#but i feel SO PRETENTIOUS for saying all this

[blingblong55]

Sweetness- John Price

pic credit: @ave661 (middle pic) Based on a request: hi!! https://www.instagram.com/reel/C2kkbOYo8jj/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== writing this for when requests are open this with price??? hehehehe  ---- F!Reader, fluff, husband!Price, romance? ----

A/N: i hope this is okay for ya

Anniversary dinners were always fun. John knows you too much to know you prefer food trucks over fancy restaurants for moments like these. It started when you first met, he wanted to impress you but you were always honest about not wanting to dress up and feel pretentious. So, he took you to a food truck, and you and he sat by some bench at the park, talked, and laughed and ever since that date, it became your thing. 

It's been nine years, nearly ten, and every year he takes you to the same food truck. Sit by the same bench, talk, laugh and have occasional talks about the life you've lived together. 

It's Thursday night, the tenth anniversary and as you are getting ready to go to the same park, he opens the front door of your home. The kids run down the stairs and you can hear their giggles as he tells them some secret. John lets the sitter watch over the kids in the living room as he makes his way to you. 

In all your beauty, you look into the mirror, deciding if leaving the fancy locket on would be too much for tonight. 

He leans on the doorway, bouquet behind his back. "I can feel your eyes on me, John," you say and he chuckles. His cheeks flush, it's like the first time he met you. You are so effortlessly beautiful and all he can do is stand there in his black suit. You turn around, a confused look on your sweet face, "Why are you wearing that suit?"

He wants to treat you to a good dinner, unlike the past years. 

"I think it's time we do this right," he walks up to you, a soft black dress in one hand and the flowers in the other. "John, no, this is our thing, I don't want to change that-" you try to say but he shakes his head. "I love our thing, but I also know you deserve more than food truck meals."

By the time he and you arrive at the restaurant, he takes your hand, leading you in. The entire dinner is more than lovely but you can tell something is off. 

"What's the matter?" you ask and he sighs. He forgets you know him too well. "Did you enjoy tonight?" he takes your hands in his and you nod. "I did too, but...we also need our fun and this place is too boring," he stands up and guides you outside. Instead of walking to the car, he picks you up, bridal style and crosses the street. "John," you laugh, trying to get him to put you down. "Let's have fun, darling," he smiles and kisses your cheek. 

Without you knowing, his sweet words and loving eyes distract you as he carries you to the same old park. "I have loved every day of my life since you walked in and I adore those kids of ours but I also adore the feeling I've had since you first introduced yourself to me," he puts you down and kisses you without a warning. His hands cupping your face, you tiptoe just enough when he pulls you in and you feel it, the sweet, nervous rush you get when you have him this close. 

There is always something about this park, it was never the food truck dinners, the pregnancy cravings, or the drunk nights, all it ever has been and ever will be is the way each time, he held you close and just talked his heart out. It was intimacy for the raw feeling and words he whispered to you that only you and he meant. 

He and you sit on that bench, before you know it, he kneels in front of you. He takes your heels off and kisses your legs before looking up, "I do love you, Y/N," he whispers and eventually kisses your lips again. 

By the end of the night, you piggyback your way to the car and he laughs as he feels your arms wrapped around him, your heels held by your hand as you repeatedly kiss his cheek. 

It has always been about the emotions rather than the place. 

It's always been him and you, walking back to the car with some jokes thrown into the air. 

It's always been him.

It'll forever be him. 

Tags: @liyanahelena @ghostslillady @Juneonhoth @Simonssweetgirl @nellsbobells @coralwitchdreamland @nobodys-coffee @sae1kie @anonymuslydumb @goldenmclaren @moonsua1 @frazie99 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @enarien @luvecarson @nellsbobells @ikohniik @strawberrychita @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @kaoyamamegami @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @iruzias @sleepyycatt @noodlezz-bedo @trinthealternate

[crguang]

games people play

You belong on the stage, you think, under blinding lights and at the forefront of an applauding audience. Most importantly, you only care to play along if Kafka stars in the play right alongside you.

afab!reader, kinda fluffy actually, smut, toys used, kafka is strapped and im not talking about the gun, dom!kafka, sub!bratty reader, some edging, rope play, kinda possessive kafka, 6.3k words…

A/N: this got away from me. i have nothing to say for myself.

Infiltration missions are your favorite; slipping into another person’s skin for a few hours, coming up with traits both obnoxious and serious in nature and performing in front of a naive, ignorant audience fills you with exhilaration.

Improvisation is even better, the anxiety of making up things on the fly feels like a hundred little bees buzzing in your stomach and you’ve grown so accustomed to its uneasiness by now that you often seek it out, it’s become a sort of addiction. Your team doesn’t understand— Silver Wolf prefers causing trouble from behind a screen and away from the action unless she needs to stretch her legs, Blade has too much on his mind to bother adding different characters into the mix, Firefly dreams to only live as herself. None of them share your excitement for acting and it would have been a great disappointment if it wasn’t for Kafka. Beautiful, guarded, eccentric Kafka. Constantly in search of adrenaline and always in movement, she is the only other member of your little illicit troupe of performers. Being with her is often the same as stepping on stage, what with all the half-truths and misleading statements, she is hidden under layers of costumes sometimes extravagant and other times impressively mundane. Even now, if she truly wishes to keep you at bay, you won’t be able to read her. It’s intoxicating. She plays you like the lines of a movie and together, under glaring lights and unsuspecting spectators, you dominate the stage.

You’re clasping the buttons of your shirt at the wrists, often slipping and having to start over, but despite the faint feeling of annoyance as you get dressed, you’re excited. Another evening of performing is ahead of you and it’s in times like this where you truly enjoy the work of the Stellaron Hunters. Having to blend in, to navigate a crowd of arrogant businessmen and pretentious admirers of the arts in order to steal the prized item of this auction feels like a scene straight out of a spy movie. What’s better is that you’re not meant to do this alone; Silver Wolf will be on comms as usual, hacking into the building to assure that the infiltration goes smoothly and Kafka will be right by your side, gloved hand in yours. Pre-performance jitters tingle your fingertips and toes. The sensation is welcome.

You tuck your shirt into your slacks and buckle the belt around your waist. You can hear shuffling and rummaging from the bathroom connected to the bedroom because of its open door. You pick the tie you laid out on the bed with the rest of your outfit earlier and wrap it around your neck, fiddling with it for some time before accepting the fact that you have no idea how to tie a tie and letting out a sigh of frustration. This is your first time wearing such a professional-looking suit complete with the loafers and tie, and you don’t know how to feel about it. It was slightly altered by your request, so it isn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. You stand in front of the full length mirror with your undone tie, turning this way and that. Your hair is done in a style you like and with the shoes on you have to admit that you look nice.

You hear the faucet being turned on in the bathroom and stalk towards it.

“Can you tie this for me?” You ask as you step inside and glance at the mess of beauty products on the counter. Some of them are yours used in your hair, but most are Kafka’s. This is her room, after all.

Kafka’s applying a thin coat of mascara on her lashes when you walk in, focused on her reflection in the mirror. She doesn’t spare you a glance until she puts the brush back into its tube, flutters her eyelashes a couple times and deems her work perfect. She turns to you, an amused smile growing on her lips at the tie resting around your neck.

“Don’t know how?” Kafka steps into your space and runs her fingers over the fabric. She starts to loop it around and over itself as you stand.

“Never had to learn.”

From this close, you can appreciate the eyeshadow at the corner of her eyes and the highlights on the apple of her cheeks. She hasn’t put on perfume yet or finished doing her lips, but she’s dressed in a form-fitting dark magenta dress that ends a little above her ankles, with thin straps and an open back. You feel no shame observing her backside through the mirror since she’s facing away from it. She’s stupidly gorgeous; you bring your eyes back to the dangling pearl earrings in her ears and the few strands of hair that cover them. If for some reason she stands out from the crowd tonight, it’ll be because she’s the most beautiful person in the room.

Kafka finishes tying your tie and pats your chest twice. She steps back and looks you over with a hum and a couple knuckles under her chin. When her gaze travels back up to meet yours, you catch a shimmer of appreciation in it.

“Well, you look dashing,” she says, her eyes following the movements of your hands as you smooth out your shirt.

You grin playfully, approaching her to lightly rest your hands on her waist. “The suit is doing it for you, isn’t it?”

Kafka lifts your chin with two fingers. “It is.”

Her honesty makes you huff out a laugh and the smile on her lips grows somewhat at the sound.

“I’ll have to come up with excuses to get you to wear it more often.”

“You could just ask.”

“That’s boring.”

You roll your eyes, glancing at the watch on your left wrist. “We have to meet Silver Wolf outside in 20 minutes.” You lean forward to plant a chaste kiss on her lips before letting go and leaving her to her makeup.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re shrugging on your coat when Kafka emerges from the bathroom to clasp a necklace around her neck and put on her heels. She carefully handles her own coat as she takes it out of the closet, putting it over her shoulders to complete her look. Her hair is secured in a low ponytail, as usual. The chain of her pendant rests between her breasts and the low neckline of her dress draws your attention to her chest for half a minute while you wait for her near the door.

You meet up with Silver Wolf with two minutes to spare and set off for the venue. It’s this city’s grandest museum, its marble columns can be seen from a distance as you approach in car. The streets are bustling with activity, glowing lights are shining on skyscrapers and stores have their doors open to assure a healthy flow for the customers coming in and out of them. The arts are greatly valued here, it shows in the pristine buildings and advertisements all around. You know it’s only because this is a richer neighborhood and surmise that the rest of the city doesn’t look as well put together. The ride to the museum is filled with Silver Wolf’s rock music in the speakers. Everything is in place, the comms she gave you are installed and all that’s left is to put on a show that the audience won’t forget.

Silver Wolf acts as your valet when you reach the venue and step out of the car, Kafka’s hand in yours. She slips into the driver’s seat and drives off to park somewhere close and inconspicuous. She’ll be supervising the mission from the back seat while the two of you do the heavy lifting.

Kafka curls a hand around your arm as you walk up the steps of the museum. You feel a little smug knowing that she’s here with you, at your arm. Getting inside is child’s play; your invitations are checked and the metal detector is no match for Silver Wolf’s genius tech, not that you’d ever tell her that. The interior is as impressive as its outside, with high ceilings, ceramic floors and precious artifacts displayed inside tall glass cases. You and Kafka make your way to where the Attouine Universal Auction will take place in one system hour, stopping to mingle with previously chosen targets on the way. You mingle among the upper crust, politicians, businessmen, academics alike so that Kafka can use her Spirit Whisper on them. The guest list isn’t large, only up to a total of 67 people, including you two. Lying to them is easy, pretending to be in love with Kafka is easier and you’re actually having fun half an hour in.

Kafka doesn’t let you do all the talking, she has no issue following your train of thought and assuring her advantage in the conversation. It’s admirable and effortless, you don’t get tired of seeing her in action. She has a champagne flute in one hand, occasionally pensively stirring the clear liquid inside. Her smile is rehearsed and comes as naturally as breathing when a couple sparks up a conversation with you. You’re happy to play along in front of the short woman and her husband, judging by the wedding band on her finger.

“What a beautiful pair you two make,” the brunette says, an air of forced politeness about her. She seems a little out of place, like she’s not used to these kinds of events. You guess that she’s only accompanying her husband to them and that he’s actually the one with recognition.

Her husband, however, stands with his chin high and his shoulders straight. He belongs there, or believes he does, and makes a show of showing everyone else.

You take Kafka’s hand in yours and bring it to your lips. “Thank you. She’s a diamond, isn’t she?”

The man follows the motion with his eyes but his wife replies before he can open his mouth. You hear Silver Wolf gag over the comms.

“Oh, how cute! Have you been together long?”

“A year, just about,” Kafka answers, looking at you. “This one’s always a charmer.”

“I can see that!”

You smile. “I’ve got to keep you around somehow… I’m aware of what a blessing you are.”

A sparkle of amusement shines in Kafka’s eyes, the corner of her mouth lifting ever so slightly at your cheesy reply. You maintain your facade, but you also feel like laughing at how silly you sound. It’s not an untrue statement per se… it’s just weird to say such things out loud because all the both of you do is beat around the bush when it comes to genuine emotion. You’re playing a character but it feels a little like the lines between fiction and reality are blurring.

In your ear, Silver Wolf groans, “One more corny line and you’re getting muted. You both disgust me.”

The woman poses a hand on her husband’s arm, addressing him while keeping her eyes on you. “They’re just like us, aren’t they, Len?”

Your gaze flickers to his at the mention of his name and he immediately looks away into the distance to pretend he wasn’t staring at the necklace between Kafka’s breasts. You feel a faint tinge of annoyance flare up inside your chest.

“Yes, very lovely,” he says, faking the unbothered tone of his voice.

You don’t know what offends you the most; his atrocious acting or his unashamed ogling.

“I notice neither of you are wearing rings,” the woman continues with interest. “Will things be made official in the near future, perhaps…?”

Kafka lets out a chuckle— you can tell it’s a genuine one— and turns to you with a teasing smirk, “Oh, I don’t know… will they?”

You feel the familiar sensation of bees in your belly as you’re put on the spot. All three of them expect your answer so you decide to play Kafka’s game. You meet her stare with the most innocent, lovesick look you can muster, your thumb rubbing the base of her ring finger. You find that you don’t have to try that hard.

“I don’t know about the near future, but… I know I’ve never been in love before knowing her.”

Kafka’s face doesn’t change, her meticulously practiced mask never slips, and you look at each other with equally heavy stares. Time seems to slow if only for the few seconds it takes for your new acquaintance to make an exaggerated sound of excitement. The moment breaks, you both look away at the same time and the conversation quickly resumes with pointless inquiries about your (fake?) relationship and the auction.

After some time, you glance at your watch and feel somewhat vindicated by the fact that the auction will start soon, giving you a reason to excuse yourself from the conversation. You’re also excited by what will happen next.

“It was nice meeting you both,” you offer the woman a smile and a nod, not dwelling on the blush of her cheeks, “but we have to find our seats. It’d be a shame to be all the way at the back with so many almost priceless items on display tonight.”

She laughs quietly and you miss the furtive look Kafka sends your way.

“Of course, of course…” The brunette sighs, then smiles sweetly. “Maybe we’ll end up seated next to each other.”

You don’t say anything to that. Kafka politely bids them goodbye and walks in the opposite direction, the hand laced with yours tugging you along. You meet with the rest of the guests, spark up short conversations from every corner of the room. Despite enjoying your performance, you find your audience lacking. Arrogance and pretentiousness reside in every business man, celebrity, political figure that you talk to and you quickly develop disdain for almost every person at this event. None of them deserve the social advantage that they have; you feel restless with the desire to humble them.

With each guest filing into the auction room until all the seats are filled, it’s time for the next part of the script to unfold. You take your seats at the front right near the small built-in stage. Two staff members carefully roll out the auction items as the auctioneer steps before the microphone and greets his audience. Kafka’s hand is on your knee, forefinger tracing insignificant patterns into the fabric of your pants while you wait for the last and most important item to be presented. The Stellaron, trapped inside a large, almost translucent mineral, emits an energy felt by the entire room as it’s brought on stage in a glass case. It glitters in the light like a precious jewel and catches the attention of each buyer. Kafka squeezes your knee once. It’s go time.

Stealing the Stellaron is laughably easy. Due to Kafka’s Spirit Whisper, not a single member of the audience can find the strength to stand up from their seat as you hop to your feet and saunter on stage. The auctioneer stammers about it not being allowed, but he’s dealt with just as the others are and soon, he’s frozen where he stands, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Confused murmurs and panicked shouts fill the air when the guests realize their predicament, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Kafka handles the Stellaron with care while you browse the selection of items on display with a pensive hum.

An antique vase catches your eye. It curves at the top and opens like a blooming flower; designs that mean nothing to you seem carved right into the glass, so you take it out if it’s case for a closer look. It’s a bit heavy despite measuring less than two feet. You decide to keep it and eventually gift it to Kafka knowing she would be able to find the beauty in it. As the clamor of people’s voices rise around you, an idea strikes you. You turn to Kafka.

“The script only said we would steal the Stellaron and leave the museum at 20:56 system time…”

A small smile appears on Kafka’s lips. “What are you thinking?”

“This place reeks of supposed social superiority,” you trail your fingers on top of a case containing an old ceramic disk with contrasting colors and patterns. You push it off the table and it explodes into cutting shards. Amidst the chaos, loud gasps of indignation follow. “I want to tear it down.”

Kafka’s smile widens.

Twenty minutes later, you’re on your way back to the base exactly as Elio foresaw, with Silver Wolf in the driver's seat making a quick getaway as the museum’s alarms sound behind you. You huff out a breathy laugh once in the back seat, heart thundering in your chest from the adrenaline. You had to incapacitate some security guards on the way out, the chase is your second favorite part. It feels great, your fingertips twitch with exhilaration as the car swerves between other vehicles on the road, ignoring red lights and stop signs. Kafka leans on the head rest next to you, looking at you with something you can’t fully decipher. In the darkness of the backseat it’s hard to read her gaze, especially with her contacts on, but you recognize the way her eyes flicker between yours, then to your mouth. She doesn’t have to say anything, your hands suddenly cup her cheeks and your lips crash into hers. The breath is knocked out of you with both her kiss and the lingering adrenaline. Her hand snakes around your neck to bring you closer, her teeth sink into your bottom lip when she pulls away for half a second. She’s rougher than usual with a sense of urgency accompanying her touches; her free fingers sneak under your coat to grip your shirt.

“Can you not?” Silver Wolf makes a noise of disgust and her sudden intervention pulls you out of the daze you were in. “I swear, I’ll crash this stupid car.”

Kafka chuckles, separating herself from you. Her hand stays beneath your coat. “Don’t be so dramatic. A mission well done deserves a proper celebration, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care what you do, as long as it’s not in front of me.”

“We’re behind you…” you mutter, inhaling deeply to calm your shaky hands.

You ignore the middle finger Silver Wolf sends your way. You lean into the seat, eyes closed, and regain full control of your body with a few slow breaths. Kafka’s hand trails down your shirt to your lap. As you turn your head to look at her, you find her gaze already on you. The unfamiliar glint in it is still present, seemingly making her irises darker, then the corners of her mouth lift in a softer smile than she’d normally offer you.

“Let’s play a round of Truth or Lie,” she says suddenly.

Apart from being a fun game you both enjoy, it’s somewhat become your way of discussing serious matters without having to lay yourselves bare. The existence of a lie adds a layer of protection that neither of you can go without. You tilt your head at the suggestion.

“Okay. You start.”

Kafka takes a few seconds to reply, as if thinking of how to phrase her question. You’re careful to school your features into a picture of neutrality so as to not be caught off guard. She hums, then speaks up.

“Did you mean what you said earlier, to that woman?”

You don’t need to ask for clarification on what she’s referring to. Though her smile hasn’t slipped off her face, Kafka’s expression is guarded.

“Am I that good a liar you couldn’t tell?” You tease, an eyebrow raised.

“Is that one of your questions?”

You look past her as you think. Yes, something in you meant what you said then. You recognize this certainty, it’s as real as the earlier thrill in your veins. Being with Kafka is never boring, always brings something new, and you’ve never felt this way before meeting her. It’s an electrifying feeling that travels from your toes to wake the rest of your body, not unlike a shock, except that this is something you can’t help but crave. Beyond the curtains of this beautiful stage you act in lies a sort of yearning for more of how she makes you feel, of her hand in yours as you reenact this rehearsed play of two emotionally guarded beings finding closeness in each other. Are you in love with her? Yes, you are.

“No,” you shake your head, “to answer your first question. I was in character.”

Kafka stares at you for a moment, searching your face for the truth. You smile at her.

“Mm. You turn.”

Your fingers fiddle with her hand on your lap. Silver Wolf takes a sharper turn than necessary and the car swerves to the right. “Are you disappointed by my answer?”

“…No. I’m not.”

You can’t read her at all. You suppose that’s the point of the game. You arrive at your destination before you can finish the round and Silver Wolf wastes no time in hopping out of the car and into the building. There’s a spring in your step as you follow suit with Kafka in tow.

You’re already working towards unbuttoning your coat and uncuffing your shirt when you step into Kafka’s dark room. She flicks the switch behind you, illuminating the room. She takes off her earrings and you take a seat on the bed after slipping out of your loafers. You stretch your arms above your head, letting out a long sigh. Kafka discards her jewelry on top of a dresser.

“You know…” she turns to you before leaning into the furniture and looking you over like she did earlier this evening. You stop loosening your tie as she speaks, lifting your head to meet her eyes. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

You feel a playful smile stretch your lips. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mm. You nearly had that poor woman combusting in place.”

Your brows furrow briefly as you recall the exchange. You viewed her interest as superficial, something she felt compelled to be because of how obviously uneasy social events of that nature made her. It showed in the way she clung to her husband and how clumsy she was at navigating the conversation. Still, Kafka’s words are laced with a tinge of possessiveness you almost never see in her. A smirk slowly spreads across your face.

“She had a husband,” you remind her.

“Who spent half the conversation looking at my chest. They likely had nothing between them. But you knew that.”

You did not. You genuinely thought she was overcompensating and were too busy playing a clip of her husband getting fatally injured over and over in your mind after catching his eyes on Kafka. It’s funny that she would think you were flirting on purpose, though.

Kafka takes slow strides towards you. She stands in front of you and a bare foot slides between your calves to nudge them apart. You take hold of her waist, looking up at her with an innocent smile.

“You liked the attention,” she states with a finger under your chin. She wears a smile as her other hand comes up to strike your hair.

“You sound jealous.”

Kafka laughs softly, fingers splaying out over your cheek. Her thumb soothingly rubs your skin. You resist the urge to close your eyes. “Cute. What’s there to be jealous of when you’re pliable in my hands?” Her knee sinks into the mattress between your legs and she leans closer. “A block of clay to be shaped and molded. That’s what you are.”

“And you’re so eager to put your hands on me, to have me for yourself that another woman laughing at my jokes tickles you.”

Her thumb traces the outline of your bottom lip. “Eager?”

“Like a pup.”

Her smile doesn’t waver. She pushes her digit past your lips and it gets caught between your teeth as you make a noise of surprise at the sudden intrusion. You relax after a second, your tongue swirling around her finger while you maintain eye contact with her. There’s a dangerous heat in the way she looks at you, an unsaid warning that you choose to ignore.

“Brat.” Kafka takes her thumb out of your mouth and observes how it shines in the light. “You know what I do with them, don’t you?”

“You fuck them?”

The smile on her face grows larger. The way she touches you is inherently condescending, the overly sweet strokes of your hair and fake gentleness as she cups your cheek and leans close to you as if to kiss you are subtle reminders of her control over you. You stare into her eyes with fluttering eyelashes.

“Sweet girls get orgasms. A brat like you, on the other hand…”

You feel her breath on your parted lips and expect a kiss that doesn’t come. Instead Kafka tears herself from you and straightens up. Your hands leave her waist as she takes a step back and brings her hand to her chin in contemplation.

“I think I’ll tie you up.”

She does just that. You bite your bottom lip to muffle a whine, wrists absentmindedly tugging against their pretty, silken restraints. Kafka’s ropes hold your arms above your head to each corner of the headboard and slightly dig into your skin the more your muscles struggle. She effortlessly ties you up like a lovely present before you can prepare a snarky remark. The pink webs obey her command, unlike you, and keep you in place while she climbs over you to leisurely undress you. She starts at your neck, loosening your tie to place wet kisses on your skin. Her teeth sink into your flesh and she is without remorse when you hiss at the sensation. She suckles the bite, her tongue occasionally darting out to soothe the mark in slow strokes. Her hands expertly undo the button of your shirt without needing to look at her work. You feel her warm tongue trailing down to your collarbone as she removes your shirt. One of her knees stays between your thighs, unmoving.

Kafka lifts her head to look at the reveal of your skin once your shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor. Her palms travel up and down your stomach, squeeze at the waist and knead your covered breasts over your bra, all the while following their movements with lidded eyes. You swallow. You don’t say a word because you know she’ll go even slower if pressured to pick up the pace, but your skin is hot and your cunt already pulses between your legs at her tame ministrations. Kafka pulls down the cup of your bra with a finger, freeing a hardened nipple.

“Erect already?” She teases. “I only took off your shirt.”

“Shut up,” the words leave your mouth without thinking and your lips part in surprise when she uses two fingers to harshly twist your nipple. “Ah!”

“Wanna try again?”

You take a breath. “Acting like I’m the eager one when I know you’ve already ruined your pan— Mmh!”

Pleasure courses through you as your nipple is pinched between her fingertips. Her hands run around your chest to unclasp your bra and toss it aside, then resume their work on your breasts. Her thumbs swipe over your nipples, applying pressure that pathetically quickens your breathing. Kafka licks her lips but doesn’t use her mouth on you. She watches how your plush mounds move under her hands and take whatever shape she wants them to. She grabs a handful of each breast, squeezing and kneading until you’re exhaling through your mouth. Then she slowly moves down to your hips, rubbing the skin. She has to adjust her position in order to take off your pants and she settles between your thighs once the task is done.

Your thighs spread apart to accommodate her body. Kafka looks up at you, amused, but doesn’t comment on the gesture. Her palms rub into your soft skin, trailing up and down your inner thighs. A dark spot spreads from where arousal dampens your gray underwear.

“If only you could see how wet you’re getting,” she sighs lustfully, “maybe we should do this in front of the mirror. What do you think?”

You bite the inside of your cheek at the suggestion. Kafka hooks a forefinger under your underwear and pulls to reveal your glistening sex. Her voice lowers perceivably.

“Mm? Is thinking about me fucking you in front of a mirror getting you all wet?”

Her index trails down your folds and touches your clit as it does, making you suck your lip into your mouth to keep in a low moan. Kafka observes her finger between your lips, how your arousal coats the better part of it as it teases your pussy. She’ll have you a complete sticky mess before the night is over. The thought makes her cunt clench. She slides your panties down your legs until they no longer hide your puffy pussy from her sight. She uses two fingers to spread your lips and looks up at you.

“If you were well-behaved, I’d be licking you clean right now. Too bad you’re not.”

You groan in slight frustration. “Come on. Just fuck me like you mean it.”

“Oh, I’ll fuck you.” Kafka’s eyes narrow. She pulls her fingers away from your cunt completely. “And when I do, you won’t be able to remember a thing but how good I feel inside you.”

Kafka stands upright, ignoring your little whine to rummage through her drawers instead. She picks up a couple of things and you’re breathless when you see the strap-on and vibrator in her hands as she returns to your side. Your thighs clench together in a fruitless attempt at relieving pressure in your lower belly. You feel your arousal on your inner thighs, coating them in sticky juices. Kafka waves a hand and silk threads wrap around your flesh, forcing you to keep your legs spread for her. You try to move but apart from the quiver of your muscles, nothing happens.

“You haven’t earned that one yet,” Kafka gestures with the plastic cock and tosses it on the bed. She turns the small vibrator over in her palm, messing around with the settings until she finally settles on the lowest one. It pulses as it’s pressed against your cunt and you don’t bother covering up the moan that escapes you. “This will do for now.”

The vibrations on your pussy are so good, so relieving you throw your head back with a breathy moan. You feel each one reverberate through your body and soon, your hips are trying to move along for more friction. You buck your hips, hoping the movement will make it touch your clit for even a second. Kafka watches your growing desperation with apathy. She runs the vibrator up and down your slit, purposely ignoring your aching clit. Positioning it at your entrance covers the head in arousal and she’s tempted to push it in just to see how your cunt greedily sucks in anything she gives you. She makes you suffer longer, caresses your labia with the toy and pulls it away when she sees you clench from the pleasure. With it being at the lowest setting, the throb is a welcomed sensation but isn’t enough to make you come. Trying to move your body is useless; the thin ropes around your limbs keep you exactly how Kafka wants you: defenseless.

You inhale sharply through your mouth as she rubs the toy into your cunt. You know begging won’t help your cause and will only serve to humiliate you. Pleading to her good conscience is just as worthless, but you need to come so badly and Kafka will only allow you to do it on her terms. So, you provoke her.

“That— Mmh, that woman from the auction,” you manage to breathe out, and Kafka instantly meets your eyes. “Bet… she’d be so eager to make me come if I asked.”

Kafka doesn’t move for a moment. The vibrator is still pressed against your pussy, making you let out little whines, but her hand isn’t moving and she’s simply looking at you like she’s trying to figure you out. You know she sees through you, your mind is too taken by the idea of pleasure to bother hiding yourself from her searching gaze. She seems to debate with herself on something and when you think she just won’t bite your bait, she turns off the vibrator. You watch as she stands to let her dress slip to the floor. Apprehension curls around your throat as she steps into the harness of the strap-on and adjusts it around her hips. Her silence makes your gut flutter with nervousness. Then she chuckles to herself and that only worsens the feeling.

Kafka hovers over you, fingers digging into your skin as she grabs your jaw and guides your gaze to hers. Her nails will surely leave crescent marks behind, but you can only focus on the dull pink of her irises. With her free hand, she guides the plastic cock between your folds, coating it in your slick and grazing your clit in the process. Your following moan is muffled by the grip on your jaw. She spreads your arousal over the dick, pumping it once, twice, three times before her sticky fingers grip your waist and she pushes half of the length into you at once.

You groan in surprise, unaccustomed to the sudden fullness. You feel the toy stretching your walls and Kafka doesn’t allow you to get used to the sensation before thrusting the entirety of it inside your fluttering cunt.

“Fuck, w— wait…” you gasp out, wrists struggling against the ropes and thighs trembling. “I was—” A whimper escapes you as Kafka pulls out almost completely just to drive into you again. “Was joking, baby…”

“Shut up and take it.”

You have no choice but to comply. Kafka thrusts into you, unrelenting and apathetic to the way the sensations overwhelm you instantly after so much teasing. Her dick rubs your walls deliciously and the wet sounds of it pounding into you has you choking out a cry. You don’t get used to the pace, it’s too rough, too fast, and has your orgasm building after only a minute of her inside you. You can’t last, not with Kafka playing you as rigorously as she does the violin, fingers digging into the flesh of your love handle for stability. You take her cock as she orders you to and whimper against her lips when she leans forward to press her mouth to yours for the first time tonight. Her kiss is as rough as her strokes, leaving you breathless, a mindless puppet only able to mutter her name. As her tongue enters your mouth to tease yours, the hand around your jaw leaves so that her middle finger harshly rubs your clit. It’s too much for you to handle at once. Your cunt swallows her cock as you come with her name out your lips, squeezing her like a vice.

Kafka doesn’t slow down her thrusts, fucking you through your orgasm and maintaining the pressure on your pulsing clit until you feel another one coming.

“Kafka—” You whine, throat hoarse, “too much…”

“Mmh? That’s what you wanted. Be grateful I didn’t leave you there, cunt aching for me to fill you. You’ll take what I give you.”

Her eyes drink you in, she commits your twisting brows and trembling lips to memory; her mind takes live pictures of you under her, whimpering as you greedily take her cock, until there’s an entire gallery of your fucked out expression inside her head. The sight makes her wetter and needy for release, but it’s not enough. With an arm around your shoulder and the use of her webs, Kafka manipulates your weak body into straddling her lap as she sits up on the bed. Your wrists are still tied together, your arms around her neck, but your thighs quiver as the ropes vanish around them. She holds you up with two hands on your hips and pushes you down onto her length. Your eyes are closed, your lips parted, and you let her guide you up and down her cock until you’re coming again. Kafka watches your slick slide down the dildo and groans, wishing she could pump her own cum into your cunt and watch it leak out of you as she fills you. The toy is drenched in cum and she doesn’t look away as it disappears inside your throbbing pussy, can’t; she feels her own slick run down her thighs just from watching how messy you’re getting her cock.

“Can’t take it,” you breathe out, “mmh…”

Kafka looks up at you. She briefly takes your nipple in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, before letting go and murmuring into your skin, “You can, baby. You’re taking me so well.”

You whine, hips faltering. The length of her cock buries into you in a harsh thrust upwards and you can’t make a sound as you come hard, your face in Kafka’s neck. Your arms shake from the pleasure that assaults you at once. Your toes curl and the breath leaves your lungs. Kafka doesn’t pull out as you come down from your high a panting mess. Your limbs feel twice as heavy. Her hand strokes your hair while you breathe in and out sharply. She gives you some time to calm down, then pulls you away from her neck with the hand in your hair and kisses you messily; you feel her tongue on your bottom lip and her saliva mix with yours. She breathes out into your open mouth, a low moan escaping her.

Kafka squeezes your hip and mutters into your mouth, “You’ll give me another one, won’t you?”

Though it’s phrased as one, you know it’s not a question at all. This is what you get for provoking her, and she won’t stop until she’s entirely satisfied.

[phantombanquet]

Main Story: Diasomnia Book Chapter 8 Episode 7-117: Preparation for Departure! (Translation)

Episode 7-117

⚠️ Major Diasomnia spoilers! Proceed with caution.

translation by: phantombanquet

Idia: MALLEUS-SHI, HUH~~~~! 

THIS GRUDGE… SHOULD I LEAVE IT UNSETTLED~~!! ¹

If that happens, that pretentious inexpressive² guy, who usually keeps up his strong chara moves up in his sleeves…..

I can't help but feel sorry for myself if I don't see his pathetic figure sobbing with a runny nose and begging for forgiveness!

Now, what should I do…… Heh… Ehehehehehe!

Ortho: W-What a malicious scheming face…

This… May have angered someone who shouldn't be angered~

Idia: Heheh…… I'll show you. The ultimate power of a lone wolf³ trained in the gloomy “underworld.”

Just you wait, Malleus Draconia……

I'LL GET REVENGE BY SEIZING YOUR SPECIAL WEAKNESS!!!

Ortho: ……That's all.

From the magical disaster caused by Malleus Draconia until the awakening of Idia Shroud. This concludes the progress report.

Grim: Oohh~~! While we were fightin’ over in Lilia's dream, that's what happened to you guys.

Silver: I see. So Idia-senpai and Ortho are outside of the magical realm. It means that there is support coming from the real world. 

Idia: Y-Yeah, t-that sort of thing…… Well, for now, we'll be playing a dummy video on the surveillance camera for a short while……

I can only do this much.

Sebek: So, even if you have woken up, Malleus-sama will fail to notice and the “darkness” will not attack you.

Ortho: Yes.. And like I said earlier, Malleus-san is currently……

Focused on putting Lilia Vanrouge-san to sleep. 

So, I expect that he has not traced down the whereabouts of Silver-san and the others.

Sebek: Hm. I honestly want to praise your skills, but it is quite complicated when you are outsmarting Malleus-sama……

Idia: Well, that other guy is a battleship-like⁴ cheater so… We're still far off from completely capturing him.

Silver: However… I had no idea that Malleus-sama continued to expand his magical realm beyond the island……

Sebek: Furthermore, if the area is forcibly destroyed from the  outside, there is a possibility that the trapped person's psyche could also become destroyed!?

Grim: Somehow it's a real mess for real.

[Choice 1] Yuu: Can we do something about this?

[Choice 2] Yuu: (If this continues on, Tsunotarou will become the enemy of mankind.) 

Ortho: Yes. That's why we need your power!

Silver: Our… Power?

Ortho: Currently, the S.T.Y.X. staff is working together to assign ID numbers to the dreams of those trapped in the magical realm. 

During that time, we captured your magical reaction as you “moved around on your own” in the dream.

Silver: Could it be that it was my “Meet in a Dream?”

It's my unique magic that allows me to cross between dreams……

Ortho: Yes! That one, that one!

When traces of someone moving from one human dream to another were discovered, the engineers at S.T.Y.X. were in a commotion.

So that was Silver-san's unique magic, after all. Magic is a really mysterious power, huh.

Silver: However, my magic is to reliably travel to the dream of the person I'm targeting after, like you guys. I can't call someone into my dream.

I don’t know what else to say; it's hard to explain… It's a very intuitive kind of magic……

That’s why I was really surprised when Ortho appeared in the Dream Corridor and led us here. 

Ortho: What are you saying?

S.T.Y.X. prides themselves on their super computers and experts in magical engineering and magical analysis. 

They tried their best to analyze magic and they finally found a way to travel from dream to dream. 

Moreover, it is difficult to say that the current method is 100% reproducible so they said: “it's still a beta version.”

The mere fact that you can do it intuitively is astonishing.

Sebek: Hm. So the “power” that you need is Silver's unique magic?

Ortho: That's a part of it, too, but…

Sebek Zigvolt-san, Grim-san, and Yuu-san, your cooperation is essential.

Grim: Hmph! You're just trying to make us do the messy work, aren't ya!

Ortho: Wow♡ Grim-san, you talk too fast. 

[Choice 1] Yuu: This pattern is similar to the headmage……

[Choice 2] Yuu: I don't see any other reason to  be called out……

Sebek: Hmph, I don't like this sluggishness. Get to the point!!

Idia: S-So, uhhh……. While you guys were chattering in Lilia-shi's dream..

I-I was trying to think of a way to escape from my dream world……

Or rather, I've been trying to come up with a strategy to deal with Malleus-shi.

[Choice 1] Yuu: Is your strategy to get him to cry and beg for forgiveness while his nose is runny?

[Choice 2] Yuu: Is it a strategy to take revenge by capturing their special weakness?

Idia: Y-Yeah. That… Hih, hihi.

Anyhow, I made a video to explain that strategy…… W-Would you like to watch it?

Grim, Silver, Sebek: Video?

Idia: Waah~♪ Only good things have been happening lately~ It's so fun every day~ It's just like a dream~♬ Well. It was, in fact, really just a dream. Welcome, all you carefree people who live in the world of empty dreams. I am Idia Shroud. So for today, a cheat trick to create a dream world using magic — — was used by The Most Evil☆Final Boss Mage. Let me explain the strategy used by Malleus-shi. The magical realm that Malleus-shi created is kinda like a server running a huge MMORPG. And each dream of someone sleeping is managed individually. Malleus-shi is using himself and his alter ego to keep an eye on this server. To give you an idea, Malleus-shi is a server admin. And his alter ego is cracking down on users to commit violations in the online game — like a gamemaster. Malleus-shi, with the authority to operate and manage over the entire server, is currently in the state of a demon king who has the world right under his thumb.

Under Malleus-shi's control, we have NO chance of succeeding…… BUT! Because of the super geek hacker group S.T.Y.X. and Ortho's attack, all of the server's source code (construction formulas of the magical realm) has been analyzed and is now completely visible!

So — I'm going to use that data from my dream to develop and build a cheat tool. And then get rid of that damned invulnerable status! It seems like a perfect strategy at first glance, but in fact, there’s actually a flaw in this cheat strategy……. If Malleus-shi (the server admin) discovers this during development— IT'S GAME OVER IN AN INSTANT. But hold your horses! Despite that his alter ego uses autonomous magic, with the total population of Sage Island, monitoring and managing the dreams of about 20,000 people is not an easy task — even for Malleus-shi. If a problem happens here and there in your dream, there's a high chance that you'll have to deal with it by yourself! Therefore — I’ll be developing a cheat tool. I want you guys to catch Malleus-shi's eye and gather party members so we can subdue the demon king.

When everyone wakes up, we'll hand out invite codes that will allow them to travel to my dream.

Then, when all the preparations are ready, Malleus-shi will be lured to my dream and that's when the cheat tool that I developed turns on!! As planned, Malleus-shi's invulnerability will be canceled. And by using the invite codes that were diligently handed out, everyone will gather in my dream! We're going to beat him up with our sheer numbers of forces!

If things go as expected, Malleus-shi will also lift the spell and free us—! How was it!? “A lone wolf magician engineering guy explains how to capture the demon king in three minutes video.” If you think this video was good, leave a like! And this was Idia Shroud.

Grim, Silver, Sebek: ............

Idia: Ummm, e-everyone… Thank you for your attention. ⁵

Th-that’s why……

I ask you guys to go on a journey to gather “the strongest party members who will take on the challenge of defeating the demon king!”

Grim, Silver, Sebek: EHHHHH~~~!?

TO BE CONTINUED...

translator notes:

¹ - 「この怨はらさでおくべきか」 is an old Kansai (Osaka) dialect phrase. This phrase, although it seems like one will forever hold a grudge, actually means something along the lines of: “Shall I leave this grudge unresolved? (No, I actually have to solve this),” due to how the phrase is structured (which would be too deep to delve into but it’s mainly because of the か and べき/べし in the phrase).

² - 「スカしま」 is a Japanese slang usually used as an insult

³ - 「陰キャ」 is yet another Japanese slang used to describe someone with a gloomy or reserved personality or introverts. I used a known English slang instead of translating literally to preserve the meaning of the word.

⁴ - 「弩級 (どきゅう)」 is the Japanese translation of “Dreadnought,” which is a type of battleship in the early 20th century. Idia was just being a nerd again by using game-like terms so I decided to stick with using “battleship” instead of the literal translation.

⁵ - I wanted to note that Idia addressed them as 「皆様」which is a polite way of addressing others due to the inclusion of 様 (sama). Also, the “thank you for your attention” line was written as 「ご清聴アリガトウゴザイマシタ」 in the text instead of the usual 「ご清聴ありがとうございました」 which I think it's just to note Idia's personality www.

personal notes: this wasn't jp proofread so there might be inaccuracies;;; additionally aniplex jp actually posted the "how to subjugate the demon king" video but it's only available in japan.. you can still access it by using a vpn though~

[ww2yaoi]

Listen I want to be into Webgott because I see all your hype and I’m like obviously it’s great and every time I try I’m like , “eh” about it, like what am I missiiiiing why can’t I get into thiiiiis?

So like. What’s the thing. I think maybe I have a hard time because they’re not bffs but they also aren’t exactly like mortal enemies and I’m having trouble figuring out what the vibe should be.

So anyways if you’ve got something to pitch me the sale I’m all ears.

I won't pitch to you because if something doesn't click, it doesn't click and with ships I feel like you either get it or you don’t, so I'm not gonna try and convince you because I honestly feel like that’s a waste of everyone’s time and would be a lot of effort on my end and like why do I give a fuck if you don’t like it (to be brutally honest). However, I can explain what I do like about it. This is going to be kind of rambly and fractured but whatever.

I guess first and foremost I see them both as very interesting characters in their own right. Joe and Web both hate the Germans, but they joined the war for different reasons. Web wanted to write about it, considering himself a kind of warrior poet. He wanted to be on the ground and experience the war as it happened, in all its honest brutality. He comes from a fairly wealthy family, and goes to an Ivy League school, yet he forwent becoming an officer to be a lowly private and sleep in holes. That’s weird. He’s a bit bizarre for doing that.

Joe, in the show at least, is Jewish. So this is personal to him. He’s fighting because he has to fight, because someone has to kill these Nazis and he’s very much willing to do that. He’s a good soldier for the most part, he doesn’t answer to authority all that well and he’s bloodthirsty to a detriment at times, but he’s extremely loyal to his friends and protective of the group.

Arguably, Web is not that good of a soldier. He doesn’t volunteer for anything. He didn’t break out of the hospital to rejoin his friends. He’s kind of a loner, scribbling in his notebook. He’s intellectual and pretentious and he gets bullied for it. All this culminates in his and Joe’s fraught relationship in The Last Patrol which is kind of the crux of the whole ship. Joe sees the worst in Web, but Web eventually proves himself and is accepted back into the group by Joe. I don’t want to explain the whole episode, you get the point.

All this to say, they’re very different people, of different social strata, and they never would’ve looked twice at each other had the war not happened, which is kind of the hidden beauty of these worldwide conflicts if there is any. The mass mobilization of millions of people under the umbrella of one cause has a sort of equalizing effect where different social groups come together. Joe and Web literally come from opposite coasts. The symbolism is pretty obvious and poignant to me.

Anyways, I guess what appeals to me about Webgott is their similarities and differences and how these dichotomies produce a dynamic with a lot of potential for understanding and misunderstanding. You’re right that they’re not exactly friends and they’re not exactly enemies, but while this seems to put you off this is the whole appeal to me. They exist in this liminal space where they’re constantly feeling each other out and fighting to understand each other and correcting their assumptions of each other. It’s not easy, but there’s a draw there because they’re so inexplicable to one another. They’re mirrors to each other in a lot of ways. They’re both their own people. They both have this complex capacity for love and violence. I see them both as very passionate individuals with a lot of inner turmoil, and I think they could find love and comfort in each other if only they could break down each other’s walls or be brave enough to lower them themselves.

Ships should have conflict to be interesting. There should be some sort of barrier to having the perfect relationship or else the whole objective of storytelling and narrative is a pointless exercise. That gives people something to write about and chew on. And I think with Webgott there’s a lot to chew on.

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

every day i feel myself becoming a little more pretentious and i HATE MYSELF for it

[kikker-oma]

Fan Joy July!

Coined by the sweet @isasan347 , Fan Joy July is an art challenge I've created for myself!

I will be drawing one piece of colored fan art every single day of July that corresponds to a scene in various Linked Universe Fanfics.

This challenge is meant to push myself to draw daily, give back to writers who make this fandom so much fun, and give others a chance to read something new they may enjoy 😄

I will be choosing some fics myself that I've read and enjoy, but I would love if others recommended their favorite LU fic. This way I can pick one LU fan fiction to draw for all 31 days. Feel free to self promote as well!

To recommend me a fic, please comment or reblog this post with the link so that I can see it easier. Please avoid sending asks if you can, just because I tend to get overwhelmed when my inbox gets full 🥴🥲 hehe

I'll be taking recommendations from April 11-30. After that I'm going to start drawing so that I can be ready to post in July! ( This is gonna take me a while so I need all the prep time I can get haha).

**I'm not asking anyone else to do this challenge, but I would ADORE if anyone wanted to join me! Even if it isn't for the whole month. **(I can be your excuse if you've ever wanted to draw for a writer but were too shy hehe)

I've also seen one or two writers interested in how they could participate. I think that maybe if there is an artist you enjoy you could write something for a drawing they've done? I know there are a ton of very talented LU artists in the fandom, so that could be a good challenge for writers 😀

--- General Notes:

Please note that I will only be doing 31 drawings and a recommendation does not guarantee I will draw for it ( I love you all, but I can only do so much)

I will be tagging my challenge as "FanJoyJuly" and will try my best to note posts appropriately

I will be tagging writers (if they have a Tumblr and I can find it)

I will be linking the story for each day in the post

I will not be releasing which stories I'm drawing for until I post them (for the DRAMA😉)

As we get closer to July, I'll create a master post and update it with each post I make in case people are interested in following along ❤️

Thank you all for the initial feedback for this idea, and I'm excited to get started!

[hillerskaroyals]

[godsfavoritescientist]

Biting the bars of my enclosure about autistic ford tonight. There's something about him using vocabulary and turns of phrase that seem "outdated" or "pretentious" that feels so painfully genuine to me. When people say he talks like that just to "try to sound smart" I wish I could explain what it's like to be so ostracized from your peers growing up that you spend all your time reading instead, to the point where you pick up your way of speaking from books instead of from people. And then what it's like for people to call you out for "talking weird" over and over again, not able to wrap their heads around why the fuck you would choose more archaic or technical or formal words than the simpler ones that surely come to everyone's minds first. What it's like to have to dedicate a sizable chunk of attention to filtering through every single word you say out loud in real time before you say it, to make absolutely sure that it isn't a word people will judge you for using or make fun of you for using, just so you'll have a chance of being taken seriously. Learning through trial and error how to filter out the words that other people don't think are normal or casual enough for the conversation, even though for you, the word choice that's "natural-sounding" enough for them is the third or fourth word you came up with when searching for the right way to phrase something in your head. I wish I could explain just how long it takes to say fucking anything after spending a lifetime doing that during every single conversation, and how repetitive and long-winded you end up being when you spend so long coming up with alternative ways of saying every little thing you ever think. And I wish people realized that, at the very least for autistic people and autistic-coded characters, speech that's seen as pretentious is really just the way they talk when they're not putting in the extra effort to filter through every word they say just so others will take the time to listen.

[muirmarie]

god i really want to sign up for a bad things happen bingo card and just like. write the messed up whump and h/c that my freaky (derogatory) little heart really wants lmaoooo, i haven't written h/c for the sake of h/c (aka without, like, turning it into a Fic) in so so so long, but also i have enough on my plate with ye olde trying to build a consistent writing habit with my mcspirk bingo card - which is more about writing stories for me lmao, and not just, like, me leaning over my keyboard in a dimly lit room rubbing my grubby little hands together as i hurt someone (leonard mccoy) and then let the people who love them kiss their forehead and comfort them.

but oh i was looking at the list of the prompts, and i was like, yeah, yeah i do actually want to let my h/c freak flag fly lmaoooooo

i know it's not a good idea because i do not want to let myself get overwhelmed and/or in over my head! but also. also. also. i still have le ongoing problem of wanting to turn everything into a capital-f Fic instead of just dashing off nonsense, like i'll dash off nonsense all day here lmaoooo, but when it comes to a story i want to??? this sounds so pretentious. i always want to write something??? Good???? i don't mean good writing or whateve,r i mean like a??? meaningful story??? (ugh so pretentious) (and to be clear i'm NOT saying i'm succeeding - only attempting!!!)

and the siren call of writing 1k about a cardboard cutout bad guy that has a knife to mccoy's throat while mccoy backtalks and kirk tries to bargain and mccoy is trying to hide the fact that he's already been stabbed in the side and spock has to carry him back once kirk shoots the bad guy??? listen. listen.

but also i do know myself and would i be Content with dashing off 1k nonsense or would i. still. the meaning. would i still the meaning. that's the question. the meaning. would i still.

am i looking at my neighbor's yard like wow that grass looks so green and takes no upkeep (probably), do i still want mccoy with a knife at his throat and jim's desperate eyes and steady voice and spock's steady eyes and the imperceptible tremble in his hands as he picks mccoy up from where he fell (absolutely)

i mean i could just get a card! it doesn't mean i have to write anything! (that's the devil speaking)

(the devil looks so hot tho)

(the devil's got them baby blues)

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i think one of the things that upsets me the most about velma and shaggy's relationship in sdmi--and boy there is a lot--is that not only is her constantly ''correcting'' him for minor, harmless, and usually completely reasonable things with physical and emotional abuse, well. abusive by itself. but so many of the things he does that she treats him that way over are very autistic things, and what she subjects him to is textbook abuse aimed at autistics in particular. (including the part where she gets more and more pissed whenever attempts at said emotional abuse fly over his head, because he's too bad at picking up cues for them to land fully.)

[cws: anti-autistic ableism, ABA, self-harm, physical and emotional IPV, victim-blaming, and abuse apologism. it's a lot and it's really fucking bad lmao]

-

like. there's a lot of examples there; shaggy's behavior coming across as autistic is worth a whole post of its own, and a lot of media depicts abuse targeted at autistic traits because ✨️hooray ableism.✨️but she straight up tries to Fix Him (read: force him to perform a Presentable Personality) by forcing him to wear clothes that are sensory hell, and trying to condition him to self-harm every time he does some small harmless, reflexive thing she thinks is Poor Socialization until he stops. and to catch himself doing it, and punish himself, without being prompted. i cannot fucking overstate how fucked up that is.

they even got down the fun little aspect of ABA where the methods of conditioning-through-pain are presented as toys and kiddish things: she gives him a rubber band to wear on his wrist, and tells him to snap it as hard as he can every time he says 'like.' 🙃🙃🙃🙃

like. this does not begin to scratch the surface of the abuse she puts him through in general. and again, characters being abused for autistic traits with the approval of the narrative is a common thing in media, which sucks. but holy fucking shit! they really took the 'violent ableism that is done to autistics irl' to the next fucking level here!

.......and it's portrayed as kind of cringey, immature teen drama on both sides. the self-harm, his dread over how much he knows it'll hurt, and the extreme pain it causes him to the point of screaming are all supposed to be funny. and her arc is all about learning to accept that she deserves better, because she was repressed and had low self-esteem and therefore putting him through fucking DIY ABA didn't make her happy.

🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

anyway if you couldn't tell i can't fucking stand sdmi velma and i have a lot of words in me about it. when one of your main heroes would have made a way more compelling villain as they are, on a more mundane level compared to all the wild fantastical shit they go up against, holy shit go back to the drawing board you have fucked up. she could have been genuinely good representation of a marginalized person dealing with the trauma of her experiences in some shitty ways she has to grow past, and an interesting flawed character, without being absolutely despicable--hell, she'd have made a great foil to pericles if they'd handled him decently too. they have a lot of parallels, which only gain more depth when you add their respective parallels with cassidy into the mix. and it really fucking sucks that we got this instead.

[wiseatom]

anyway you can literally pry mike and will sw*ftie agenda from my cold, lifeless hands

[yellowocaballero]

I just finished your New Wave fic. I’m convinced everything your write is gold. I loved your TMA fics, with the most heartbreaking demon AU imaginable and the hilarity of Fahrenheit 101. I loved your moon knight fics, starting with Steven talking to animals on the reg at work to the system growing closer with a focus on Jake, i- there’s- it’s sooo much packed into it. When I’m on burnout, of art or writing (maybe life in general at times) I revisit your work and am thrown back into a creative headspace.

You are my favorite writer, you cram so much meaning and thought into your work and it shows. The characters are dumbasses and say the most ridiculous shit and turn around the next chapter and say the most thought provoking thing, and I don’t get whiplash from it because these characters just work! They just do, and I… am very much off track!

Anyways I just got into Batman and reading your fic is fueling that flame! I can’t wait to see what you have in store next, and I shall now stalk your blog for writing tips! I hope you have a nice day broski 💙

Thank you!! This is so sweet thank you so much! This ask is so nice!

Trust me, if there's meaning then it's because I get obsessive over these fics and I massively overthink them. I honestly wish I was better at making simpler, more elegant stories. I feel like nothing I do is truly going to be good until I can find that simplicity.

"Dipshit who says stupid stuff and then turns around and spouts ridiculous philosophy" is just how I talk. But I habitually approach my life from a standpoint of finding humor in everything, if only to soften the blow. I was once told that it's really hard to tell when I'm joking, because everything I say is always half-joking and always half-serious. I feel like that's pretty evident from my narration too...

As for writing advice...um, I was just speaking about this with somebody. When you're plotting a story, the first thing I like to figure out is what I'm trying to say. Everything else should be built around that. The joy of writing is that I think we all have something we want to say, or something we want people to know, or that we have an aspect of ourselves and our lives that we want to express. Most of the time, trying to convey those things verbally just results in a frustrating approximation of your true feelings. I find that when I manage a successful story, the depth and scale of what I'm trying to impart is fully understood and felt. It's rewarding. I think if people aren't understood on some level, by somebody, they kind of die.

Thanks for the sweet ask!!

[spencereid]

now that theres a slightly clearer picture of when taylor & travis started dating im seeing a lot of people calling back to the vmas and saying “they were already together then omg you could TELL bc she was GLOWING” “her energy was radiating happiness”

because once again in the eyes of a lot of swifties, taylor swift cannot exist having fun or being happy without a man

[iphijaania]

i always think i’m harsh on s4 because tbf listening to it i do enjoy a lot of the interpersonal drama and archive relationship dynamics it explores and it does have the pretty compelling overarching theme of being human vs having humanity nailed and then in turn i think i’m being too harsh on martin because even though he’s not half as compelling as the rest of the season four cast or any other semi recurring character in the entire series he’s still not without his merits as a character and as a means of advancing jon’s plot and the (admittedly cheesy but not baseless) idea that ‘love doesn’t save you but it helps’ that’s dubiously established in tma up until that point. then i go on tumblr and remember that martin fans are the most annoying people on the planet. then there are twice as many stars in the sky and i am a hater once more 🤍

[steelycunt]

starting 2 finish up research and move into trying to create some sort of plan and. this r is sooo. oh my. he is the loneliest girl in the world but like actually this time. he is so very. he needs a hug so terribly much he is such a sock in need of darning he needs a little kiss he needs. even just one single friend

[stergeon]

for the writer ask

💭🚦💛 💌

💭 What inspires you and your writing?

this is a real marketing major-ass answer (from your local marketing major), but i love sharing knowledge and telling stories. writing’s one of those things that’s a bit of a compulsion for me—i’m always writing something. i took a five-year break from fiction writing before i stumbled ass-first into fanfic last year, but even in those years when i was focusing on my career, i was writing guides and trainings and a ton of other stuff—just not anything fun, lol.

writing is also so cathartic. sometimes i set out to tell a specific story, but at other times, a particular emotion gets me in a vice grip and i have to put it to words before it’ll go away. my stories tend to wind up as emotional dumping grounds as a result.

i don’t write things pulled directly from my own life, but there are bits and pieces of myself and things that have happened to me scattered throughout stuff i’ve written, and usually when i’m about 75% of the way through a piece, i’ll realize it’s absolutely related to something i’m currently going through. funny how art works that way, even when you don’t intend for it to.

and occasionally i just have a fire lit under my ass about an issue and i get so hot about it that i gotta compile my thoughts. looking at you, silver snow

🚦 What sort of endings do you prefer to write: ambiguous, bad, happily ever after, etc.?

look, i would love nothing more for them girls (pick whichever girls you please) to have a happy ending where they kiss and are stupid in love for the rest of forever. i love reading those kinds of stories. but in my heart of hearts, i love an ambiguous ending. i like when there are still questions after the story ends. i like thinking about where things could go or how the characters will go on after the events of the story. like, shared space could be read as having a happy ending, but i don’t really think it is. and with the victors; the vestiges, well. you’ll see :0)

come to think of it, i’m not sure i’ve ever written a happily-ever-after, but i don’t think i’ve ever written a 100% bad ending, either. i read too many bury-your-gays stories and watched too many sad european queer coming-of-age films in my youth to ever be happy putting that kinda thing out into the world. i want to write about love with all its ugliness, but not despair or hopelessness. i think what most appeals to me about an ambiguous ending is that lingering feeling of hope. it’s not the same as the kind you get from a happily-ever-after, and something about it speaks to me.

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

honestly? how to take criticism. i took a creative writing class in high school where we had to read our work out loud and then receive feedback on it from the other writers in the class, and that did a lot for me. going into that class, i’d already been writing for forever and had won some little local writing contests and such, so i was a wee bit of a pretentious douche. but i’d never gotten real critique before beyond, essentially, spelling and grammar checks. it humbled me lol. it made me grow so much as a writer, and i could see where i needed to improve or where my head was wedged way too far up my own ass for others to follow. it also helped me recognize strengths i didn’t know i had, and that was huge. it’s easy to get into a self-doubt spiral when making creative work, and good, constructive criticism can do so much to help avoid that.

to this day i love critique. i like knowing what worked or didn’t work so that i can continue to improve as a writer and do better next time. did my themes land? did something really work, but another part fall flat? i’d love to know!! i try to treat everything i write as practice for the next thing, and frankly that’s helped take some of the pressure off so i don’t go into total Perfectionist Mode.

i know critique is kind of a sensitive topic in fan spaces, but i think that’s because a lot of people have gotten unsolicited criticism that is purely critical and isn’t constructive. but getting good, constructive criticism will do so much to help a person grow as a writer. it’s scary, and sometimes it hurts! writing is very personal for most people, and it stings when things aren’t received the way you think they will be. but i know i’ve grown more from having my failures pointed out (and, very importantly, having the good things about those efforts acknowledged) than anything else.

💌 Is there a favorite trope you like to write?

actually Just answered this in another ask!