complaints. “--before you ask, I have the word of the Bamponcet and Gibrillont himself that they will turn any Temple Knights away, should they come investigating, and the room is under my name alone with a listed occupancy of one.”

His half-open mouth quickly closed. It’s nice that she’s gotten the importance of covering our tracks, but… am I really that easy to read? He shook the thought out of his head. Surely not, I’m just tired is all.

“All right, we’ll stay the night. I’ll get our things together, if you can wrangle Rielle.”

“Sure, I can do that,” she replied, starting towards the fireplace.

Sid watched again from a distance as Aelita knelt down to Rielle’s level to give her the good news, which was quickly followed by her hoisting the girl onto her shoulder and carrying her towards the inn rooms. He forced himself to stop staring and gathered their bags together so he could catch up to the hrothgar woman who definitely did not make him envious.

–

“All of this is for us?” Rielle exclaimed, sounding genuinely a bit stunned.

“All for you, my lady,” Aelita said in a faux-posh accent, doing her best impression of a butler as she held open the door. Rielle immediately ran towards one of the two beds, leaping onto the down-filled mattress with a laugh, while Sid brought the last of their bags in and set them on the floor against one of the walls. “And for you, brave ser knight, a bed to call your own!” Aelita gestured to the remaining unclaimed bed, making sure to keep up the accent.

It was Sid’s turn to look surprised. “Then where will you sleep, Miss Aelita?” Rielle chimed in, seemingly taking the words right out of Sid’s mouth. 

“If it would please the lady, I would be happy to serve as both a confidant and an additional pillow, so that you might share any scandalous rumors about our brave knight in exquisite luxury.” Aelita punctuated her offer with a bow deep enough that Sid rolled his eyes. 

“An Aelita pillow sounds good to me,” Rielle replied, patting the bed beside her.

“As you wish, my lady.” Aelita quickly removed her boots, pants and overcoat, leaving just a long tunic as nightclothes. She then obliged Rielle’s request and joined her on the bed, watching as Sid did the same. He’d only just managed to get out of his armor before Aelita watched him practically collapse into his own bed, and before long a faint snore could be heard from the other side of the room.

“Does he always snore like that?” Aelita asked, pointing to Sid’s sleeping form with her thumb.

“Yep, most nights.”

“Oh, you poor, poor girl,” Aelita replied, as melodramatically as she could manage. “At least tonight you’ve got a whole room between you.” She then laid herself down on the bed, placing a pillow behind her head for support and arranging the remaining pillows and blankets to create a ‘nest’ for Rielle. Aelita patted the empty spot, beckoning the girl over. “C’mere, I’ve got the perfect spot with your name on it.”

Rielle was quick to oblige, nestling in perfectly to the space Aelita had made. 

“Now this is the part where we get to share rumors and stories– but we gotta be quiet so Sid doesn’t hear, all right?” Rielle nodded.

“You go first, I gotta think!” Rielle whispered pointedly, clearly racking her brain for something interesting to share.

“Okay, I’ll tell you a story while you think it over.” Aelita cleared her throat, trying to keep it somewhat quiet, even though she knew Sid was likely sleeping like a stone. “This one is about a warrior that fought a giant sea monster with only an axe and the help of their friends.”

“Oh, like the axe you use sometimes, miss Aelita?”

“Axe-actly like that,” she replied, grinning at her own pun, which had Rielle giggling to herself. “Now you gotta listen, cause this is a serious story, I promise…” 

The two of them stayed up a good long while after that, trading tales of derring-do for ones of a knight with his heart in the right place, even if he didn’t always understand his young charge. Halfway through a story about a fierce battle with some imperial soldiers in one of the Castra, Aelita noticed that Rielle had fallen asleep right where her shoulder met her chest, so she gently pulled the blanket over the sleeping girl, careful not to wake her. As Aelita reached over to extinguish the lamp on the bedside table, a smile crossed her face, borne from the satisfaction of being able to give Sid and Rielle a bit of Cloud Nine, even if only for a night.

[missmaywemeetagain]

PINK SCARF AND LIFE UPDATES

Hello my babies! I wanted to jump on and give you some updates since I know I’ve not been posting/responding much since PS ended…

The long and the short of it is that I’ve been rather overwhelmed. Life is being A LOT. One of my sisters is very, very ill with late stage cancer and we are currently gearing up for her to (hopefully) get a stem cell transplant within the next month. This process is very involved and complex and scary and it’s one of those things that could just as easily kill her as make her better. This coupled with the family dynamics involved as we all try to navigate the situation has been emotionally exhausting.

In addition to that, I started temping back at my old job a couple weeks ago which is not what I wanted to do, but I gotta pay the bills, but it means my time is more limited and I’m way tired cuz my stamina is for shit lol.

And whilst all that’s been happening, I did some research and discovered that there is no way I can publish Pink Scarf as is. *sobbing* Turns out after Elvis died, Tennessee had to create a law specifically for him to protect his rights and image posthumously. This includes using not just his image, but his name and likeness as well. All this meaning I could get sued if I publish, and I DEFINITELY do not want to invoke the wrath of EPE.

Needless to say, this made me very upset cuz I know how much y’all want Pink Scarf on your bookshelves.

HOWEVER, before we all slide into the pits of despair, I think I have come up with a bit of a solution/compromise. I’m planning to rework PS into something just slightly different, changing some things that make it too specific to Elvis. I’ll likely have to change the title, too. But the plot and much of the writing will stay the same. But at least this way, I can still get it out to y’all in paperback form! (And lord knows I certainly can’t help who y’all picture in your heads while you read, soooooo…😉)

I know this is disappointing, y’all, and I’m so sorry I can’t make PS happen in published form as is. I am hoping that this new version is good enough for y’all to still want, and I’m gonna make it the best I can for ya. Honestly, I am thinking having something really close is better than having nothing at all. And of course, PS will still be online in its original form, so it’s not going away!

So, in the midst of all this insanity, I’ve started working on this newer version which is a project in its own right, but it’s taking time and my energy has been zapped with everything that’s going on. 💗🧣💗

For those who have asked about if there are any new Elvis fics in the works, the short answer is yes! I have a post-army fic that I am verrrrryyy slowly working on. The vibe is different from Pink Scarf (more of a slow burn), but I hope y’all will still enjoy it!

Anyway, thank you as always for your support and I’m sorry I haven’t delved into answering all your wonderful asks and comments. I very much appreciate them, I’m just a bit depleted at the moment. I’m still lurking around, just maybe not as active for the time being. But maybe I could jump on Discord or something next weekend if that would be fun for people!

Love ya always 💗🧣💗

Madisyn 💜

[dreamsofanenbysapphic]

becoming queer

read about this project on my website

view on my website (srsly check it out i figured out how to make the cursor trail sparkles)

when i started this project i was planning to write about gender, but i was surprised to find that most of what i've written about has been the platonic/romantic binary and how it doesn't make sense to me. there's also a theme here about not fitting into labels & the pressure to find the "right" one(s). (and i want to be clear that at this time i don't really like to use labels & don't want suggestions) but most importantly, there's a theme of love-your-friends-and-stop-worrying-about-being-too-gay. highly recommend

full text below:

Monday, March 29, 2010 So yesterday I found out what "lesbian" means I don't understand how girls think guys are "hot". I don't think girls are "hot" either. 5/10/11 part of me has already accepted the idea that I don't like boys and I kinda like girls part of me insists I'm not attracted to either but I don't think that part is right I might be asexual though September 2011 "it's fine if you're asexual I'm just against lesbians but I'd still be your friend if you were one" 11/17/2013 3:08 PM what qualifies love from love if gender is out of the question? [separate, undated entry] And then suddenly I started liking this other girl and now I like the two of them equally one is like anti-gay have no interest in ever having a boyfriend..... I don't think I get crushes on either boys or girls (if someone would define "crush" for me that might be helpful.) Fears 11/16/13 why do I have to fit under a label what if it's wrong? what if this is all in my head and I really am straight and I just haven't found "the right one" yet? 2/16/14 there is no coming out for me me without my definitive label 3/24/2014 2:04 PM It's hard for me to Find an identity When I don't quite fall Into your straightened categories We all know I am not male, But I am not a "woman" I am just I The artist, architect of words 7/7/2014 2:07 PM just because you know my secret on a legal document does not give you the right to change my identity 7 May 2014 Without the gender binary, or the belief that there are only two genders, gender becomes a very abstract concept and is difficult to define. 8 December 2014 I have been completely fascinated with gender socially constructed March 17th, 2015 what is romantic love? do I love this person romantically or platonically? maybe I was just too scared to be a lesbian, Now I'm like, I'm asexual but I just do not know what romantic love is and that is why I think I might be quoiromantic. What is in between? i don't know what my romantic orientation is because i am not romantically or platonically attracted to people but somewhere in the middle for a lot of people and what do i do 15 December, 2016 And if gender is permanent, how do we explain people whose gender changes throughout life? September 10th, 2016 you once said that you didn't think anyone would ever love you and i almost said that i already did September 12th, 2016 why can't everyone just be polyamorous? October 18th, 2016 11:11pm # internalized homophobia being Out. i'm not out. i love girls, okay? being misgendered constantly. it's so exhausting. i don't have the energy to have the gender 101 talk every. single. time. no one fucking cares about my special snowflake gender i think some people think i do it intentionally to make my life harder. i just want to be myself and i have so much dysphoria December 4th, 2016 i think i could be polyamorous March 4th, 2017 and i stopped saying 'no romo' because i still have so much internalized homophobia April 22nd, 2018 it's not just a level of how much I love someone but also how emotionally connected to them I feel, and how much I want to spend time with them.. and how much I trust them I don't know if I can categorize this as romance but I definitely want it to be equivalent in importance to a romantic relationship, and I just feel like too many people think my experience isn't real June 13th, 2019 I feel like I'm starting to understand a reality where I don't need to assign everyone into two categories because they are just social constructs I feel romantic toward my friends because I love them, but that doesn't mean that we're going to be Married and Monogamous I don't know if I am also polyamorous or if I only think I'm polyamorous because I feel so disconnected, experiencing the world this way, but I think it opens a door to a whole new world to allow myself to fully love my friends

[wheneclipsefalls]

I’m desperate to write a fic on just Neteyam since I haven’t yet. It’s always been multiple partners, never just him, so now I want to write about only him but the thing is, I can’t decide on a anything!😭 There’s so many ideas out there and I want something unique and original but also keeping it simple, if that makes sense. (I don’t want many chapters. May keep it at just one honestly. Not sure yet.)

Like I’m not sure if I want Nice Neteyam, Mean Neteyam, Dom Teyam, Sub Teyam, or maybe even Bisexual Teyam who cheats on Reader?? Then, how the Reader would be. Then of course, the story plot!

(I know I definitely want the Reader to be human though because ya know size kink😗)

What do you do when you’re at a stump but desperate to write a fic? Do you let it just flow however and then fix it where it’s needed or do you overanalyze/plan it out?

Trust me I have been there! I am there half the time honestly!

For me it really depends but lately I’ve been trying to just relax and focus on writing whatever I am in the mood for. Usually that is when my best stuff comes about because I am not trying to please anyone else but myself. There are times where I plan things out ahead of time but honestly even my big projects are never set in stone. I am always revising and rethinking ideas throughout until I land on my favorite outcomes. 

One piece of advice I found from a video that really helps me is to think about some of your favorite movies/books and ask yourself why you like them so much. Then from there you can pick out a trope or aspect (or multiple) that you enjoy and run with that. I know it can be exhausting to try and come up with something original but for me I have found that focusing on it being original actually starts to draw away from my creative juices because I am so focused on doing something that no one else has ever done before so everything even close just feels like a copy. Truth is, every story made now days is just a mash up of different elements from past stories and that is perfectly okay! The key is to just find a mix that is your own and you enjoy. Plus, it’s just fanfiction so don’t worry too much about it:)

Hopefully this helps a little😘

P.S. That floppy guy freaks me out for some reason😅🤣🤣

[fish-bowl-2]

Hiya! B F I M P R (:

hiii >:3

B. Any of your stories inspired by personal experience? A LOT lol. I am super super guilty of projecting with these guys. I do it with a lot of my writing though, both fan work and original. I think it is kind of unavoidable. To give a specific example, in YKISBLS, the whole section where Edd starts to blame himself for making Eddy upset with him, and this snowballs into him feeling like he's ruined their friendship, is based off of very similar situations I've experienced when I was around the same age. Social interaction, even among friends, was really difficult for me, and I regularly pointed fingers at myself for being the problem even if it was not necessarily the case. I was one of those annoying kids who would ask my friends "do you hate me? Ok, but what are things you don't like about me so I can fix them." I don't think it is far-fetched to think Edd would be guilty of this as well.

F. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Edd came to a sputtering halt as he considered the statement. “I couldn’t do that. It would be so rude.” He said. “Besides, I mean, you called me a pussy.” the last word fell off in an inaudible whisper.

“So?”

“So, I don’t think anyone appreciates being called that!” 

“You’re such a drama queen.” 

“Whatever, this is not about that. This is about you forcing me, yet again, to come to the rescue when you can’t do something yourself. You’re always doing that to me and Ed.”

“I do not,” said Eddy. 

“You do too! You drag us into things all the time and then refuse to take accountability.”

“Would you drop it? I’m trying to watch.” 

“There you go again! You never want to talk about it.” 

“‘Cause you’re so annoying about everything!” 

Edd flinched at the term, speaking through gritted teeth. “I am not!” 

“Yeah you are.” 

“You’re just saying that because you know I’m right.” 

“See, that’s what I mean,” Eddy pointed defiantly, “acting all ‘high and mighty’ about everything. You do that all the time now and it’s so annoying! Can’t you just go back to being good at shutting up?” 

Edd stared motionless, arms crossed tightly. Eddy glared back, daring him to go on another exhaustive speech. Edd knew he was waiting, and he hated that even more.

“Fine. So I guess I’m annoying now, according to you.” 

--

I really like how I structured the back and forth here. I always worry about striking a balance between dialogue and description in my writing, and I think this displayed it in a really natural and easy-to-digest way. Also, if I may be self-indulgent, I like how the whole conflict being expressed comes from both directions. Edd (rightfully) is upset with Eddy for deflecting and going too far in teasing him. Meanwhile, Eddy is (rightfully) upset with Edd for not reading the room. I had fun touching on Edd's discomfort with being called "annoying". Much to unpack.

I. Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? Bad explicit smut is kind of funny to read. 🙏

M. Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share? A few! I'll avoid going in too much detail (for the sake of keeping my motivation to start them), but I have one idea for a fic involving Edd and his parents, and another taking place in high school with the Eds at a town carnival. Those are at least the ones I have the clearest ideas for.

P. Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?) I guess I would be more of an "architect", in the sense that I need to have the beginning, middle, end, and all the details planned out before I start writing. I usually make a bullet-point outline for each event I want to happen and the details I wish to express before starting a story. I don't always do this with quick, shorter things, but for the longer stories with lots of details and elements to read into, it just makes things so much easier. I feel less guilty about potentially forgetting something. In the process of building these outlines though, I do think there is an element of a "gardener". When I am stumped on a specific plot-element or missing detail, I try not to stress about it, and instead find ways to let it to naturally "take bloom". Sometimes this means I have to wait a while, but I think it is worth it in the end when I get something that I never expected. Granted, sometimes you just have to "pull it out" in order to realize what needs to be done.

R. Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence? Man, I honestly think I pull a little bit out of everyone's whose work I enjoy >_< Specifically for EEnE, with a fandom as intimate as this one, I think it is somewhat difficult NOT to be inspired by those around you. Off the top of my head: I'd say your work, as well as those done by @eddbedandeddy, @doubledyke, @mysticbeaver, @bookworm116, as well as @gettingfrilly and @vhvrs most recently, are on my mind a lot. Actual books, films, and music influence me a lot too. I always pull little elements and bits of things I like and try to implement it in what I do.

[ostraconstories]

The Man in the tower chapter 1

A frustrated king

Intro

Hey there and thanks for reading this story. I'm Jack and I'm the creator of Ostracon, a worldbuilding exercise I have recently undertaken. I decided early on , writing short stories would be a fun way to show the world and ideas I have in a digestible way. I am not a writer, and apart from high school, this is the first story I have ever written, so im sure it will be terrible! But it will only get better in time, I have alot of ideas for Ostracon and this is a long term project, so if you are here, all i can do is hope you join me on this journey!

This story is actually set way in the past from where I my current time setting, i thought it would be a good way to experiment with writing without causing too many problems down the line. I will try and release a chapter every few days. So lets have some fun :)

===

Another day, another useless meeting. Looking around the well decorated office, the king was not alone, he was with his advisor, and an anxious looking servant. The king hated meetings like this, the constant battle with the council, the constant pain of having to rely on 12 people to approve your ideas. Painful. Today was another defeat in the council, the king was attempting to raise funds to build a brand new magic university in the capital, it would cost a lot, but the kings love of magic, even if he was a useless mage, would make it worth it. But the council was not so enthusiastic with spending 1/4 of the years taxes on a school. So he was one vote off the 7 needed. More pain. His advisor, a stern looking man, had advised his Farther as well as him, had called this meeting to discuss a plan to get the councillors on board. He hated plans. The kings would rather be out there on the battlefield, like he was 20 years ago, but that time had long passed. "Your Majesty, i think we can get the councilman from Bronja to turn, you just need to give him some, compensation". "What kind of compensation are we talking about here Geras", "Gold" Geras quickly responded, "How much", "500 Your Majesty". The king didn't know weather to laugh or cry, 500 gold would nearly make him bankrupt. "Ill think it over Geras" With that, the king was alone. Needing time to think, he went for a walk.

Walking through the castle, the king found himself in the ancient side, the one built well before the records of this kingdom began. Its strange markings in the walls and unknown languages had an feeling of power to them, a power long lost. A cold wind ran through this area, even though the windows where kept shut. The animals stayed away, apart from the rats. It was a strange place to be. Currently used as a store room and rarely visited by staff, the king could finally think. "What to do, what to do", he thought. The gold he could afford, but it would make a bad impression on the rest of the councilmen, he wasn't a powerful mage, apart from the crown on his head, he wasn't really good at anything. The school would make the money back in time he thought. As he was thinking it through, he noticed something odd, the room had started to get dark, very dark. It was still midday, why is it dark. Looking around for answers he noticed a faint glow on one of the shelves.

He walked over to the shelf and saw what almost looked like a key, but instead of 3 prongs at the end, it had a sphere with 1000's of tiny prongs, a small inscription ran down the length of it, unreadable. Not knowing what to do, the king picked up the odd key looking item and the instant he did, his whole body stiffened, frightened and unable to move, he started to sweat. The king felt his veins go cold and his eyes where forced shut. In total darkness he lost all feeling, apart from his breathing. From the darkness came one loud noise "OPEN THE GATEWAY", he could of sworn the person was standing inches away from him . Then as quickly as the paralysis had started, it stopped. He dropped the key and fell to the ground. Exhausted, he caught his breath. Looking around to see who just screamed in his ear, no one was there, it was just him and the rats, as it was before.

He quickly exited the storage room, through the same way he came in an a few minutes earlier, passing the office and entering the throne room, he could think of nothing but those three words "Open the Gateway", which gateway was it referring to, there is of course the old gateway in the courtyard, but that is of the gods, untouchable. Surely it must be the stress , playing games with his mind. He had many questions and due to the lack of magic ability and knowledge, he had to seek out help. The king could only think of one man that could help in this situation, he didn't want to speak to him after the last time, but he had no other choice. The man the king wanted to speak to was an enemy of the kingdom, held in there most secure facility, a floating island only accessible by the kings personal mage staff.

On the short journey to the island, the king had some time to think, last time he saw "Bon" they where friends, fighting on the front lines of the last Ostra Tear, fighting both Angels and Demons alike, but that was 20 years ago, now Bon sat locked away. How had it come to this. As he was flown up to the island the king managed to look back and see Renjau, the capital, on the horizon, the split from ancient to new was striking, the brick work, style, even colour showed how far the kingdom had come from the ancient times. In a good or bad way, it was hard to tell. All he knew was, he lived in an amazing place.

Landing on the island, the prison was a magnificent sight, built by the best Builder Mages of the kingdom, it was a foreboding structure, 2000 feet straight up into the air, spikes coming off the side and a few small Brontas flying around the perimeter keeping watch. On the tower you could see many small holes with bars , assumedly windows, but they could hardly give enough light to see. The top of the tower is where the true wonder was, a pure ball of mana, rising above the tower, like a small sun, used to power the shield field that surrounded the whole island. Inescapable. After the king was on land, he met with the chief prison guard. The king looked at the guard intensely, as a memory started to form. "Do i know you from somewhere", the king enquired. "Yes, your majesty, i was in your battalion , leading the anti demon bomber squad". "I remember now, you where damn good at your job.", "Thanks your majesty", the guard bowed. "How is he?", "How is Bon your Majesty? Well, its better if you just see him yourself" The king nodded, "Take me to him." An anxiety started to grow in the king, he could not remember the last time he and Bon had spoke, 5, maybe 10 years. He should of done better, he was his friend, but also the king. On the short walk over to the tower, the king felt a pain in the hand in which he picked up the key, looking down, he noticed a burn, definitely not stress.

[emma-nation]

The Curse Of Hackett's Quarry

Chapter 2 - The Hermit

Summary: After the events of a traumatic night, Emma Mountebank finds out she still a werewolf. While she learns how to deal with this new reality, new problems and feelings come to surface. Pairings: Emma/Abi, Emma/f!OC

Notes: Thanks for the comments and likes. It means a lot to me as it's the first fic I'm writing after a long break. I hope you enjoy what I've been planning for the next chapters! :)

Full Story:

The Hermit card generally indicates a period of soul-searching, introspection and solitude. A period of isolation attempting to heal from a difficult situation. 

The morning after her first transformation, Emma had a hard time cleaning herself before heading back to her dorm in college. She was so exhausted and sick that she missed classes for the next two days.

The second transformation by the end of October wasn't any easier, but she was more prepared this time. She knew what to expect and had enough time to improve the safety measures.

The third transformation was a little less painful. Emma started working out regularly, increasing it significantly by the week of the transformation. She wanted to run a few tests and it worked. The impact of the shifting was more bearable when her body was in a better shape. 

The last full moon of 2021 was the most terrible of all, considering Emma got very sick after waking up in the woods with her clothes torn off, during a cold Winter morning. 

She had never escaped from her restraints, so far. And with her mother being a dentist surgeon, she had no trouble stealing sedatives to keep the creature drowsy. Her priority at the moment was to find somewhere safe and warm where she could transform without any risks to herself or to other people. 

In her old bedroom, at her parents' house, she felt comfortable recording a video again. Not to post online or to show anyone. But she had to vent about everything that was going on.

"People are finally starting to forget about that fucking incident at that cursed Summer Camp. My respects to Mr. H and his family - I hope they found peace, but…" It was sincere. Emma liked Chris and his kids. She lamented their Summer ended in such a tragedy. She didn't know the rest of the family, but the other counselors, who had closer encounters with them, were scared. They seemed kinda dangerous. "I haven't. I'm not allowed to move on. That night will never end, at least for me."

At least the journalists stopped trying to contact Emma or her parents again. The negative comments about her around the internet decreased too. After an episode of the 'Bizarre Yet Bonafide' podcast about Hackett's Quarry Summer Camp, more people started to believe their innocence.

"Everyone else is moving on with their lives - Abi is going to Art School, Kaitlyn is traveling the world, Ryan has started his own podcast, Nick is taking a sabbatical year, Dylan is studying quantum physics and Jacob… well, fuck Jacob. I blocked him everywhere. The thing is, I wish I could do the same. But instead I'm… surviving. I'm learning to adapt to this new fucked up reality."

She hadn't told any of the other counselors she was still infected. No one had called her in months. Yet, she'd check their socials on a daily basis, searching for signs any of them could be struggling with the same issue. Which wasn't happening, after all she was the only one who was bitten by Silas Vorez. 

"And the question remains… if Silas is dead, why am I still infected?"

January 2022

There was a reminder flashing on Emma's cell phone screen. Full Moon. That was the reason why she had spent the whole morning working out hard. Now, she was starving and ready to devour as much food as she could. Her appetite had increased significantly that one time. 

"Hey, Abi," Emma attempted to call her best friend again while she followed to the campus restaurant. "How have you been? I… I'd love to hear from you. I can't wait to hear everything about Art School. Call me."

"Hello, Red Hood," she heard a familiar voice right behind her. Penelope Dalton. One of the popular girls who wouldn't leave Emma alone. "Who's Abi?"

She ignored the question. Back in High School, she used to be one of the popular girls too and she knew exactly how annoying and cruel they could be.

"Maybe she hasn't called yet because she was taken by the Big Bad Wolf," added Christina, one of Penelope's friends, raising giggles from the rest of their cliqué.

"Or maybe," Penelope continued, "she's a decent person who stood up by her friend, Jacob. After all, we know who caused that bloody fight in the camp, after a Truth or Dare game."

The incoming transformation always triggered Emma's worst moods. The mention of Jacob's name still ignited something inside her, feelings she was trying to bury. She automatically felt her skin burning, as well as the adrenaline pumping in her veins.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

Emma attempted to close her eyes and take a deep breath, fighting the urge to go feral and teach that girl a lesson. 

"Or what? Are you going to kill me and cry wolf ?"

Her attempt to be funny raised laughs. People were starting to reunite around them to watch the fight. 

Less than one second later, Emma's fist hit Penelope right in the eye. It'd certainly leave a nasty bruise.

"Your psychotic bitch! Look what you've done!"

Penelope advanced in her direction, pinning her to the ground, where she started pulling her hair. Emma's reflexes were increased due to her incoming transformation. Although Penelope was taller, soon Emma managed to switch positions and get on top of the girl, slapping her face hard.

It didn't take long for the campus security to arrive. In the end, Penelope only signed an incident report and Emma was punished with a disciplinary suspension. She was also warned about her recurring absences. 

During High School, Emma spent all those four years dreaming of college. Now, she didn't know if she wanted to be there anymore. She still could pursue her acting career without that.

After that Full Moon, she decided she wanted a break to find herself again. She decided to quit college and find herself a job. 

It wasn't an easy task. Not because she wasn't skilled, but whenever people ran a background check, she'd get rejected. People were still afraid of the negative attention her presence could bring.

That small diner in the heart of New York City was her last resort. 

"Name?" The owner, Addison Davies, asked while taking notes on a paper.

"Emma," she told, making a pause before adding her last name. "Mountebank."

The woman didn't seem to be paying too much attention, what gave her some hope. Maybe she wouldn't research her criminal records after all. 

"Do you have any experience as a waitress, Emma?"

"No, but I'm a quick learner. I'm also an aspiring actress, which means I have a lot of charisma dealing with people."

She was about to speak about her experience as counselor, where all the kids adored her. But she stopped herself. 

"An aspiring actress?"

"Yes. I signed up for a few auditions but while I don't have anything in sight, I need another source of income."

"When can you start?"

"Right now?" Emma furrowed her brows, already expecting another rejection.

It didn't happen. Either that woman didn't read the news or she really didn't care. 

"Great, come with me and I'll show you what to do."

Addison was very satisfied to see how good she was doing and how quick she learned. She never asked any questions about Emma's past. She even agreed to give her an extra day off, during one specific day of the month. 

Getting a new place to live was Emma's next goal. Her parents weren't happy when she dropped out of college. Living under the same roof was becoming impossible. They argued most part of the time. For many years, Emma did everything to please her parents and fulfill their expectations, but right now, she had other priorities in mind.  

During her free time at the diner, she'd check the newspaper for announcements.

"Looking for a place to live?" Jenna was Emma's co-worker. She treated her well since the first day, giving her some useful tips. They were becoming good friends. 

"Yes, do you happen to know any?"

"One of my roommates just moved out after graduating. Ben and I could really use somebody else to help with rent."

Benjamin also worked on the diner. He was more quiet and introspective, but very friendly. 

"Do you mind if I check it tonight?"

They lived in a studio apartment. The bedroom was large and comfortable, but what caught Emma's attention the most was the basement she noticed once she entered the building. According to Jenna, it was always locked and never used by anyone. That could be the solution to all of her problems. During the Full Moon nights, she could just lock herself in there.

"Do you think the landlord would rent it for me?"

"I don't know, you could speak to him but… why?"

"I… uh… I could use some space to record my videos and rehearse for my auditions, you know?"

Jenna didn't ask any further questions. Emma spoke to the landlord in the same week she moved to the studio. After selling her car, she paid him some cash to have exclusive access to the basement. As well as the permission to make a few adjustments.

Emma had everything prepared for the next Full Moon. Metal chains to restrain her body were installed in the basement. She didn't want the risk of an accident, in case somebody ever decided to open that door to investigate possible noises. There was also a small bathroom in there that she could use to clean herself when she became human again.

"What kind of videos are you recording down here?" Ben was in the basement, holding one of the chains attached to the walls. Wondering if she had forgotten to lock the door, Emma almost dropped the supplies she was carrying downstairs - snacks, water and fresh clothes.

"Horror. I'm really into horror movies and… I've been doing some auditions for a role in the genre."

"Every once in a month?"

She let out a breath. It was obvious they'd notice someday, but she didn't expect it to be so fast.

"Huh?" In that moment, Emma prayed she was really a good actress. She forced a confused expression. "What are you talking about? I come here everyday. When you're still at the diner."

"You were in a terrible mood earlier today," Ben crossed his arms, staring at her with a suspicious look on his face. "And you're the most cheerful and energetic person I've ever met."

"Have you ever heard of PMS?"

Benjamin let out a small laugh, before adding:

"You lost control of your strength and accidentally smashed a glass in your hand this morning."

"I'm a little clumsy sometimes," Emma lied again. 

"You made a deal with our boss that you couldn't take night shifts on one specific day of the month and the following morning," she never assumed they'd notice that one detail. "Each one of these nights have Full Moons."

She raised her hands defeated. Ben didn't look scared or even upset. He didn't even show any surprise.

"Don't tell anyone. Please? I'll find another place to live. I just need some time."

"I can help you, Em."

"What?! Why?! Are you out of your mind? I have no control of myself. I'll kill you."

Benjamin sat on a chair and asked Emma to sit too, in front of him.

"West Virginia. My uncle. One night he was hunting in the woods, when he got bitten," he started telling. "At first we assumed it was an animal, but… after that he'd transform every Full Moon. We had to keep an eye on him, to prevent him from slaughtering people."

"And…" Emma stared into his eyes. "Is he cured now? Did you find a way to break the curse?"

"He went missing," Ben answered after a mournful pause. "Dead. Most likely. The neighbors started noticing something was off."

Emma swallowed dry. If she wasn't careful enough, that could be her fate too.

"Do you think anybody else noticed something is wrong about me?"

"No, I only noticed because I became familiar with the signs. But you should tell Jenna. She's at nursing school, she could help you with the tranquilizers."

And like that, her roommates became her 'Wolf Pack', as Emma liked to call them. They didn't mind covering her shifts or staying awake monitoring her werewolf form through the cameras they installed in the basement. A shotgun with silver shells was always prepared in case the worse scenario happened. 

The mornings after her transformation were the worst. Emma would feel exhausted and sore. She'd spend hours under the shower, where she'd let her emotions flow. No one had seen her crying yet. All the time, she acted tough and confident. No one could tell there was something so traumatic going on in her life. But in the loneliness of the early hours of those mornings, she felt like a scared lonely child.

April, 2022

After months of agony and misery, everything seemed to be falling in place, but Emma still couldn't feel like herself. She'd still attempt to record videos as she used to do in the past. But it wasn't the same. Her venting always came back to the same subject. She couldn't even post that online - people would assume she had definitely lost her sanity. But at least it was a good kind of therapy.

Ben and Jenna were helping her with an extensive research, but she couldn't find any clues that lead to an explanation of why she was still infected.

"Ugh," she placed her laptop away from her. "Not even the detective I hired could find any information about Eliza and Silas Vorez. It's like they never existed."

"They were probably using fake names," Ben suggested. "The woman kept the guy caged like an animal. That's certainly illegal."

"We should try a psychic someday," Jenna said. "Do you think they'd know anything about werewolves?"

"I doubt it."

"The Deep Web?"

"Oh, no. Ben taught me how to access it and I found some very… disturbing stuff there."

"I warned you about the werewolf kink," Ben said, letting out a laugh.

"Please, don't say it again," Emma made a disgusted face. "I wish I could unsee it."

"Anyways, it's your birthday tonight and we should definitely go out to celebrate."

It was the first time Emma wasn't excited for her birthday. All the previous years she'd throw wild parties and crowd her house with friends. Now, she barely left the apartment. She was either working at the diner, researching werewolves and once in a while, she'd sign up for auditions. So far, her only work as an actress was a small internet ad she did to promote Addison's diner.

"Happy birthday to me," Emma spoke to her cell phone's camera later, when she was lying in bed. "I turned nineteen today. Yay!"

"It was different from my other birthdays. I didn't get so many messages or gifts. No wild parties either. No, crazy parties actually. I don't like the word 'wild' anymore, now it reminds me of…"

She didn't finish. It was always hard to say it aloud. Even to herself. 

"I went out with Ben and Jenna to try to forget about… that thing . Sometimes I can allow myself to act like a normal girl and have some fun. I met some people during our night outs. Guys and girls too. But dating is not an option right now."

"I mean… how am I supposed to even squeeze a relationship among all this crazy shit that has been happening to me? I know some freaks have a werewolf kink but I bet they'd run away the second I burst into that bloody mess of a monster."

"There's one person though… nevermind."

She turned off the camera. The person she had in mind hadn't even called her yet. Not even to wish her a happy birthday. 

June, 2022

It was the beginning of another Summer. Almost one year had passed since that last night at Summer Camp. Emma was on her lunch break when got a call from an unknown number. Her heart skipped a beat - she was expecting a call about an audition she had done a few days later. But she never imagined the voice on the other side of the line would ruin that little balance she was attempting to keep in her inner world.

"Emma? It's me, Abi."

"A-Abi?" The corners of her mouth curled up in a smile. "It's… uh… it's been a long time. How have you been?"

"I'm home from college and I was wondering if you'd like to hangout."

[panda-noosh]

my battle with creative joy

hi everyone!

so here i am actually making a blog post. not a fic (sorry...) but an actual, real life blog post where i will just ramble and probably make no sense. i hope you guys don’t mind. i would also like to think you’re used to it by now.

i’ve had a lot on my mind recently when it comes to my creative process, and my creative life in general. from the age i could pick up a pen, i have used writing as an escape, and it has always been a fun thing for me to do (obviously). i remember spending the entire night working on a fic, or having pieces that were over 200k long because i just got in these moments where i couldn’t stop myself from saying more, writing more, creating more. it was an addiction. a good one, but an addiction nonetheless.

the thing that has been playing on my mind, however, is how sad i am that i’ve lost that side of myself.

there are many reasons for this that i cannot beat myself up over; work, life, being an adult. i now have a fiance, and a dog, and a house i have to take care of, because it is my own. i now have a full time job in health care, where the hours are endless and the stress is endless, and it really leaves no room whatsoever to process anything but what you have just seen, or endured, or had to deal with. these are all things out of my control, because as hard as it is to come to terms with it, life is more than just. . . doing what you want.

trust me, i cried over this too. many times.

i get asks on the daily about whether i’m still active, or if i plan on writing anymore (insert fandom here) fics, and i always, always say yes, because i think speaking it into existence will potentially benefit me in the long run. saying no just feels like i’m giving in, and i don’t want to do that, because i would genuinely love to revive this blog, run it the way i used to, interact with you guys in the way i used to. but it’s difficult. it’s impossible some days, because life doesn’t accommodate. it just. . . throws you tasks that you have to deal with whilst keeping yourself sane at the same time.

creative joy is something i’ve been trying to find again for a while now, and it definitely is a work in progress. i still love writing - i know that. but in the same breath, i’m at that age now where i want to make writing my full time job, and that means the dynamic between myself and my creative joy has changed drastically. i no longer sit at my computer with a burst of inspiration and ideas flooding to my head. i sit at my computer now because i have a future in mind that i need to reach. that means word count goals, and schedules, and self doubt. that means getting frustrated with my own capabilities. that means writing for thirty minutes before getting worn down - such a change from the teenager who could sit at her laptop all night without even batting an eye.

it’s sad to think about sometimes, and sometimes i do beat myself up over it. that’s why i’m trying to find that joy again. i’m not being difficult on myself any more - if i want to ditch a project and write something else, that’s what i’ll do. if i want to flesh out a character that has no story to fit into, i’ll do that. if work has exhausted me, i’m going to go to bed without stressing about how behind i’ll be on this imaginary deadline for a novel i’ve set in my head. i’m going to chill out.

i’ve actually really started focusing on self care in this way for a few months now, and it has left me feeling very enlightened, i won’t lie. you don’t realise how harsh you are to yourself until you actually start putting the measures in place to be kind to your mind and body. just putting yourself first, really, and knowing that you should always be your own first priority - for your sake, and everybody else’s.

i don’t know. i just had a lot on my mind in regards to this topic, and i wanted to share it somewhere. i’ll probably do more of these, even if nobody cares to read them lol. they’re just therapeutic to me, so if you’ve read this far, thank you. i’d love to hear your thoughts on this whole thing, and maybe we can help each other out. make a little self-improvement, self-care thing here at case de aticus. 

love you all! 

[cham-chammity]

My Version of Striker's Backstory:

This is only the first bit of the first chapter. My lazy ass can't get anything else out, I put my heart and soul into what little I could manage lol. The full chapter will be published on Ao3.... eventually lmao.

Feel free (I'm encouraging) to send asks if you have questions about characters/setting etc. etc.

This story starts off and takes place with young adult Striker, long before he even becomes a hitman. I plan on writing up until the harvest moon festival ep and a little after that.

Chapter 1.1

A glint caught his eye. Barely noticeable, but it still blinded him.

There was a loud clang and crash, followed by a string of curse words projected from the pit right below where Striker stood, not causing the slightest of a startle in him. He knew from experience the tool box that would not stay put on the poorly built storage shelf--as well as who responded to the commotion with a vulgar intensity. He leaned himself against the railing of the stairs, looking further below to see if he could catch a glimpse of his boss.

"Everythin' alright down there?" Striker continued craning his neck down, waiting for a response audibly or visually, receiving the latter. A shark demon with an elongated snout and slightly slit eyes appeared, her grey skin becoming a cooler hue as she stepped out of the yellow light that lit up the pit of the car garage, now exposed to the natural purple sky of the Envy ring.

"That damn toolbox fell on me," she started, climbing up the stairs as she rubbed her forehead--contextually where she was pummeled by either a wrench or a screwdriver. "We need to get rid of it. We don't use any of the tools in there anyways. Actually, we need to get rid of the whole shelf. It's such a safety hazard."

The shark demon walked past Striker and into the customer waiting room, and Striker followed. He stopped by the control panel before walking into the more enclosed room and shut the two garage doors. They slowly came to a close, basking him in almost complete darkness, except for the yellow light that still lit up the pit below. Sighing, he decided to leave it on, knowing the bulb down there needed to die anyways; he was sick of the yellow light. The warm aura reminded him of Wrath too much.

Striker then walked into the customer waiting room. Before he could take note of what his boss was doing, he was blinded by an electric purple glint from a metal object to his left. It read "Terra M. Lourice", officially claiming and rewarding his boss's certification to be a car repair specialist. Striker shielded his face with a clawed hand and hissed his tail in irritation. "You gotta move that plaque, it blinds me every time the Pentagram starts settin'."

"It's supposed to flaunt everyone and show how much better I am at cars compared to the other blokes who don't show up to work." She pulled out a rag and spray bottle, proceeding to wipe down the counter she sat behind. Striker observed and leaned against the door he walked in from, folding his arms playfully.

"So what's that supposed t'say about me?"

"You don't work enough."

Striker cackled at this, while Terra gave a chuckle as well. The part time hires, especially the new ones, had a hard time showing up to work on time, if at all. It left Striker and Terra to do most of the work, especially closing shifts, leaving them irritated and exhausted by the end of the day. Which is why they had to close so early, before the Envy Pentagram finished setting behind the tall, distant buildings, before the city was no longer basked in a vibrant purple hue, before all the lights turned on and left a royal glow illuminating the night life of the Envy creatures that lurked at dusk and after.

"In all seriousness, Striker," she stopped a minute from wiping the counter and looked up at him. "Thank you for being a reliable employee. I need to stop hiring youngsters who don’t know anything about tools and cars, let alone how to show up.”

Striker unfolded his arms and gave Terra an empathetic smile. "Well, of course. I thought part of bein' an employee was ta help, not be a no-show." He was aware of the stress she was under, running a few of these car shops across the city, scraping up whatever help she could get. The owner recently bought out another car company, due to his need for bettering others in the automobile industry. This led him to pushing all the responsibilities on the higher-up managers like Terra herself.

Striker stayed glued with his back to the door, working up the energy to start his own closing tasks, but Terra spoke up again. "Speaking of which, Striker, I am promoting you. To the general manager here."

"What?"

"You heard me. I can't stay here all the time. There are other locations to attend to."

Striker sat stunned. "Terra, I can't--"

"Well then who else is supposed to run this place?"

Tension grew tight as Striker looked at the floor in response, folding his arms again, eliciting even more tension rather than a playful tone as before. The Pentagram continued to set, slowly gleaming into his eyes directly, his phone chiming at the same time. His head swam from the constant light and sound, causing him to grab his phone out of his pocket in an irritated manner. Seeing it was a text from a close friend, Keagan, he thanked Satan for the reason to look anywhere but his boss, and slightly relaxed his shoulders.

"Coffee tomorrow? It's been a hot minute since we’ve caught up. That new cafe is open now, across the street from your apartment."

Before he could respond, Terra spoke up again, and he was forced to dismiss the text. He placed his phone back in his pocket and once again folded his arms, still studying the floor, making note of the dust he needed to mop up, shoulders tensing up again.

Striker felt Terra’s eyes on him, cold as stone; that's all he could sense from her presence as he continued looking anywhere but her. He felt his body shrink beneath her stare. He knew where this was going.

"It's obvious you came to Envy to run away from Wrath. Trying to recover or hide from something. You shut down when I ask about it." It was true. He made himself seem smaller, almost invisible, even though it exposed him more than anything.

"I've tried to get to know you more, like what you did before I hired you. I just get silence and a sense of guilt." Striker looked up at her, wanting to interject, but her stone-grey eyes continued to be cold and unbreaking, solid and steady. It intimidated him–he despised being intimidated. The contrast was a striking difference, Striker’s glowing yellow eyes illuminating his face, exposing his insecurities, his emotions, his flaws. And Terra’s eyes were observing it all. 

It left him speechless.

Terra spoke up a final time, gently softening her gaze to be more smooth. He assumed she caught on to his tense silence.

"Whatever it is, Striker, that you are running away from--I don't want to replace them and become your new shitty thing to worry about. All I'm asking is for your help. I'm a branch manager, not a general. I can't stay, but I can't leave without you taking over."

Striker averted his gaze back to the ground. He disliked when others could see right through him. All he wanted was to move away, get a simple job to get some money, and live his life without others worrying or checking up on him all the time. Without someone there constantly pushing him to be vulnerable. Especially after what happened in Wrath. 

His heart started beating just a bit faster than normal. He rubbed his tired eyes, trying to forget he was even thinking at all, trying to control his breathing, trying not to warrant worry out of his boss. 

Taking a deep breath, Striker considered his options. At least this promotion was a new stress that could distract him from his emotions. Working more and a pay raise will only help him in the long run. Terra was just asking for help, not for his sweat and tears, not for his "backstory". Others love to pry and learn everything about why you are the way that you are. But not Terra.

Finally, he stood up a little straighter, smiling solemnly… almost regrettably. "Alright, alright. I'll take the promotion for ya."

~~~

[stitchthesewords]

I see your tags about the rendubs divorce arc + Ren running off with Bdubs' ex + Bdubs declaring himself king because he can do it better, and I hear you loud and clear

But I am now here with a counter offer, aka you got my thoughts spinning and this relates to a fic I started but never finished because writing angst makes me too sad. (this ask that ended up way longer than I thought it would oops)

What if renthubs polycule (or some flavor of poly hermits i'm not picky) where the three need some time to mentally recover and process the whole king arc. Ren goes to Doc, Etho goes to his single player world and Bdubs goes to Empires.

Doc ends up helping Ren get through his anxieties and fears after being king, including his dynamic with all the people in the rebellion and the feeling that his friends and partners would hate him for everything, which is of course not actually true. And I think that Ren is the type of guy to process things relatively quick and be able to bounce back. So once he is more stable, he follows everyone to empires.

Bdubs runs away through the rift and declares himself a god on Empires, which shows you about how well he is (not) coping with everything. To me, he is the type to loudly declare that he's over it, but he ends up festering the emotions, particularly when no one else is really talking about the king anymore. He's fine, why wouldn't he be fine, he's a god. (side eyeing joel here as well after dl)

Then Etho. Hmm. I think he isn't as bothered by it by the other two but I'm not 100% sold on that either. There has to be a certain melancholy to knowing your partners aren't in the best headspace and not really being able to do much about it. And the guilt about fighting against them and having to be part of the group to kill them. The third life memories would have to be coming in at full force. It may be lower stakes on hermitcraft but I don't think that matters when the memories are that emotionally charged.

I think that in the chaos of the empires collab and then the start of a new year with new projects and tcg and everything, the three don't really get a chance to sit down and talk. Bdubs is hiding away in the monolith drafting up visions of another grand castle base. Etho and Ren see each other more often with tcg matches and, through a number of casual interactions surrounded by other hermits, decide that maybe it would be time to talk. And there wouldn't be a better excuse to talk than a big project.

So the boat race idea is born. Etho and Ren go out to the ice spikes and scope it out. They end up around a fire made of some spare wood and end up talking well into the night. It starts out with plans and slowly ends in a heart to heart, where they finally express their struggles with everything and their commitment to each other going forward. They fall asleep cuddled together in a sleeping bag under the stars.

And bdubs is still festering. He doesn't stop long enough to realize. His days are filled with planning and designing and gathering materials. He works himself to exhaustion so he is too tired to think about who and what he is missing. He's fine. He builds a throne room.

Em you have no idea how insane this ask made me I am. HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

GOD! GOD! You are soooooooo right about how they would each react and recover/not recover tbh. And its like - Ren isn't 100% but he's like. He's getting there and being up and moving around will help him out - and Bdubs just. HHHHH Bdubs throwing himself into his work to hide from his woes while putting on the 'I'm FINE! ACTUALLY!!!" im ill. And Etho just having. No clue really god bless him he's looking between the two of them and trying to figure out what the best way to approach everything is.

GOD and then the way you thought about rentho bonding and finally talking bc of the TCG and then going out to build the boat race while bdubs unknowingly is festering back home im hhhhhhh. I am normal about this i am so normal. [They should. play clocks against each other in the tcg where they bond. For no reason. ]

Imagine coming back from having a boat race and doing fun stuff out in the ice to find bdubs having completely thrown himself into an insane task without break and its like. you've gotta figure out how to approach it he cant just fester but he's closed off and hiding behind work to not have to address his feelings. I am normal I am feeling soooooooooooooooooooo normal.