#but i'm trying to do that less & take more digital notes

[sarahlancashire]

i'm watching midsomer murders & it's really fucking long

PILOT (1997): (1) the killings at badger's drift

SERIES ONE (1998):

(2) 1.01: written in blood (3) 1.02: death of a hollow man (4) 1.03: faithful unto death(5) 1.04: death in disguise

SERIES TWO (1999):

(6) 2.01: death's shadow (7) 2.02: strangler's wood (8) 2.03: dead man's eleven(9) 2.04: blood will out

SERIES THREE (1999 – 2000):

(10) 3.01: death of a stranger (11) 3.02: blue herrings (12) 3.03: judgement day(13) 3.04: beyond the grave

SERIES FOUR (2000 – 2001):

(14) 4.01: garden of death (15) 4.02: destroying angel (16) 4.03: the electric vendetta (17) 4.04: who killed cock robin? (18) 4.05: dark autumn(19) 4.06: tainted fruit

SERIES FIVE (2002):

(20) 5.01: market for murder (21) 5.02: a worm in the bud (22) 5.03: ring out your dead(23) 5.04: murder on st. malley's day

SERIES SIX (2003):

(24) 6.01: a talent for life (25) 6.02: death and dreams (26) 6.03: painted in blood (27) 6.04: a tale of two hamlets(28) 6.05: birds of prey

SERIES SEVEN (2003 – 2004):

(29) 7.01: the green man (gavin troy leaves!) (30) 7.02: bad tidings (dan scott arrives!) (31) 7.03: the fisher king (32) 7.04: sins of commission (33) 7.05: the maid in splendour (34) 7.06: the straw woman(35) 7.07: ghosts of christmas past

SERIES EIGHT (2004 – 2005):

(36) 8.01: things that go bump in the night (37) 8.02: dead in the water (38) 8.03: orchis fatalis (39) 8.04: bantling boy (40) 8.05: second sight (41) 8.06: hidden depths (42) 8.07: sauce for the goose(43) 8.08: midsomer rhapsody (dan scott leaves!)

SERIES NINE (2005 – 2006):

(44) 9.01: the house in the woods (ben jones arrives!) (45) 9.02: dead letters (46) 9.03: vixen's run (47) 9.04: down among the dead men (48) 9.05: four funerals and a wedding (49) 9.06: country matters (50) 9.07: death in chorus(51) 9.08: last year's model

SERIES TEN (2006 – 2008):

(52) 10.01: dance with the dead (53) 10.02: the animal within (54) 10.03: king's crystal (55) 10.04: the axeman cometh (simon dixon arrives!) (56) 10.05: death and dust (57) 10.06: picture of innocence (58) 10.07: they seek him here (59) 10.08: death in a chocolate box

SERIES ELEVEN (2008 – 2010):

(60) 11.01: shot at dawn (61) 11.02: blood wedding (simon dixon leaves!) (62) 11.03: left for dead (63) 11.04: midsomer life (64) 11.05: the magician's nephew (65) 11.06: days of misrule (66) 11.07: talking to the dead (aired between s12 & s13)

SERIES TWELVE (2009 – 2010):

(67) 12.01: the dogleg murders (68) 12.02: secrets and spies (69) 12.03: the black book (70) 12.04: the glitch (71) 12.05: small mercies (72) 12.06: the creeper (73) 12.07: the great and the good

SERIES THIRTEEN (2010 – 2011):

(74) 13.01: the made-to-measure murders (75) 13.02: the sword of guillaume (john barnaby arrives!) (76) 13.03: blood on the saddle (77) 13.04: the silent land (78) 13.05: master class (79) 13.06: the noble art (80) 13.07: not in my back yard (81) 13.08: fit for murder (tom barnaby leaves! also joyce & cully barnaby, gail stephens!)

SERIES FOURTEEN (2011 – 2012):

(82) 14.01: death in the slow lane (sykes the dog arrives!) (83) 14.02: dark secrets (sarah barnaby arrives!) (84) 14.03: echoes of the dead (85) 14.04: the oblong murders (george bullard leaves!) (86) 14.05: the sleeper under the hill (kate wilding arrives!) (87) 14.06: the night of the stag (88) 14.07: a sacred trust (89) 14.08: a rare bird

SERIES FIFTEEN (2012 – 2013):

(90) 15.01: the dark rider (91) 15.02: murder of innocence (92) 15.03: written in the stars (93) 15.04: death and the divas (94) 15.05: the sicilian defence (95) 15.06: schooled in murder (ben jones leaves!)

SERIES SIXTEEN (2013 – 2014):

(96) 16.01: the christmas haunting (charlie nelson arrives!) (97) 16.02: let us prey (98) 16.03: wild harvest (99) 16.04: the flying club (100) 16.05: the killings of copenhagen (betty barnaby arrives!)

SERIES SEVENTEEN (2015):

(101) 17.01: the dagger club (102) 17.02: murder by magic (103) 17.03: the ballad of midsomer county (104) 17.04: a vintage murder (kate wilding leaves!)

SERIES EIGHTEEN (2016):

(105) 18.01: habeas corpus (kam karimore arrives!) (106) 18.02: the incident at cooper hill (107) 18.03: breaking the chain (108) 18.04: a dying art (109) 18.05: saints and sinners (110) 18.06: harvest of souls (charlie nelson & sykes the dog leave!)

SERIES NINETEEN (2016 – 2018):

(111) 19.01: the village that rose from the dead (jamie winter & paddy the dog arrive!) (112) 19.02: crime and punishment (113) 19.03: last man out (114) 19.04: red in tooth & claw (115) 19.05: death by persuasion (116) 19.06: the curse of the ninth (kam karimore leaves!)

SERIES TWENTY (2019 – 2020):

(117) 20.01: the ghost of causton abbey (fleur perkins arrives!) (118) 20.02: death of the small coppers (119) 20.03: drawing dead (120) 20.04: the lions of causton (121) 20.05: till death do us part (122) 20.06: send in the clowns

SERIES TWENTY-ONE (2020 – 2021):

(123) 21.01: the point of balance (124) 21.02: the miniature murders (125) 21.03: the sting of death (126) 21.04: with baited breath

SERIES TWENTY-TWO (2021 – 2023):

(127) 22.01: the wolf hunter of little worthy (128) 22.02: the stitcher society (129) 22.03: happy families (130) 22.04: the scarecrow murders (131) 22.05: for death prepare (132) 22.06: the witches of angel’s rise

SERIES TWENTY-THREE (2024):

(133) 23.01: the blacktrees prophecy (134) 23.02: the debt of lies (135) 23.03: a grain of truth (136) 23.04: dressed to kill

SERIES TWENTY-FOUR (2024):

(137) 24.01: the devil's work (138) 24.02: book of the dead (139) 24.03: claws out (140) 24.04: climate of death

[bumblequinn]

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

[submalevolentgrace]

Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

[yaut-jaknowit]

So somehow Gawtin or her human lover get ahold of a strap on :3

False Control

Pairing: Gawtin (female Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Strap on, wlw, lesbian sex, cunnilingus.

Word Count: 3926

Summary: Gawtin comes to you with a silicone dildo. She wants you to use it on her. The first time you are able to fuck her the way she deserve. Despite her allowing you to top her, she's always in control.

Author Note: I know I say this every time but I love our girl Gawtin. Sexy motherfucker who could twist off my head and I'll thank her. Also, I didn't know who was suppose to use it so I took the chance to write about our goddess getting dicked down.

P.s. I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to close asks. I didn't expect nearly thirty to be sitting in my inbox right now. Plus, I'm falling behind in my writing right now. Work has been rough with summer coming and people fucking calling out. So fun.

Masterlist

Ao3

In your hand, the silicone was heavy and thick. A concerned look passed over your features when you glanced up at Gawtin. “This is the average size for a male?” you exclaimed, eyes darting between the fake phallus and those gorgeous purple eyes of hers. Gawtin had given you this after visiting the market today. The two of you have been talk about getting an item like that.

One of her upper mandibles lifted with a smirk. “Yes.” She bent at the waist to pinch your chin between her thick digits. “And that does not even include the knot.” Your eyes widened. You had forgotten that small detail. Males had a knot… part of their breeding and such.

Your bottom lip was caught between dull teeth, eyes raking down her form you knew so well but loved just the same. “I wish I could knot you,” you uttered softly into the air, dazed by checking your green Yautja out.

The grasp on your chin tightened and tugged you towards her. Her warm breath fanning over your face. “Is that so?” All you could do was just nod with your eyes softening. Her long, skinny tongue darted out and teased your lips for a second. “You will not be able to but you have a chance for something else,” she purred with a hint to why she bought that.

It’s the classic Qui-oki visiting his aunty again for the night. Bziut-ty knows the drill by now. Every time you left her dwelling after dropping Oki off, a heavy blush burned your cheeks. Yet, the sister to Gawtin was nonchalant about it. She happily took Qui-oki for the night with no complaints.

You attempted to wrap your fingers around the base of the shaft but came up short. “Are you sure this isn’t going to hurt you?” you couldn’t help but question. This thing would tear you into two without any preparation. For her, it seems like she could take it with little foreplay into the mix. No matter what, you would still do at least some foreplay. If not for her sake, for yours to make you feel more at ease before shoving this massive thing inside of her.

Gawtin chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I am more than sure, artful one. I want you to watch as it splits me open and I take it fully in. I cannot wait to see that look of surprise on your face.” She grinned and released her hold on your chin with a last kiss.

“Well… if you’re sure,” you trailed off and glanced down the hardwood floors of the house. Gawtin patted your head.

“Do you want to test it now?” Your head snapped to look up at her towering form.

“Like, right now?” It was stupid to question her like that but you couldn’t believe she was wanting to do that now. She just bought it. Well, that’s true. She did just buy it. Who doesn’t want to try a new toy the day you received it.

The forest green Yautja snorted and stepped further into your personal space. A space always welcomed for her. One of her hands splayed across a large portion of your back and pushed you to her. “Yes, this very second.”

Both of you were into your shared bedroom in less than a second. A giddy smile gracing your feature to hide your nerves. Despite her attempt to cool your anxiety, but the fact this thing was massive in your hands… you thought it was going to hurt her. Though, she does a little pain, biting and scratching are always welcomed.

The yellow toy was set on the bed. You stood before her, still fully clothed. Something Gawtin was going to fix. She hooked a claw on the strap of your tank top and pulled on it. Though, she could easily tear it off of you and replace it just the same, she gave you the option to remove it yourself. You raised a brow, eye flickering down to her own clothing.

“Honey, I think it’s you that needs to strip,” you pointed out, nearly demanding your mate to strip before you. Every time, you loved the sight of her muscles and even slightly pronounced breasts from breastfeeding Qui-oki.

Gawtin had to teach you a lesson. The massive female grabbed a handful of the clothe and ripped it straight off of your torso. You didn’t expect less from her and gave the green Yautja a deadpanned look. She ignored it by lowering herself onto her knees and cupping one of your freed breasts now. “I prefer to see you bare and at my will,” she purred and bowed her head to lick at your pebbled nipple. A low groan sounds from the back of your throat.

Your jaw drops at the feeling. “Gawtin, please. Be nice and strip for your mate,” you pleaded with the stubborn female. You saw the fire in her eyes flicker to life. Her tongue trailed up, followed by her lower mandibles up to the vulnerable column of your throat. They carved a path till your jawline before slipping off. You shuttered, body covered in goosebumps.

“Hearing you beg is Paya’s grounds,” she whispered against your ear, tongue ghosting over the shell of you ear. “Be good and ask properly.”

Now, you were beginning to pant, even with the light, little touches she gave to you. With your brows furrowed and lip pushed out, you up at her. “Gawtin, I want to see your body. I’ll be good. I promise. I want to fuck you. You’re so pretty. I want to see you take this dildo. Will you let me?” you rambled and your beautiful mate a look you knew she couldn’t resist.

“That is a good little ooman,” she praised and tapped your cheekbone with a claw. “All you need to do is ask sweetly, just like that.” Gawtin stood back up and stripped her body of any clothing.

Dumbly, all you could do was stand watch each piece of clothing fall away. It was like the first day you saw her naked. Adoration sparkled in your eyes even after the last article was placed to the side. “God, you’re my pretty woman,” you muttered and reached out to squeeze her hips. Your head only reaching her midriff, shoulders level with her hips.

She snorts and motions her head over to the bed. “Get the harness on, artful one. I’ll help adjust,” she ordered with a soft tone but you knew to listen to her. You padded over to the end fo the bed and found the item she told you about.

A black, simple harness that’s been modified for someone of your smaller stature and to fit the tank of a dildo she wants. It was simple enough to pull it up and secure it to your hips. Gawtin’s warm hands helped to tighten the harness so it wouldn’t fall off nor was it too tight. The toy itself was secured as well to the designated spot.

Your hand wraps what you can around the base and gave the firm silicon a few strokes. Your lover lies down on the bed and spreads her legs. You follow after her and kneel between her legs, eyes softly gazing at her. “Can I warm you up, my pretty warrior?” you asked with a hopeful gaze.

The Yautja raised a brow at you, letting the tension build up between you two. Then, her massive head dipped down in permission. You silently cheered and bent down, face to her exposed cunt. Though this wasn’t your first time, you still took in the sight.

Alien, but in a good way. Three clits, though longer than usual. You’ve learned they can grow up to two inches long when aroused. The folds themselves are ribbed and even inside are too. Definitely alien. And you loved it.

Softly, you wrapped your lips around the top clit, the biggest of the three. One of your thumbs runs a path along what would be considered the labia. The pad ghosting over the nubs that lined her entrance. Gawtin’s thighs tensed but refused to clamp down on your head, taking your fragile self into consideration. You lightly suckled on the sensitive nub you pulled into your mouth and ran your tongue over the flushed skin.

Her breath hitched while watching you, resting on her elbows. “Keep going, little one. Do not stop,” she commanded, voice in between soft and firm. Gawtin rolled her hips slightly against your face, your thumbpad teasing her nubs harder. You took it as a sign to press against the little sensitive bumps harder. She responded the way you expected her. A short growl escaped her throat. “That’s it.”

From the top clit, you moved to the one on the bottom left. That drew a soft sound from your mate. Her thighs flexed at your sides, barely moving any closer to you. You dipped a thumb just past her entrance to dampen the fingertip. The moist digit glides across the bumps easier, gaining a pace you she enjoyed.

The clit was released once it was flush with blood. For the first time, you tongued at her entrance and tasted her again. Your muscle scooping up what was possible and drinking in her taste. Such deliciousness that couldn’t be contested. You hummed, eyes hooding over, and returned to finishing the last clit. Her sweetness makes it hard to focus on one thing at a time. You just wanted to dive back in and consume the taste she created.

As you sucked, you slipped two fingers, just the size of one her own, into her. Her strong muscles rippled around your digit, trying to suck it in more. You stopped at the knuckle and kept your hand vertical. With those two fingers, you find a well defined ribbed area and push.

Gawtin growled lowly in her throat, muscles throbbing around your fingers. God, you loved that sound and the feeling. You continued to rub a small circle around the area and returned to loving on the first bud. It slightly twitched in your mouth, at it’s full length at this point.

“You know me so well, little one. Know all my spots. Such a good little artist,” she cooed, head rolling back and neck fully exposed. You hummed around her clit and sent vibrations up the length of her spine. Her thighs pressed against the sides of your head before pulling back. “Paya, you are playing a dangerous game, teasing me like that.” You smirked silently to your self and started to pump your fingers. Another finger added to the ring.

It barely did anything to stretch her out. Your hand being too small for the job. That didn’t bother more than did it worry you instead. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt her in a bad way. You added your last finger inside of her and kept pumping away.

Her arousal began to leak down the swell of her cheeks as you drew it out from her. You abandoned her throbbing buds to dip down and lick up what spilled. Your hand was withdrew from her and was replaced with your mouth. The taste of her returning to your tastebuds. A hum sounding from your pleased state.

In such a state, you didn’t even realize your hips were rutting against the mattress until you felt her hand on your hip. They stilled under her touch; breath caught in your throat. Your own slick was starting to drip down the inside of your thighs. The scent mingling with hers.

The hand slips more from your hip and towards your entrance. You mewled with her fingertips ghosted over your dripping folds and swiped up some of your arousal up. Gawtin brough it up to her mouth and licked off the sticky substance staining them. You shuttered and doubled down on her, tongue scooping what you could at the source.

Your mouth returns to her sensitive clits, hand diving back to rub at the spot deep inside of her. Gawtin’s walls started to pulse around your hand. Her noises gaining pitch, hips thrust harsher against your face. You severely focused on her, letting every other thought fall away besides just hurt.

With your other hand, you wrapped it around one of her thighs and pulled yourself snug with her. When her muscles clamped down on your fingers, you felt the bones creak under the strain but refused to pull back. You continued to suckle and lick at her buds, drawing out her orgasm the best you could. Your name was thrown in the mix with a magnificent whine you rarely got to hear.

Gawtin’s chest heaved with breaths as she gathered herself. You drew yourself onto your knees and placed the heavy cock on her mound. Deep down, you were excited to see this thing spilt her open, better than your fingers ever could.

When the dazed look started to fade from her eyes, you rubbed your hand over her stomach then dragged your nails down. They might be dull but she arched her back to press against them harder.

“There’s my wonderful mate. How was that?” you teased your very dominate mate. She growled that ended into a purr and exposed her throat to you. “Are you okay to continue? We-“

One of her hands lashed out and grabbed your throat. A soft yet firm grasp to keep you from pulling away. Gawtin pushed up to rest on her hand instead of her elbow to lean closer to your face. “If you do not put that thing into me now…” she trailed off, leaving open the threat. You couldn’t help but snort, knowing where she was coming from. All the times she’s teased you before coming to mind.

“If you let go of my neck, I can see what I’m doing.” There was just a hint of a snark in your words. One that Gawtin let slip past for the moment. She let go at your words. A smile was giving to her. You gazed down and lined up the pointed head of the yellow dildo at her entrance.

The fire in her eyes could rival the sun’s heat itself. Her desire heavy and thick in the air. You timidly pushed the head past her folds, watching as she consumed it. Gawtin’s cunt starting to stretch to accommodate the toy. Fuck, this was a sight you never knew you needed to see.

Each inch pushed deeper into her, you met no resistance, even when you hilted inside of her. A tiny part of you wished to feel what it would be like to have her wrapped around a real cock. “You look so beautiful stretched around my cock, Gawtin. You don’t understand what this does to me,” you admitted, raptured by the sight before you. You never thought this day would ever come.

She was back on her elbows and kept that sense of dominate aura around her. A soft look passed over her features. “Oh, I do know what you mean, little one. Every time I use my fin-ah,” she gasped when you pulled out and thrusted fully back in. “You sneaky little brat.” Her voice hardened. You smirked.

“You were saying?” With this tiny lick of dominance, you were acting like you had the whole universe in the palm of your hand. Her hand flicked out and wrapped around your throat all over again. Your thrusting stopped, eyes widening at the show of dominance over you. Again, she’s in charge.

Gawtin pulls you closer to her face. “When I stretch you with my fingers alone, you are a squirming, pleading mess underneath me,” she finished what she was originally going to say. You shuttered, your empty pussy clenching around nothing. “So, you better fuck me good, little one.” Her wish is your command. You rapidly nodded your head to get her to release your throat.

Thankfully, she did. Your hands grasp at her hips and pull back your own. A mix of her arousal and your saliva coating the toy. You shoved the entire length back into her, watching as it disappeared. You groaned lowly in the back of your throat and started up a pace. One of your thumbs moved to run tight circles around her top clit, still wet from your mouth earlier. Her walls tightened around the dildo.

“Paya’s grace, you know what you are doing,” she moaned and watched as you fucked her, eyes glued to the yellow toy moving in and out of her. “Tilt… tilt your hips down, little one.” Every little sound and word she made you soaked in. Instantly, you listened to her and angled your hips down to drive the head towards the ground.

Her abs flexed when you hit something your fingers could never reach. “That is it. Right-right there.” In the heat of moment, you accidentally sped up your thrusts, the praise making you lightheaded. “Slow. Slow down.” You whined an apology and returned to your former speed.

An array of sounds echoed back at you in the privacy of her room. The slapping of skin on skin; her keens; your pants. You bite your bottom lip to keep some of your control in check. Your finger continuously rubbing at her sensitive nerve endings.

Sweat pooled on your forehead. Though you felt your energy depleting, you were driven by determination to get her come. You wanted to leave a good impression on her so she’ll let you do this more often. You bowed down, keeps still angled down to rub against the sweet spot inside of her. “Shit, Gawtin. You don’t understand… how much I love you,” you rambled and gave her the sweetest eyes you could pull.

In her orbs, you saw something shift. But you had no time to prepare for when the scenery changed. You gasped after finding yourself on your back and staring up at Gawtin. The giant straddled your hips easily and positioned herself over the toy. Her body slammed down and engulfed the dildo back inside of her. She moaned, head bowed and began to ride the strap on still attached to your hips. Gawtin easily trapped both of your hands in hers and pinned them to bed. Her entire frame leaned over you as she took her pleasure from you.

“Gawtin?!” you shrieked afterwards, unable to move but not in any pain. She was taking what she wants from you. She dismissed your squeak, not stopping.

Gawtin leaned down and practically shoved her tongue past your lips. Her muscle dominated yours without much of effort. You were too stunned to fight back. You moaned though, back arched off of the bed. Her free hand found its back to your exposed chest and tweaked a nipple. Gawtin pulled back and stared deeply into your eyes.

“Ah, shit!” you squeaked and keened under her touch. “This is supposed t-to be about you!” With her riding you, it still was mainly focused on her pleasure, but you wanted to be strictly zeroed in on her.

All she did was growl, the fire in her eyes bright. Your bottom lip caught between dull teeth as you attempted to reel in your noises. You didn’t dare drown out what little sounds she made. Gawtin pulled harshly on your perked nipple with a huff. A knowing look passed over her features. You kept any other words to yourself if it wasn’t praise.

Fangs dug into the skin of your throat, on the verge of spilling blood. You pulled on your hands but the Yautja refused to let go.

The teeth moved to your shoulder, holding on tight. “Good girl, Gawtin,” you cooed and tried to thrust up to meet her hips. Yet, each time she slammed down practically bounced your body back up into hers. “You gonna come? Come all over my cock inside of you?”

A pitiful whine pierced the air. Her hips slammed once more with yours before stilling. All of her muscles flexed and twitched. Pain radiating from your shoulder, her teeth lodged into your skin. Another mark to add to the pile. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

Hands cupped your chin. Gawtin released her hold on you and looked at you. A smile broke across your face. “How was that, pretty girl?” you asked the goddess in a soft tone. Her face relaxed after making sure you were okay. Gawtin began to purr and rested her forehead to yours. “I think you liked that more than me.” At least you hoped so.

One of her hands left your face to touch at the bite mark on your shoulder. You couldn’t help but hiss at the pain. It wasn’t bad but definitely noticeable. “I would apologize but it will scar nicely,” she stated.

You couldn’t help the snort that left you. “I think everyone in the village knows I belong to you. Possibly the planet,” you teased her. Marking you is a favorite thing of hers. Anything to get you marked and smelling like her was her favorite. None of the males ever come up to you, especially when Gawtin is around. Expect those two times… those two males really learned a hard lesson.

Gawtin huffed before leaning up to stand on her knees. The dildo slips out of her and flops onto your stomach, covered in her essence. Before you had a chance to even think about cleaning anything, you were lifted up and off the bed. You yelped and scrambled to latch onto Gawtin. “What did I say about warning me?” She didn’t response and began to walk towards the bathroom. “Hey, I’m supposed to be one taking care of you.”

“It is my duty to care for you, little mate,” she stated. You groaned and leaned back in her hold, trusting her to keep you safe. “Complain all you want but I love caring for you.” You softened at her words and looked at her beautiful eyes.

“You’re such a big softy,” you jestered then leaned up, arms hooked around her neck to hoist you up. “You’re my big softy.” Then, you kissed her top two mandibles each. Blood still stained her inner fangs.

A purr started in her chest. The Yautja starts to run a bath for both of your sake and sets you down. You were able to strip yourself of the toy and tossed it into the sink for cleaning later.  “You never answered my question,” you brought up after the tub was filled with hot water.

She perked a brow at you. “I rode you like… like a horse into the sunset,” she responded with a smirk on her alien face. You pressed your lips together and looked away. “And you figure out your speed quickly. It was perfect. You are perfect, my little ooman.” Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked away from her shyly.

Warm water engulfed you. Gawtin sat you in her lap and wrapped her arms around. “You’ll let me go that, right?” you pleaded with a pouty look on your features. “Since I did so good.”

One of her hands stroked down your back, sending tingles along your skin. “Yes, you did earn the chance to do it in the future.”

Dominate as she is, she’ll let you have your moments of false control. You were swift to eat up each second she allotted to you.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Ayo Sidebar for the Writers

Am I the only one that genuinely feels really really bad for that person on here who hand draws those really really nice portraits of Miguel??

EDIT: THEY'RE DIGITAL WHICH IS ALSO INSANE BECAUSE THEIR ART STYLE GOES SO HARD EXCUSE ME

Because the amount of writers in this fandom that are comfortable with just taking and cropping their art for their fics is deadass disrespectful as hell.

Like.. it's everyday. Multiple people do it. You know the artist I'm talking about. Like -

Very bold of y'all. Stealing art then posting it in the SAME TAG as the artist like they wouldn't see it.

That takes a lot of nerve.

Some are y'all are cheeky and put it at the very end - some of y'all just don't fucking care.

'the signature is in the photo so-'

Okay but thank them. Tag them and shout them out and thank them. Thank them for making art that is bringing in readers.

Go ahead and thank them.

But you can't. Y'all won't. Cause you know they don't want you using their stuff without asking first.

Posting someone else's art with credit but without consent is already one thing. But y'all don't even care about credit.

But let someone take y'all writing and you'd be kicking off, rightfully so.

I feel real bad for that artist because their work is stunning and top tier and they're amazing talented.

Yet there's some ppl that be like -

'thanks!' *likes, doesn't reblog, crops their signature out and uses it without consent*

????????????

Like.. having uncredited art at the top of your fic doesn't make it look prettier or more inviting to me.

In fact it makes me wanna read it less. I try and check profile pictures so I remember who to avoid in the future.

Like every time I see it I'm like

Uuhh uuuum okay yeah -

Why should I respect your art when you clearly don't respect someone else's?

I'll open the fic and scroll to the bottom knowing they didn't give credit. Or they put it in tiny font.

That artist deserves better. A lot of artists in this fandom deserve better. Y'all do it to Miguel artists. Y'all do it to Hobie artists.

Not cool. Not cool. Lame. Boooo booooooooooo Me and Hobie shouting BOOOO!!

Writers, Artists are protective of their art too!

Not nice working 10+ hours on art just to see it on the post of a complete stranger with no credit or attempt to contact you for consent.

If you do this - you can change. Doing this may in fact be HURTING your numbers but driving people away. But the point is not the notes but respecting other people. If you do this, please stop. Credit them at the top if anything - some artists don't even want that.

Credit them AT THE TOP - not at the bottom. Everybody who scrolls by sees the art. The credit shouldn't be saved for the people who actually read the whole fic.

If you defend this - KICK ROCKS!!!!

[socstudies]

Hi, as someone who is going to be in their first year of college this fall, I'm curious about the note taking part

Is physical or digital note taking easier?

Is spending money on a laptop nessesary?

What is something you wish you would've done differently during your first year?

Do you have any advice?

If by any chance you see this, your blog and your aesthetic are amazing!

I'm wishing you a wonderful day/night.

If you do decide to reply, thank you in advance <3

helloo! sorry for the late reply & thank u for the ask! :)

ive tried both and i think i prefer handwritten notes, however they both have their pros and cons:

handwritten pros

proven to be better for retaining information

can't get distracted by other tabs

lighter to carry

costs less than a laptop

i've had some classes where we weren't allowed to use laptops so it's good to already be used to taking notes this way

cons:

much slower. sometimes i find im missing stuff and i have to go back to it at the end

have to print out diagrams etc if u want to include them

could possibly lose them, spill something etc

not enough space on desk for both laptop and notebook so u can't get slides up or google something

digital pros:

much quicker

easier to organise & pull up different notes at any time - u don't need to carry around or find older notebooks to be able to study or refer back to past classes

some people make notes directly onto the slides which u would have to print out if u wanted to do by hand

can also use for research and writing essays which u will need a computer for at some point so might as well do everything in one place

cons:

expensive

more stressful if u lose or break it

if u forget to charge it and u don't have paper .......

this upcoming year, im using a combination. most of the time i'll handwrite my notes, but for classes where they talk too quickly i'll type them (it's not worth the stress & extra time having to go back to recordings after). my notes for readings will be annotated straight onto the pdf. i'll be taking pictures of notes to put them all together.

---

unfortunately, i think it is because you'll need computer access to research and write ur essays, as well as to find course information etc. HOWEVER some universities (most?) have laptops that u can borrow and computers in the library, so if u know that you'll be motivated enough to get up and do all of ur work on campus, you could save this cost - bare in mind when u move off campus after first year it might be even harder. definitely look into this if cost is an issue for you! it doesn't need to be a fancy one if u do buy a laptop though, just remember u'll be carrying it around so don't get a super heavy one!

---

as for something i wish i'd done differently: as a sociology student, none of my classes have exams where i have to memorise things, instead it's all essay based. this led me to not 'study' i guess ??? like the stuff that i wrote my essays on, i knew like the back of my hand, but everything else i couldn't remember well. so if ur taking an essay based subject, remember that u still need to study a little & remember these things !! i was so overwhelmed tbh that i forgot about this oopsie!

---

extra advice:

when people say that after u skip one class, u'll skip the rest THEY. MEAN. IT. literally try so hard not to miss class bc you will never go again if u do. my classes would start off with not enough seats for everybody and end up with just a handful of us by the end of term.....

make time for urself !! it can become all consuming, especially if u live on campus, but pls make some dedicated time away from studying !!

u will find ur friends eventually. pls remember that it won't last or be that fun if u stick with friends who u don't have that much in common with just bc they were the first u met. tell me why i was going to bars and clubs with people in first term bc that;s what they wanted to do ????? it's ok to move onto different people bc u will eventually get tired of doing these things u don't like just to be able to hang out with people !! now i go to bookstores and cafes with my new friends and i love it!! don't settle !!

[image-thot]

All For What? Pt.1 - ES Shockwave x Cybertronian Reader

So this was technically only going to be a one-part thing but now... Well, now it's two. Anyway finally got some more mean Es Shockwave out here, I hope you all enjoy part 1 :D Summary: Onlining next to Shockwave is one of the most fighting things to happen to you until Shockwave reveals that he hasn't entirely moved on. Still thinking the Terrans are abominations and still despising Autobots. Thankfully he does admit that the answer to the war is new cybertronians, obviously only created from him. Notes: Reader is written gender neutral Warnings: None For this part however that changes in part 2

Word Count: 796

Your processor was cloudy as you came to, barely remembering what had happened before Mandriod had drained your energon.

You remembered helping the Terrans escape Ghost, trying to stop Shockwave from killing them and subsequently helping free him from the mind control chip. Then Ghost soldiers… no… droids… had attacked. Fighting erupted and then everything went dark.

You had felt cold and a sense of impending doom spread over your frame.

Then a bright light engulfed your processors, and warmth spread through your frame as your systems returned online.

"I'm… I'm alive." Your venting is shaking as your optics scan the farm, taking in the damage from the battle and the noticeable lack of your Terrans and the humans.

When you spot Shockwave you visually flinch. Not seeming to notice you, he watched curiously as Fluffy Ears licked at his astromag cannon. You were ready to defend her if Shockwave made a move to hurt the small calf. Attempting to stand, you are overwhelmed by the vertigo your systems face. You almost crash back to the ground, your servos catching you before you fully come tumbling down.

"The aftermath of any form of stasis isn't pleasant is it?" Shockwave's snide voice snaps your optics up, looking over at him once again.

He's staring at you, antenna pulled slightly back as his optic glows in what you assume is amusement. Slowly pushing yourself to your knees you glare at him.

"You could have warned me.." Huffing out as your optics leave him to scan the nearby debris. "The children… are they...?"

Your voice trails off as you look, you don't spot them nor any remnants of them. Shockwaves scoff brings your attention back to him, watching as he shoos Fluffy Ears away before shakily standing to his peds.

"Dead? No, those abominations live to fight another day it would seem." His words fill you with both relief and anger. The Terrans were alive somewhere and they were hopefully safe. Your anger rose from Shockwave's bigotry. Even after they had helped him he still views them in such low regard.

Watching as he moves towards the barn you growl, digits digging into the dirt you slowly push yourself up and stand on shaky peds. Giving yourself several moments before slowly following after the mad Con.

"Why do you deem them abominations when they are far from it?! Because you didn't create them and therefore you deem them so?!" Shouting as you attempt to follow him down, your pace much slower but not quieting your voice. "No! They are our future! They are-"

As you round the corner into the dugout your chassis collides with Shockwaves astromag cannon. Optics narrowing, you quieten yourself. Listening to the humming of his weapon as he stares you down, antenna twitching as he seems to decide on what to do with you. 

"Our Future?" The words are said with venom and the pressure on your chassis grows firmer pushing you back until you hit a wall. You grunt in discomfort and your servos shoot up to stop its advance less it pierces through to your spark.

"Earth’s perhaps, but not mine… Not Cybertron’s. No. Our Future won't be decided by a new species, one not even created by Cybertronians." Shoving your servos off his cannon as he moves it across your neck, his helm tilting to the side makes him seem amused but the tone in his words are anything but.

"They were created by the Emberstone. It makes them as Cybertronian as either of us." Choking back a pained cry as he pushes harder into your neck cabling, his other servo digs into your abdominal plating helm moving closer to yours as you fight back any signs of weakness.

"Stupid Autobot. The ember stone aided in their creation with the help of those flesh bags. Nothing more than failed experiments" He's playing with you now, perhaps his processor has finally succumbed to the damage taken over the years. 

Perhaps he really is just mad.

"You’d know all about failed experiments, so many Cybertronians that you’ve twisted into monsters." Your words spat out as you try and twist in his grasp, servos dropping to his trying to pull it off your abdominal plating.

“You’ve never created a real new life.”

Only drawing more pain from your abdomen as you struggle against the larger mechs hold. This was how you're gonna die, after the war ended to a Decepticon still living in the past.

“Of course, an Autobot would think that.” Scoffing as he softens his hold on your neck cabling, his helm drawing back from you as he studies you.

"Perhaps it's time for a new creation.." 

The words confuse you, has he actually changed his mind? No… that would be too simple.

[heartfullofleeches]

Cherry Milkshake

Yan + Candy Human Reader

A blurb of which a candy flavored darling makes a treat for their Yan

Warning: Spit/Oral Fixation, suggestive if you squint

"Hmph. Kinda thirsty... Oh!- A milkshake sounds good! You'll make it for me, right Gumdrop?"

Milkshake. Milkshake. That sounds like something you can do. At the very best, you could try considering how much they've done for you.

Figuring out the mortal world was tricky business. Luckily you ran into your good friend Sucrose before you got into too much trouble. They took you in, taught you the basics of human society, and even gave you a job at their bakery so they could keep a close eye on you. You were their little gumdrop - despite being mostly comprised of taffy and fruit syrup. Regardless, you cared for them at least a fraction of the love they barred for you.

"Yes!"

Lead through the instructions as they gathered everything, you patient wait at the kitchen table to take over for them. They had it all - vanilla extra, ice cream, milk. All that seemed to be missing was the blender to put it all in. Must've forgotten with so much excitement buzzing around. You get up as Sucrose slams down a cup in front of you to retrieve it - slender fingers leaving in indents on your sugary skin at the force they grab you.

" Gummy bear, ."Sucrose giggles, digits walking up the length of your arm." Silly thing - where do you think you're going?"

"To grab the blender?"

"Oh!" Sucrose slaps their free hand over their mouth. "Guess I'm the silly one here. What I told you is how they're made traditionally. What we're going to do is a little more... hands on."

They tap the side of the glass rhythmically, gazing up at your lips. You follow their eyes with your finger.

"Me?"

"Precisely. I'm in the mood for a cherry milkshake, you see - and you have the best flavoring."

Sucrose brings your hand to their lips and kisses it, licking the sweetness that coats them thereafter. Their teeth scrape your knuckles.

"But how would I even go about doing that myself?"

"Easy!- Use your mouth." Sucrose pops the lid on the ice cream and grabs the cup for demonstration. "Mix it up using your tongue and spit it back into the glass."

"That sounds unsanitary..."

"Not really - compared to other places I want to eat off you. Please, Gumdrop, I'm begging you."

"If it's what you really want." You pick up the spoon from the table. Grabbing a nice big spoonful of ice cream, the metal utensil clicks against your canines as you shove the spoon in your mouth. You stuff it in your cheeks for space; the malleable, taffy flesh giving you more room, but not much. The heat of your sticky tongue melts the cool cream into a pinkish sludge pooling in your lower jaw.

You get another scoop in, capping your fill at three. Your cheeks fluff up with each bite, so round and kissable Sucrose squeals at how cute they are. The froth leaking from the crevices of your mouth lead to thoughts holding less of that innocence. You grab the gallon of milk, shotgunning your measurements as you throw back your head and take a swig. Had you been a regular human the rapid flood would've made you gag, but without the reflex you held strong. Something Sucrose took note of for later.

Your cheeks being to harden from the coldness rubbed into their walls. You stir your tongue through the mixture, but it had neither the sharpness nor efficiency of a blender. You still manage to get it mixed well before remembering the final ingredient left before you could spit your crime against milkshakes out. Getting the vanilla extract in proved to be your downfall. Opening your mouth just a little lead to your muscles losing what had left and your mouth to fall open. Seeing the rise in your throat as everything spills over, Sucrose leans over the table and locks their lips to yours.

Mouth open wide, Sucrose dips into the kiss better positioned for the slurry funneled from your mouth directly into theirs. Thick, rich cream ripe with that artificially sweet cherry flavor. Searching through the blend, your hot tongue against theirs ups the flavor into that of a sundae with a perfect amalgam of warm and cold coupled with the addictive taste of cherry within. As much as they wanted to swallow it all, Sucrose reluctantly parts from you as their mouth quickly fills.

They turn your aim at the cup below, sticking two fingers in your mouth and pumping against your tongue to help flow. What comes out is that same vibrant pink of the walls of your mouth and flesh just a shade lighter. The shake and your saliva fill the cup half way.

"Wonderful. You did so good for me, Gumdrop - I'm so proud. What did I ever do to deserve someone like you~"

Sucrose pats your back and whispers words of encouragement as you spit - gasping halfway through.

"Forgot something!"

Your spit makes up for a quarter of the glass as Sucrose runs to the fridge and grabs a can of whipped cream. They hum to themselves, finishing the treat off with a mountain of the topping. With a straw the same color as your skin, hey ease into their seat ready to enjoy their delicious drink - but something still feels off.

"Hm.... still missing something... Wonder what it is..."

Sucrose eyes your legs, fixated on the mess from the table dripping onto your thighs. They grin. "Already think I have an idea."

[baby-yongbok]

Poetry

Chapter Five - Morning After

Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, sweet like candy

Summary: Will you die of embarrassment or will you make it through?

Word Count: 4,446

A/N: I wanted to do so much in this chapter but I'm trying to pace the story right. I hope it isn't too boring lol this the first fluff series I've ever written and my first slow-ish burn series ever in my years of writing. I hope that you enjoy it! + If you haven't already, I highly recommend reading the previous parts before this one so that you get the ✨full experience✨. See you next Thursday at 6 💕

Part Four

✧Poetry Series Masterlist✧

✧Main Masterlist✧

Is this even real? You’ve been asking yourself that for the past twenty minutes while you’re cuddled into Hyunjin’s side laughing about any and everything. Did you guys really just kiss? You find yourself sneaking your hand up to your lips every few seconds as the feeling lingers, you’re not ready to let it go just yet. 

“So did you ever find out what it was?” Hyunjin asks, curious to know more details about your haunted childhood home that you’re telling him about.

“Nope, but I truly believe that It was a ghost.” Hyunjin shakes his head, staring up at your ceiling. “How did we end up telling ghost stories?”

“I asked what made you afraid of lightning and it all spiraled from there.”

“Ah, right.” You glance over at your digital clock but there are no numbers on display. You were so tangled in your own world with Hyunjin that you completely forgot that the power went out. 

“What time is it?” Hyunjin sits up and you follow. He looks around for his phone as you make your way to your vanity for yours. 

“11:23pm” Your voices clash with each other as you both answer at the same time, you both follow with a chuckle and Hyunjin stands from your bed.

“I should probably get going.” He stretches, taking a quick peek out of your window to gauge the storm's intensity. It’s nothing like it was earlier, it’s actually way worse. 

“I am not letting you walk home in that.” You protest, taking a peek out of the window yourself. The sidewalks are damn near flooded. 

“I walked here and I was fine.”

“You were soaking wet.”

“That’s nothing.” Hyunjin shrugs, you cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him. He flashes a cute playful smile at you and you roll your eyes, taking a step towards him.

 “I’m not letting you walk home in that, it's too dangerous and you’ll definitely get sick.” Hyunjin shrugs again, his smile not fading. He steps closer and you can't help but feel your heart flutter, you scoff, turning towards your closet and making your way over to it.

“You’re staying the night.” Hyunjin chuckles lightly, you can hear his bare feet against your floor as he circles the bed over to your closet.

“I saw that coming.” You reach for some extra blankets at the top of your closet, stretching yourself to get to them. “I got it.” 

Hyunjin gently places his hand on the small of your back before reaching up to grab the blankets. You feel that familiar electricity run up your spine but this time it’s less of a surprising sensation and more of a relaxing one. “Anything else?” Hyunjin peers down at you, waiting for your answer.

“You tell me, you’re the one sleeping on the floor.” You shrug as you meet his gaze. He tongues his cheek, sighing sarcastically

“I don’t even get the couch?” 

“Our couch is way worse than the floor, trust me. That thing graduated university with me.” 

“Ew, okay, I’ll take the floor.” He takes note of what he’s already taken down from the closet before asking for another blanket, you point to one on the other side of your closet and just as he reaches for it you both hear a loud crash coming from somewhere in your apartment. You both turn towards the door, brows pinched together as you listen closely for any other sounds. 

“Let me check on that.” You start walking towards your door and Hyunjin follows close behind. You stop suddenly, turning to look at him with furrowed brows. “You don’t have to come.”

“You want me to let you investigate a loud sound in your apartment with no power on?” Hyunjin asks slowly and sarcastically. “Make it make sense.”

“Fine.” You sigh, you’re sure that I was nothing, probably just the wind. You open your bedroom door and creep out slowly, using your phone flashlight to illuminate your path. Hyunjin follows, his eyes busy scanning everything around him. Once you start to approach the kitchen you can hear the sound of glass clinking. You follow the sound and find another flashlight in the kitchen held by your distracted roommate. He’s got his headphones on as he cleans up the mess that he made, unfortunately that mess was your antique thrift shop vase shattered with the orange roses that Hyunjin gave you sprawled out on the tile. 

“Ugh, really Bin?” You groan just loud enough to grab Changbin’s attention. 

“Ah, sorry about this, I was looking for more matches and I knocked it over. I’ll buy you a new vase.” You nod, taking a couple of steps closer to check out the damage. Just as you’re about to comment, Changbin asks you a question that makes your heart skip. 

“How was your date? Was I right?” You look up at him with wide eyes and try to subtly shake your head. There’s no way that he’s asking you this and Hyunjin is right behind you, does he not see the tall dark haired man standing right there? Is he blind?

“I wasn’t right? He didn’t kiss you?” You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and dramatically palming your forehead. “What?” 

“Hey.” Hyunjin speaks before you can, taking a step forward and awkwardly waving at Changbin. “I’m Hyunjin, nice to meet you.” 

You can hear Hyunjin trying to hold his laughter and you cringe a bit from embarrassment. How could Changbin do this to you? You definitely won’t let him forget this.

“Oh shit, Uh nice to meet you, man. I’m Changbin.” Your roommate introduces himself then looks over at you. “You could’ve warned me.”

“You could’ve kept your mouth shut until the morning.” You roll your eyes, sighing dramatically. “He’s staying over, I’ll see you in the morning. Try not to humiliate me again, please.” 

You and Hyunjin turn around to walk away and Hyunjin mutters a quick good night before retreating back into your room. Before you can get too far you hear Changbin whisper yelling your name and you turn back towards him. “Was I right?”

You groan, turning around and flashing your middle finger in your roommate's direction before walking away. When you get back to your room Hyunjin is fiddling with the blankets you gave him, starting to set up his spot on the floor. You go over to the head of your bed to pick out some pillows for him, you both move in silence for a minute or two until Hyunjin clears his throat. 

“So -” 

“Don’t.” You cut him off before he can finish and he immediately bursts into a fit of laughter. You groan, trying your best not to laugh with him. “Do not make me relive the embarrassment.”

“Come on.” Hyunjin grabs your wrist as he tries to stop laughing. He pulls you into him, hugging you but you don’t hug him back. “You wanted me to kiss you tonight?”

“No.”

“No?” Hyunjin pulls back to look down at you, amusement written all over his face. You roll your eyes, pouting a bit as you realize that you have no way out of this.

“I mean, I wanted you to, yeah. But, Changbin predicted that you would, so that's why he asked if he was right.” Hyunjin nods, still smiling down at you.

“Are you going to talk about me when I leave?”

“Please don’t make me answer that.” You stomp your feet dramatically.

“That’s a yes.” He lets you go and you plop down onto your bed face down. “What are you doing?”

“Dying of embarrassment.” Hyunjin sits next to you on the bed, ruffling your hair playfully.

“Please don’t die before I get to take you on a second date.” You sigh dramatically into the mattress and Hyunjin smiles as he watches you. How could you be so cute?

“Too late, I’m withering away, this is the last you’ll see of me. I’ll be nothing but dust in the morning.” Your voice is muffled by the mattress and Hyunjin chuckles at the sound.

“Why are the ones that read always so dramatic?” You roll over, gasping at him and pretending to be offended. Your hand lays over your heart, exaggerating your reaction.

“I am not dramatic.” 

“Hey, I am too. I’ve been called a drama queen for years but clearly you’re coming for my crown.” You roll your eyes, pulling yourself onto your feet and dusting yourself off. 

“This is why you’re sleeping on the floor."

Your alarm wakes you up at 6:30 am just like it does every other morning. The sun has yet to rise but you can already hear the birds singing. You sit up, stretching a bit with a yawn, you look over to your left and stare for a second before leaning over the edge of the bed a bit to get a closer look. Hyunjin is still fast asleep, he’s turned on his side with one arm draped lazily over his chest while the other holds his phone. You faintly remember falling asleep before him last night. The two of you ended up talking until about two in the morning, you can never seem to stay up later than that since you start your day so early. Hyunjin stirs a bit in his sleep, huffing out a breath and moaning lightly as he brings his knees closer to his chest. You watch him, admiring how peaceful he looks curled up on your floor. 

Your admiration is cut short when he mumbles something in his sleep but it’s not just anything, it's your name. You stare down at him in shocked silence before pulling back and laying back against your pillows. Your wide eyes scanned the ceiling searching for confirmation, did you really just hear that? Did he really just say that? You close your eyes for a second, trying your best to refocus. You don’t have time to wonder what his dream is about. You need to get ready to start your day… but what was it about? You shake your head, sitting up and forcing yourself to start moving. If you’re going to obsess over it you might as well be productive. You step out of bed quietly, making sure not to bump into anything. You circle your bed and make your way over to your door. Just as you’re about to turn the knob your second alarm starts going off, you jump at the sound before turning around and rushing over to turn it off. You pick up your phone quickly, fumbling with it before you finally swipe the alarm off. You exhale heavily and glance over at Hyunjin, you smile a bit as you take in his unbothered frame still sleeping peacefully. He’s a heavy sleeper, huh? That must be a good dream.

You take your phone with you as you make your way out of your room, closing the door carefully. You make your way to the bathroom across the hall to get started on your morning routine. You wash your face and brush your teeth as your mind shifts through all of the possible reasons that Hyunjin would say your name in his sleep. Maybe he’s dreaming about your date or some cool adventure. Maybe you just made a quick appearance in the dream and you were there and gone in a flash. You look in the mirror, checking your face for any blemishes when a certain thought sticks out at you, maybe it was a wet dream. Your eyes widen and you almost want to smack yourself for thinking that. You two literally just had your first date, there’s no way that he’s having a wet dream about you, but time doesn’t really matter in the dream world does it? You splash some cold water on your face to pull yourself out of your thoughts before going back to your room, the last thing that you need is to spiral into a fit of ‘What if’s’. As you’re going back to your room you can hear music coming from Changbin’s. He always wakes up at least half an hour before you do to get a head start on working out before the two of you eat breakfast together. You both take turns preparing breakfast and today was his day to cook. 

When you get back to your door you turn the knob gently, trying your best not to make any noise. When you open the door you’re surprised to see Hyunjin sitting up from his spot, his knees tucked into his chest and his head resting on his crossed arms. You close your door just as gently as you opened it, not wanting to scare him. He hasn’t looked up at you so you assume that you did a pretty good job at sneaking in until you hear a sniffle. You freeze as you watch him. He’s still, no shaking or micro movement but he sniffles again and you notice him trying to subtly wipe his eyes, he’s crying. You slowly walk over to him, kneeling down when you get close enough and crawling over to close the gap between you two. He doesn’t move, it’s almost like he didn’t even notice you were there. You don’t say a word, instead you lay your hand on his back, rubbing large circles against his t-shirt. You can feel him relax a bit as you soothe him, his shoulders drop a bit and his back muscles untense. You two sit in silence for a couple of seconds until Hyunjin moves, in a swift yet slow motion he uncurls himself and sinks into you. His head finds your chest and his arms snake around your torso, holding you close. You gasp as the sudden change but quickly settle once he’s comfortable. 

“Sorry about this.” He mumbles, his face halfway pressed into your collar bone. “I had a nightmare.”

Your heart skips and your thoughts begin the race as his words skin in. He had a nightmare with you in it?

“Do you want to talk about it?” You want to know more, both in an attempt to comfort him and in a selfish attempt to calm your rising anxiety.

“No, I'd rather just try to forget about it.” You mumble a small ‘okay’ and attempt to put your anxiety aside to comfort him properly. After about a minute of hugging you he pulls away, he looks over at you with puffy eyes and a small grin on his face. 

“I’m alright.” He nearly whispers as he wipes his face. “I have nightmares often but sometimes they’re terrifying, I guess last night was one of those nights.”

You nod, trying to drown out your thoughts. Not only did he have a nightmare with you in it but he had a terrifying nightmare that literally brought him to tears, that’s great. 

“I’m always here if you want to talk about it.” You try to sound as affirming as you can and it clearly worked since Hyunjin flashed you a more sincere grin this time. You decide to try and stop your spiraling once again by attempting to get ready for your day and trying to help distract Hyunjin. You stand from your seat on the floor, pulling him up with you. He’s a bit reluctant but he follows you, towering over you as soon as he stands completely. You reach both of your hands up towards the ceiling, your pajama shirt lifting a bit as you do. Hyunjin watches you with furrowed brows and you smile.

“Come on, stretch with me.” He smiles back for a second before joining you, a heavy sigh followed by a long whine leaving his lips. You chuckle as you transition into your next stretch.

“You stretch like a five year old.”

“Hey, I do not.” His morning voice catches you off guard now that you can hear it clearly. You expected it to be a bit raspy but you didn’t expect it to be that deep. You blush a bit at the sound of it as you twist your torso and Hyunjin follows. 

“You do.” Hyunjin pouts in your direction, making a sound that a child would make, proving you right.

“I do not.”

You managed to get Hyunjin in higher spirits after some stretching and a bit of play fighting. Apparently calling him by his full name makes him tackle you and tickle you until you agree to never say it again. You put on your morning playlist, humming to the music as your favorite songs played and Hyunjin helped you pick out your outfit for the day. He shifted through your closet for what seemed like forever, picking things out and putting them back until he found a skirt and sweater comb that he thought gave off the ‘Autumn Spirit’. You dressed up the outfit, adding some warm tights and a jacket while he grabbed all of his stuff. Once he was ready he picked out some jewelry for you to wear but there was one piece that you weren’t familiar with.

“Is this yours?” You watch him as he fastens a bracelet around your wrist. The silver chain was a bit heavier than you expected.

“Mhm” He responded happily, watching your reaction closely.

“Does it cost a thousand dollars? It’s so heavy.” Hyunjin laughs as you run your fingers over the cool metal. You rotate the bracelet until the silver name plate shows the brand written in bold letters on the front of it. “This is Versace?”

He smiles at your bewildered tone. “Hyunjin I can’t take this, what if I lose it? What if I break it? This bracelet could probably pay my student loans.”

“Well, it’s only a five hundred dollar bracelet so it’s not that bad.” You stare up at him wide eyed and he tries his best to not laugh at your expression. “ And you can give it back to me when you see me again.”

“You’re not going to act like you didn’t just say that this chain on my arm is five hundred dollars.”

“Angel, it’s not that bad.” You open your mouth to rebuttal but you get stuck on the name that he just called you, he’s never called you anything but your actual name before. A deep blush creeps up your neck and over your cheeks and you look back down at your wrist, studying the expensive jewelry. 

“Fine, I’ll wear it.” You smile down at the chain before turning to grab your bag from the end of your bed. “Did you want to stay for breakfast?”

“I should actually get going so I can return this suit to Han, he’s been texting me about it for the past thirty minutes and if I don’t get it back to him soon our next date will be my funeral.” You chuckle, watching as Hyunjin grabs his stuff and puts his messenger bag over his shoulder.

“We don’t want that now do we?” You look in the mirror one more time before turning to face Hyunjin. He’s grinning at you, his eyes taking you in slowly. “What?”

“You just look beautiful today.” 

“You’re only saying that because you picked out this outfit.”

“I’m saying it because you look stunning in everything.” He takes a step towards you, looking down at you with sparkling eyes but you can’t decipher the emotion behind his gaze. “And because I picked out your outfit.” 

He smiles wider once you gasp at him dramatically. He leans down and lands a quick kiss on your forehead, causing the blush on your cheeks to deepen all over again. 

“Get out.” You playfully roll your eyes and Hyunjin chuckles.

“Yes ma’am.” You both make your way over to your bedroom door and Hyunjin opens it, moving to the side so you can exit first. Just as the two of you are approaching the kitchen you hear Hyunjin mumble something before following up.

“Ah, I forgot my charger. I’ll be right back.” He turns around, heading back to your room to grab his forgotten item and you decide to wait for him in the living room. Just as the kitchen comes into sight you hear a very excited voice call your name. You light up a bit as your eyes land on her, Serena, Changbin’s girlfriend, is sitting at the kitchen island across from him. You and Serena get along well, maybe a bit too well. She and Changbin have been dating since your Junior year of University, if there’s anyone that you would think to be couple goals it’s definitely them.  

“Serena! What did I do to deserve such a beautiful woman in my house this early in the morning?” You make your way over to hug her, trying your best not to mess up her very sophisticated pants suit. 

“I bought breakfast so that I could get the tea while it’s hot.” You looked around the kitchen searching for actual tea but when you didn’t find any the look on Serena’s face gave you all the answers you needed.

“You told her?” You ask Changbin with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Of course I told her. We’ve been trying to get you laid for like three years, this is a big development.” Your cheeks flush once you hear a bit of shuffling coming from down the hall, Hyunjin’s coming back, fuck. You shake your head quickly, putting your finger over your mouth and Changbin quickly gets the message. Unfortunately, Serena wasn’t as quick.

“Come on, tell me everything. Is he cute? Is he a good kisser? I need the tea immediately.” You sigh, slapping your hand against your forehead and you hear Hyunjin stop behind you. Serena’s jaw falls open as she takes in the tall man behind you who is probably as red as a strawberry from trying to hold back his laughter. 

“Good morning.” He says with a smile before taking a step towards Serena and holding a hand out towards her. “I’m Hyunjin, nice to meet you.”

“Well hello there.” Serena takes his hand as her eyes rake over Hyunjin’s frame slowly, taking in every detail. “I’m Serena, Changbin’s girlfriend. It’s nice to meet you”

“The pleasure is mine, Serena.” Hyunjin lets go of her hand and then turns to you with a smile. You avoid his amused gaze, trying to find something else to focus on as he takes a step over to you, nearly closing the gap between you two.

“So -” 

“Don’t” Hyunjin chuckles, trying his best to not fall into a fit of laughter. How many times can you be embarrassed in the span of twelve hours? 

“Don’t be shy, angel.” You pull your lips into a thin line as your heart flutters. That pet name is not helping, it’s only furthering the embarrassment. 

“Maybe I’ll let Han kill you.”

“Hey, don’t you want a second date?”

“I’m not so sure.” You glance up at his smiling face for a second before looking away, you can’t help but to smile a bit in return. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

Hyunjin nods at you before turning back to your very captivated audience. You roll your eyes at Changbin and Serena’s smirks as you pass them, making your way over to the front door. 

“Have a good day, it was wonderful meeting you.” Hyunjin bows to them slightly and they both say a quick good-bye. Serena’s gaze follows Hyunjin as he walks away and Changbin leans over the island to push her shoulder. 

Once Hyunjin reaches you he slips on his shoes and you open the door for him. 

“I’ll text you when I get home.” You nod with a small smile and Hyunjin pulls you into a hug, it’s firm yet gentle and you can’t help but to melt into him a bit. “I hope that you had a good time last night.”

“I had a great time, really. That was probably the best date that I’ve ever been on.” Hyunjin pulls away, a look of satisfaction on his face.

“Now I have to top that.” 

“Good luck.” You tease and Hyunjin rolls his eyes.

“I’ll see you later.” Hyunjin’s eyes search yours for a second, and he gives a small, gentle smile. He leans in and gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek before whispering “And don’t worry, I’m going to talk about you too.”

Your face heats up and your heart sings a bit with excitement. He stands tall and takes a couple of steps away from you. “Don’t forget to mention how pretty I am.” You tease and he smiles wider.

“I’ll put it on the list of things to say.” He waves at you and you wave back. He gives you one last look before he turns around, making his way down the hallway and over to the elevator. You step back inside, closing the door gently and taking a deep breath. You slowly make your way back over to the kitchen, smiling like a child who’s just won a prize at the arcade.

“Binnie, when’s the last time you saw her smile like that?” Serena asks her boyfriend as she eyes you.

“I don’t think that I’ve ever seen her smile like that.” 

“Okay, come on, spill everything, we need all of the details. Changbin, make her a plate, we don’t have any time to waste.” Changbin instantly grabs a plate and puts a bit of everything that you like on it. You can hear their voices but you aren’t really listening, you're too busy smiling at the butterflies in your stomach. You snap out of it when Serena grabs your wrist and pulls you over to a bar stool, prompting you to sit next to her. Her and Changbin stare at you expectantly and you sigh, picking up your fork and starting to eat. 

“What do you want to know?”

“Did he kiss you?” Changbin asks quickly and you shake your head. They both gasp, Serena claps excitedly and your roommate puts his fist in the air as if he’s won something. “I called it.”

“The real question is, was it a good kiss?” Serena asks with raised brows and you stop eating immediately. They both lean in, waiting for you to answer while you play back the memory. The reminiscent feeling of Hyunjin’s lips on yours makes you grin a bit as you bounce your leg excitedly. You close your eyes for a second to fully immerse yourself in the memory before opening them and looking over at them. You exhale deeply before smiling. 

“It was so so good.”

← Previous Chapter ♡ Next Chapter →

[nuzzle]

Hi~

I saw your post about how lolita fashion (and ads for it) have changed in the last few years, especially for Angelic Pretty, and I agree completely!

I think the lack of creative ads these days might be b/c Gothic & Lolita Bible isn't around anymore? (cries) and Kera went purely digital ages ago, I don't know if it's even still around (I should have kept my old Kera magazines). But I remember how I always used to look forward to seeing the clothes and layouts that were featured in the new issues of each magazine.

My favorite when I first got into lolita was from the Wedding issue of the English edition of GLB; a model for Baby was wearing a lovely, tulip print skirt (or was it the jsk?) in blue, holding a parasol and sitting at a cafe table. Something about her looked so sweet and simple; I wanted to be a lolita just like that!

The models in the magazines always looked like they were happy or having fun, which I think is part of what made me want certain dresses or blouses. In AP's current ads, the model just looks... kinda sad and pouty and bored. I've noticed that for a lot of their dresses, they've been skimping on the lace, frills, and ribbons, and there's no more cute hair styles either! Meanwhile, wasn't it AP that brought lolita from old school to New School / OTT sweet when they had models wearing pastel pink / blue wigs for their Mermaid Symphony (iirc) photoshoot back in 2007?

On a different, but kinda related note, I've noticed that in the past 5 years or so AP has been making a lot of dresses with ridiculously high waists.... also so many sack dresses (I know they started doing this back in like 2012 or so with that polka-dot M&M print dress)

Sorry for the long rant, I just really miss the old days of lolita fashion

hello there!

i'm always glad to have some feedback when i post rambles and thoughts on things. i never expect it, so thank you for your input! it's also comforting to know others feel the same way.

i agree that without as many publications in general (especially physical) there's less of a reason to put as much effort into details, like the magazine spreads that were commonly done for example. most people get information on releases online these days, making physical catalogs a bit obsolete.. aside from collectors. i greatly miss all of the graphics and how inspirational everything felt back then, especially the little PNG pictures of items in catalogs.

you're completely right about pictures from GLB's and other magazines looking generally "happier" and more like daily life sort of pictures, like the one in the cafe you mention. that aspect of it appealed greatly to lifestyle lolitas! seeing a dress pictured in a "real life" situation rather than just a plain white background photoshoot picture makes a huge difference. it brings it to life, and makes it a lot easier to see yourself wearing it.

i think a big change in marketing is that AP doesn't cater as much to lifestylers.. and lolitas who are very much interested in the fashion beyond a surface level and see them as more than just clothes. all of the photos now actually feel like advertisements, when they used to also be appealing from a photography perspective. like they're only trying to sell you a product and not an experience, even if only visual. for me, that takes away from it a lot.. it almost feels as though that sense of community, and the acknowledgement that lolita is a subculture, is dwindling.

plus, it's definitely more than just presentation that's changed as you said. i feel as though the designs AP offers have been super uninspired compared to old releases. not as many details, not as much custom lace, and the general silhouettes becoming a bit lazy.. tons more, but i could go on for days. even the revamp and progression of the lyrical bunny mascot has felt a bit soulless. very sad to see, because i do agree that they were the brand to introduce OTT sweet in a revolutionary way.

as much as i gripe about old vs new AP changes, the positive side is that we can still look back fondly on the old era!

and no problem at all! it was nice to hear another perspective on this. ^^

[boxofbonesfic]

"why am i even bothering to write and post anything at all?"

"ngl that makes me not want to post anymore lmfao"

Because you have people reading???? Like tf? I'm not trying to be rude, but while you are lamenting over racist people not reading your work (as are other writers that I follow) don't forget about the people who do engage, read, comment, send ask, gently requesting updates to stories because writers get pissed off if updates are demanded, and champion your writing. Some of us actively searched for black writers and stories.

I understand wanting a lot of engagements, I do, but I'm starting to feel shafted as a reader who is doing all the things these writers ask for and yet read these posts in which the writers threatened to quit writing fics because there's only 100 notes. Have you looked through the notes? Do you not see familiar usernames over and over again? So it's not many of us, and that is truly unfortunate, but the group is loyal. Stray words and so many others have already left.

Just like you're feeling unappreciated as a writer, I'm feeling unappreciated as a reader because yall (poc writers) essentially tell me there is nothing more that I can do to make you feel wanted enough to stay.

I'm sorry you feel like this, but the reality is that we're black. Whether in real life or digital, this is how the world treats us. We will have to work harder for less. It shouldn't be like this, but life aint been fair to us for centuries now. I do what you ask, so I ask that you focus on the small group of us that follow your writing through.

…i’m sorry that people sending me racist asks effects me? i’m human, too? i’m a person too? like i’m not made of stone, people being cruel to me does hurt me, it does leave lasting effects on my mental health? i didn’t threaten to quit writing, i talked about how that ask, combined with my ever decreasing engagement made me feel.

of course i look through my notes. conversely, do you see me responding to comments? asks? i’ve posted several times now about trying to commit to a more regular update schedule, about finishing my outstanding work. have you not seen any of that? i’m not leaving, but am i not allowed to speak on my experience? i’ve been back a week, and i’m already getting racist anons.

chastising me for being human and feeling a way when people are cruel to me is not how you get consistent updates, nor is it how you encourage me to stick it out. just because that’s the reality doesn’t make it right, and it doesn’t make it easier as a black content creator. i’m trying to be here, to update consistently, to be the change i want to see, but it is fucking hard, it is painful, and i’m sorry that you don’t like hearing that. feel free to follow my library blog to avoid it, i only reblog updates and new work there.

we have a saying in Jamaica: “pressure bust pipe”. i’m sorry black authors have been dropping like flies, but we are people. how much are we supposed to take without saying anything? i really don’t know what else to say other than that i’m trying.

sorry.

[noowayybroo]

HC again - Leon gets some piercings for you because he wants you to swoon

Warnings: I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT LEON OR RE, PLS FORGIB, MAINLY SWEET RE2 LEON BUT APPLY WHEREVER YOU WANT, MENTION OF NEEDLES, PIERCINGS, STABBIN' but not graphic and not really painful, real soft Leon, IMPLIES READER IS PIERCED. BIT NSFW IT'S A BIT SUGGESTIVE I'M SORRY

Reader age, relationship, gender etc unspecified so have fun!!!

Leon stares at you from his chair, within arms reach but as if he were tens of meters away. He's gripping his arm-rests firmly but clearly trying to look cool as he looks around and back at you, making large head motions that sway his fringe around dramatically.

This is how I usually act, right? He thinks, slightly desperate as he smirks and nods at you, giving you his best 'I'm so calm, cool and collected right now', but harbouring on rizz face.

His right leg bounces up and down quickly but not too harshly but this is also just a sign of his general anxiety.

Leon had no idea what piercings you'd liked on a guy. In fact, he'd told you that he just wanted to get a piercing, and wondered if you'd like to come along. Convenient. He thought of getting ear-piercings but didn't want to be too boring. Then he thought you might like a tongue or lip piercing. He shivered at the thought of how you might pay attention to them-...

Aha! That was it! A septum piercing! All the cool boys had one, he thought, and he noticed how you seemed to always notice them. Besides if either of you didn't like it, he could just flip it up and hide it. So that's what Leon was gonna do today, he was gonna get his nose stabbed, because he wanted you to find him hot... A subtle gesture that you definitely wouldn't correlate to him liking you, no less.

Leon was smiling at you and making small-talk until the piercer appeared, preparing his tools and explaining the procedure to Leon. Suddenly his voice was dry and hoarse. His replies were curt, one worded and stuttered, "Y-yeah?" "Uh-uhuh" "S-sure, sure y-yep..."

His leg shook a little more wildly and his hands tightened their grip on the leather arm-rests, causing the material to bulge between his whitened digits. The piercer, being a little worried, checked Leon was ok, to which Leon, trying to act cool assured him that he's 'been through much worse' and is "SO READY, man!".

After a lot of convincing, as the needle approached Leon's nose, his hand quickly shot out, grabbing yours tightly. You could feel how sweaty and clammy he'd been. And was he... shaking? Poor thing. He was terrified. You watched as his wide eyes relaxed a little at holding onto you, especially as you held him back.

He quickly realises he's not being 'cool enough' and takes a deep breath, narrows his eyes and stares forward. Leon's hopefulness is clouding his vision. The game is over, you know he's a terrified little puppy, and an adorable one at that, but he's trying so hard to be brave, just for you, so you make a note to humour him after as you stroke his hand reassuringly, trying not to giggle.

After Leon is pierced and a nice ring sits in his nose, his hand jumps up fast (almost hitting a disgruntled piercer) to wipe up a stray tear welling in his puppydog manly eye and glares at you as if trying to will your subconscious gently into forgetting what it saw. He swallows thickly and folds his arms, macho.

"You were so brave in there, I'd have been balling my eyes out", you lie generously to him on your walk home. Part of him wonders if that's the truth as he gazes at all of the jewellery on you that highlights just how stunning and flawless he sees you as every day, but the majority of his shy ego lets his chest well up and his face redden at your comment. He very nearly accidentally lets the words "anything for you" slip out, but substitutes it for a shaky chuckle, still in some bruising pain.

For the next few weeks, months even, Leon LOVES to hear you compliment his new decoration. He points to it jokingly and uses it to 'win' arguments about him being a wuss, him not like piercings, him not being a bad boy or living on the wild side, etc.

He loves having this similarity to you, and wholeheartedly believes it's brought you both closer. He loves using it to include himself with you. "Us metal heads" and "us absolute rebels" are some of the very cheesy, very cringe things he likes to say whilst pulling you close into a strong, brief embrace with one arm.

He's thinking about getting more piercings. Especially some of the ones you have and like because he thinks you're absolutely smokin' with them, so it might help him. He's also thinking about that tongue one for... reasons. He also thinks sometimes about any hidden ones you might have... that he might be able to tempt you into showing him with the excuse that 'he has one so it's ok!' Or the reasoning that he's curious and wondering what looks good. Cheeky boy!

Ultimately, Leon respects you so much more now, if that were even possible. That was such a small piercing he got yet it hurt like a bitch. You, in his eyes, were an absolute beast. He loved you so, so much.

[cowgurrrl]

Don't Blame Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (except this is all backstory)

Author’s note: we interrupt your regularly scheduled rockstar!joel content for the LFTL prequel

Summary: September 26, 2003 [5.0k]

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, talks of food insecurity, outbreak day, canonical type violence, brief brief vague mention of threat from baby daddy, reader being a badass because I said so

“Jane Eloise, let’s go!” You yell through the apartment, struggling to hold your purse, coffee, Jane's backpack and lunchbox, and a file full of paperwork that came home with you last night. You can hear her shuffling things around in her room from where you're standing in the kitchen, already ten minutes late.

"I can't find my backpack!" She shouts.

"I have it! I just need you to get in the car!"

"Oh!" She chirps as she bounds into the kitchen, her light-up shoes sparkling with each step. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail adorned with bows to keep her hair out of her face throughout the school day, and she's wearing her favorite Fleetwood Mac shirt. You don't even want to know what you look like after rushing around, trying to get both of you ready for the day, but you feel less stressed knowing she doesn't look like she has a mom that doesn't brush her hair. You hand her the backpack and lunch box, fastening the straps over her little shoulders, and make a beeline for the door.

You wave to your neighbor, Ms. Watson, who barely spares you a glance which is strange considering how she almost always says good morning to you and Jane. Maybe she's just having a bad day. Jane buckles herself into her booster seat as you try to balance your coffee on top of your car but end up spilling it all down your arm and the side of your car. You curse under your breath as you shake coffee out of the papers you were holding and search your messy car for napkins or something to clean yourself.

"Are you okay, Mommy?" Jane asks from the backseat, and you do your best to swallow down your stress and frustration to smile at her.

"Yeah, baby, I'm okay. I just spilled my coffee, but it's okay," you say as you give up and climb into the driver's seat. You put the key in the ignition and say a silent prayer for the engine to turn over and actually start. It only takes three tries, but it works. "Ready for school?"

Through the power of speeding and pure spite, Jane gets to school perfectly on time. She kisses you on the cheek as she rushes out of the car, her oversized backpack bouncing as she runs through the door where her teacher awaits her. You wave at Mr. Lowery, who shoots you a thumbs-up and a mouthed "Nice" for getting her to class on time. You laugh and flip him off before driving away. He's a good teacher and always nice to the parents if not a little bit of a flirt to you. You went on one date with him before the school year started and discovered he was Jane's teacher. Since then, neither of you have made any moves which is fine. You can barely explain to Jane why her dad isn't around. There’s no way you could explain why you're dating the first teacher she's ever had. It wouldn't be the best look.

You get to work fifteen minutes late. Again. Your boss shoots you a look you pointedly ignore as you drop the coffee-stained file in his hands and rush over to answer the phone on your desk. Thrillingly, you spend the day digitizing files, scheduling appointments for people who get paid way more than you do, and fielding requests. Something you learned very quickly when you got this job is that everyone who walks through the door wants to flirt with the young secretary to get what they want, but once you deny them and they see the pictures of Jane on your desk, they decide you're a bitch and give up.

However, people seem to be especially reactive today. They're jumpy as they wait by your desk and get pissed when you tell them no or that they have to wait. One guy even got in your face and had to be escorted out by security. You have to stay a whole hour after your shift ends to fill out an incident report and explain your side of the story to your boss, making you late to pick up Jane from her after-school program. The standstill traffic on the highway didn't help your case either. When you pull up to the school, Jane and her after school teacher are sitting on the curb, looking up at the orange sunset.

"Mommy!" Jane screeches as you park and get out of the car. You smile as you crouch down and open your arms to hug her.

"Hi, baby! How was your day?" You ask as you reach out to smooth her hair down. Her ponytail and bows did not last the whole day, and her hair is now frizzy and tangled. She must've had a fun day.

"Good! I got to play checkers with Mr. Lowery at lunch, and guess what?"

"What?"

"I beat him! Twice!" She exclaims, holding up two fingers, and you raise your eyebrows.

"No way! You must be a genius or something!"

"I know!" She says, making you laugh. The after-school teacher clears her throat from behind Jane, and you sigh as you glance between her and Jane.

"Why don't you get buckled in while I talk to Ms. Taylor, okay? Start thinking about what you want for dinner." You say. Jane is already halfway in the car before you can even finish your sentence, and you stand to your full height. Taylor has her arms crossed over her chest, and she looks pissed.

"You're late." She says like you're unaware or making her stay late on purpose.

"I know. I'm sorry. Something happened at work, and I had to stay late to get it sorted out, and traffic was horrible. I think there was an accident or something. The whole freeway was shut down." You say, but Taylor just stares at you.

"You can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Keeping the after-school teachers late. If it keeps happening, we're gonna have to fine you." She says, and you feel yourself deflate. You look back to make sure Jane's car door is shut, and she can't hear you.

"You know I can't afford to pay a fine. Please, I'm…" you take a deep breath. "I'm doing my best."

"I know you are, but the message isn't coming from me. It's coming from my boss. I'm just letting you know so you can arrange for someone to pick her up on time if you can't."

"I don't have anyone else."

"What about your mom?"

"C'mon, man," you shake your head. "She's not speaking to me, and even if she were, I'm not letting her see Jane."

"There's nobody that can pick her up? What about a neighbor or a coworker or something?" She asks.

"Nobody that I trust enough."

"Look, I'm trying to help you, but you need to be able to help yourself too. I'll cover for you this time but don't let it happen again, okay?" She says, and you nod. You're annoyed that someone you went to high school with, who knew you when you were pregnant, is acting high and mighty because she doesn't have kids. You don't need someone to tell you to trust others. You need her to watch your fucking kid.

"Thanks. It won't happen again." You say as you turn on your heels and walk back to the driver's side door. You both know it absolutely will happen again, but it doesn't matter right now. Right now, you need to get Jane home, feed her dinner, and study after she goes to sleep. The MCATs are coming up, and you can't afford to take it more than once.

There are a lot of things you can't afford even though you work two jobs. You can't afford to get new work shoes even though your old ones are falling apart. You can't afford a new car, even if it's used. Hell, you can barely afford to pay rent these days, but you'll never let Jane know. Every day, she has food in her belly, clothes on her back, and a safe, warm bed to sleep in. It doesn't matter if you go hungry or have to secretly sew up the holes in your clothes. She's the only thing that matters.

Traffic is miserable trying to get back to the apartment, even on the back roads, but you finally manage to get home right as the sun is setting. Jane gets down and immediately looks up, searching for the moon like she does every night. You're pulling your bag over your shoulder when she gasps.

"Mommy, look!" Jane says as she points at the fighter jets soaring through the air with a loud boom. You look up just in time to watch them fly over your head, going somewhere quickly, and you get a sinking feeling in your stomach. You can't place it or understand exactly what you're feeling, but you still usher Jane inside and lock the door behind you.

You make her mac and cheese and hot dogs for dinner. It's easy, cheap, and she loves it, so it's a win for everyone. She tells you about her day as she eats, excitedly telling you playground tales and what sound an F makes. You smile as you listen and ask her questions, clinging to her every word. She's getting so big and smart that sometimes you just want to sit and listen to her talk for hours. After dinner, you run her a bath and read her two bedtime stories before kissing her forehead and tiptoeing to the living room.

You sit on the couch with some mind-numbing reality show playing in the background as you try to study. After the day you've had, the words blur together, and focusing takes more brain power than usual. You make coffee and eat whatever's left of Jane's mac and cheese as it brews. You're able to take notes on pharmacology and start on endocrinology when your TV show suddenly cuts out. On your screen, an emergency screen blares at you, urging you to seek shelter. Your heart jumps to your throat as you hear more jets flying over your apartment building.

You don't know why, but you rush to your closet and take the locked box from your top shelf down. You find the key and unlock it to find the small handgun, ammunition at the bottom, and a hunting knife your ex left in your car years ago. He probably meant it as a threat, but you kept it in case he ever tried to go through with anything. You load the gun and tuck the extra ammo and knife in your pocket before standing and walking to Jane's room. You hide the gun in your waistband as you enter her room and gently but firmly shake her awake.

"Mommy?" She asks as she blinks in the darkness of her room.

"It's okay. Everything's okay. I just need you to wake up and come into the living room with me." You tell her, already searching for a pair of shoes and socks for her.

"Why?"

"Something's going on. I don't know what yet, but it's safer for you to be with me than asleep, okay?" You say. She yawns but complies, letting you slip socks and shoes onto her feet before doing the same. As you walk to the living room, your gun heavy in your jacket, the floor shakes under your feet. More planes fly overhead, and now you can hear sirens and people yelling in the street. You keep Jane close to your body as you try to come up with a plan when someone furiously knocks on your door.

"Help! Please, open the door!" A voice begs from the other side. You push Jane behind you as you pull your gun and keep it low, the way you were taught. The person in the hallway is still banging on your door and screaming for help, but you don't move to open it. Suddenly, there's an inhuman screeching and cries. The knocking stops. The world goes silent. Jane whimpers behind you, and you quickly shush her.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay," you say quietly. You can see the shadow of feet under your door as the knob jiggles. Jiggling turns to fully throwing their body against the wood, desperately attempting to get in, and Jane screams. Your heart pounds as her fear rattles in your ears, and you raise your gun at the door. "Cover your ears!" You order as the door breaks down, and you fire one shot at the mutilated body, trying to hurt you. Through the low light of your apartment, you can see the blood covering his face and the crazed look in his eyes as he goes down, twitching as he bleeds out on your living room floor.

Your ears ring, and you think you hear Jane say something about you killing him, but you can't focus. The only thing you know to do is pick her up and run. It's not safe to stay here. Your best bet would be to get to the back roads and drive until sunrise. Scarily, you hold Jane with one hand and your gun in the other, the juxtaposition enough to make your head spin. She tucks her head into your neck and cries as you leave your apartment to see the carnage left in the hallway. The guy begging for mercy is dead, his blood splattered across the beige walls of your building, and he's not the only one. There's blood and bodies everywhere. You put a hand on the back of Jane's head and push her face closer to you.

"Don't look at anything except Mommy, okay? You stay right there and close your eyes." You say, and she nods into your neck. Another rumbling shakes the building, and you run down the stairs, checking each floor for bodies or whatever the fuck tried to get into your apartment. Distantly, you can hear the same screeching but don't stop long enough to figure out where it's coming from.

When you get outside, there’s smoke and fire everywhere. People are screaming as jets fly overhead. That's the first time you see a bomb being dropped from a military plane on U.S. soil. You freeze as you watch the explosive fall, fall, fall until it hits the ground in a cloud of fire, ash, and blood. They're going to kill you all, and the only thing you have to protect yourself is a handgun and hunting knife. Fear seizes you, and you feel like you could be sick. You think you would've if Jane didn't scream at something behind you.

You're tackled to the ground before you can turn and shoot, and Jane falls out of your arms. Your skin scrapes against the pavement as you fight under the screaming person with no life behind their eyes. They're covered in blood and brain matter, a sight that churns your stomach, and they are clawing at you for leverage. You kick at them as you struggle to reach for your hunting knife, the skin of your palm cutting open on the glass under your body. Jane is crying and calling for you, but her voice gets louder and scarier as she sees something you don't. Something takes over. You've heard stories of people being able to lift cars or rubble when their loved ones are trapped underneath, their air supply rapidly dwindling as they beg for help. They said it was adrenaline. You never believed them until this moment.

The second your fingers graze the hunting knife, you're plunging the blade into the person's skull. A bubbling sound takes over the screaming, and you push the knife further until their body goes limp, and you push them off you, taking your knife with you. You crawl on your stomach to reach for your gun and shoot the person on the other side of the car, the one Jane saw. You don't see where the bullet lands, but you hear the body hit the ground as you take Jane in your arms again. She whines and tries to kick away from you as you open your car door, and you stop to look at her.

"It's me, baby. It's Mommy." You say, but the hot tears are still streaming down her face.

"B… blood! Blood!" She shrieks. You look down and find your shirt, hands, and arms slick with blood. You try to wipe your hands on your pants, but your bloody handprints cling to her clothes and skin. All your breath leaves you in one huff as the past twenty minutes catch up with you. Three people. You killed three people. Jane was in trouble. You're her mother. You did what you had to.

The sound of jets snaps you out of it. You put Jane in the backseat and get in the driver's seat, ignoring the way your hands shake as you try to put the key in the ignition. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," you beg as the engine sputters. You turn the key again and again and again, but nothing happens. The plane is getting closer, and you can see people running toward you at the sound of the engine clicking. "Please! Fuck!" You yell, your voice cracking as you press the key harder. A guy jumps on the hood of your car and pounds on the glass, making Jane scream in terror. You see the plane pass over you and yell at Jane to buckle in and cover her head. Finally, the engine turns over right as the bomb explodes, not even a mile away.

Your car shakes as debris flies in all different directions. Blindly, you throw the car in reverse and ignore the crunch of bodies under your wheels. The momentum throws the guy from the hood of your car, and you don't look back as you race in the opposite direction. Your heart pounds as you reach for the radio but hear nothing but static. No radio. No information. No help. Whatever help the military could've been sending is shot to shit. They're more interested in dropping bombs on civilians.

"What's going on? What's wrong with those people?" Jane asks from the backseat, and you look at her in the rearview mirror. She's too small to look this scared. Your fingers twitch to reach for her before remembering you're covered in blood.

"I don't know, but it's gonna be okay. I'm gonna get us somewhere safe."

"Where?" She asks, and you hesitate. There are bombs and those… things all over the city. What if it's like that everywhere? What if nowhere is safe anymore? No, there has to be somewhere. If there's not, you'll make it safe for her. There's no other option.

"I don't know yet," you say as you turn to get to the highway. It's packed, and no one is moving. It's standstill traffic for at least the next ten miles. You take a different way and try to get to the back roads, but those are packed too. There's no way out. Your stomach lurches at the idea of being trapped as bombs fall from the sky with your five-year-old in the backseat and no way to protect her. You look around and see fields to your right. You don't know where they lead or if they'll even take you out of the city, but it's enough to get you away from the death trap of a highway. You cut the wheel and pray your car doesn't fall apart as you drive over the curb and into the field. "What are you doing?" Jane asks frantically.

"Are you buckled?" You ask, glancing back to make sure the seatbelt is pulled across her chest. The car rocks with the uneven terrain of the field, but you're moving. You make it ten miles, maybe twenty, before seeing any signs of people again. Even then, they're all dead. Houses burned down, cars in pieces, and debris everywhere. Still, you find a road and can exhale for the first time since the destruction started.

You're about to turn and sail past the destruction when gunshots ring out. Jane screams, and you turn to avoid whoever is shooting. You curse and reach for your gun in the passenger seat as you speed away. You look back to make sure Jane didn't get hit and find her sitting there, breathing heavily but otherwise unharmed. You make it another two miles before your tire finally uses the last of its air, and you can't keep going. You reload the gun while you're safe in the car, and Jane watches with big eyes. She doesn't say anything as you throw your hair up and clip the magazine back in.

"Ready?" You ask as you meet her eyes. She just nods and climbs into your lap, clinging to your neck, as you get out of the car. You leave the only car you've ever known, the car you used to drive yourself to the hospital when you were in labor, and the car you drove Jane around for the first few years of her life on the side of a country road. You start walking away from the city and the gunshots, her face buried in your shoulder, as you listen for footsteps, screaming, and planes.

The only thing surrounding you is the chirping cicadas and the summer heat suffocating you. You decide to try and find somewhere to hide out until the morning. The light of day will give you an advantage. You can make a plan. You can keep Jane safe in the daylight. You rub her back as twigs crunch under your shoes, but she doesn't acknowledge the movement. You want to cry at how far removed she feels from her body. In the same vein, you're secretly glad that she is. Maybe she won't remember tonight. Maybe that's the best thing. Maybe this will all be a bad dream, and you'll wake up tomorrow in your bed.

"Stop right there!" A voice yells, proving you wrong. You jump and turn to see a soldier in full tactical gear with a gun pointed at you and Jane. You put her down and force her to stay behind you as you raise your hands above your head. "Drop your weapon!" The soldier yells again. It's a woman. You can see her blonde hair in the light of her flashlight, and you nod as you slowly put your gun down in the tall grass. Her gun stays pointed at you as Jane sniffles behind you.

"Mama," she cries, and you shake your head, putting a hand on her head to keep her behind you.

"Be quiet, Janey," you mumble, still staring at the soldier. "I have a kid. We're not… we're not sick like the others," you say, but she doesn't move. The bombs, the exit points being sealed off, the sirens. You realize what's happening. The military is trying to contain everyone within the city so they can kill the sick and whoever else might be. "You don't have to do this. Please."

"I have orders."

"She's five," you say. Jane squirms behind you, but you don't let her move into the line of fire. "She doesn't even know the alphabet yet. Please, don't do this." The soldier's radio crackles with a request for her location, but she doesn't make any move to answer it. Instead, she adjusts her grip on her gun and frowns.

"I'm sorry." She says. You dive, pulling Jane down, and scramble for your gun. Bullets fire over your head, making your ears ring as you blindly reach for the metal and press Jane into your chest. You find the grip, cover Jane's ear with one hand, and shoot until the automatic weapon stops firing. Your head pulses with pain from the ear-splitting gunfire, and your vision swims before you realize Jane is still tucked into your chest. You look down and see her— there are tears dried to her face, and she looks scared as hell, but she seems fine. Until you see blood on her shirt. You immediately sit up to search her for injuries when your arm burns with hot pain. A bullet grazed you. That's where the blood is coming from. She didn't get hurt. You let out a shaky breath as you hug her tightly, clutching her like a lifeline.

"You're bleeding," Jane says, and you nod. You kiss her head and wipe your sudden tears away, the pain, exhaustion, and horror finally catching up with you.

"Don't worry about that. Are you hurt?" You ask, putting your hands on her face to look at her.

"That was really scary." She says. You open your mouth to say something comforting, but the crackling of the now-dead soldier's radio pulls your attention. You look around to make sure you're alone in the field before rushing over and smashing her radio. Blood rolls down your arm as you turn her body to take her backpack full of tactical gear and her gun. Twenty-four hours ago, you'd never even seen a dead body. Now you're stripping one for resources while your daughter watches. You dig through the backpack until you find a first aid kit and unroll enough bandage for your arm. Then, without saying anything, you pick Jane up and start walking again.

You stay in the shadows and don't dare to turn on your flashlight. Instead, you rely on moonlight, but even that's shoddy with all the ash and smoke in the air. You ignore the blistering pain in your arm and the weight of the gear on your back. She is the most important thing you could ever carry. She comes first. You walk until you find an old barn, the door broken open, and the wood slats falling apart. It's probably been abandoned since long before tonight. Still, you set Jane down outside before clearing it, checking for threats as she stands just beyond the door. She's barely tall enough to even reach the door handle. Your heart hurts.

Once everything is secure, you and Jane settle along the back wall of the barn, hidden away from any prying eyes that might come around. She lays on your chest, and you run your hand through her hair as she listens to your heartbeat. Her cheek is smooshed against her hand as she starts losing a fight with her eyelids. You can hear her breathing and the way she jumps a little every time she starts to fall asleep. It's the quietest it's been all day.

"Try to get some sleep, okay?" You say quietly as you kiss her temple. She looks up at you and pushes some hair out of your face. It's her way of returning the favor for playing with her hair. She does it every time you guys snuggle like this. Normally, it makes you smile, but you feel more like crying at how gently she touches your face.

"I wanna go home." She whines.

"I know," you say. "We'll go home soon."

"But not tonight?"

"Not tonight."

"I'm scared." She says. You sit up and hold her face in your hands, barely able to make out her features in the moonlight streaming through the roof. Still, you can feel the fear running through her blood. You can feel her heartbeat against yours.

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. Ever. Not tonight, not tomorrow, and not the day after that, okay? I will always be here to protect you, no matter what," you say. "Do you trust me?" You ask, and she nods. She relaxes in your hands and buries her head in your chest again. You rub soothing circles into her back and hum her favorite Janis Joplin song, the vibrations helping her heart rate to even out. When you're pretty sure she's asleep, you reach for your backpack and pull your gun out, keeping it low and pointed at the door as she rests.

"Mommy?" She whispers suddenly, sleep on the edge of her voice, and you look down to see her staring at you.

"What's up, bug?"

"Why did you hurt those people?" She asks, knocking the wind out of you. Quick flashes of gunfire, explosions, and glints of your knife replay in your mind. You can still feel the terror and the adrenaline rolling through your veins. You swear you'll see the dead eyes of the infected for the rest of your life. As you go through your version of events, you keep coming back to how terrified Jane's screams made you. How the strain of her voice awoke something primal and dangerous deep inside you. How you killed without remorse to keep her safe.

If it were just you, you would've let the soldier shoot you, or the infected eat you. But it's not just you. You have her. You fought tooth and nail to bring her into this world, and you'll be damned if you let someone take her away from you. You'll kill anyone and anything before you let someone hurt her. But she's five. She can't process that. You'll be surprised if she can even process tonight because you know you definitely can't. So, you don't tell her any of that. You just kiss her forehead, hold her a little tighter, and flip the safety on your gun.

"Get some sleep."

[howtofightwrite]

Hello! I have a very particular sort of scene that I've been trying to get right for over ten years now and I can't make it work; I hope perhaps you can help.

A husband and wife duo who have Mixed Feelings about one another are trying to break out of a facility. (He was recently discovered to be a spy, she is a conscripted soldier in the facility. She was sent to escort him to execution but hesitated - I'm not sure where, in the cell, in the hall? - and - he took advantage of this hesitation? she was arrested as a traitor? - I don't know that either, yet - and they end up running through the halls together to escape)

The facility is vaguely sci-fi; think Star Wars Original Trilogy-style weapons, and there is space travel, but technology isn't... wildly advanced. Like it's not all digital and holograms and hand-wavey stuff, it's only a little more advanced than what we have available now. (Like SW OT.)

Point A is them in the cell. Point B is them on a spaceship breaking free.

I cannot get them from Point A to Point B with any kind of plausibility, or without staggering incompetence on the part of the soldiers and commanders in the facility.

They would likely be armed with only her sidearm, unless they happened to grab rifles off of further escorts sent with her?

I'm sorry this is so vague, thank you in advance for any help!

Personally, I’m of the opinion that any scene that’s been marinating in the brain for a long time (especially for years) has deeper structural/internal issues than just putting together action. Just from reading your question, I can feel the way you’ve laid this specific scenario out breaking your own suspension of disbelief. You’ve got several problems that have built up over time and, now, they’re all working against you.

Change if it’s Not Working

One of the best pieces of writing advice I ever got came from being forced to memorize my martial arts school’s Ten Steps to Mastery as part of my first test for black belt. I only remember the first five and I can’t guarantee they’re all in order.

Set a goal

Take action

Pay attention to detail

Practice, Practice, Practice

Change if it’s not working

Regardless of whether you’re practicing a front kick or writing a full length novel, flexibility is important. The more we try to force something to work, the less likely it will. Training flaws into your technique means they’ll be more difficult to correct later. So, don’t forget to stop and look at the larger picture if you feel yourself getting stuck.

Remember, change isn’t failure. Writing is a complex process and not every idea, plotline, character moment, or scene is going to work out when fit into a larger context. And that’s okay.

Outside emotional exhaustion and stress, my writer’s block kicks in when I’ve taken a wrong turn in the narrative or am avoiding a difficult emotional moment that my characters need to face before their story can progress. Something has made me/them uncomfortable and instead of facing it, I’m attempting to avoid the uncomfortable feeling by throwing some other distracting piece, usually action, in the way. I call these moments false notes. I usually hit them when I’m coming at the story from an external perspective (what have I seen other characters do in other stories/films?) rather than an internal one. (What would this character do?)

If something isn’t working, stop trying to make it work. Instead look for what you’re missing, and where the pieces aren’t connecting. It’s usually further back than the scene you’re working on.

My characters are always right. I’m either not listening or going about it the wrong way.

Food for thought.

Your Heroes are Reactively Active

We hear a lot from the writing community about the importance of Active Characters. These are characters who are doing things to move the plot forward. They make choices. They take action. Then, there are passive or, what I like to call, reactive characters. They are characters who react to things in their environment, whatever that is, but they’re not actively making choices. Passive characters get a bad rap in American storytelling tradition (more so than in the wider Western storytelling tradition.)

Passive characters really shine when working with characters who are in settings where they’re struggling to survive. In the real world, passivity is one of the best ways to survive abuse. Any victim of long term or systemic abuse can tell you that standing up and fighting back, especially in situations where you have no power or means to change your circumstances, makes the situation exponentially worse. You’ve got to gray rock it out, suppress, and survive.

Lastly, there are characters I like to call reactively active. These are characters who feel like they’re being active but are actually just reacting to actions taken by other characters. They appear a lot in YA Fantasy, but they’re everywhere. And, because these characters are always reacting to another character’s (usually the villain’s) actions and choices, they get an easy out when it comes to escaping narrative consequences for the things they do. It’s a deceptive sleight of hand used to maintain a character’s moral purity. These characters appear active on the surface, but, underneath, they’re passively reacting to the narrative events inflicted on them. They don’t take action. They respond to action with action.

Let’s get back to your scenario.

We have a husband and wife in some sort of heavily or, at least, decently fortified, military installation. The husband has been outed as a spy, put in whatever functions as a prison or holding cell within the complex, and scheduled to be executed. The wife is a loyal soldier who must now choose between her love for her husband and her love of duty.

This has the makings of some good drama.

The first obvious problem point is that these characters are trying to do too many things at once. They’re coming to terms with their deep feelings of betrayal, experiencing a last minute change of heart, making a snap decision to escape, and rapidly coming up with a plan to escape in the heat of the moment. If this feels unbelievable, it’s because it is and, even better, doubles for putting the characters in a reactive or passive state. The wife character isn’t acting, so much as she’s reacting last minute to the immediate, impending danger. That would be fine if she wasn’t also having to help carry the burden of coming up with The Plan.

There’s the surface level here, where the last minute change of heart is mimicking the kinds of behavior seen in countless other forms of media regarding escape scenes. However, this narrative decision happening in the heat of the moment is also allowing the character to skate over the emotional consequences of her own betrayal. She’s not choosing so much as she’s being forced to make a choice. And that is removing her agency.

If she makes the choice earlier, starts putting The Plan in place with the help of some friends/colleagues (even if it happens largely off page) then executes at the cell, she takes back her agency and retains her status as an active character.

The difference here is in the processing time. Characters can’t plausibly escape fortified lock up without a plan or, really, The Plan.

The Narrative Structure of Last Minute Rescues

The first problem in your scenario is that you have two characters, neither of which are doing the pre-planning legwork required to successfully execute The Plan. Rescues are like heists, they either take a village or require characters who are extremely meticulous and actively manipulating the village to fill in the gaps. (James Bond does Option 2 beautifully, but even he has a team behind him.) Usually, both happen to some degree. The burden is segregated out into different pieces for different characters. Normally, there’s at least three. The character locked up is trying to figure out a way to escape, but comes up short. The one on the outside who is putting together the pieces needed to execute the rescue/get away. And, sometimes, the one on the inside who is experiencing a change of heart, who, at the very last minute, turns heel and assists with the rescue (most often in the turn of misfortune where a piece fails and the rescue is at risk of being bungled.)

All of this additional weight/build up/expectation of the non-existent plan is being put on two characters and crammed into a single scene.

Think about the rescue of Princess Leia from the Death Star for a moment. How many characters are required to make that escape work?

Seven.

All of them. If a single character in the entire group is missing, the whole thing falls apart. Even Threepio is necessary, mostly because Artoo can’t talk. This off the cuff, by the seat of our pants rescue requires all seven characters and they still end up bungling it to kill their samurai master.

You need one to turn off the tractor beam so they can actually escape. (Doing the real work.)

You need one to figure out where the princess is being held, unlock the doors, and figure out where they are.

You need two to bullshit past the guards going in and one to pretend to be a prisoner.

You need one to bullshit past the guards a second time to save the one that can’t talk with the floor plan.

You need the princess to be the one to get them back out because she’s the only one with balls.

And none of it mattered because the escape was a trap all along.

While you don’t need these specific roles for everything, escaping from a heavily fortified facility is not a two man job. That’s where the feelings of implausibility and extreme incompetence are coming from. There aren’t enough characters helping to clear the way or be there as a safeguard for when things go wrong. This feeds into the next problem.

Soldiers, Spies, and Their Squads

We have another unintended scenario brewing at the same time. And that’s the exhausted retail employee going on a rampage and slaughtering their surprised colleagues. This really knifes your tension. By reacting to the immediate danger, the wife is not making an active, conscious choice with full knowledge of the consequences, and those consequences are killing people she knows, respects, is friends with, shares a camaraderie, or who are at least familiar to her. These other soldiers aren’t faceless goons. It’s a lot harder to pull the trigger on someone you know than someone you don’t, especially someone who has the same values that you do.

Soldiers aren’t characters who work alone. They have a squad. They’re part of a unit. They have a support network surrounding them that allows them to do their job to the best of their ability. Spies are the same way. They also have a support network which allows them to act to the best of their ability, even when it feels like they’re acting alone. Spies have handlers and they have assets, their job requires they build their own support networks so they have someone who can get into the places where they can’t. Those people may be witting or unwitting assets but they’re still there.

Both of these characters should have fairly extensive support networks to fall back on when in crisis. They’re in crisis. The crisis is both physical and emotional. Where are their people? Two characters who are social archetypes whose jobs and survival during wartime are reliant on building trust and skillful communication have no one willing to put their lives on the line to help them out? They only have each other? That’s staggering incompetence.

Spies aren’t assassins. They’re social animals. Soldiers aren’t lone wolves. They’re social animals. If there’s a structural failure here, it’s happening with your secondary characters.  Ignoring the importance of secondary characters is a mistake that a lot of new writers make and I can feel those early mistakes being carried forward in this scene. This is what Hemingway meant when he said, “kill your darlings.” If an idea isn’t working, if it’s holding you back, kill it. Look at the problem and your work from a new angle. One good line or one good scene, regardless of your emotional attachment to it, doesn’t outweigh the entire work.

Plans and Floor Plans

If you’re having trouble coming up with a character’s escape, step back and take a look at the facility itself. Whether it’s breaking in or breaking out, you, the author, need to have a clear visualization of the entire picture so you can find the weaknesses or fracture points.

Plans are easier to conceptualize when you know what the dangers are and what defenses have been put in place to prevent what your characters are attempting. Which parts of the fortress are better fortified than others? Where does this military expect to be attacked? What have they done to prevent it? What are the patrols? Who are the techs? How does the military support itself while fending off attempts to damage its resources? Who handles the supply lines?

The boring minutiae of your world is what makes it feel real. Action is dependent on your world building and this goes deeper than just their weapons. The social systems in place guide how your characters fight. It’s there in how they perceive their environment, and how they recognize usable tools. If you build a functional and consistent world, the action will take care of itself because violence is a natural response to environmental threats. Violence seeks to exploit established systems, to gain an advantage over them. If the violence is imagined separately from the environment, the violence won’t feel real because it’s not reactive and it’s not reacting to environmental stimuli. From there, it’s not logical.

Ask yourself, why do we use guns?

Then ask yourself, why do your characters use guns? What does it allow them to do that they wouldn’t be able to do otherwise? Or, what does the gun do better than other weapons that makes it the preferred choice?

The answer for the real world and your setting might be the same, and they might be different. Both will influence how the character uses their weapon. How they use their weapon guides how they fight. If you’re lost, ask yourself questions.

For example, let’s take a last look at the prison.

Prisons are built with the expectation of keeping multiple people contained for an extended period of time, preventing them from leaving in the event of an escape, and preventing those who are sympathetic from breaking in to rescue them. What have the characters in your setting (not your protagonists) done to facilitate that goal? What safeguards have been put in place to prevent someone from leaving and entering?

In the real world, prisons are built in a way that two people can’t just walk out. There are points of entry and exit that are designed to be remotely controlled from secure locations and cannot be operated or accessed on the ground. You’d need someone (like R2-D2) who can access the remote functions to get someone past the exits that they can’t open themselves.

-Michi

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you're already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

[otakween]

Digimon Frontier - Episode 1

Woohoo! New series :D And I...already don't know how to feel. No digimon partners? Yet another goggle-boy whose name starts with "Ta?" Stereotypical characters? Well...I'll give it a chance. Let's find something to like about this lol.

Notes:

Beginning of the episode gave a mixture of Future Diary and isekai anime (especially with Truck-kun making an appearance!) I guess it's good that the kids had more agency than the Adventure kids in getting to the digital world, but I hope they explain all of this well later. Why are they being called to the digital world? What is the threat this time?

Speaking of Adventure, I wonder where this fits into the continuity. Is it its own thing like Tamers? They've gone back to saying "chosen children" and "digivice" so it seems to lean closer to Adventure, but the lack of partners seems to go against Adventure's definition of what it means to be chosen.

It makes sense since Digimon came from the v-pet toys, but they really like to lean into youths' fascination with technology. In this its the chunky Nokia phones. I'm pretty sure there's a digimon series where smart phones feature too.

Animation wasn't mind blowing, but it was nice and fluid. The sequence of trying to make the train was probably the most exciting/intriguing part.

Kind of already annoyed at the cast: generic rival boy who's a dick for absolutely no reason (the Sasuke, I like to call it), generic fat stereotype who is always eating, whiny little kid, and token girl who says things in Italian randomly. The girl character reminds me of Miyako with her "bingo" catchphrase -eye twitch- Let's see where the show takes them.

Visually the only character I really like is Izumi. At least she has a cute outfit. Okay, I guess Junpei's jumpsuit is kinda fun too...

Hey! Those monkey and rabbit looking mons are from the Wonderswan game I just played, D-Project. I guess they've been recycled. They're less partner digimon and more exposition characters. I like the yellow dude and his floppy feet.

Hard for me to buy that Tomoki would be such a crybaby but then be brave enough to walk out onto a train track hovering over an abyss?? Guess he's just that desperate

Why are there swarms of baby digimon everywhere? Are they continuing the weird tradition of digimon villages only being inhabited by babies?

The spirit digivolution sequence was fun but I don't really like Agnimon's design :/ It just looks like a jumbled mess of patterns and colors to me.

So a lot of the fun in the previous series was digivolution reveals. Do these spirit digivolutions have levels to them?

I have no idea what to make of this show yet. I read the comments on the site where I watched it and everyone was saying "MY CHILDHOOD!" so it at least meant something to someone out there!

Did you care about this show? I wanna hear people's thoughts! (Spoiler-free of course).

[nimblermortal]

Nimblermortal's Covid Survival Tips 2023

because what's the point of having this if I can't make it easier for the next person?

First symptom for me was a mild sore throat. This started around noon; the next morning I woke up with no symptoms but feeling terrible, which I interpret as the medical "sense of impending doom" that is a real symptom.

Charmin toilet paper. This stuff is softer than Kleenex. Get you a whole roll and a shopping bag. Don't have a runny nose for a symptom? Don't care, it'll come.

Blankets you can kick on and off. I spent two days "cycling" - chills, fever, then lucidity. You need to be able to both vent and huddle.

If you are scientifically inclined: Keep a thermometer nearby. I regret not taking my temperature during the cycles, I'm really curious about whether I was running hotter or colder during the hot stages. That said, you will definitely not have enough energy to take your temperature during these stages.

Some sort of infinite podcast. It doesn't matter what it is. Honestly I recommend Critical Role even if you don't like D&D live plays. You do not care what is going on here, the point is white noise that you don't have to change. Make sure the device is plugged in. I could only nap while there was white noise happening - and when I say 'nap' I mean 'I don't know if I slept or not, just that I was face-down and some time passed'.

Advil. This will lower the fever. If you can, wait until the second day - the fever helps burn out the disease, but this only applies to the first 24 hours. But don't let the fever get too high. I ran a steady 101 F/38.3 C for two days, which is fine. You can take one every 4 hours up to 6 times a day. For me the best effects only lasted 2 hours and I was ready by the fourth (but also a stubborn pig who tried to hold out; there's no advantage to this after the first 24 hours).

Small dishes. People kept trying to feed me and I couldn't finish anything. Small dishes, plain foods, let yourself have the ability to win at meals. (Note: this may not apply to you, but I'm the sort of person who used to be sent to elementary school with a single small potato because the cafeteria was too noisy for me to eat but I needed to win at lunch.) If you're preparing just-in-case, you could put some in the freezer

Immune boosters. My aunt swears by Sambucol, which is elderberry and vitamin C and zinc. Zinc matters more if you are male. My take on the Sambucol advantage is elderberry taste good.

Non-caffeinated tea. Something that goes down the throat easy. I had a sore throat to start with, then after the cycling I've got a progressively increasing cough; warm beverage nice. (I also craved a masala tea in the middle of the cycling, so caffeine might be nice, but you probably want to let yourself sleep.)

Vicks vaporub. Apply directly to the forehead liberally once the coughing starts. The package says you can do this 3 times a day.

Don't worry about cough medicines unless you have one you trust implicitly. Mum says they're not very effective, so you want that sweet, sweet placebo effect.

Someone to watch over you. Partly to make sure you don't get it worse than I had. Mostly because when I'm weak and sick I get clingylonely and I need someone to assure me I am loved. I had the same problem with the vaccines - shivering under the blankets calling weakly for Hyacinth because I was alone and Sad. Honestly the covid has been less intense but longer.

Recovery time. Covid heals a lot slower than comparable sicknesses. Whatever you think your return-to-work day might be, add at least two days to it. (I thought I was getting away with something last Wednesday, tried to work Thursday, and survived for one hour.)

More recovery time. This thing heals very slowly. I haven't had symptoms in a week - aside from having to plan for being able to do single-digit numbers of tasks in a day. And 'digesting a meal' is a separate energy task from 'eating a meal' is a separate energy task from 'preparing a meal' is a separate... (No really, I had to plan energy expenditure for digestion.) At a week out, I am still having to make room for daily hour-long naps and activities interspersed with lying down - though at least now I can embroider with a TV show during these periods. Give yourself lots of time, even when it feels stupid.