#i also happened to indulge myself in some what if scenarios and wrote things that never even happened

[mercuryislove]

55k words into this writing exercise that was only intended to be at most 2k words........

[misscammiedawn]

Ethical Personality Play

So. I've written about my experiences with Personality Play in the past. A couple times, actually.

The TL;DR is that from early 2000s-2019 this was my signature move that the first three hypnotists I was tied up with utilized on a near daily basis. The damage of this abuse has never been fully tallied, but if you want my "how to alter your personality with hypnosis" guide in a word it is simple:

Don't.

"But what if I want to do hypnotic edgeplay?"

But saving that... let me impart some wisdom in hopes that y'all will play nice and safe with this.

Firstly let me define the terms.

Personality Play is any form of hypnosis scene that alters aspects of the individual's identity whether it be for a scene, as a permanent trigger or as permanent conditioning. The danger amplifies with the more severe and lasting the changes are but there is always danger.

So, let's cover each area of what can be done, how it can be harmful and how to avoid that harm.

General rules

Before even negotiating this kind of play. Disclose.

If you are engaging with intimate hypnosis at this end of the danger spectrum then you need to have a level of intimate trust relative to that risk and this trust needs to go both ways. If I were a hypnotist introducing this kind of play into the mix I would do so only if I could trust in my hypnotee partner's mental state.

I disclose my BPD and DID at the start of any hypnotic relationship and talk about how they impact me. How the depersonalization and derealization symptoms require a level of grounding before and after play and what to do if my emotional state switches during the middle of a scene. This is not an easy thing for me to do, especially if time is a limited factor, but it's a necessary thing to do.

I do not expect every person playing be willing to disclose every mental condition they have or open up about possible abreaction triggers. That's sensitive information and it's natural to not want to be open about that with every partner. I do, however emphasize that it is vital for that information to be known when approaching these topics. It is unfair for the partner in the scenarios to be responsible for managing safety on either side of the watch when they are unaware of the depths of vulnerability.

I have experience with this fallacy myself. In utilizing hypnosis to ignore my triggers I did severe damage to myself and I am now plagued with intrusive memories and nightmares of events that happened during scenes that I was able to effortlessly indulge in during the scene but as they say "The body keeps the score" and I was in fact doing further damage to myself. Something which my partner at the time was not equipped to deal with because I'd failed to disclose or even treat the situation as worth being safe about.

Now I am just burdened with further damage by ignoring my brain's defenses on my existing pain.

Once again, I refer to my first bit of advice on how to ethically perform Personality Play: DON'T.

Once you have a trusting understanding of both sides of the watch's limits and comforts the next step is grounding.

Grounding is mandatory.

I wrote about my feelings on this before in more depth. The short version, though:

Before and after a scene with intense reality distorting you should take an effort to make a person feel aware of their surroundings, to offer them connection "during the scene you will know I am here and you can pause the scene at any time for any reason" and for them to take stock of their mental state and how they are feeling. Just ask them to display curiosity and provide comfort in the connection between hypnotist and hypnotee. You will be returning here and you need to make it an inviting space.

Grounding should also include a reminder that the hypnotee will be aware of what is happening the whole time. I'll cover this more in the more risky portion, but the key to safety is to ensure that the hypnotee is not immersed in any headspaces they may slip into (with the understanding that there is another gradient here of subspace and highs and peaks from scene play which are chemical reactions and those highs are a little more natural than the altered headspaces I am referring to).

For another grain of personal experience and warning here, I just want to talk about the three hypnotists who played with me utilizing personality play. One knew what he was doing, one didn't know what they were doing and one didn't care. I'll refer to them as Noel (knew better), Dinny (didn't know) and Carrie (didn't care).

Dinny expected that if a scene got too much for me that I would drop out of trance or end the scene. To them they assumed that no one will do anything in hypnosis that they didn't want to do and that it was just extreme play-acting. They likely didn't believe in hypnosis all that much and used it as a framework for roleplay, which is their true indulgence.

So if a scene got too intense for them they would safeword. End the scene. They were in control.

As someone who was immersed in the play and had no grounding, there was no escape because within the framework of the scene, there was no "out of character" there was the scene and that was all that was happening.

You cannot assume that a hypnotee will safeword and end a scene unless they receive the proper grounding and instruction to do so. If you're going to be doing edge play, you have to surrender the fantasy and make sure reality is in the scene at all times. Both sides of the watch. If you are entering in a scene where a person is altered throughout then you cannot expect them to act on their agency. It's a CNC scene by default and you need to introduce safety and consent to avoid that.

Likewise I want to note the power imbalance that comes from play like this. A motivated hypnotee can fling themselves into this arena and do harm to the hypnotist. This does fly both ways. A hypnotee not advocating for themselves or exercising their agency will make a hypnotist accessory to the damage.

This is a sin I have committed.

A hypnotist has a responsibility to themselves to not allow a self-neglecting hypnotee use hypnosis as a method of psychological self-harm. This guide is as much to protect a hypnotist from being abused as it is for hypnotees to avoid allowing themselves to be abused.

Every side is vulnerable in these exchanges.

So... now that we understand the basics before we can even start, let's start in the shallow end and work out way up.

Emotion Control/Intelligence Play

Starting soft. This is fairly standard play and so long as you're being mindful I doubt many would have too many problems with these suggestions.

Infatuation potions, ditzy spells... this is fairly standard stuff.

The key thing to do is to ensure that the effects are temporary and impersonal. For instance for an intelligence play scene you may want to picture a dial in the hypnotees head that has a default setting. Take a moment to ground that default setting. What is normal. What it feels like out of hypnosis. Then you can suggest that it will always return to this default setting after a time but for now we intend to dial it back down, as you feel yourself growing sillier and sillier.

This is a safe way to handle a scene like this because even if you do not perform a post-session grounding (which you always should), the default will naturally return.

Likewise infatuation potions you can mention how your body will metabolize and you'll be aware of the artificial nature of the emotions you feel.

Being aware of the artificial nature of the emotions at play will prevent lingering effects. Even after you clean up there will always be a little bit left over and it's a matter of limiting how much sticks around and where the mind will return to.

I safely play with suggestions like this to this day even when Personality Play in the broader sense is Red for me. This is safe. It's manageable. It's temporary and with a partner who is willing to make space for it, you can keep reality in the room. Safe and secure.

But it can still be dangerous.

Let's see the intelligence play scene was handled poorly. Instead of a temporary dial which defaults to normal a hypnotist instead asked "Debra" to imagine herself with platinum blonde hair, a larger chest, all her thoughts evaporating into a pink bubblegum mist as boundless confidence overcomes her until she transforms into her bimbo persona, "Debbie" and Debbie can be summoned at a simple turn of phrase.

That right there? That's DANGEROUS.

We'll cover more as to why when I go over persona/character play, but it's a good example of how a "bimbo trigger" can be performed ethically and how it can be performed dangerously.

*sighs*

So let's move on...

Altered Headspaces

By altered headspaces I mean suggestions and scenes that play on your ability to perceive and process things. This can be the drugged/drunk sequences, hallucinations of any variety. It can be impulsiveness or boosts of confidence or terror.

Y'know. Stage hypnosis stuff. Because as we know, stage hypnosis tricks are a bastion of "ethical" suggestions.

Seriously though. The prevalence of these types of suggestion in the public perception make us as a community look bad and it's why doing them safely is vital, especially if we do get people entering the community with the idea of types of play which are risky at best from the get-go.

For these suggestions you want to provide the above grounding, but the hypnotee also needs to be able to have an objective view to their state so they can advocate for themselves.

Any altered headspace will supplement agency. It's why you cannot negotiate with someone when they are fractionated. Thusly, any interaction you have with someone in an altered headspace is going to be dubious consent by default. What if you made someone slutty for a scene and they escalated the scene to a sexual one without prior negotiation or existing rapport.

The correct thing to do is end the scene there and then. Otherwise the hypnotist is taking advantage of the hypnotee.

That's a fairly plain example, too. Hence why I feel even this level is edge play.

I don't particularly want to share my personal experience in this realm. Suffice to say I've never once in my life had lucid sexual intimacy with a partner. Every single time I was altered. I literally cannot approach the concept/act without being altered first. I invited it.

The body keeps score.

The way to practice this safely is to encourage the hypnotee to maintain an awareness and presence in the scene. There is a risk to this as incentivizing a dissociation between the conscious self and the altered self is the exact thing we are trying to avoid in these scenarios.

I refer again to the shining DON'T at the top of the post.

But with the correct grounding and temporary status of any scene this risk is lower than the risk of allowing a hypnotee to dive into a scene so heavily that they will ignore their personal ethics and safety for the consideration of the scene at play.

It's either allowing them the ability to advocate for themselves while altered, "the hidden observer will always be present during the scene and can stop things for any reason or just to check in" basically it's keeping reality in the room. A hypnotee should be discouraged from throwing themselves headlong into the fantasy and an awareness of waking self and the artificial nature of play is important, particularly the more immersive you go...

So...

Character/Persona Play

Which brings me to the final warning.

Please do not even attempt this. I see kids in tulpa communities and roleplayers who can't see the harm in becoming their characters and I wish I could share a grain of my experiences.

I did this for 18 years. Eighteen years. Daily. The damage it has done to me is never ever going to be fixed.

The thread I made on Twitter received a number of supportive messages from others with dissociative disorders who echoed my sentiments. I'm legitimately at the point where I ask "were we attracted to this type of play because we were predisposed to it" or "do we have serious disorders due to our time playing in the deep end"

Neither one need to be true. Doing so did damage. A lot of damage.

So here's my first question off the bat.

"What if your hypnotist gets hit by a bus?" what if one day you wake up and you no longer have someone to explore this gigantic portion of your soul with. What if access to this kind of play existed only within a relationship. Are you willing to allow that much of your personal experience and agency be left to someone else's hands?

What about trust. Can you trust someone to shape a part of yourself? Dinny, Carrie and Noel each did harm in their own way handling the bits of me I shared with them. Noel warped and twisted and perverted them to the point of which these characters, real and living aspects of me feel violated by his impact upon them. Carrie abandoned them and let them wither and die without even considering attachments I had made to them... attachments they had to the stories and connections they had made... and then Dinny? Dinny never treated them as real. They were fantasy and the situations were fantasy and it was all just a game.

Let me tell you about that last one. If you want to play out a hateship scene and utilize hypnosis to make your partner think that they are in that hateship scene, the emotions exist. They will bleed through and poison you in your waking state. If you are made to perform as a vampire who wants nothing more than to taste flesh then you are going to feel that desperate hunger and be trying with every fiber of your being to overpower the hypnotist who has the ability to end the scene if things get rough but, and this is the important part, unless you set up grounding-- you will not know that in the moment.

I legitimately have nightmares about the things I did while acting in scenes Dinny ran.

And lastly...

Are you willing to accept that there are parts of you that can do things that you in your waking and natural state, simply cannot do?

I do not know if doing these things makes you more vulnerable to the symptoms of a dissociative disorder or not, but I know that a damn lot of people who did this stuff excessively happen to have these symptoms.

Look. I don't hide my DID diagnosis on Tumblr. It hurts that I have a mesmerizing Fae in my heart who is more lovable than I am, more confident, more capable, more experienced and charming. I hate that she can perform feminine voice better than me. I hate that she can push boundaries and harm me without a thought. I hate feeling inferior to me. I hate feeling like I'm just a function of a person that people want around more.

I hate finding evidence that she had a whole online life that we hid so well that even post-diagnosis I am not fully sure what she did. I hate feeling powerless that I'm not in control of my own life and reality.

Dawn scares me. I am afraid of the part of me that most people love.

...and I have no way of communicating that as a warning that doesn't sound exotic and enticing. Because dissociative disorders are not exotic and enticing. They're boring, exhausting and tedious and though I am 50/50 on whether it can be accidentally induced through hypnosis play, I know there is no damned chance in hell any person should willingly gamble with that possibility.

I know so many systems and people who have endured extreme brainwashing who would be behind me when I say this.

DO. NOT. DO. IT.

...and so... assuming you have read all the warnings and you're not actively trying to invoke installed personalities into a person (which I do not condone under any circumstances at all).

How can we do character play and not leave lasting damage?

That's a question I have asked myself so so many times.

Firstly, avoid anything that makes the character headspace an extra layer. Do not use hypnosis to mold them. Do not give them their own triggers. Do not do anything which can be used as a divide between the waking self and the constructed persona.

But that's more "Don't" isn't it. Here's what you can do.

I think the best way is instead of having the hypnotee monitor the scene and step in when they need to, ask them to treat it as a performance. That they are aware of the artificial nature of the scene but at all times they will commit to taking on the role as an actor would on stage.

The key is to associate the role with the hypnotee enough that they are present in the scene while allowing them to commit to the actions without experiencing the thoughts and feelings of their own. Insist that no matter the morality and behavior of the character, the hypnotee as the actor will never cross their personal limits or ethics for the sake of the scene.

Then at the end of the sequence be sure to end the scene and ground the hypnotee, have them remember everything that had happened, remember them performing the act and deciding how to handle every decision. Make sure that the entire time that character and actor are one and the same and all hypnosis is doing is allowing the actor to invest in the bit.

That is legitimately the only safe way I think one can engage in this kind of play and from that angle it seems as harmless a suggestion as any scene.

But no shortcuts. No triggers that induce character headspace. No trying to breathe life into characters and allow them to inhabit. Even channeling them or letting them speak through the hypnotee courts a level of dissonance between states.

It's possible to enjoy the spontaneity of character play without suppressing the ego of the hypnotee. As I mentioned at the start, it may seem like a desirable outcome for some hypnotees to experience a state of ego-death and allow themselves to experience becoming someone else for a little while. It sounds appealing on paper.

A responsible hypnotist should never indulge that kind of desire and a respectable hypnotee should never burden a hypnotist with that level of responsibility. The damage is too risky.

Lastly, and this applies to all.

DEBFRIEF

Every major scene in any kink should involve a debrief segment. This helps with the grounding and it helps establish the in and out of scene dynamic while allowing the hypnotee to associate with their actions. "I did" rather than "they did".

One of my bigger mistakes in character play in my younger days was that I baked amnesia in and allowed my play partner to tell me about the scenes after the fact. This made it seem like the characters in the scene were the ones controlling things and I was a passive and absent spectator. Not good for healthy associations.

During a debrief the hypnotist and hypnotee should discuss their roles in the scene, how they felt during the experience. It gives both parties an opportunity to interrogate how the other is perceiving things, catch any flags (abuse of control over the scene, losing reality to fantasy etc) and give one another ideas for how to improve for future scenes. Debriefs make all kink play better in my opinion. Plus who doesn't like a bit of feedback on how you handled things in scene?

...look... I don't want to be an old lady yelling at the kids for doing things when I did them myself at that age.

I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't pretend I didn't see the allure on both sides of the watch.

I just... there weren't 20+ year experienced hypnosis veterans who had been in my character play abusing position when I was growing up. No one warned me. I learned all this the hard way and I hurt people. People I loved. Moreover I hurt me. In ways that will never heal.

I just want to spare anyone I can the pain of going through this.

So, in quick summary:

Ensure reality is always in the room.

Ensure the hypnotee is always aware of themselves and their action.

Reset after every scene.

Do not allow situational scenes to become direct triggers.

If you insist on reusing altered headspaces and characters then install and deinstal every time to limit any lingering traces out of scene. Do not allow them to have programming/conditioning unique to them.

Avoid allowing the hypnotee to circumvent their own ego and agency in a scene.

Debrief

Play safe... if you must play at all.

[thickenmyblood]

I don't know how to thank you. This feels like the end of an era. I can't believe it's been 4yrs since you started posting hiuh and I was instantly hooked. It literally got me through the pandemic. I learned so much from the story and felt I had Neo as a therapist(the best in the world). You must be flooded with asks now but I am really curious how the story formed in your head. It's hard to believe how consistent the story is as you posted chapter by chapter. Did you outline the whole story when you started? did you stick to all the original ideas? if you changed your mind what were they? It really is a master piece - much much better than many published books I read and I hope you will publish someday, if that's what you want.

I'd also offer you my first born to have an epilogue. hopefully lamen with their child(ren) playing on the beach and Nicaise being the doting big brother. they all grew so much and deserve all the happiness. oh and Kastor and Jo and Galen for big family gathering. I'm so proud of all of them.

thank you thank you thank you for all your patience and genius and mostly, generosity.

hello!!!! i'm so happy that my story resonated with you and got you through some tough times. it did the same for me!

It's hard to believe how consistent the story is as you posted chapter by chapter.

thank you!! it will never be as good as it was in my head or as good as I know I could have made it if I had spent more time on it, but for me the most important thing is that it is completed and at least 70% of what I wanted it to be. a win is a win!!!

Did you outline the whole story when you started? did you stick to all the original ideas? if you changed your mind what were they?

i got the idea for a modern au break up fic in 2020 while I was writing and posting wtsioa. i started the story as a 20k one shot and then realized 5k into it or less that it was not going to fit into that word count. the reason was very simple: i did not want a break up fic centered around "miscommunication" in a naive, fluffy way. i did not want to write a fic where the main issue was that one loved the other too much or that they thought the other was cheating when it wasn't true, etc. i wanted to write a break up that felt honest to me, and this meant giving them both issues that felt real, that i saw in myself and in the people around me irl. which meant that it would take them both considerably more than 5k to get over them (if they ever did).

i outlined the fic very roughly. my first drafts . . . they are not it, girl. like, anyone that has read wtsioa knows that. I'm a much better editor than I am a writer, so for hiuh i outlined the main beats (nicaise calls damen after months, damen goes to therapy, nicaise is out of control and some incidents happen, laurent is dating maxime, they get back together). then, i wrote the entire thing in . . . a year? maybe less? then, i made a mistake and got cocky: i edited the first three chapters and started posting on ao3. that's why the fic took so long to post. i had to edit each chapter a lot after the first three were released.

i edited out too many things to count. things you wouldn't believe if I told you now because they make no sense when looking at the finished version. idalia was a pretty big character, and so was jokaste. in the og outline, I debated between claude/heavy drugs for nicaise. i almost named dog NIKANDROS!!!! damen actually punched aktis at the party when he talks shit about laurent . . . which led to him also punching nik. laurent slapping nicaise once. aimeric and damen baking together. then, there were things I wanted to write but couldn't because they didn't feel very real to me, despite being the best self indulgent daydream scenarios ever: damen hunting claude down (yeah, ruth wanted this to happen), dog getting sick, aimeric's EVERYTHING lol, nik and nicaise talking, etc.

thank you for sending this ask and reading the story through all the ups and downs and... lack of updates on my end!!! it has been the best experience ever, knowing that someone out there is reading and cares about what I made. thank you!!!!!!!!

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Choose - Lose

First posted: April 2, 2019

Focuses on: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, and Bruce Wayne

Favorite bookmark: "cried again. i will cry another time"

Second favorite bookmark: "fuck yeah"

Tier: Pretty middle of the road.

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

This one. was. wild. At 699 words, I think it's my shortest (just checked, it is) and one of my more uhhh experimental pieces.

At some point in 2018-19, I read Raisin Delight by @lemonadegarden, who is an evil genius. I read it and it broke my entire brain and also my heart. It it one of the few fics I remember my name instead of a Friends-esque description. I don't know when exactly I read it because I don't know how long the emotions it inspired had to rattle around in me before they splorted out this fic in response. I wrote it all in one sitting, if I remember correctly. I don't remember getting stuck or having to backtrack. It being so short helped as well. It was—as you can tell by comparing the works—less about what happened in the fic and responding to that the way one might via a sequel or even going "I like that but what if you..." and more about be feeling many, many things around the concept presented and just needing to barf emotions into a brown paper bag.

They stood side by side, shoulders angled outward, faces on the horizon. The wind rose, lashing stinging grains of sands against their skin before dying down again.

No philosophical intro on this one. It's too short and the tone is all wrong for that kind of introduction. There was no question about sidestepping my usual chattiness and dropping in midscene. Like I said, wrote it all in one sitting, bang, done.

I did try to make each word and image count, though I'm no Ann Leckie and probably could/should have done an even finer job of it, but I do feel like the first two sentences packed in a decent amount of information.

Tim looked to the empty space where the time traveler had stood, a forgettable man with a forgettable face in a forgettable shabby brown suit, and had made his unforgettable offer.

I blame Agatha Christie for this imagery, if I blame anyone.

Bruce, face bare, t-shirt wrinkling in the wind, had sucked in a sharp breath.

This was important, them, as civilians, as people, as a father and his sons, not in costume, not with their gear and tools and weapons. This isn't Batman being forced to choose between his Robins.

In the air, a chopper whined. In the distance, a truck rumbled. A small, caped figure hurried across the dunes.

Fun fact: Even though this fic is so short I have slightly more insight than usual because I was able to pull up my chat history with @audreycritter from right after I wrote it and then surprised her with it, which is the only way I know that I was at work when I started thinking about debt and histories and timelines and realized that Jason's death was the only reason Tim joined Fam, that everyone else would have made their way in eventually but he needed Jason to die to make it and how guilty that might make him feel if he realized it, and then I remembered "Raisin Delight" (still at work) and just about lost it.

Literally at 5:03 PM on 4/1/19 I'm listing different takes I'd love to read and tell Audrey "Or some twisted scenario where a time traveler takes them back and gives them the choice. I couldn't do that one. but I would read it. Maybe. Through my fingers."

... Annnnnd by 7:43 PM on the same day I'm casually texting Audrey "hey off the top of your head by chance do you remember how Jason and Sheila got to the warehouse?" Which is how the above sentence comes into being.

(By 8:31 PM, the fic was already done.)

The traveler disappeared.

This was very much a no-answers fic. Who was that guy? Why was he doing this? How did he find them? Were they all together or did he gather them from separate places? How are they going to get back when they're done?

Answer: Don't wooooorrryyyyyyy 'bout it

Tim’s place with Bruce was bought with blood. Paid for by the death of another boy. Without the sucking, gaping void of Jason’s absence, there was no role for Tim. There would be no grief for Bruce. No reckless rage to tamp down. No despair to fight back. No place for a lonely boy from down the hill. No reason to make the walk to the Manor’s front door.

My thesis statement (paragraph.)

Beside him, Bruce swayed. Forward, as if to step, as if pulled beyond his control. Then backward, rocked by the horror, repelled by the choice.

This is the horror of the fic. Bruce cannot choose. He cannot choose one child over another. Like unbreakable-law-of-the-universe cannot, divisible by zero cannot. But not choosing is choosing, so he can't choose and he can't not choose, and if one of his sons didn't choose for him, he was going to spontaneously combust into antimatter, I think.

Beyond, Jason stood still as granite. Frozen. Hard. Petrified by the glare of Medusa. 

Contrast with Jason, who doesn't dare move a muscle.

The numbness hadn’t yet made it to Tim’s heart. It gave a twinge of surprise that they hadn't moved. Was it up to him again, then? To push Bruce into action? To do what must be done?

Contrast with Tim (the Robin who does what must be done, who exists to help Bruce and keep him on the right path), who assumed Jason must be the one saved, because as he goes on to explain, Jason dies. He gets beaten, tortured, blown apart, killed, buried, and resurrected in his own grave. Tim... well, Tim will lose his heart and happiness and the only true family he's ever known, but he won't know that.

Or, to quote myself:

He would wake, alive and whole, in his own bed. He wouldn’t even notice the hole where his heart had been. He would live, but he would lose.

Some version of those two words were always the options for the fic, because it's about choosing and losing (not or. and.) But the options listed in the chat were:

Choose. Lose.

Choose / Lose

Choose - Lose

and then lots of grumping about how, grammatically, Choose, Lose and Choose; Lose are both more accurate but I loathed them.

Bruce had gone white. Jason had gone green.

A clever commenter thought this was a reference to the Pit. It wasn't, just nausea (watching yourself walk to a horrible end) and maybe a small nod to Megan Whalen Turner. I like the thought, though.

Tim took a step forward. Then another. A hand encircled his wrist, held him fast. The trigger callus scraped against his skin.

Like I said. Bruce could never choose or not choose. He needed his sons to make the choice for themselves. There was never another universe where he stopped Tim or let him go. It had to be Tim's choice to go and lose his future just as it had to be Jason's choice to stop him and accept what he had.

And lastly, a commenter left essentially a dictation of the dialogue she had with her mother (who doesn't read fic or know anything about DC) telling her what happened in this fic, and it made my entire life.

[rotworld]

I just finished Avici and I had to come over here to express how amazing it was. I'm usually not into romance fics but Sukuna/Reader stories usually get at least a second look from me because his canon character is just very hard to write a 'normal' romance for so any story seriously tackling that is worth trying imo, and I'm so glad I did!

The characterisation of Gojo and Sukuna are wonderful, you really delved deep into the darker side of these monstrously powerful sorcerers in the frankly grim world of jujutsu. I've seen a lot of fics make these two softer (especially Gojo) so your portrayal is like a splash of cold water on a hot day lol. I don't even particularly like Gojo honestly but stories that show his darker side kind of make me see his appeal, a little.

I gotta say normally I'm ambivalent towards smut and don't actively search for it, but it's such a core part of Avici that I feel it wouldn't really work as well without it. The flashbacks and slow reveal of what exactly the reader is and the twisted bond they have with Sukuna and later Gojo really add a sense of tension and like, dread? To the whole thing, which was lovely. I also read your director's cut bc I was so enthralled, I'm blown away by how much went into it!

If you're willing to weigh in, what do you personally imagine happens to the reader during the canon timeline?

answer is long and contains jjk manga spoilers. 

aaaaaaaaaa that makes me so happy!!! i started out with very little interest in gojo but sort of wrote myself into liking him lol working on avici made me realize how easy it is to draw comparisons between him and sukuna. the things i've come to like about him are mostly things that lend themselves well to angsty scenarios, characters who are messy like that are like catnip to me. as for how things would go for the reader, it’s mostly just more misery.

by the end of the shibuya arc, the reader is in the custody of kenjaku and uraume. as a result of the failed noh exorcism, they have a strong connection to gojo so they would’ve felt it when he was sealed. it would resemble what sukuna’s dormancy feels like, and i think it would leave them with some complicated feelings. maybe that would be enough for them to leave and start wandering in search of some other way to pass the time, or maybe they’d stay there waiting. either way, uraume finds and retrieves them. this would probably involve a fight. the reader by the end of avici isn’t the docile creature uraume remembers. sukuna probably had the foresight to warn them, since this is an outcome he anticipated and even wanted, but that wouldn’t make the reader any easier to deal with. they are, by design, the kind of curse that only someone like sukuna or gojo can safely handle. maybe kenjaku can help with the apprehension lol

for the most part, i don’t think the reader would be very active. they would stick with uraume and kenjaku because they know that’s where they need to be. they would be there to spectate the culling game, they would be there when sukuna reappears in a new host, and they would be there when gojo dies. that might be the thing that finally sets them off, since they were counting on gojo to win that fight. if we’re going into fully indulgent territory lol then the reader would be involved in the final battle against sukuna, however that turns out. that’s the natural conclusion of their arc and it would be poetic for him to die at not only the hands of the thing he created, but the collective remnants of the people he used and tortured in the past. and it would be fitting for the reader to follow him, as promised, into whatever kind of oblivion comes next for curses. 

i guess that’s a little bleak lol but that’s more or less how it was always going to be. there’s no end to this for the reader, they’re stuck with him for eternity because he made them that way. but maybe there’s some closure there at least.

[moccabunie]

things I've learned after a year writing fanfiction

This is a post from a non-writer who, apparently, now writes (❓) And this is a little crazy to me, considering that a year ago writing less than 1k decent words took a lot of effort. But this year I have completed a +100k project. (It's still difficult, though.)

I found out that the more I wrote, the easier it was to get into the story. So I think that being captivated by my own story has made a lot. I am an eager fanfiction reader, but I had yet to really try to write something on my own.

That was until I got hyper-fixated on three characters and wrote a small story about them sharing a room, and it was one of the funniest and most rewarding things I've done. So I was like "oh, maybe I can try to imagine stories I would like to read?"

(1) story one - a bird told me to wait

The first thing I considered was to make it completely self-indulging. The second was to make it as evocative as possible, not only telling what was happening. I like sensations and emotions, so I really wanted to write things I would like to feel as a reader. I wrote this story, and after that, I added a second longer part because I was enjoying it a lot. I used to doodle about the characters and make small annotations about their dynamics, but there wasn't really a lot of planning here.

(2) story two - beneath the moonlight

My second attempt was a three-chapter story (not so distant from the previous one that can be read as three parts too). But for this one, I wanted to challenge myself because I wanted to explore new themes and tropes, so I made a brief list of the things that should appear here. (but honestly, I just wanted to write a soft mating bite scene lmao, because I was super into a/b/o at that time.) I used keep notes app this time.

I barely showed explicit themes here but I got to enjoy the story anyway. This one wasn't difficult to write because I felt familiar with the characters. It's a light story but these 20k words gave me the courage to take a step further. I said to myself

"stop being a coward. you have enjoyed this. keep writing."

(3) story three - lucid dreams

This one was planned for four or five chapters, quite in the same line as beneath the moonlight. But, and the keyword is planned, it became a full 13 chapters as I developed the story and the characters. If I wanted it to be coherent then I needed to explain the things, build the context, and introduce the world. But it was also an experimental work. I took my notebook and listed the new things I wanted to try, such as - write in past tense - write first and edit later

my process was something like this • imagine random scenarios with pretty imagery as I listened to music • doodling the characters doing things so I didn't forget • open the notes app to write random sentences and dialogues in the middle of the night, I'll find a place for them later • dream about the story and daydream about the story

as for the physical notebook, I have scribbled A LOT there during the writing process.

(a little bit chaotic but functional enough)

One thing I wanted to keep in mind was the evolution of the characters, or in other words, how they were gonna be at the start and the end of the story. And this made things a lot simpler because it gave me an insight that was helpful whenever I had to decide what kind of decisions the characters would make along the story.

Parallelly, I was aware of my narrative flaws, as well as there was a lot of vocabulary and grammar that would escape me in a different language. So I used the notebook to do writing research. Some of my pages were like "how to write action scenes," or "tips for flat scenes." Whenever I felt blocked I read again these pages.

I'm going to copy down here some tips that were useful during the writing block days.

• read another book or fic you like, since sometimes, getting yourself caught by another writer's style can help you to flow through your own. • scroll on pinterest and try to find pictures that capture the vibe of your story, maybe try to describe them or setting a scene in a similar environment that you can see? • changing the setting (for example, day to night, or sun to rain) can add more variants and ambiental tools to play with. • or, changing the character's pov. maybe a scene feels flat because it's narrated by the wrong character. • use objects, not just the characters.

(4) finishing a story

To have an insight into the plot, I wrote the main scenes in really short sentences. That was useful for the first chapters, but suddenly I had 70K words of the story and a lot of details to track. Frequently I had to split chapters into two parts because the "short sentence" became a very long scene. See this comparison: the scenes' guide in the last chapters usually are fragmented into shorter scenes. That's how I avoided losing my mind as I wrote (?)

These are a few tips that were useful to me during this last part.

• write the important plot points as they are mentioned so you can come back to them later and don't forget about them. • keep a scrip to annotate significant things about the characters to make the story consistent. • notion pages is a great place to make inspo boards (usually I added 4 pictures for each scene). During the last chapter, I used the to-do list tool to keep track of the closed story points and the things that were yet to happen • list some of your favourite past scenes, those that have been nice to write, so you can pursue the same vibe again.

The last two months writing the fic I joined the nanowrimo to keep myself motivated but also to have an impulse. My only goal was getting the habit of writing everyday, not minding how many words (usually it was around 400-600 daily). I ended that month with 16k added on my wordcount (to me, that was a lot!). Since I enjoyed that little challenge, I did the same on the next month, resulting in finishing the fic :)

The most important thing during this time was remembering myself from time to time why I am doing this. Let me say I am an utter perfectionist, so I would easily get trapped in making-the-story-perfect, which would end in a writing block. So each time this happened I repeated to myself that I didn't want to write a good story. I just wanted to enjoy and have fun while writing a story, so I should write only things I enjoy. And this simple thing was incredibly helpful whenever I wasn't able to continue a scene.

I think that this is what most writers say, but now I have come to understand that it's true: just have fun. Write what you wanna read.

(5) the next story - requiem of the sleepless

This would be the third part of my first fic. I miss these unhinged boys and I have a little draft of (unholy) things I want to happen to them! Now I want to unlearn everything I know. I want this story to be zero planned, I just want to ~feel~ the characters and make a lot of random things happen. This is about not forgetting why I started, so here I am again.

Being a non-writer writing.

thank you for reading ♡ 

[versegm]

OH FUCK I meant to send you a Director's Commentary thing when you reblogged it BUT I FORGOT anyway how about the deets on "And the Audience Clapped"? (If you're still in the mood)

For you? Always <3

The actual fic has a trigger warning for uh. Everything? The base premise of the fic is "Guda has incredibly disturbing intrusive thoughts and does not react well to them" so even if I don't think I'll get into details in my play by play, tw for thoughts of sexual violence, onscreen self-harm and suicide attempts, and overall blorbo from my show spiralling bad.

My primarily goal when writing this was "I want to see how fucking worse I can make Guda." But I'm a weenie I actually like bad endings so my secondary goal was "but I want it to end well."

I have absolutely no idea if I succeeded. I feel like I chickened out too much tbh (<- squicked out by sexual violence) and as for the ending I'm often told that what I qualify as a "good/okay ending" is often "fucking horrifying" to other people. Still I like the final result so that's everyone else's problem. This was however a nightmare to tag which is why I just went the "choose not to use archive warnings/fuck around and find out" route, because if I tagged everything it would be WAY too long.

Anyways. "What if the player was an outer god." I post about it a lot in a comedic tone over here. I wrote it as self indulgent porn somewhere else. But I really wanted to take it in a more... realistic? Direction I guess? What if things weren't automatically fine and ok because the story demanded it. What if it was in fact an incredibly distressing situation to be in. I don't like writing monsters are villains (not my vibe) but that does not mean the monster loving you & having good intentions should always be an instant smooth sailing. Which really means that Guda will be stuck in intrusive thoughts central for nearly 6k.

Now for a more specific play by play of the fic:

The problem with writing the POV character being possessed is that it is incredibly hard to showcase when "this is something normal from the character" vs "this is someone else speaking through the character" (doubly so when the character themself does not realize the possession is happening) So I was at times less than subtle about it. In case it wasn't clear, this is the player being worried about Guda, and Guda misinterpreting the feeling because "this is someone else's thought" is not typically the first conclusion people would draw. Anytime in the fic where you see Guda having conflicting emotions, or being confused about their own feelings, that was a case of player feelings interfering with their owns.

Outer gods are basically eldritch gods in Fate lore. As such I don't think they really have like. A body the way humans consider it. That's why the fics have various instances of weird fascination towards flesh and how it functions. From the perspective of a god, it'd be like suddenly figuring out how an ancient watch works.

When you're being possessed by someone who is 1) incredibly not fucking normal about your bestie and 2) does not know the difference between intimacy love and violence. Bottom text.

Also a lot of people initially assumed that I picked Castoria in this specific scenario because I, too, am not normal about her. And I mean. That is partially true (tho not to that extent lmao) but also Castoria IS canonically one of the closest people to Guda (& the most likely to realize that something is wrong.) It's not just "I'm having horrible thoughts about some random aquaintances" it's "I love this person with all my heart and I want to give them the world, but I can't even give myself to them because my existence is poison." So double the agony.

This was inspired by one specific scene from Mairimashita!Iruma-Kun, available on mangadex and probably crunchyroll please for the love of god read that manga it fucks SO hard.

When you're an Outer God with only a very vague knowledge of humans and what they look like so instead of focusing on eye color or haircuts you're just fascinated by the fact that this lil one has thirty-two teeth. Bottom text.

This whole section is meant to be "all the times Guda died before the player rebooted the games," so I picked all the hardest boss fights I could think of. There's someone in the comments who asked me months ago if they should pick up a guide for the Cernunnos fight because I brought it up like five times in that paragraph alone. My guy if you are following my blog, yes, you should. You really fucking should.

Also I use second person a lot when writing Guda fic because it's easier (they/them can be confusing when you're writing multiple characters in one setting) but ofc for this fic this also gave me the opportunity to write some moments where the player is directly talking to Guda (or at Guda, rather.)

I wanted to show that while the player was at their most Not Normal about Castoria, they do love everyone in Chaldea, which is why Guda is being more affectionate than usual here.

I'm just really proud of "You imagine lapping at her open wounds, lapping at her wet cunt." Intimacy and violence but also holes and fluids you know how it is.

My bitch Guda who wouldn't wish to bother others & show any weakness if they had a gun to their head.

Christ I can't summarize MHXX's lore concisely, but she is repeatedly compared to a character from a sitcom, hence why her first comparison is to tv shows.

This is meant to be a call-back to that bit earlier where they wonder how hard they'd have to bite to make Castoria bleed.

To lb6 players out there: I was thinking of Gareth writing this line.

I don't remember if I told you, but Castoria has Fairy Eyes, ie is capable of perceiving lies (tho the exact mechanics are unclear.) That's why Guda is being extra stubborn. They can't deny that they're fine because she'll know it's false, so they're trying to dodge the entire conversation.

My bitch Guda who is taking the entire situation soooo well (casually deshumanize themself & considers being dead in the same sentence)

[Castoria voice] why don't you get into bdsm and then maybe you'll feel better.

Anyways, that was blorbo from my game having the worst life of their life! I think I could have done worse, and will endeavor to do so soon. Still damn proud of it tho!

[mellowthorn]

I was tagged by @gwenllian-in-the-abbey, thank you so much for the tag! (and sorry that it has taken me forever to do this)

How many works do you have on AO3?

Three currently (I’ve written more for other fandoms but I orphaned those years ago)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

55,643

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I only post for Realm of the Elderlings, but I also sometimes write Kingdom Hearts fics purely for myself

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Uhh, I only have three on my current account, but in order, Someone Other Than Us, After The Sun Has Set and then Ever Your Fool.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, or at least I try to! I have a bad habit of thinking my response but never actually writing it down and then forgetting about it completely... But I try my best to remember to reply, even if it ends up taking a while.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Neither of my finished fics/oneshots have closed endings, so I guess it depends on what you imagine happens afterwards. Neither of them are exactly happy though.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I haven’t finished posting it yet, but it shouldn’t come as a surprise that After The Sun Has Set will soon take that title. I mean, it's already happier than anything else that I've written

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do, occasionally. I don’t know exactly how to describe what kind, other than that my smut scenes tend to be quite sad?? I like using them as a way to explore or exaggerate some complicated character dynamic, and I guess that’s why they often turn into something at least a little uncomfortable. As much as I enjoy reading smut that’s all sexy and romantic, for some reason I can’t write it myself at all haha

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nah

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Nope

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Fitzloved is my current favourite (and I've never been this intense about a ship before), though Zemyx (from Kingdom Hearts) is the one I always eventually return to

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Last spring I wrote about 45k words of post-Assassin’s Fate happy ending AU. The outline for it is massive, and what I’ve written so far covers maybe one tenth at most. I know I will never have the patience to finish it, but somewhere at the back of my mind I refuse to let it go. I’ve been trying to see if I could turn parts of it into one-shots or something, but who knows what I’ll end up doing 🤷

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’d say I’m fairly good at characterization, as well as building up tragic and angsty scenarios. My favorite thing when writing fanfiction is to take some (usually sad) aspect of a character/relationship/etc and then dive deep into that, and I think I do it pretty well.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My prose, especially detailed descriptions and creative similes and metaphors and the like. Writing those does not come naturally to me at all, and I feel like I often get stuck using cliches and specific words or phrases, and then have to spend half my time editing to make things less repetitive.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

 Not my thing, I prefer to keep everything in one language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

 Harry Potter, I think? Way back in like 2008 or 2009.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

From RotE stuff, After the Sun Has Set. It’s the first time I’ve managed to fully write, edit and post a multi-chapter fic from start to finish, and that alone is a huge achievement for me. Writing every chapter from a different character’s PoV was also a really fun (if sometimes frustrating) challenge and I’m really glad to have done it. Outside of RotE, a few years back I wrote this super self-indulgent novel-length Zemyx fic. I never posted it anywhere and it’s kind of crap quality-wise so I never will, but since it’s basically just every romance trope I’ve ever liked, it’s fun to reread for comfort every once in a while.

[allylikethecat]

1, 3, 75 (Rid Me Of The Blues) for the writer asks!!

Thank you SO MUCH for sending this ask! I love answering question asks and I also LOVE chatting about my fics so this is like best case scenario for me! Thank you so very much!! 🥰 If anyone else wants to send in some Get to Know Your Fic Writer Asks the list can be found HERE.

Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

I don't really have a preference! For me a one-shot vs a multi chapter fic depends on the story I'm trying to tell. Some of my oneshots, for example (Sometimes) my beta at the time had urged me to post as two or three chapters, but I decided I liked the way it flowed better as a oneshot. Meanwhile, It's Christmas (So This is Gonna Be a Nightmare) was originally supposed to be a oneshot that then evolved into a chaptered fic.

3. Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

Usually, I start with a detailed summary of everything that I want to happen in the fic (kind of like a written down version of what I would verbally ramble to my friend) Once I have that little summery, I then start working on my outline and highlight the key things that I want to happen / specific scenes I want to include. From there I divide that into rough chapters and get to work writing! Some of my outlines are more detailed than others and that fully helps writing go faster, other times my outlines are more vague / have evolved so much that chapters take longer because I have to come up with more plot points / connect more things on the fly. Once I have usually the first two chapters finished, I start posting on AO3! For example On a Friday and All The King's Horses have very detailed outlines that I have stuck to, therefore writing those chapters is really easy and quick, since I know exactly what's going to happen. Make Way for Ducklings takes a little longer because that outline has been revised so many times I'm basically winging it at this point!

75. What scene in [Rid Me of the Blues] took the longest to write? What was difficult about it?  There were two scenes that took me a long time to write. The first was the breakup scene in Chapter 6. I made myself really sad working on it, and it went through many rewrites, because obviously we know that Fictional!Matty and Fictional!George were going to get back together eventually, so I didn't want to absolutely destroy the character of Fictional!George and I wanted to make it clear that he felt like he was out of options, his love for Fictional!Matty was killing them both and breaking up was the only option. With that scene also primarily being from unreliable narrator Fictional!Matty's point of view, I felt like I was toeing a very thin line. It was the big turning point in the fic and I wanted to make sure I did it justice, and was able to portray it the way I saw in my head. I am very pleased with how it turned out though! The other scene that took a long time to write as the scene in Chapter 7 when Fictional!Matty goes back to his childhood home to reconcile with Fictional!Denise. The bit where he was on the train was one of the very first scenes I wrote for the entire fic, and connecting it back to him actually going home and seeing Fictional!Denise was a challenge for me, because it felt very delicate and emotionally charged. Again, that's another one that I ended up really happy with, and even though I probably rewrote the entire later three fourths of the chapter six or seven times, I'm very pleased with the final outcome. Man I just love this fic in general and could talk about it for hours. Thank you so much for still caring about her! 🩵

Thank you so much for indulging me and sending in this ask! I love ask game situations and am so grateful any time anyone sends me one! If anyone else wants to send me some Get to Know Your Fic Writer questions the list can be found HERE! I hope you have a lovely evening and a great rest of your week!

❤️ Ally

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[kyanmapng]

han seojun biker au.

listen to movie by junny.

˗ˋˏ author’s note ˎˊ˗

finally biker! seojun is here. as usual i just indulged and let my imagination run wild with the cheesiness. it might seem short, but i actually wrote too much and had to cut it in the middle as to not overwhelm ppl and tumblr (who loves to cut my stuff when i add read more). but if u are interested in more of this, let me know! biker seojun is definitely my weakness and this has a continuation, but i’m thinking of re-writing the continuation as more of a scenario. 

duality truly hits different with han seojun. dark, mysterious with a studded jacket and ears heavy with piercings, but drinking non-alcoholic sweet drinks because his tolerance for alcohol is so incredibly low (i mean one shot and the world is a merry-go-round low). 

he has the look of a model, as if u can’t possibly catch him looking less than 100% perfect (something his gang members would love to prove wrong and they have no shortage of incriminating pictures).

he definitely named his bike and talks to it when he makes repairs. also is it just me or did it get a little hot here, thinking about seojun working on his bike? headband in his hair to keep it from falling in his eyes, leather jacket somewhere in the corner so as to not get it dirty, black shirt with a neckline so deep his friends call it indecent exposure. his friends make so much fun of him when he does things in what seems like a thought-out pose (think of suho making fun of seojun for drying his hair in the most diva way possible.)

seojun doesn’t enjoy fighting but sometimes you just can’t avoid it and he learned to adapt. as a kid he would never stoop so low as to cheat or play to his advantage. when he got older and saw that his play by the book mentality gave the upperhand to everyone but him, he changed his way. petty and crafty tricks sometimes hit harder than fists ever could. 

but even then his heart is forever kind and beats harder for anything cute. he gets this soft look in his eyes when seeing a puppy or riding by a field of pretty flowers. (he also wears cute mismatched socks inside his scary looking leather boots. but that’s a secret he’s taking to his grave.)

and people seem to notice the softness even when he tries so hard to be intimidating. grannies effortlessly rope him into carrying their groceries (oftentimes he volunteers himself) and then they pull his cheeks and coo at him, while he has to bow down to even be eye level with them. it makes him wonder if he is just soft or they are tough. (it’s both ok.)

biker seojun loves his gang, they are his family and he can’t imagine them not being by his side. it would feel like he is stranded in the middle of nowhere with his bike in pieces that he can’t put together. 

even then he feels like there is something missing. seojun is a romantic soul through and through, he wants to feel the connection and have someone who will turn to him for help and who will be there for him as well. someone he can share his everything with (down to the mismatched socks secrets.)

it just so happens, seojun often rides off to clear his head so as to not bother his friends. this time he is jumped by some people that really want to have revenge and have the numbers to make it sting bad. seojun gets hurt pretty bad but in comes a knight in a shining armor (really it’s just a person on a scooter playing police siren imitation.) shockingly the tactic pays off and the dudes run off yelling curses and promises of bigger beating. 

before seojun loses consciousness he sees you run to him from the pizza delivery scooter and look him over with an extremely worried look. 

hauling seojun anywhere is a pain that your back is going to feel for a few days, but after he’s successfully transported you can finally try and see the full scope of his injuries. split lip, cut on his forehead probably from a ring, bruised jaw and ribs. when your hand touched his ribs, seojun flinched and woke up, grabbing your hand and squeezing hard on the reflex. 

once u calm him down and he relaxes again, he let’s go and watches you fuss over him. when he notices your wrist and those red irritated marks his grip left, he feels guilty. you ask him what happened and he glosses over it, not wanting to disclose anything that could somehow put you in risk. he asks how come you got a police siren and you laugh and tell him that you have secrets of your own. 

when seojun is as good as new, you send him on his way, but before that he asks about the reason you would risk helping him. “turning a blind eye like that is … agreeing with the violence even without throwing my fists around. how could i sleep at night not knowing what happened to you after i turned my back on you?” seojun feels something stir in him at that, even more so when u add, “it’s not that i wasn’t scared! but i would be more scared of myself if i let it go.” 

basically that seal the deal and seojun is stuck with your words in his mind and your kind touch on his wounds in his memory. later that night he realizes… he didn’t ask for your name! he feels like his chance to get to know you just slipped through his fingers.

until later his gang members see how gloomy seojun seems and want to raise his spirits with some pizza night! seojun goes to the door, grumpily huffing and puffing under his breath, just to freeze when he sees you holding the pizza, trained smile on your face. “here is your pizza-- oh!” by some movie-esque turn of events seojun sees his second chance materialize and he is not going to let it pass him by. maybe this time he will start by asking your name and maybe just maybe he will ask for your number too. 

[carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich]

Your mind is so great how do you come up with these scenarios?

Aw thank you anon!

As for how I come up with them... I basically just daydream a lot so I'm often running through lots of little scenarios in my head or trying to come up with new ideas for them ^^;; In fact I'm not sure whether I should be admitting to this so easily but a lot of my Shin fics have started out as some sort of overly indulgent self-insert fantasy that I've then developed and in doing so have swapped out myself for the reader character.

I'll also say a big source of inspiration for me personally is just other media and I don't mean deliberately copying plots or anything but more finding things I like or things that interest me enough to spark a "what if?" moment.

The best recent example I can give you for this is my Demon Lord Carla drabble which was inspired by Misyr from Café Enchante. Misyr is nothing like I wrote Demon Lord Carla, but he did get me thinking about fantasy demon lords and I thought, hey, wouldn’t it be fun to make Carla a classic fantasy demon lord but one who was like, actually terrifying, and thus Demon Lord Carla was born (and as I was writing that, I started asking questions about what Shin's role in that sort of world would be and how I could get him to interact with a reader character and the demon Shin fic I'm currently working on also came into being).

If anyone's looking for advice on coming up with ideas, honestly the best advice I can give is to consume other media (fantasy works best for me but just make sure it’s something you enjoy) and pick out little points or ideas that interest and think about why they interest you, what you liked about how the original text handled them and what you didn’t like so much and wish had been done differently. 

With fanfiction, you can literally then just dive straight in and write things how you wish they’d gone. If you’re looking to develop your own AUs or original stories, then think about how else you could explore those themes, how you could mix and combine them into something that looks almost entirely different from the original.

Once you have an idea, even if it’s just a single really vivid scene (which is often my starting point), you can choose to write that in isolation, post it to your blog and let your readers come to their own conclusions about what happens after. Or, if you’re interested in developing a proper plot, you can built the rest of your story around it by asking questions. What had to happen to the characters to get to this point? What extra information do I need about the world and the plot to make this make sense? What do I think the characters will do after this scene and why?

I think one of the best philosophies I've ever heard when it comes to writing (but it applies to all art really) is that nothing is ever truly creative. That probably sounds quite negative but basically it's the idea that whatever ideas our brains come up with are going to end up as some reconstituted version of things we’ve already seen and experienced through some form or another. 

Now what that means is that yes, you’ll have ideas that other people have already done some sort of variation of, but because the sum of your own experiences is entirely unique to you, you’ll be able to draw from it and write something that only you could. Even if the themes and ideas themselves aren’t entirely new, it might be something that other people really engage with and are able to enjoy.

I fear that I’ve ended up rambling a bit, but hopefully this is at least slightly useful to someone. 

Thank you again anon, I hope you have a lovely day!

[retrievablememories]

the second time around | jaehyun

title: the second time around pairing: jaehyun x reader genre: fluff, some angst request: “Hi! Here’s a suggestion for a story or add-on to another story you wrote. I really liked moonlight w/ jaehyun! Could you do a follow up with him not seeing her for awhile and him (and her secretly) being pissed about it but wants to reconnect with her but outside of being a customer. Ty and keep up the good work with your writing.” word count: 2.9k warnings: a couple mentions of sex a/n: hmm...the sequel to moonlight...sequels are scary to write but here we are lol. this could’ve been posted last sunday really but i’ve been stalling oof

Despite getting Jaehyun’s number after that night at the strip club, you’ve seen and heard a lot less of him than you’d like. On his end, Jaehyun isn’t so pleased about losing touch either, but you wouldn’t know that with the lack of communication.

Both of you are ultimately busy with your own lives, and it’s not like he can just drop in whenever he wants to visit you. Not just because he’s busy, but also because of where you work. The men keep their visits to the club on a once-a-month basis for a reason—to avoid tipping off any stalkers who’d find out and leak their whereabouts.

You’ve texted each other a few times since your first meeting, and you enjoyed the conversations you got to have within that timespan, but the time between responses kept getting longer—on both of your ends—until things eventually dropped off.

You were unhappy about this, though you tried not to be so obvious about it to the other girls. Getting attached to customers was not a good look. Even if they were handsome and nice and had good dick.

However, Anya was the first to notice your slightly sour mood despite your best efforts to project an unphased demeanor. And, being her usual nosy self, she managed to pry it out of you before you could even think about denying it.

“Don’t stress about it,” she’d told you on the night you finally spilled the beans. She’d wrapped her arms around your shoulders and tipped your chin up, making you hold your head up higher and look at yourself in the mirror reflection facing you. “There will be many more men where he came from. And if you don’t wanna deal with any more men right now, that’s fine too. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on, anyway.”

“I’m not stressing over it,” you’d argued, sighing. “We don’t stress over men who aren’t boyfriends, remember?”

Anya grinned then, though you could tell it was the kind of smile you give when a friend is doing something they shouldn’t be—or indulging in something they think is good for them when it’s not. “Duh. But you might wanna start following your own advice if you’re gonna be dishing it out!” And then she’d gone off to do her own thing, probably to finish getting ready for her set later that night or to go bother one of her favorite bartenders.

You’d looked at yourself in the mirror more closely, frowning at the truthfulness of her statement and wishing you had not been quite so easy to read. You’d had a show right after that, which allowed you to take your mind off the mess for at least a few hours. But in the small moments when you weren’t thinking about work or school or anything else you had to do, Jaehyun crept back into your mind like a specter, wanting you to acknowledge him even though you weren’t getting the same.

When you head out to the parking lot after a particularly long night, you slow your steps when you see a man leaning against his car, his cap pulled over his eyes and his head low. In any other scenario, you probably would’ve alerted one of the bouncers, thinking he was some creep waiting until after your stage to try to corner you in a shady area. However, you hold off on calling anybody because you can clearly recognize him even if he thinks he’s being inconspicuous—it’s Jaehyun.

He lifts his head when he hears your shoes on the ground, and his lips turn up into something of a smile.

“If you wanted another dance, you’re a bit late. We just closed,” you say jokingly, raising an eyebrow at him. Jaehyun shakes his head.

“Tempting idea, but that’s not what I came here for.” He turns to face you fully now, observing you in your casual, after-work clothes. In the back of your mind, you realize this is the first time he’s seen you outside the context of performing. Then he sighs. “It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”

“I know.” Your familiar irritation rises again. Sure, maybe him coming to see you or you going to see him more often isn’t feasible. A text or a call, though...would be decidedly less effort, and not difficult to do. You’re not sure whether to be more irritated with him or yourself about not trying to reach out again, though you decide to aim your annoyance at him just because you can.

Jaehyun nods to your agreement. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine,” you say. “Work is...work. It has its ups and downs. How are you? Busy with the idol life?”

Jaehyun sighs. “Yeah...it just gets…stressful sometimes.” He bites his lip and shakes his head, seeming bothered about whatever’s going on with his job but not wanting to say much more about it.

“I’m sure,” you respond, and you don’t really know what to say afterwards. It’s been a while since either of you talked, and it’s strangely hard to try to pick up where you left off as if nothing happened. Jaehyun realizes this, too, and appears distressed at not knowing how to keep the conversation going with you—and possibly wasting your time.

You nod to yourself and shift on your feet. “Well, the Uber will probably be here soon, so—”

“I don’t know what things will look like between us, but I don’t want us to fall out of contact again,” Jaehyun blurts out, then winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just...don’t want either of us to leave before we...sort this out, I guess.”

You think to yourself, wondering if this is really worth trying to pursue. You’ve yet to deal with a man with the level of fame that Jaehyun has, yet with such a strict image to keep, which makes things exponentially more complicated. But despite your apprehension, you still want to know where this could lead. After a moment, you say, “Well, if you’re willing...I’d like the same.”

Jaehyun nods and stands up a little straighter, like that response just gave him the energy he needed. “Do you wanna….go somewhere? Just to like, hang out.” His proposition is abrupt, and you didn’t expect it. 

“Now?” You check your phone, and it’s 18 minutes past 2 a.m. There aren’t too many places that will still be open at this hour, other than establishments similar to your line of work, but you aren’t in the mood for any more of that tonight. Your driver, too, is only a few minutes away, but you already find yourself with your finger hovering over the Cancel button. “We could.”

Jaehyun goes around to the passenger side of the car and opens the door for you. You get into his car, noting its sleek interior. Once he gets in, he asks you what you want to hear, and you notice he’s looking through his Spotify. You shrug.

“I don’t know. Show me something you like,” you say. You cringe at sounding so disinterested, which makes you realize you might just be a little more upset about being ghosted than you thought you were. You almost want to curse at how this dude is taking you off your usual game. “I mean, I like hearing new music anyway, so…”

Jaehyun starts the car and grins slightly. “Alright, then let me show you the best of the best…” You both end up listening and vibing to a playlist he’s made, which is good. Not that you didn’t expect it to be, but you end up liking most of the songs he shows you, which usually doesn’t happen with other people’s playlists.

Jaehyun ends up taking you to an ice cream place that’s still open this late, to your surprise. The sitting area inside the store is closed, though they’ve kept the drive-thru open for late-night travelers like yourselves who want a quick treat. You don’t question it, though; you definitely won’t pass up a chance for some ice cream.

You end up eating the ice cream while sitting in his car and listening to the rest of his playlist. Neither of you say much other than commenting on the songs or talking about your favorite ice cream flavors or making other non-committal small talk. You kind of prefer it this way, at least for the moment—just listening to the music and watching the headlights and taillights of cars that pass by.

You and Jaehyun ride around the city for a while longer after finishing the ice cream, not intending to go anywhere in particular but just coasting on the highways. It might be an excuse to keep listening to this new playlist he’s put on, or maybe more reason to pretend that awkward period between you never happened. Acknowledging it in a way, but not speaking any life into it. 

Eventually, though, it has to arise back to the surface. Jaehyun taps his fingers against the steering wheel at a red light, like he’s impatient to get somewhere, and you wonder what he’s feeling until he comes out and says,

“I think it was...ultimately my fault for not contacting you more. Or not trying to stay in contact.”

The words hang in the air for a moment. “Well, I won’t argue with that,” you finally respond.

“It’s just hard to get close to anyone and be an idol at the same time. Sometimes I sabotage myself when I shouldn’t, and…” He trails off, though you don’t know whether he’s searching for the words or has decided to leave his sentence at that.

“You’d rather not be embarrassed by dating a stripper, or something along those lines?” Your tone is nonchalant, though you’re a little bothered by saying it. He wouldn’t be the first or the last person to feel some type of way about your job, though you’ve mostly gotten used to the judgment at this point.

Jaehyun seems a bit startled by the statement. “If you like doing it, then I don’t care what you do. You should live your life however you want to.”

“I see,” you say slowly. “Most men I meet outside of the club are not receptive to it, so you ain’t gotta lie if you feel some other way about it, seriously...”

“I’m serious,” he insists. “You told me that day that you liked it, and I believed you. I just think...we should all be able to do things we enjoy without worrying about what others think of it.”

Jaehyun turns to look at you for a moment, and his features are lit up by the street light as it turns green. His face, which is simultaneously painted with shadows and glowing with light, appears to be just as genuine as he sounds. Or maybe this late-night atmosphere just has you feeling more receptive and sentimental than usual. Then he broaches the next subject carefully, steering you back to where the conversation began. “You didn’t text me anymore, either.”

“I figured you’d moved on or something, maybe started talking to someone else…” you reply. “And, you know, if that was the case...so be it. There wouldn’t be a point to chasing someone who wasn’t interested anymore.”

“I am interested.” Jaehyun rushes the words out, like he’s eager to dispel the uncertainty before you get the wrong idea; not that that hasn’t already happened, but still. It isn’t too late to change your mind. “I want to like, know you as a person...not just while being a customer at the club, or something like that.”

You nod, looking at your hands and considering his words. “We can do that...yeah, we can.” Then you hold your hand out to him, a grin playing on your lips. “Nice to meet you, then. I’m Y/N.”

He smiles too, and takes your hand in one of his. “I’m Jaehyun.”

The conversation after that seems to reach a turning point, like somehow you’ve broken the ice and can finally talk to each other on a deeper level without worrying about the issue that’s been lingering over your heads all night. You think you could talk to him like this for hours if you wanted to, if there was enough time in the world for it. 

Unfortunately, though, you don’t have as much time as you’d like, and once it starts edging on 4 AM, you both decide it’s probably best to call it a night. Jaehyun takes you back to your apartment after you tell him where it is.

He parks in front of the apartment complex, and you’re prepared to thank him for the night and get out, but he insists on walking you up to your apartment—something about it being too dangerous for women to walk alone at night.

“It’s not that far.” You laugh, but you aren’t going to argue about it if it means getting a few more moments with him.

Jaehyun follows you up the steps after you both get out of the car. You walk a little slower to prolong the moment, but eventually you have to get up to your apartment door. You also take your time with taking your keys out of your bag and putting them in the lock. And maybe you’re not as slick as you thought, because Jaehyun notices. He laughs quietly behind you, but the sound isn’t low enough to escape your hearing.

You turn around to look at him, your hand on the doorknob. “Well, I guess that’s it. Thanks for the ride...and for the ice cream, you know.”

He nods, and one of his dimples pokes out. “You didn’t have to entertain me tonight, but I’m glad you did...so, thanks.”

Both of you linger in your doorway for a few more moments. Jaehyun wants to come in, and you know it, but you also know he probably won’t say it because he technically shouldn’t. His members are expecting him back at the dorm. He doesn’t want to impose, and he didn’t even bring any extra clothes. But you know he wants to come in, and you want it, too.

You tilt your head to the side. “Would it be bad if I asked you to stay?” you say tentatively.

A slow smile spreads on his face. “No, it wouldn’t.”

You open the door wider so he can step inside and take his shoes off at the entrance. You lead him to your living room by the hand. “What do you wanna do?” you ask, looking at him imploringly. You want to be sure you’re both on the same page concerning your intentions.

“Whatever you wanna do,” he echoes, holding your hand a bit tighter. You expect to see lust or some similar desire in his expression and had already figured you might end up having sex again tonight, but his eyes expect nothing from you. He only smiles in the dim light of your apartment and waits for you to make the next move.

You laugh, and it comes out as an airy chuckle. “Well, then...I want to lay down. It’s been a long day.” From your tone, Jaehyun understands that you really just want to lie down and not think about much of anything else right now. He follows you when you lead him into your bedroom and sits patiently on your bed while you go to the bathroom to change into your night clothes. You’re thankful you already took a shower at the club, because you’re not sure you’d have the energy to do all that now.

He’s taken his jeans off when you come back into the room, though he still keeps his shirt on. You get onto the bed and lean over him, hooking your finger into the collar of his shirt, and he looks up at you. “You can take this off if you want, I don’t care.”

“Is this you saying you want to see me shirtless?” He grins, though he readily takes the invitation and pulls his shirt off, placing it to the side along with his pants.

You shake your head good-naturedly, a smile on your face. “I promise it’s innocent…but the view never hurts.”

You peel the sheets back and you both climb underneath them, lying across from each other and looking at each other like you want to say something more but aren’t sure what. There isn’t much light in the room except for the street lights coming from your bedroom window, muted slightly by the blinds.

Jaehyun laughs suddenly, breaking the silence, and you do the same. You’re not sure why either of you are laughing, but you do so anyway, simply enjoying the moment for what it is. After your laughter dies down, he takes your hand from where it’s resting on the pillow and slips his pinky around yours. “I’ll try not to lose you this time.”

You lean a little closer to his face so you can plant a kiss on his lips—just a short and soft touch. He tastes like ice cream, and somehow you know there will be many more kisses like this in the future. “You better not.”

[concussed-to-pieces]

Late July

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pairing: Agent Whiskey [Jack Daniels]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit explicit.

Summary: Upon hearing about you from Tequila, Jack Daniels seeks you out with a full set of emotional baggage to work through. You happily oblige, helping him craft a scene that just might grant him some peace of mind. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @wrestlingfae @cookiethewriter @culturalrebel @jackierey09 @crookedmoonsaultpunk @duker42 @agirllovespasta @nelba @pedrosbigdorkenergy @lestrange2703 @youmeanmybrain @luvley-shadow @theocatkov @miscellaneousjunkk @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @buttons-beads-lace @gooddaykate @lackofhonor

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains consensual non-consent (surrender play), light domination, roleplay, unprotected sex, frank discussion of safe words, usage of safe words, dirty talk and light bondage. Remember that fanfictions are not research and that you should never engage in any activity if you do not trust your partner. Stay safe!]

There was just something about you that put people at ease, and Ginger Ale noticed during the interview process. "You have a gift!" She had praised you, her smile unexpected and bright. "I can see why Tequila recommended you for this position."

Granted, being the 'head of first impressions' at a distillery that was actually a front for a secret intelligence agency had its ups and downs, but you enjoyed the work and (if you were honest) the exciting interactions with the Statesman agents. 

Tequila, of course, would practically drape himself across your desk as he regaled you with (hopefully) exaggerated tales of his heroics. The two of you were sexually involved but preferred to keep each other at arm's length out of the bedroom, neither party particularly keen on surrendering your freedom and committing to anything serious at this point of your lives. You admired his dedication to Statesman, and he in turn respected your desire to have a successful career. He also was blatantly mooning over a certain analyst.

Ginger Ale was quieter and sharper than Tequila, her dry humor a joy to witness. She was the one who had done your interview, and she had given you the full behind the scenes tour once your background check went through. She was beautiful, charismatic and smart as a whip. You hoped to one day be as self-assured as she was.

Champ tended to keep to himself for the most part, though you had encountered him several times in the past when he dozed off in a certain chair at the end of a sunlit hallway. The elderly man was like an old tomcat, you decided, able to prowl but more than willing to take it easy.

Whiskey was often away managing the affairs of their New York headquarters and as such, was the one that you interacted with the least. He would come breezing in at all hours, a slow smile and a wink directed your way before he would saunter past. The rare occasions that he engaged you in conversation were nerve-wracking, as you were a little starstruck due to the glowing accounts both Champ and Tequila had given of his prowess in the past.

Ginger Ale was a bit more down to earth, thankfully. "He's just a man who's lost a lot, and his reasons for wanting to change things for the better may not be entirely altruistic." She had informed you concisely when you queried about the origin of one Jack Daniels. You had picked up on the veiled sadness in his dark eyes, the age that seemed to weigh him down that wasn't entirely related to years.

So when the aforementioned Statesman agent had drunkenly expressed a certain desire to you at a company party, you couldn't hide a little spike of curiosity. Mainly because the two of you interacted so rarely. Hell, you wouldn't even call yourselves friends. Tequila must have told him about your side activities.

"Ever since I lost her, I can't fuckin' bring myself to raw anyone else." The confession had come out of left field, but you had done your best to play it off like it was normal. Lord knew you had done enough paperwork in your career at Statesman to understand that agents would just kind of…say things thoughtlessly if they believed they were in a safe environment. A hazard of the job.

"What do you mean, Mr. Daniels?" 

"Call me Jack. Jesus, I ain't that old." He had hiccupped sharply, grimacing. "I just mean I...it's like a mental block. I wanna', I'm excited about it, and everything's fine until I try to come and boom. Python shrivels up like a damn salted slug and I'm left holdin' the bag tryin' to explain myself." He stared into his glass, looking pensive. "Real mood killer."

"Any idea why this might be?" You had prompted, leaning against the bar and idly scanning the throngs of people around you. It wasn't every day that so many of the company's rank and file rubbed elbows with the higher-ups, but you had to assume these economic mixers were what had kept the company (and intelligence agency) on such an even keel. It was a grounding experience, a way to remind the suits of their humble beginnings.

He scoffed out a breath. "Oh I know exactly why. When I lost her, I...we had only learned a little while before that she was havin' a baby. We'd been havin' a rocky time and we were actually thinkin' of breakin' up, but that news…" Jack had tilted his head to glance your way, his brown eyes distant. "If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, she wouldn't have been out shoppin' that day, y'know?" A sad smile had quirked his mouth beneath his mustache. "My fault."

At the time, you had made a noise of sympathy and gone to lay a hand on his arm before you could think better of it. He, instead of shrugging off your touch, actually ended up twining his fingers through your own and giving your hand a light squeeze.

Agent Whiskey's past was a shadowy affair in the Statesman organization. Though to be fair, no one really asked anything about anyone. Ginger Ale reasoned that the less people knew, the safer they and Statesman were in the event of a security breach. 

Anything you learned from any of the agents, you tended to keep close to your heart. It was your nature to gather useful information and foster trust for a rainy day. That personality facet had served you well as you had climbed the ranks from intern to head of first impressions, and knowing that you were someone that could be counted on to hold your cards close put many people at ease.

Including one Agent Whiskey.

"Tequila said you were good at helpin'. I'd be much obliged if you'd consider takin' a crack at my sexual baggage."

...

"Alright so for your words, you've decided on 'sixth' as your 'yes I'm into this', followed by second for 'slow down but don't break character', first for 'slow down and do break character' and finally neutral for 'full stop'." You tapped the customary notepad on your lap, glancing over at the man across the table. The two of you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the vacation cabin that your parents had willed to you, the modest dwelling often your staging ground for affairs like this. The warm wooden decor tended to make your partners feel more at ease and less vulnerable. Perceived safety was, after all, incredibly important when crafting scenarios.

Jack nodded. "Gears are easy for me to remember. Simple." 

"Got it. And no kissing on the mouth. Can I kiss you in other places, or would you prefer I didn't at all?"

"Kissin's fine." Jack allowed. "Whatever you wanna' do is fine, just not on my mouth." You jotted that down. "Hey, I uh...I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you agreein' to help. I dunno' if this will work, but…" Whiskey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks. When Tequila mentioned your...extracurriculars, I figured he was jus' bein' outta' pocket again."

You grinned at that, giggling a little. "Does he get weird a lot?"

"I mean, he's uh...well, he's got his moments." Jack replied with a smile of his own.

"So," you hummed once you had checked your notes again, "after looking over all the information we've compiled, and the ideas you gave me an outline of, I'm thinking that you may want more of a 'surrender-play' kind of experience." 

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask how that's different from what I already suggested?" 

"Look, you and I both know that I couldn't keep you from moving if you wanted to. Now, if we had a real working dynamic going on and I believed that you would listen and trust me implicitly so that you don't end up hurting yourself or me, then we might have something. But as we are right now, that's not gonna' happen." Whiskey inclined his head with a rueful chuckle, acknowledging the truth of your words. "So I propose that it's more of a scenario where all the agency is removed."

The agent leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "Explain."

"You need a scenario where you aren't in control and there's not even a chance of you being in control, taking any responsibility or guilt from the equation." You elaborated. "Basically, you would surrender your control so that you can indulge guilt-free. A lot of people do this coupled with a roleplay aspect in order to test new things that may be out of character for them."

"You coulda' jus' said you wanted to tie me up, sugar." Jack drawled. "I'll show you some good knots."

"You don't have any issues with being secured to...I guess a chair, probably? We'll keep you upright. If we sprawl you out on a bed that might be a little too vulnerable." You reasoned, waiting for his nod before you wrote it down. "I know it sounds contradictory, but I want you to be comfortable in what we do. Should I leave your clothes on?"

"If you can stand to, I'd appreciate it." The man answered with a cheeky wink. "Bein' naked and restrained is a little too close to the job description." He sighed after a moment, tipping the chair backwards as he laced his fingers behind his head. "Now I warn you, if I'm supposed to be an unwillin' party, I may display a little less Southern hospitality and a little more Southern history with my language, if you catch my drift."

You pursed your lips, squinting at him. "...is that your way of saying you might use a naughty word or two?"

You received a lazy finger-gun in reply, "bingo, cherry pie. You got any names you ain't a fan of bein' called?"

"Oh! I mean, I've heard just about everything in the book." You straightened up as a thought occurred to you, and then pointed back at him sternly. "No slurs."

"Ma'am," Jack sounded aghast, "I am not that breed of Southern gentleman. My lingo can verge on the spicy, but I sure as hell wouldn't stoop to that level." 

You narrowed your eyes to drive your point home. "I really hope not." The agent inclined his head once more, putting a hand over his heart in a display of sincerity.

The front legs of the chair met the floor with a soft clatter, once again putting him on stable footing. "Now, I been wrackin' my brain tryin' to drum up a good premise like you asked, but I ain't exactly big in the screenwritin' department. I figure it could be kinda' like I'd been kidnapped? Drawin' a blank on why my kidnapper would be rawdoggin' me, maybe you can come up with somethin'?" He queried hopefully. 

You furrowed your brow in thought, going silent as you carefully considered the hodgepodge of contributing factors. "Oh, I think I can manage."

...

This deck had been rigged from the start. In theory, you knew that he knew that. Still, he was certainly acting like it stung his pride a bit that he'd fallen into your 'trap' so cleanly. 

Everything was going according to plan. 

Whiskey struggled against the binds that secured him to the kitchen chair. His whip was safely confiscated. Lasso out of reach. Hat was still on his head. He had specifications, after all. 

You left him to wriggle for almost half an hour while you got yourself ready. The man was a secret agent, after all. If he hadn't been restrained for much longer than that at any given point you would be very surprised. 

You finally opened the bathroom door, sauntering out into the cabin's small kitchenette. "Miss me, love?" You crooned, committing to your role as villainous vamp stereotype number six. You had worn a plain set of underwear and an oversized white t-shirt, soft and see-through from the amount of times it had been washed. You got the feeling that if you went more elaborate, you might scare Whiskey off or make him too uncomfortable to really get into it. This scene was all about trust, and he hardly knew you. But he had sought you out for this. All you had to do was follow through.

"Was beginnin' to worry that you forgot about me, ma'am." The agent drawled back, his smile tightly sardonic and his low voice curling hot in your belly. "You fixin' to untie me yet?"

You clicked your tongue, the noise disappointed. "Whiskey, sweetheart, where's the fun in that? If I untie you, you'll just kill me."

"Can't blame a man for tryin'." Jack was absolutely in his element right now. He looked furious. 

You ambled around behind him, slinging your arms around his neck and resting your weight on him briefly. "Remember," you murmured in his ear. "If you need me to slow down, or need to stop entirely, you say…?"

"Second, first and neutral." The agent replied readily. You patted his cheek.

"Good boy." You praised. 

"Ain't my first rodeo." Whiskey's tongue darted out nervously to wet his lips and you wanted to reassure him, but you knew you had a job to do.

"Now, can I get you a light refreshment? Something to drink? Maybe some chips?" You offered, moving to the small refrigerator that you had stocked a little earlier in the day. Planning was imperative for engagements like this. "I have water, sweet tea, Coke…"

"Dammit woman, stop beatin' around the bush! Why the hell do you have me hogtied to this damn chair?!" Jack erupted. 

"So rude." You chided him, removing a water for yourself and then leaning casually against the counter. "You really want to know, Mr. Whiskey?"

"Obviously." He scowled.

"Well be a patient boy and maybe I'll tell you." You hummed, not making eye contact as you unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. "It was more than enough trouble for me to get you here in the first place, big shot. Don't rush me."

"Listen, I'll be the first to tell you that I probably ain't who you're lookin' for." He said bluntly. "I'm just a simple liquor tycoon, nothin' more."

"Mr. Whiskey, if you continue to insult my intelligence maybe I will decide I've got the wrong man. And then I'll just get rid of you." You swirled the water in the bottle, fixing him with a thoughtful look. 

"You're talkin' a mighty big game, woman." Jack grumbled. 

You sloshed some of the water on your thin white shirt as if by accident, and began daubing at the gauzy fabric aimlessly. "Whiskey-"

"It's Jack." He spat.

"Oh, we're on a first name basis? How exciting!" You teased him, laughing when he muttered angrily under his breath. He was clearly enjoying the role of 'belligerent definitely-not-a-spy'. "Alright then, Jack. I won't beat around the bush, as you so tactfully put it."

"Hallelujah, some goddamn cooperation." He replied in a sulky tone.

"So, Jack, I need you to come inside me. Strictly so I can bypass Statesman's biomechanical security systems. It's nothing personal, I just assumed you would be the easiest target, you know?" You remarked with a shrug. "The flirty cowboy with the filthy mouth." He stared at you and you raised an eyebrow, half-convinced that his reaction was legitimate. "What? You do have a reputation."

"I hate to break it to ya', but you got the wrong beverage. You're lookin' for Tequila, ma'am." Jack retorted, his voice a little raspy. "You want...what?"

"I need you to come inside me so I can use the your genetic signature to bypass the security." Granted, you were pretty certain that Statesman used exclusively fingerprints, retina scans and time locks, but Whiskey had told you to weave a good story for the setup, not necessarily an accurate one.

Jack swallowed hard. "You've got bats in your fuckin' belfry, woman. You expect me to-"

"Oh no, that's the beauty of this arrangement." You interrupted him, still smiling. "I don't expect you to do anything aside from sit there and stay still while I ride you." 

"Jesus fuck woman, you--shit, isn't there some other way to do this? I ain't keen on the prospect, but if there's literally any other way…" 

"Sorry. This is the only solution that my superiors could get behind." You sighed, feigning regret. "And we might be here a while, from what I've heard." Jack's eyes darted to yours and he flushed, working his jaw. "Don't look so glum! I'm one of the best in my field. I'm sure I'll be able to compensate for your...lack of investment."

"You touch me and I swear to God-"

"Ah ah, naughty boys get gagged." You threatened gently, walking your fingers up the side of his face to stroke them back down his jawline. Jack glared at you, his dark gaze fairly luminous with fury and maybe just a touch of poorly-veiled interest. "Be a good boy and I'll let you talk as much as you want. Maybe I'll even let you play with my tits, hmm?" You asked, cupping your breasts through your still-damp shirt. "Would you like that, love?"

"I…" Jack trailed off, then snapped his eyes back up from your chest. "No!"

You tapped his nose, winking. "Oh I think you would. Don't be so stubborn, Jack." You cocked your head to the side. "No one from Statesman even knows you're gone. No one is coming to rescue you." You informed him, all the playfulness evaporated from your voice. "You're mine now, Jack. My own personal key-card."

"You won't get away with this." Jack snarled.

"I think I already have." You knelt between his legs, running your hands over the jeans that covered his thighs. He squirmed, trying to dislodge you, but you just moved with him. You dug your nails into his thighs. "You keep wiggling and I'm going to have to tighten the ropes, Jack. Is that what you want?"

"Oh you filthy fuckin' woman, you absolute bitch, let me go!" 

"Hmm," you tapped your chin as he kept jerking and straining against the knots. "No." 

Jack froze when your fingers unbuttoned the button at the top of his fly. "Now wait, wait just a damn minute, y-you can't--" he tried to plead.

"Oh I can. And I will." You looked up at him. "As long as we're in the right gear?"

"Sixth, sixth." He affirmed, flashing you a quick smile. You nodded and seamlessly resumed your play.

The zipper of his fly opened devastatingly slow, the agent exhaling raggedly when you pulled up his shirt and palmed his groin gently through the fabric of his boxer briefs. His cock was already half-hard, and you pointed that out with a mean little smirk on your face. "Oh no, looks like someone's interested." You crooned, rubbing your index finger over the head of his still-clothed dick.

"Fuck off, you...y-you-" he swore, rolling his shoulders as if he was testing his bonds. "You little bitch."

"Temper temper." You chided, ducking your head down to mouth over the fabric of his boxers. Jack gasped out another swear over your head, his hips twitching up to meet you before he slammed them back down. "Methinks someone doth protest too much." You snorted, splaying your fingers on the newly-revealed skin of his stomach. "We could make this so much simpler if you would just give in, Jack." You didn't miss the way his skin jumped at your touch, and you smiled against his boxers.

"You'll--you'll have to do better than that." Whiskey breathed. "You think just any ol' woman can get me up?"

You stood, leaning in close and pressing your mouth to his ear. His whole body flinched when you wrapped your fingers around his cock and gave him a nice, slow stroke. "Oh, poor thing. You must believe you're really special, hmm? God's gift to mankind every time you take someone to bed." You mocked, your teeth and tongue laving over his earlobe. "We're all so lucky to have you, Jack."

"Hhn-" Jack's shoulders went stiff, the man obviously biting his tongue. 

"You don't have a choice, sweetheart. I'm going to get you hard. Then, I'm going to use your cock. And all you have to do, my lovely, handsome cowboy, is come inside me." You informed him, drawing a finger beneath his chin. "More than once, preferably."

"I'm not usually a man to voice my own shortcomin's, but I must warn you that this will be a futile-" Whiskey's words hitched in his throat when you stroked him again. "Fuck, no, don't touch me like that, you--"

"Stop playing hard to get, Jack." You murmured, slinking your free hand up the back of his neck to massage his scalp right beneath the band of his hat. "Give up."

"Never." He hissed even as his head lolled forward, granting you more access to rub his neck. 

"Pity." You settled back down between his legs and wrapped your lips around his cock. 

"No, no, dammit-" Whiskey growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Don't you fuckin'...no, no, don't use your tongue the-ah f-uck--" His protest died in a pitiful groan when his cock met the back of your throat. "Oh, you--fuckin'--you've got to be shittin' me woman, the whole-?" He grunted out haphazardly as you relaxed your throat and took him all the way down to the base. "You think y-you can take advantage of me jus' cuz' it's been a while since I got laid? Fuck you."

You hummed around his cock, wanting to giggle when he twitched and swore loudly. Your fingers dove past the hem of your underwear, and you moaned against him as you ran your index in slow, steady circles around your clit. 

"I ain't fuckin' you, and I sure as shit am not gonna' come in your pussy." Jack snarled. 

"Oh yes you are." You sang, rising to your feet and slipping your panties off. The white t-shirt came next, baring your breasts to the air-conditioned environment. 

Jack seemed to forget that he was supposed to be vehemently against this yet again as he just...watched while you teased your nipples. You tugged at the taut peaks, rolling them between your fingers and making a show out of the whole bit. 

"I can't wait to have you inside me, filling me up, just pumping me full of your come." You said with a smile, sauntering over until you would be in reach if his hands were free. Jack's tongue made a nervous reappearance and you tugged his chin upwards so you could see his eyes. "Are we still in gear? Or do we need to shift?" You asked. He seemed slightly dazed.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, s-sixth." He stammered. "Sixth, holy shit."

"Mm. Don't disappoint me and maybe I'll let you live." You remarked smoothly, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him. Jack's shoulders were rigid again and you kneaded at them surreptitiously, trying your best to keep him in the scene and out of his own head.

You were well on your way to soaking wet with arousal. There was nothing better than when you had a partner that trusted you, regardless of whether you had truly earned that trust. Just the fact that they had blind faith in you to execute the endeavor that they needed...it was heady and sweet and you loved every second. 

You rutted your pussy against the underside of Jack's cock, the man snapping his teeth at the sensation. "Too good?" You taunted, laughing when he swore again.

"I can't believe that you think I'm fuckin' enjoyin' th--look, any dick perks up at heavy pet-" 

Cutting Whiskey off mid-sentence was quickly becoming a favorite pastime, you realized as you angled your hips and let the head of his cock push past your pussy lips. "In, just a little, give you a taste, sweetheart…" you sighed, rocking your hips forward and back but not allowing him to sink any deeper into you. "There, that's not so bad, is it?" You cajoled as he shuddered beneath you. "Just keep being good, my sweet cowboy, and this will all be over so much sooner." 

"No, no-" He struggled to move, to do anything, but you had made certain to tie him exactly as he had specified. "Dammit, when I get free of here, I'll--"

"Shh, you think too much." You tapped your index finger to his lips, smoothing it over the bristle of his mustache. "Focus on your job right now, and everything will be fine." 

Jack turned his face away, inadvertently presenting the thick column of his neck to you. And you, channeling your inner villain, leaped at the opportunity to lick and bite at the bared skin. He made a strange noise, a combination of a moan and a whine that had you raising an eyebrow. 

"Is someone a little sensitive there?" 

"No, I am not." He answered through gritted teeth. "I hate that you're touchin' me, that's all!"

"Hmm, it doesn't sound like you hate it." You mused, suckling gently at the spot where his jaw met his throat. You were very careful not to leave marks, as that had been another specification. Whiskey struggled underneath you again, only succeeding in pumping his cock up into you slightly.

"Don't, don't--" His voice actually cracked and you smiled, nuzzling your nose beneath his jawline and letting his dick settle deeper.

"Oh no, it seems like you do want to fuck me after all." You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back and stroking over the base of his cock with two fingers. "Warming up to the idea of being my little fuck toy, Jack?" You teased, noting the way his knuckles whitened from his grip on the rope and his Adam's apple bobbed with the force of his convulsive swallow at your words. "I could just keep you here like this forever, you know. All tied up, helpless for me…" You squeezed the base of his cock and he gasped, trying to stifle the noise. "Soon, I'd have you trained so that you couldn't come from any other pussy aside from mine. Wouldn't that be fun?" 

Without waiting for an answer, you let the last few inches of his dick enter you. You leaned back on his thighs, feeling the muscles coil and strain beneath your touch as you reached down and grazed your clit. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, those brown eyes fixated on the motions of your fingers even as his cock split you open. You were grateful that he was secured, you weren't sure if you would have been able to take him otherwise. His cock curved thickly against your back wall, the engorged head throbbing back and forth over the area that made your whole body shudder in delight. 

Whiskey's jaw was taut, his shoulders set in a rigid line that made you ache to get him to come undone in you.

"You're so quiet." You pouted, raising your hand and brushing your wet index finger over his slack lower lip. "Aren't you having a good time?"

His chest abruptly expanded, like he had forgotten to breathe for a moment or two. "Fuck you." Whiskey seethed, making you chuckle softly. "I ain't nobody's goddamn fuck toy."

"Sweetheart," you chided as you sat up. "That's not a very nice thing to say to the person warming your cock right now." You deliberately clenched down on him and Jack swore under his breath, shaking his head. "I can make you feel so good, Whiskey, if you just give me what I want." You insisted, cupping his face and pulling halfway off of his cock. 

"N-N...No." He replied weakly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and shaking out your shoulders. "Well, I tried." Your hands landed on his shoulders and you gripped down to steady yourself, your hips meeting his own with a wet slap! of skin. Jack's chest heaved, his eyes closed and head tilted back as you began to ride him roughly. "All I wanted was for you to come in me. I don't feel like that's asking for much!" You complained petulantly, rolling your hips against his when he was hilted in you with an agonizingly slow grind of your body.

Jack bit out a low "fuck," those tense shoulders trembling under your touch. You tucked your face into his neck to tease the sensitive area even more, your tongue tracing random patterns that made him squirm and writhe underneath you. "I don't--can't, can't, don't make me--" he tried to protest, his words fractured and pitiful. 

"Yes you can, and you're going to." You snapped, taking a handful of hair at the nape of his neck so you could urge his head back further, leaving his throat at your mercy. "You're coming in me, Jack! Give up!"

...

"First!" He choked out, and you immediately slowed to a crawl. Your touch on him gentled significantly, no longer demanding but cradling, caressing. 

"Easy, easy." You soothed, the unrelenting assault of your perfect hips gone to a slow and careful rhythm, back and forth like a porch swing in the summer heat. Your eyes searched his own, concern shining through.

Jack was speechless, his blind panic melting away at the sound of your regular voice. What the hell just happened? He licked his lips, only now realizing how dry they had gotten. "Sorry, I uh-"

"No apologies." You murmured. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Would you like to stop now?"

Whiskey took a long moment, running a mental check on his body. Nothing was sore, nothing seemed out of line. Everything was raring to go. 

Everything aside from his brain, that is. The damn thing wouldn't stop conjuring up scenes of you pregnant and everything going to absolute fucking shit. It didn't matter that he had zero attachment to you, it didn't matter that you were on birth control. This was how it always was. 

Every damn time things got serious with a new interest, "oh, let's start a family," Whiskey just wanted to curl up into a ball. Without fail, like clockwork, he would shut down. 

And then the accusations would start, the distrust, "How come you can do it with protection but not without?" and it was disheartening, crushing to go through again and again. Explaining didn't seem to do a lick of good, it was always just that he was stringing people along, that he was a damn selfish prick, that he didn't care about what his partner wanted.

That couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but maybe that was his own fault for not dropping the bomb before getting attached to someone. He just couldn't ever seem to justify asking a person on their second or third date, "hey so what's your thoughts on having kids?" It felt manipulative, cheap, and if he was being honest, he knew for a fact that sometimes just the idea of having children was enough to scare a potential interest off. 

You were the first person to try and help Jack really wrap his head around this whole issue. And yeah, that was the whole point in sussing you out, but…

Tequila didn't tell him that you actually gave a shit, or at least you were damn good at acting like you did. Whiskey bit his lip. "I'm okay." He said finally, trying for a smile.

"Anything chafing? Do you need some water?"

"I…" Jack trailed off. "Huh, I admit I am a bit parched. But that means you'd have to get up." He realized unhappily.

"Were you enjoying yourself?" You asked, sounding curious. 

Whiskey got the hysterical idea in his head of you pulling out some sort of satisfaction survey at the end of your engagement, the notion making him smirk slightly. "God, yeah. I...yeah." He flushed a little bit. "Dunno' if I ever got this far after…after all my mental hangups and stuff. The fact that I don't have a say in the matter seems to be helpin', though."

"Okay, don't go anywhere. I'll get you some water." You patted his thigh, cautiously settling your feet on the floor and then going to stand with a quivery little gasp that absolutely stroked his ego.

Jack couldn't help his own groan at the loss of your heat, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Damn it woman, has anyone ever told you that your pussy is fuckin' perfect?" He muttered, his usual honeyed words suddenly clumsy in his mouth. "I mean, hell."

You laughed, bending over to dig in the small fridge for another water. Whiskey felt his entire body throb at the sight of you presenting yourself to him like that, and he sucked in a breath at your obvious teasing. Even in the soft light of the kitchen, he could see the glisten of the wetness between your legs. Hell yes, he found himself thinking stupidly as you turned back around. 

"I'm just glad that you're doing alright. That's the most important part to me, after all." You assured him, unscrewing the cap on the water and tipping it to his lips.

Jack gulped greedily, feeling a few droplets escape his mouth and run down his neck to blot his collar. "I am. One hundred percent." He said firmly after he had slaked his thirst. "Let's keep goin'."

"If you're sure, absolutely." You acquiesced, smiling again. Placing the water bottle on the kitchen table, you then swung your leg over his thighs like you were vaulting back into the saddle. Jack held his breath, waiting for you to welcome his cock back into your body. And God he was so hard, he couldn't remember ever being this hard, what the hell--

But strangely, you didn't immediately resume from where you had left off. Instead, you put your arms around his neck and actually rested your forehead against his own, bumping his hat upwards. 

Jack swallowed roughly, confused. 

"Let me take this from you." You whispered. Whiskey felt pinned by your stare, he felt as if you could see every terrible thing he had ever done, every transgression laid bare under the weight of your gaze. "Let go of it. I have you. I won't let anything happen to you." 

The words washed over him, soft and sweet. Your fingers slipped up into the hair at the nape of his neck to toy with the mussed ends that lurked there. The whole exchange was oddly intimate and Jack found himself at a loss yet again, simply grating out, "sixth," when he couldn't come up with anything else to say.

You reached down and stroked his cock, rubbing the head of it against your clit. And Jesus he could feel you, the difference in heat, the slick--

"Are you gonna' take it from me, sweet girl?" He hissed through his teeth like it wounded him to ask, trying desperately to cling to the illusion that he wasn't willing. "Take everythin' I've got?"

The blur between reality and this playdate was getting messier by the second. He wanted to fuck you, wanted to bury himself in you, spend every last drop inside the hot embrace of your quivering cunt. He wanted that. Jesus Christ, this wasn't part of the bargain.

This was a pantomime, specially designed pornography that existed only to coax a very specific reaction from his confused body. So why did he wish he had met you years ago? Why was he suddenly hoping and praying that the sounds you were making were legitimate instead of exclusively for his benefit, hoping that you were also enjoying this?

You angled your hips and sank back down on his lap, your hands going to your breasts where you proceeded to fondle and tease them until your nipples looked like they ached.

Whiskey fucking ached himself to wrap his lips around one pert little peak, swirl his tongue across the tip and make you come undone, rut his dick up into you until you cried out his name and soaked him--

Whoa cowboy, he chastised himself, a little startled by how sharp the longing was. You just kept fucking yourself on his cock, that hot, wet little pussy molded perfectly to every ridge of his member and he had never been this hard, this ready in his life. Despite the air conditioning in the cabin, your skin shone with sweat from all the work you were putting in and Whiskey couldn't recall a time where he had been more appreciative of someone else accomplishing a task within his field of vision.

Your hand slipped down, down, and Jack found himself following the trajectory until it delved between your legs and you started playing with yourself. "Jack," you crooned his name and it was like a prayer, reverent and soft, tender enough to coil itself around his lungs and choke him to death without a whisper of protest. You parted your legs even wider in his lap, exposing yourself to him so he could watch his cock slide in and out of you, so he could see himself fucking you open.

"Are you gonna' come for me, sweet girl?" He gasped, craning his neck and managing to tilt his head so he could mutter into your ear, "you just gonna' wrench one out for me, beautiful?"

"Mm, no, I'm not coming until after you come." You whimpered, still moving your hand. "But I'm so close, Jack. I want to come."

Your plaintive whine had him ablaze. God, he had never wanted to please someone so damn badly in his life. "I know you do, sweet girl." He murmured huskily, exhaling hot over the shell of your ear and loving the way you quivered in his lap. "You're so good, lettin' me blow my load before you get off--gonna' pump me dry when you come, aren't you? Just keep me inside you until that little pussy is all fucked out," he growled, barely aware of the words that tumbled from his mouth. 

All he knew is that you were all a-tremble at his voice, your body as hot as late July against his chest, your eyes heavy with adoration that he did not deserve and God, he couldn't get used to that look even if it was fake. What if you stayed? he wondered absently. What if you stayed?

Oh fuck, he was about to come. Panic jabbed like the blade of a knife between his shoulder blades and Whiskey went silent, his teeth bearing down on his lower lip and his eyes slamming shut as he focused harder than he ever had in his life.

The smell of you, the sounds, the heat, the little spasms of your cunt around his cock…

Yes. Yes, God yes, he could do this-- 

"Come in me, sweetheart." Begging him, pleading, demanding, "Jack-!" You cried his name.

Whiskey groaned hoarsely, so low it was almost painful, and let go. He bucked his hips up against you as best as he could, minute little thrusts while he came harder than he had in years. "Oh," he snarled, gritting his teeth, "fuckin' Christ woman, I think you've ruined me, Jesus fuck."

Your hands threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck again and you held him, not tightly, but just enough to keep him steady, anchored. "There," you said abruptly, the snide, put-upon tone of your role contrasting wildly with the gentleness of your touch, "was that so difficult?"

Jack burst out laughing, not overly concerned with how strange of a reaction that was. Hell, was he relieved? "Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're great." He remarked breathlessly. "I don't even know what just happened."

"Oh?" You replied, raising an eyebrow. "The mess between my legs seems to allude to you possibly having an orgasm. Jury's still out though."

He grimaced apologetically, glancing down. "Sorry darlin'. It's been a while, y'know?" You rose up off of him again and he grunted as his cock slipped free from your body. Whiskey felt half-drunk, relief and release combining into a potent cocktail that left him boneless in the chair. 

You quickly put your shirt back on and then crouched at his feet, beginning the arduous process of untying him. Jack just sat there, watching you drowsily. He couldn't do much else, really. "Any numbness or chafing?" You asked quietly, stirring him momentarily from his daze.

"Nah, nothin' yet." He replied, straightening his freed left leg and rotating his ankle in his boot. "A little stiff, but I've survived worse than that." 

"And how do you feel?" You questioned, "physically and emotionally."

Jack gnawed at his lower lip, trying to force his sluggish brain past the haze of serotonin in order to give you a satisfactory answer. "...good." He said finally, scrambling to elaborate, "or uh, better, I guess. More okay than I've been in a fuckin' while." It wasn't a lie, he was surprised to discover. He hadn't actually put much stock into this endeavor, figuring it would be a fun little diversion that would end just like every other time. Of course, it didn't hurt that you were easy on the eyes, prettier than a peach if he was being honest with himself.

Your smile was bright and Jack's stomach knotted confusingly. "I'm glad."

His right leg was released and he shifted his weight in the seat, groaning happily when his hip popped. "Hey, wait." The agent belatedly realized, "you didn't-?"

"We were here for you." You reminded him. "Not me."

"Whoa now, that don't seem fair at all!" Whiskey protested, taken aback by your nonchalance. "You just put in all the work!"

Your laugh tripped down his spine like an aftershock. "Don't get bent out of shape! It's standard policy, Mr. Whiskey. Once the desired result of the scene has been acquired, the scene ends and I start with aftercare."

"B-But--you didn't get to get off though!" 

"Me 'getting off' wasn't specified in our planning." 

"I needed to specify that shit?! I figured you'd just kinda'..." His right arm was free now and Jack seized the opportunity to make a certain gesture, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, I was at your mercy!" He continued, bewildered. "You totally coulda' just kept goin'-"

"Yes, and that's exactly why when the desired result has been achieved, the scene ends." You interjected firmly. "Because you trusted me enough to let me take control, and I'm not about to break that trust by doing something selfish on a whim."

Jack exhaled hard, scooting his hat a little further back on his head so he could study you. You didn't look disappointed, or annoyed with him. He wondered how many times you had fielded ignorant questions like his own and he cringed at himself. "I'm...shit, I'm sorry. I don't have any right to be all shitty about it." He apologized as you moved out of his field of view to untie the rope securing him to the back of the chair. "I just feel like you worked so hard an' got nothin' out of your end of the bargain."

"It's sweet of you to be concerned about that, but don't take it personally, okay?" You assured him, "I do this because I enjoy it. The whole experience, not just the finale." The ropes around his chest sagged and Jack slid forward a bit in the seat, relaxing. 

"Can I get that water again? Christ, I need a cigarette and a tumbler of the strong stuff after all that." He joked, clumsily tucking his cock back into his boxers. You pressed the bottle to his hands and he nearly dropped it, chuckling self-consciously. "Whups, sorry. I had my fists all bunched up so my fingers are stiff." Jack proceeded to down the rest of the bottle, wiping his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand after the fact. "So...what exactly is it you do for Tequila?" He queried nosily.

You laughed at him and God, God he loved the sound of your laugh. "That, Mr. Whiskey, is on a need-to-know basis. Just like this little soiree between the two of us." You chided, your eyes bright with good humor. "I would never violate a partner's trust in me."

Jack tipped the bottle in your direction, as if making a toast. "I'll drink to that, partner. What's next on the menu?"

"We'll talk out the scene and wind back down. Get cleaned up. I'll probably…" you paused, squinting at the clock over the sink. "You want some pizza? There's a joint not far from here that serves pies and chicken wings until midnight."

Jack groaned appreciatively, "I knew you were my kinda' gal. Lead the way to the debrief, ma'am."

It didn't really matter in the long run, he supposed. You obviously weren't interested in anything serious (if only because he figured that your flings with the stereotypical 'bad boy' Tequila would have become more regular in spite of the younger man's painful crush on Ginger Ale), and he could respect that. Still though, he couldn't help feeling a touch morose over the possibility of never engaging with you again. 

He toyed with the idea of asking you for another 'appointment', but dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it arrived. Better to quit while he was ahead.

Or rather, he amended ruefully as he settled down across from you in the diner booth, his hair still damp and curling slightly beneath his hat from the quick wash he had indulged in at your cabin, better to quit now before I make even more of a fool of myself.

Part Two

[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 25 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: The communities are on alert as Negan goes missing and Alpha remains quiet. As the reader is dealing with the love of their life disappearing again, Negan finds company on the road.

Word Count: 5413

Warning: Swearing, Graphic Depiction of Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Wicked Game” by James Vincent McMorrow

Note: We begin with the reader’s POV, but we focus on Negan for the rest of it. Reminder, I will be changing things from canon with the rest of these chapters. all official dialog is property of AMC. 

--------

One Week Earlier…

“You know, I once knew a woman who could swallow a sword,” you said, examining your own blade in the low light of the cell. “I think in another life, I could do it.”

“Let’s not try tonight, okay?” Negan said, lowering the blade with his fingertips as he sipped from the clear jar you had brought him.

There was too much drama going on at the moment with Alpha, her Walkers, and of course, just trying to stay sane in all of it. Nevertheless, you still found time to indulge in the man that you loved. 

Showing up at his cell once it became dark was a normal thing, but the jar of moonshine that you had brought along with you was a change. A very welcomed one at that. You and Negan now sat on the floor of the cell, your backs against the cot, basking in the alcohol as it warmed your veins. 

“I still think this shit is highly dangerous,” Negan said, passing you the jar back. 

“It’s flammable too,” you said with a small laugh as you leaned against him. “Learned that the hard way.”

“Do tell,” he urged and you sunk further into him, getting comfortable. Negan slung an arm around you, keeping you close. 

“Eugene used to keep it outside of Alexandria in an old electrical box thing,” you explained, trying not to slur your words. “One day, he asked me if I would help him move some of it to Hilltop. I think Jesus or Alden wanted some. Anyways, us being morons, went out in a thunderstorm.”

“Which of course was not your favourite plan,” Negan said. 

“Right,” you agreed. “So, we were on our way to the place that he was holding it in when Eugene suddenly realized he had forgotten to take the big metal antenna off the top of the box.”

“Oh no,” Negan said, running his hand over the back of your neck as he listened. 

“We were about fifteen or so feet from the thing when lightning strikes and the spark lights the booze causing a massive fire. The worst part was that Eugene was also storing some leftover fuel at this place for Daryl’s bike and well…” you trailed off, making explosion movements with your hands. “I smelled like burning metal for three days.” Negan started laughing at that and you looked up at him, trying to see his face. You always loved it when he laughed. 

Reaching up, you ran your hand over his face and he turned towards you. “You are just…” you trailed off. 

“I’m what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he gazed down at you. 

“Unpredictable,” you whispered. “You surprise and amaze me every damn day.” 

“That’s good though, right?” he asked, tilting his head. 

“It’s very good,” you said. “I’m not cut out to deal with the mundane.”

“Good cause you are anything but ordinary,” he said softly. The moonshine in your system was forgotten as those hazel eyes bore into yours. He was like the sun and you were trapped in his gravity. 

“You know that I’m always going to be here for you, right?” you asked.

“I know,” he whispered. 

“I just need you to understand that I trust you with my life and more,” you said, sitting up more. “I know that things are going to get messy with the Whisperers, but I think we’re gonna get through it. Especially if we stick together. I think we can win this war.” Negan wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you into his lap. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“I know, (Y/N),” he said. Tightening his grip, Negan made sure to be looking you in the eyes, something he always did when he was completely earnest. “I don’t know what I would do without you. For a while, I thought that there wasn’t a future for me besides these four walls, but you changed that. I love you so much and I know that you are right. We will win this war, no matter what it takes.” 

Smiling down at him, you leaned in to kiss him softly. “I love you, too,” you whispered against his lips as he pressed you harder against him. You laughed as he grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it over your head before kissing you again. 

The moonshine on his lips was sweet but full of fire which was a perfect metaphor for the strong man that you gave your entire body and soul to…

A loud crash came from your right as a pile of lumber fell over near the windmill, taking you out of your memories. 

“Ya good?” Daryl said from beside you as he added fletching to his bolts. 

“Fine,” you said, running a hand down your face, trying to break out of the trance you had been in. 

It had been a day since Negan had gotten out, or was let out, and you didn’t know how to even begin to understand what was going on inside his head, let alone yours. 

The last time Negan had left, you had been angry, but now you were just confused. Something didn’t feel right about any of it. Negan wasn’t a saint, everyone knew that, but he wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t heartless. Multiple scenarios went through your mind after Gabriel told you what happened. 

Lydia had tried to take the blame, but you had barely slept that night and would have woken if she had snuck out at some point. Then there was the fact that you didn’t hear anyone below the Grimes house all night. So, if someone had let him out, it was definitely a planned maneuver. 

Negan getting out was something that you wanted to happen, but you wanted it to happen on your terms. You and Negan would have had to make the decision together. The two of you had even talked about running and staying gone for a while so tensions could calm down. You’d go North, see what was in New York or Philly. You always thought that you would come back a year or so later and things would be different.

It was reckless and an idea that you didn’t think you’d ever actually do, but it was still in your mind. Negan had cautioned you against thinking such things. You figured he was afraid that you were going to alienate your family for him. What he didn’t understand was that he was your family and if he could be free, it would be worth it. 

At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

Now, you weren’t so sure what all those words he said to you meant. Did he even want to get out with you or was he using you? No, Negan would never use you. He had promised that you were different from all the relationships he had had in the past and the man never lied. 

And yet, maybe he had been lying the whole time. 

Your brain felt as if it was on one of those rickety carnival rides from your childhood as it invented theory after theory, trying to soothe curiosities. It was disorientating and it was also making it difficult to focus.

Leaning your hands on the table before you, you picked up one of Daryl’s bolts, turning it over in your hands as you wondered what it would feel like to put one of them between Beta’s eyes. 

“(Y/N),” Daryl said again and you dropped the projectile. 

“Sorry,” you said, rolling out your neck. 

“Ya need rest,” he said, trying to offer some comfort, but you didn’t want it or need it. Daryl was also not the cuddly kind of person at the moment. 

“I need to find him, I need to find Beta,” you said. Daryl narrowed his eyes, confused. 

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” he said, remembering his own fight with Alpha’s second in command. 

“I think it is,” you said with defiance. “Beta threatened me; he put his hands on me and I am not going to let him breathe any longer than he has to.”

“He threatened all of us,” Daryl said, but you shook your head. 

“This was...different. The way he looked at me that night, it was as if he was challenging me to try something. He reminded me of the Governor. Beta has that twistedness inside of him, I could practically smell it.”

“He threw me around like I was nothing,” Daryl reminded you.

“Well, I’m not you, am I?” you said, facing him. “Beta dies by my hand even if I have to build my own damn rifle and take the shot.” 

“Revenge doesn’t look good on you,” he said. 

“It’s not revenge, it’s inevitably,” you clarified. Daryl sighed, but he could tell that you set in your ways about this. 

“I’m sorry I was right about Negan,” Daryl said after a moment. 

“You weren’t,” you disagreed. 

“Come on…” he said with a knowing look. 

“You don’t know him, Daryl, I do, and I know that he had a reason. He wouldn’t have left me if he didn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” he challenged. 

“I do,” you said. “I know him more than I know myself. I don’t know why he’s gone, but I don’t think he just left to get away from Alexandria. With Negan, there’s always a fucking reason. That’s what makes him… him.”

“Don’t hold onto hope, (Y/N),” Daryl said. Looking at him, you shrugged.

“Right now, that’s all I got.”

------

The outside felt different this time for Negan. 

The last time he had gotten out of his cell, it was on a whim. Now, he had a direction and a purpose and he was going to damn well fulfil it this time. If he didn’t, you were definitely going to hate him forever.

Leaving you had been the hardest thing he’s done since he’s been locked up. However, when Carol stepped out of the darkness with her offer, he saw something that he had only seen in you. 

Possibility. 

Killing Alpha ensured the survival of Alexandria, Hilltop, and Oceanside and while all of those people couldn’t care less about Negan, there were a few that did and that made a difference. You, Judith, Lydia, and all the kids would be safe. Carol would have revenge for her son’s murder too. While Negan knew he wasn’t going to be winning any popularity contests with these people, he owed them, whether they cared or not. 

However, while he was doing it for them, he was also doing it for himself. He needed to know if he was worthy of being the hero, rather than just the sucker. 

It wasn’t just you that Negan was thinking about though, he was also thinking about Lucille. His late wife was the only other person who knew him as well as you did. Lucille saw the man that he could have become but never did due to his own faults. Negan had been a horrible husband to her, but he was willing to do better this time. 

In no way were you a do-over, but he did see the relationship that he had with you as a chance to finally be the man Lucille knew he could be. He just hoped that you would not end up hating him as Lucille did. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle losing you, not after everything he had done and lost to find you. 

Still, there was still that fear in his gut that he would not succeed on this mission. Alpha could take one look at him and take his head as she had with the others months before. That thought scared him, but he didn’t fear death, he feared leaving you behind without an explanation. Negan was ready if it came down to it and as much as he knew it would pain you, he needed to take the risks. 

“‘To die will be an awfully big adventure’,” Negan quoted as he turned his face to the sun. You had found an old battered copy of Peter Pan not that long ago. You had spent nights in his cell reading him passages from the classic and now Barrie’s words were ringing true. With a sigh, Negan continued on through the woods, trying to formulate his plan. 

Just as he turned down a small hill, however, a voice stopped him.

“Gotcha!” a male voice said and Negan froze, swearing under his breath. Raising his hands, he was ready to take the person down and run if he had to. “Don't try anything,” the man said before he began to laugh. Confused, Negan turned and who he saw made him drop his hands. 

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Negan muttered, “Brandon?”

The young guard from Alexandria, who was carrying a backpack, smiled at Negan. “The look on your face! Dude, seriously, I'm just messin' with you!” he said.

“What are you doin’?” Negan asked, but Brandon was still talking. 

“You're fast. Took me forever to catch up,” Brandon said. “So, prison break part two, huh?” Negan rolled his eyes and turned away from the kid, continuing on his way, but of course, Brandon followed.

---------

“My dad, he used to tell me how, like, you and the Saviors would, like, whistle back and forth before,” Brandon said as he kept pace with Negan who was trying very hard not to slap him silly.

“That was a long time ago,” Negan said with a huff. 

“I mean, not that long ago though, right?” Brandon tried as Negan didn’t bother with an answer.

“You, uh you say you had some granola or some shit?” Negan asked. Brandon quickly began rustling through his bag, eager to please. 

“Sorry about the raisins and the busted knife. Was kinda in a rush when I packed it all,” Brandon said as he handed Negan some food and the weapon he had brought from Alexandria. 

“It’s fine,” Negan said, waving him off. 

“So, you're really not gonna tell me how you got outta that cell?” Brandon asked, but Negan stayed quiet, not giving the kid an inch. You really didn’t like Brandon and Negan was starting to see why. Sure, he was annoying, but Negan already knew that. Now he was starting to see him as who he really was, a leech. 

“Alright,” Brandon continued, “well, at least tell me what we're lookin' for.”

“Someplace safe,” Negan said. Carol had given him freedom, but the plan was completely up to him. Considering how his day went after the first time he got out, he was getting a bit nervous. 

“I get it. A new Sanctuary,” said Brandon. “Damn, how badass was that place? And then, Rick Grimes comes along, talk about hypocrisy, kills our parents, drags us to Alexandria, lectures us about community.”

“Grimes was a good man,” Negan commented, not allowing the kid to tarnish Rick’s name. No matter what they thought of each other, Rick deserved respect. 

“I guess,’ Brandon shrugged. “Man, I heard you made him cut his own kid's hand off, then you killed them,” he said and Negan froze. “You know, Carl Grimes, I heard you shot him.” 

Negan whirled on the kid, shoving him against a nearby tree. “I never did that,” Negan sneered. “I don’t give a shit about what kind of fucked up rumors you’ve heard. Carl was... I would never kill a kid.”

Brandon was staring up at Negan and the latter was glad to see a bit of fear in the kid’s eyes. People could hate on him all they wanted, but the Grimes family were good people, are good people, and he respected them too much to listen to any slander. 

Especially about Carl. 

“Yeah, no, definitely. I'm with you, obviously. We're both Negan,” Brandon said and Negan felt sick. They walked on once Negan let him go, but Brandon was still pushing. “Did you talk to (Y/N) before you left?”

“Excuse me?” Negan asked, looking over his shoulder at the kid. 

“I just mean, do they know why you left?”

“I’m not seeing how that’s any of your business, kid,” Negan snapped. Brandon fell quiet then but soon spoke up when the two men came across an odd sight. 

“Who would do this?” Brandon asked as he looked down at the makeshift fence. Wrapped in barbed wire, wooden posts acted as a barrier and Negan immediately knew what it meant.

“Whisperers,” Negan said. 

“Damn. Should we cross? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Brandon offered. 

“No,” Negan said but made a point to remember the location. “We’re not equipped to deal with them.”

“They’re just people.”

“People who can blend in with the Dead,” Negan pointed out. “I’m not sure we can consider them human at his point.”

“Right, like that Lydia chick,” Brandon snipped and before Negan could go off on him, Walkers converged on them. Brandon slid to the side as the Dead fell upon Negan. The weight of the Walkers nearly brought him down, but Negan was able to eventually overpower them.

Once the Dead were finally down, Negan turned to Brandon and he was pissed. “What the hell!” he said. 

“Sorry, sorry, I was just getting your gift ready,” Brandon said as he showed Negan what was in his hand. Negan straightened up as he saw the baseball bat. A bat that was freshly wrapped in the wire of Alpha’s border. “I also got this,” Brandon said as he pulled out a leather jacket. “Found it in the back of an old storage garage. My dad said he never saw you without it.”

Suddenly, Negan got an idea. Before Rick locked him up, he was good at a lot, but the best thing was charming his way into places. However, that charm had disappeared after the many years locked away. Now, looking at the jacket and the new bat, Negan finally realized what he would need to do to get to Alpha. 

He would have to become the Negan everyone once feared. Although, not just yet. 

“Listen,” Negan said, “uh why don't you just put that in your backpack? I don't wanna be recognized.” 

“You like it, though, right?” Brandon asked, sounding like a damn groupie. 

“More than you know.”

———-

Negan and Brandon kept moving. 

“Did anyone see you leave?” Negan asked, not wanting Aaron or Daryl to be tracking them. That was the last thing Negan needed. 

“Nah,” Brandon said, “but the bitch with the baby did see me come out of my house. Not sure she cares.”

“Her name is Rosita,” Negan corrected, surprising himself. Since the blizzard, he had been thinking about Miss Espinosa. Rosita had as much reason to hate Negan as Maggie did, but Negan began to think that perhaps the new mother was just as tired of being outwardly hostile as he was. 

“Right,” said Brandon. “Sorry man, I thought you didn’t like her.”

“No, she doesn’t like me, there’s a difference,” Negan said. 

“Is there?” 

“I only had problems with a few of those people. Rosita was not one of them.”

“I heard a story that she shot at you,” Brandon said and Negan snorted at the memory. 

“That she did,” Negan said. “Though, I did murder someone in front of her so I guess I deserved it.” 

“And now she’s with a priest. Weird.”

“Gabe is alright,” Negan said. In fact, besides you and Lydia, Gabriel was the closest thing he had to a friend. He had thought he was making headway with Aaron, but he could never get a proper read on that man. 

In fact, there was one person whom he actually did want to properly speak to and that was Ezekiel. There was something about the king that made him incredibly curious. However, after the death of his son, Negan didn’t even know what he would say to him.

You had always said that Ezekiel was a good man and a fair one. Negan began to wonder what the tiger-wrangler would have done with him if it had been up to him and not Rick. Those thoughts were interrupted when he and Brandon heard screaming. 

“Sounds like a girl,” Brandon said. 

“And a kid,” Negan said as he heard the second yell. Negan took off towards the sound, anxious to find the source. It didn’t take long for him to find it. An abandoned bus stood broken down in an old lot. Inside, he could hear screams of panic and the unmistakable groans of Walkers. 

Negan didn’t hesitate to run towards the bus, hauling himself up the steps of the old vehicle. In the back, a woman cowered before the Walker as a young boy hid with her. Negan headed straight down the aisle, grabbing the creature by its shoulders. The rotting jaw snapped at its new attacker, but Negan was stronger. Throwing it towards the open back door, Negan slammed it to the floor and used the accordion door to smash its brains to bits. 

The shouts of alarm were replaced by heavy breathing and then small sobs as the woman clutched at her child. “Thank you,” she cried, “thank you.” Negan, who was breathing heavily nodded to her, offering her a squeeze on the arm that she reached towards him. Amongst the gratitude, Brandon was celebrating Negan’s gory display. 

Once Negan was able to get the mother and her son calm and situated, he pulled Brandon aside. 

“So, what’s the plan here, boss?” Brandon asked. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Rob them? Take their shit and go, right?” Brandon offered. 

“It’s a mother and child,” Negan reminded him “Fuck kid, you really think that I’m going to hurt them?”

“I mean… that’s what you do,” Brandon said. 

“What I do is none of your goddamn business,” Negan said, stepping into his face again. “You know what, this isn’t exactly workin’ out, is it? I think you need to get lost, find your own damn celebrity so you can lick their fucking boots. I’m done.”

“I can’t just go home, they’ll know I helped you!” Brandon said, stopping Negan before he could leave him behind. 

“Then don’t go home,” Negan said. “You’re free, kid, go wherever the fuck you want.” 

“I thought I was helping you,” he said. 

“No, you’re not. I got my own shit to do and I can’t play babysitter. Do us both a favor and get the hell out of here,” Negan said before turning his back on the teen. Brandon hesitated for a few moments before hiking his bag up on his shoulders and walking away. Negan didn’t relax until his form disappeared into the surrounding brush. 

After Brandon had gone, Negan went to speak with the mother, helping her get comfortable as her son was in view just outside the bus. “Ya alright?” he asked. 

“Better now,” she said.

“How long have you been out here? You got people?” 

“It was just Milo and me. We'd been walking for days, weeks, until the hissers ran through our camp, scattered everyone to the winds. After that, we went back to what it was before, what it always is in the end, Milo and me, moving from place to place, surviving,” she said. 

“I’ve been there,” Negan said. “The wandering is the worst part.”

“How did you stop? The wandering,” she clarified. 

“That is a long story, but I did end up in a place that’s not too far from here. You and your boy seem like good people and if I know them, which I do, then they will help you,” Negan said. 

“Why would they?” she asked. 

“Because,” Negan said, “they’re the kind of people that save people.”

--------

Negan found Milo not that long after. 

“Hey,” he said, joining the kid. Milo looked at him with worry, but Negan offered his hands in a placating gesture. “Don't worry, kid. I don't bite. Your mom, she's inside, packin', so we got a little bit of time to kill,” Negan said. 

“Where'd Brandon go?” Milo asked, looking around. 

“Brandon, he went looking for supplies,” Negan said and then sighed, not liking the taste of lies on his tongue. “You know what? I'm gonna be real with you. Uh, I told Brandon to get lost. You see, uh, it turns out, not the best co-pilot, if you catch my drift.” Milo looked at him in confusion. “You don't catch my drift at all, do ya?”

“Not really,” Milo admitted. 

“You've never been on a plane, huh?” Negan asked and Milo shook his head again. “Aw, man, it's alright. It's not your fault that God turned this world into an asspit before you were born. Alright. Picture this, alright? Sitting on a plane, really nice, comfy seats, but it feels like you've been sitting on the runway for Goddamn ever. Suddenly, there's this kinda rumbling, a groan, alright? The plane finally starts to creep along, right, and now we're moving faster and faster. And you look out that window, and everything's turning into a blur. And then, Whew. Wheels come up off the ground. You are flying,” he said with a smile. 

“Like birds?” Milo asked. 

“Hell yeah like birds,” Negan said. “Up and up and up, higher and higher, until it feels like you are floating on top of the frickin' world. And you're looking out that little window, and you can see houses. They look like little toy houses and little toy cars.”

“Sounds scary,” Milo said. 

“No scarier than the hissers,” Negan said, using the nickname Milo’s mom had used. “I hope you’ll be able to experience it someday.” 

“Me too,” Milo said. Negan smiled down at the kid, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “Do you have kids?” 

“I don’t,” Negan said. “Though I do know a few and they are just as badass as you.”

“Are you married?” Milo asked, still curious.

“Not anymore,” Negan said, looking out over the dying world. “Though, I do have someone. Their name is (Y/N).”

“Where are they?” 

“Someplace safe,” Negan said. 

“Why aren’t you with them?”

“I gotta do something,” Negan explained. “Fix some things.”

“I get that,” Milo said, reaching over to pat Negan on the back, causing the latter to laugh.

“What is with you kids in this new world, you’re all so damn wise,” Negan said as he thought about Judith particularly. “Look, I told your mom about a place I know. They’ll help you and get you some food. They’re good people.”

“Are they your people?”

“A few are,” Negan said. “You’re gonna be okay, kid.” 

“Thank you for saving me and my mom,” Milo said and Negan smiled at him. 

“You are welcome, but if I don’t go and find some firewood, all three of us are gonna freeze tonight. Take care of your mom until I get back?” 

“I will,” Milo said. 

“Good man,” Negan teased as he got up and headed into the woods to hopefully find some warmth for the night.

------

Negan walked, grabbing wood as he found it, but it was taking too long and he needed to get back to Milo and his mother. 

As Negan began the trek back to the bus, a Walker shuffled out of the trees. Pulling the old knife that Brandon had given him, he let the Walker approach him. “You bastards just get more ugly by the day,” Negan grunted as it grabbed for him. Negan kicked out its legs and shoved his blade in the rotting skull. Kneeling down, Negan searched the Dead woman’s coat. He was hoping to find a lighter or matches, but what he found instead made him laugh. 

Inside her coat pocket was a broken hatchet. It looked as if she had hit something too hard with it and broke the handle. However, the blade was still intact and Negan could see dried blood in the etching. Holding the hatchet, he began to think about another hatchet-wielding maniac he once tousled with. 

“Look at me, Rick,” Negan said to the empty woods, “I’m trying to be the fuckin’ hero. If Carl could see me now…” Negan left the broken weapon behind as he hauled his firewood back into his arms and headed back to the kid and his mom. 

Negan walked with steady steps, ready to finally get some rest. However, as he approached the lot, something felt wrong. It was too quiet and as Negan turned the corner, the wood in his arms crashed to the ground. 

Laying in pools of their own blood, Milo and his mother were dead, their vacant eyes gazing up at the sky. Standing above them, holding a tire iron, was Brandon. The teen was beaming with pride as he looked at the man before him. Negan, however, was only seeing red as he saw the child’s body crumpled on the floor. 

“That's it, right?” Brandon asked. “You almost had me. Back on the bus, when you kicked me out. Then I remembered, This is Negan. He's always messing with people, keeping 'em in line.” Negan began to stalk towards Brandon, his body moving on its own accord. 

“So I realized there's a test,” Brandon continued. “‘It's gonna get a lot more dangerous from here on out.’ That's what you said to me. You wanted to make sure that I had the balls to do what had to be done. What do you think? I passed, right?” Brandon said with glee as he stared down at his victims. Negan bent over and picked up a large rock, weighing it in his hand as he approached the lunatic. “I am Neg‒” Brandon tried to finish as Negan swung and hit him over the head with the rock. 

Brandon went down hard, blood oozing from his head, but Negan had to finish the job. With a few more hits, the brain was damaged and Brandon was dead with no possibility of returning. The rage that he was feeling was too overwhelming. The mother was bad enough, but a child? Milo was as pure as they came. Brandon hadn’t killed them, he had stolen them and Negan wasn’t going to allow that. 

Blood was splattered on Negan’s clothes and face, but he kept moving. He grabbed Brandon’s bag, pulling out the black leather jacket. Taking it in his hands he admired it for just a moment before sliding it across his broad shoulders. 

The feel of the leather on his back was both familiar and terrifying. However, he knew it was needed and so, he zipped it up the way he used to and from the bag, pulled his new weapon. 

Lucille 2.0.

The menacing weapon felt familiar. She would never be what his original was, but she would do if he was going to pull off the performance of a lifetime. “Takin’ one for a team that would rather see me in a grave. Oh, how things have fuckin’ changed,” Negan said as he swung the bat up to his shoulder as he looked down at his newest victim. 

Negan raised his head, leaned into one of his legs and then headed towards his destination. A destination fenced with barbed wire. 

----------

“Alright, you sorry, rotten sacks of shit! What's a fella gotta do to get eaten around here?” Negan announced as he wandered through the darkness. Waiting until nightfall, Negan had prepared himself for what he was about to do.  

“What's the matter? Huh?” he continued. “Y'all scared of the Big Bad Wolf? Little pig, little pig! Let me in!” he yelled as he moved over the border and into Alpha’s territory, letting his voice travel. “And there you are!” Negan said as he finally noticed the Walkers and in the moonlight, blades appeared in some of their hands. “Oh, I am gonna huff. I am gonna puff. I am gonna blow your house all the way down!” 

Out of the darkness came a large shape and Negan immediately knew who it was. You had described him so much that Negan felt as if he practically knew the asshole. 

Beta. 

“Alright, you big-ass freak,” Negan said as he stared down Alpha’s right hand in the dark. With a deep breath and your face at the forefront of his mind, Negan gripped his new Lucille and grinned. “Here we go.”

TAGS: 

@lucillethings @cameronsails @stark-dreams @amaroho  @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @scootankle @ritajammer21 @writteriguess @tea-atfive @jennydehavilland @waspyyy @yespleasejayhalstead @hoemadegrace @writingdeadangel @huffledor-able541​ @pulplorrd​ @felicisimor​ 

[kiranatrix]

INDULGENCE—

a MikaLight fanfic by @kiranatrix and @my-one-true-l for @mikalightweek [Day 4- Devotion]

Summary: When Mikami realizes he’s being followed by an FBI agent, he informs Kiyomi right away. Light meets Mikami alone in the confessional of a decrepit church to hear the details for himself and requests a test of the man’s loyalty.

Rating: T for mild gore and innuendo

Teaser under the cut or read the whole fic here!

The young woman sat alone, quietly avoiding the eyes of the other passengers, but it wasn’t enough to stave off the unwanted attention from the man who had set his sights on her. There was no escaping the unwanted advances in the confines of the train. It would take nothing more than a few swiftly written strokes to bring the perpetrator to his rightful death, but Teru Mikami couldn’t do that under the circumstances. Instead, the Death Note remained in the safety of his briefcase as he exited the train and vanished into the crowd, a casual glance over his shoulder confirmed what he had suspected for days…

He was being followed. He was good with faces, and when the same one recurred in the most unlikely of places, this time sitting across him on the train, he decided it was time to pay attention to the name hovering just above the man’s head.

Stephen Loud. That would be easy enough to remember until he was home and could find the answers he already knew. Coincidences happen, but the more likely scenario was he was suspected to have connections to Kira and if that was the case…Kami was in danger.

As he approached his apartment, a nonchalant scan of his surrounding put him at ease. Mr. Loud was nowhere in the immediate vicinity, though Teru was not about to dismiss that which could be out of his sight.

He wasted no time using his good name and contacts to discover that he was being pursued by none other than an FBI agent. The blood drained from his face as it all sunk in. He had little concern for his own fate. It was Kami he worried for. There was no way of knowing how long he had been being tailed nor could he be certain of the extent he had been investigated.

Keeping this to himself would not do. He had to warn Kira, even if it meant falling out of his good graces.

Takada. I need to talk to her.

Looking up her number was unnecessary. He had memorized his only lifeline to Kira the day he was chosen. With trembling fingers, he dialed and waited impatiently for her to answer.

Kiyomi Takada was in the back of her limousine, heading to the television studio, when her phone rang in her purse. It’s HIS ringtone. She quickly leaned forward and pressed the button to bring up the dark-tinted glass (and soundproof) partition between her and the driver, then immediately answered the call. “Kiyomi here.” There was a hint of annoyance in her voice-- she’d specifically told Mikami not to call her during the day. It was difficult enough to secure complete privacy at night. However, she was in luck in this instance-- her driver was loyal to Kira. Still, she whispered, “This better be an emergency.”

“I wouldn’t call otherwise.” Teru had a million thoughts swarming his mind and only a split second to sift through them. “I’m being followed.”

Kiyomi’s breath caught, and she nearly broke her ladylike facade and swore. She shifted the cell phone to perch between her cheek and her shoulder as she rummaged in her purse for pen and paper. “Followed by who and for how long? I need their name and where you’ve been seen.” She clicked the pen and poised it above the paper. “I’ll have to tell him right away.”

Teru drew a deep breath before he spoke. “An FBI agent by the name of Stephen Loud. I noticed him a few days ago, mostly around my gym and a few times outside of court, but today he sat across from me on the train ride home, so I can only assume he knows where I live as well.”

“FBI!” Kiyomi’s pen trembled ink onto the paper until she pressed it down firmly, trying to ground herself. This was news of the worst kind-- the FBI was working with the SPK here in Japan, and if they had sussed out that Mikami was working with Kira, Light would be very unhappy with that exposure. Mikami’s value had been in his anonymity. And Mikami has Kira’s power! “This is...unexpected. Did you happen to get a picture of him? Or find one you can send to me? I can pass that information on and we’ll take care of it.” She took a deep breath and carefully wrote down the details that Mikami had relayed.

Teru could feel Kiyomi’s displeasure on every word she spoke, certain it would only worsen with what he was about to say. “No, I didn’t, nor was there a photograph of him accompanying his file. Careful measures have been taken to conceal his face. It would seem I’m the only one who knows what he looks like.”

“I see.” Kiyomi frowned and wrote ‘no picture’ on the notepad, underlining it angrily. “I suppose that’s what we should expect from the FBI, but it makes things difficult.” She glanced out the window, seeing that she was almost at the TV station. “I’ll speak to him and call you back. Stay by the phone, alright?” She didn’t wait for an answer before hanging up and immediately calling Light on his secure line. Shit shit shit… He picked up on the sixth ring, which meant he’d probably had to duck out of something with his team.

“Yes?” Light was on his guard-- it was very unusual that Kiyomi would call him rather than the reverse. He didn’t have long either, just the duration of a normal bathroom break. “You know how I feel about personal calls at work, love.”

“I know, but I just spoke with the caterer, dear.” Kiyomi knew better than to ever use any of their real names. Even if the phone lines were ‘secure,’ Light didn’t trust it when he was with the Task Force. “He’s run into a snag on our order.”

Light stayed quiet for a moment but understood her meaning perfectly fine. Mikami was in some kind of trouble, and it was bad enough for Kiyomi to call him right away instead of waiting for one of their usual meetings. “Oh? Surely it’s nothing that can’t be resolved. Send me the invoice tonight.” Send me their name and face.

Kiyomi sighed and said, “Seems like the invoice is missing some items. Only the caterer knows it.” She drummed her long red nails on the armrest nervously. “Secret recipe.”

Hmm. Light knew that meant that either the name or a picture of the person’s face was missing, and since Mikami had shinigami eyes, it was likely the face. “Remind me, dear, was this a rush order?” Is this an emergency?

“Yes. I’d really hate to call off this party.”

So, something that can’t be ignored. “I understand. Perhaps I should meet with the caterer myself and work out the details? I’ll text you the place. 11 o’clock?”

Kiyomi knew that wasn’t really a question, it was an order. Light wanted to meet Mikami and hear about this for himself. “Of course. I’ll set it up for 11.” A dial tone hung in the air as soon as she agreed. She stared down at her phone and waited for the text.

Send the caterer to Saint Joseph’s. He’ll need to confess the recipe.

Kiyomi deleted the text right away, then called Mikami back.

Teru paced his living room, eyes fixed on the phone he clutched in his hand. He wasn’t one to drink, but tonight it was harder to fight the lure of his liquor cabinet, sparse in contents as it may be. Kira had caused him more restless nights than he would ever admit, but this was an entirely new kind of torment. He had failed his god, inadvertent as it may have been. Intention didn’t matter and had no place in his shame.

Each second that passed equaled two until the phone rang, answering it with a simple rushed response. “Yes?”

“He wants to meet with you. Alone.” Kiyomi hoped Light knew what he was doing, but she certainly wasn’t going to question Kira’s decision. “There’s an old church in the warehouse district, down by the docks. Saint Joseph’s. It’s open all night and the priest is half-blind, drunk most nights. No one will see you.” She knew the place well and had met Light there a few times herself. “Go into the confessional and wait for him. 11 o’clock.” She paused for a moment and added softly, “Make absolutely sure you’re not followed. He’s trusting your discretion.”

He wants to meet with you alone.

The words sent a shiver down Teru’s spine. He swallowed hard at the thought. Meeting Kami. Never had he dared to dream of being fortunate enough to have such an honor, and though the circumstances weren’t ideal, Teru couldn’t deny that he was thrilled at the notion. Even if this meeting could mean the end of his life, everything up to now would have been worth it to be in Kami’s presence. “I can give you my assurances. I will not be followed.”

Disappointing Kami again was out of the question.

“Good luck.” Kiyomi hung up the phone and texted Light, ‘caterer booked.’ She’d be nervous for the rest of the day but there was also relief-- it was out of her hands. If Light needed something, he’d ask. I just hope I’m still as useful after he meets Mikami. Walking into the television studio to again act as Kira’s spokesperson, she knew she was, for now.

Read the rest on AO3 here.