#some people form routines? and do the same thing every day? they can have more than two routines

[bonesandchalamet]

in this world, it’s just us — Finnick odair

masterlist | pairing: Finnick odair x reader

summary: in a world where hunger games don’t exist anymore it’s just you and Finnick

warnings: fluff

a/n: finally writing for finnick 🤭

you can hear his breath escape his lips, it’s faint, but it’s all that matters. he’s alive in your arms and in your bedroom.

nights were never the same, consisting of some form of him muttering incoherent words, legs thrashing, and thick sweat glistening against the sheets. the hunger games haunt him, even in a world where he’s safe.

there’s no president snow, there’s no more kids being hunted by others. the odds were in everyone’s favor, and people could sleep well again. except those in their respected districts victors villages.

the soft grunt that escapes his lips indicates he’s awake now. he rolls carefully onto his side, almost like he doesn’t want wake you, but you’ve been awake for some time. reflecting on what the nights could’ve been if finnick never was picked at such a young age.

“you’re doing it again.” he mutters, you feel him shift closer to you, his warm clammy skin pressed against yours, “you’re thinking about the if’s.”

he tsk’s you, and yanks the covers off your bodies to reveal the cool air of the house. it feels nice, after tossing and turning in the heat trapped sheets, you allow yourself to stretch out against the mattress and watch finnick rise for the day.

no day was ever the same, but finnick needed a new task everyday, or else he’d go insane. he needed to occupy himself from the loss and maybe even the ache. you never knew, he was a closed book about his experiences.

you watch him gather around to fish, a typical morning routine despite the overflowing amount of food in your house. you never objected or asked him not to go, it was the one thing finnick enjoyed and he could now do so freely. who were you to stop him?

“can I join you?” the words slip your mouth without a second guess, and he’s stopping in his tracks. you’ve never taken up much of an interest in fishing, not since you didn’t have to do so anymore, but you loathed sitting around waiting for him to return. plus, it gave you something to do as well.

“you better hurry.”

scurrying out of bed, you find yourself rushing with the sunrise and finnicks personal clock, but by the time you’re down by the water, no one else is even there and the sun is just starting to rise.

“what’s the plan?” you ask, turning to face him he’s got a trident in his hand, his typical choice of weapon that somehow made it back to district four along with him.

“we hunt, we go home, and then we eat.” he says offering a small smile before moving carefully and slowly into the water. he moves with such precision, careful not to alarm the fish. any movement and they’ll scatter along. you watch him hunt for awhile until it’s your turn, you don’t come up as lucky as he does, but he still applauds the three fish you killed.

“now we eat and save some for dinner.” he smiles, content with the couple hours of work done. without telling, it’s most likely noon and your stomach was reminding you of the lack of food in your stomach.

the hike home doesn’t take long and Finnick is cooking while you shower. the warm water trickles down your back, soothing away the morning worries. you take longer than you normally do, just to enjoy the silence your mind finally gives you before turning off the water.

emerging from the shower, he’s leaning in the doorway. a cocky smile against his lips that if it weren’t for his beauty, you’d attempt anyway to erase it.

“you think about me in there?”

“never in a million years would I think about you in my shower.” you pick up a soft towel, running the fabric all across your body and through the ends of your hair. out the corner of your eye, you can still see that smile. the smile that every girl falls for when finnick would enter a room. he’s easy to like, bright eyes, beautiful smile, golden blond hair, and an ego so big sometimes it’s adorable, other times? not so much.

“you’re awful at lying. it’s actually one of your worst traits.”

“and you’ve got an awfully big ego, it’s one of your worst traits.” you fire back with a smile on your face leaving him to roll his eyes and tell you lunch was waiting for you.

In this world, it's just us

You know it's not the same as it was

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

You don’t need a skincare beauty routine at all if you don’t want one. 

Of course you need to wash your face at least semi-regularly, just like you need to wash the rest of your body (for hygiene and health - washing germs, sweat and dirt off), and you need to put on sunscreen at least on days where you’ll be outside and there’s an UV index of 3 or higher (for skin cancer prevention). But apart from that? You don’t really NEED to do anything at all. 

Certain beauty influencers and companies will try hard to tell you otherwise but, really, you will not die, the world will not implode, the birds will not stop singing.

Or in slightly more realistic worries: You can live a fulfilling life and be a whole adult, even if you never become the kind of person who religiously does ten steps of skincare every morning. 

You won’t even necessarily have horribly-looking skin without a skincare routine. („horrible“ is a very subjective term when it comes to beauty anyway, and much of what we are taught to think of as horrible is simply the beauty industry pushing a beauty standard that is purposefully unreachable, so you’ll keep buying their products). Think about it: for every person who swears by their 25-step-routine, you’ll find someone who swears by their nothing-but-sunscreen routine - and they’ll both have beautiful skin. Clearly, healthy skin isn’t achieved by any one specific product or routine, otherwise there wouldn’t be that many different products or routines being promoted!

All this is not to say that routines are meaningless. Many people find something in their skincare routine that actually has little to do with skin: regular routines provide stability and comfort. It can be a beautiful moment of calmness before you start the day. Doing the same thing before bedtime every night can help your brain switch into sleep mode more easily. Skincare can be a good way to integrate some pleasant touch and sensory experiences into your daily life. Skincare (different ingredients and what they do etc.) can be a fascinating topic to learn about. Trying a new product can be something exciting to look forward to. And so on, and so forth! 

But none of that changes the simple truth: if you don’t want to have a skincare routine, it’s okay to just not have one. No matter if it’s something like “I’d like one, I just don’t have the energy/ motivation/ headspace/ money/ freedom to build one right now” or “I struggle too much with forming reliable habits to stick to one routine for a longer time” or “Skincare makes me uncomfortable because of gender dysphoria/ sensory overload/ etc.” or if it’s just “I don’t feel like it”  or “I find skincare boring” - it’s okay to not have a routine. Use your sunscreen when necessary and call it a day. You’ll be fine. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[love-lilly02]

The Challenge- Ch. 7

An- hey. (drops random half edited chapter that’s probably the shortest one i’ve ever written) see ya🚶🏾‍♀️

A total of two months, three and a half weeks and six days. 

That was how long you had been MIA. Each time another day was added to that count, you grew more restless than before. You wanted to go home, to sleep in your bed, eat american food, damnit just to have a different color shirt to wear. 

And yet you were still stuck here. 

Each day started off the same. You would wake up at the ass crack of dawn, eat something akin to breakfast with Nikolai and wait to see if today was the day you were going back. Instead, he would silently place a knife on the table— some days it was different— and walk out of the room. The same routine, every day. for the past two months.

It was enough to drive any normal person insane. and it had almost driven you insane, definitely would have if you weren’t in the military. 

You had managed to work up the courage to ask why he didn’t immediately send you back one day, why he tolerated you staying with him for this long. 

“If i send you back they do things different. Look at you oddly, treat you weirder. Here you can rest, regain your skills.” He had said, not pausing to spare you a glance. 

“I take you back when you ready.”

according to him, you had not been ready in a long time. 

you never really gave up hope. Not actually, you knew logically at some point he had to bring you back to them. And going back on your own was a suicide mission, one even worse than the thing that had gotten you into this mess. So you waited. 

If it took five months or seven years, you would wait. 

Kate Laswell was a woman of action. 

She knew this for a fact, it had been thrown back into her face so many times she lost body parts to count it. Which is why your disappearance bothered her so much. You were a person of action as well, it’s what prompted her to introduce you to the 141. So then why had you been MIA for the past three months? The thought sat there constantly, turning even the best days sour. 

That, and what you were doing to the team.

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, although you did have to look a bit harder to see the changes. Especially in people like Ghost and Price, whereas Kyle and Soap might as well have worn their emotions on their sleeves. She wished she could do something to help, to find where exactly you were. Or if you were alive, even. 

All given evidence suggested otherwise. 

She had replayed the shitty camera footage of your disappearance, watched it frame by frame, pixel by pixel. Mutiple times, and she couldn’t figure out how there could be a way for you to get out of there. It just wouldn’t have added up. 

But she didn’t give up there, of course she wouldn’t.

She kept searching, looking for any sign of you. As a civilian, one of the russian’s captives, anyone. anything could come into play, you were a smart girl and everyone knew it. 

Unfortunately, that also meant you could cover up your tracks well. 

It took another month for anything good to come up. And that something good came as salvation always does.

In the form of a call. 

John had made an attempt to push the situation out of his mind, to allow you to handle your own business. His thoughts screamed at him to be more active, to do something more, but there was literally nothing for it. 

Or so he thought. 

The call came in while he was walking out of a meeting, silently dreading the mound of paperwork he would now have to do. When he saw the caller ID he had to do a double take, and he rushed to answer the call. 

“Nik?”

“Captain. It’s been a while, no?”

“Damn right it has. Makes me scared.”

His old friend laughed, and Price could imagine the way he was shaking his head.

“Yes, yes. But i have gift—what? okay, okay sheesh. I have… surprise… for you.”

Price just stared. “Is there someone else there? What’s goin on Nik?” 

There was silence on the other end of the line, then a lot of rusting. 

“Um. Hey.” 

Price almost dropped the phone. 

The process of getting you back wasn’t as hard as they thought it would be, but it certainly took a very long time. 

In reality it took two weeks. But to them each day felt like a decade.  

The entire flight took 11 hours, and they weren’t allowed to meet you halfway (something about using military vehicles for non military purposes. all four boys thought that was absolute bull shit but they couldn’t do anything about it) So they did the next best thing. 

wait. 

And they waited. and waited. Each time a chopper landed on the helipad they were rushing to the window, seeing if it was you. It got to the point that they had someone constantly surveying that area of the base, just so they could be immediately notified. 

And finally, finally you were back. 

It was a whole ordeal, theatrics that even soap had to roll his eyes at. The moment you got off the plane you were swamped with people asking questions, doctors trying to assess how you were alive and unharmed, people just staring in awe. 

But you ignored them all, scanning the crowd with a panicked expression. It didn’t disappear till you saw the four of them, standing far, far away from the mob of people surrounding you. 

Nik walked out behind you, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder. The two of you made your way down the ramp to the group, and Price smiled for the first time in a long time when he saw you. 

“Welcome back, kid.”

this was gona be an akward chapter anyways, i had NO idea how to write the reader's return. I'll make it up to you guys next time, pinkie promise

My Masterist

[b33zlebubz]

RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER TWO - an interrogation

TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC)

PREV CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK || NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace you still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

"You've got the wrong person."

"I can assure you we don't."

"Then what the fuck did I do?"

Price sits back in his chair with his arms crossed, staring out the one-sided mirror that separates him from the interrogation taking place.  The room is dark save for the mirror, the laptop in front of him, and the red-yellow embers of his third cigar in the span of an hour.  He fidgets uselessly with it, rolling the paper between the fingers in his right hand while the other clutches a pair of dog tags.  The metal feels twice as cold in his palm as he listens to the two people in the room in front of him.

Laswell looks tired—typically perfect hair beginning to fall from her bun and the bags under her eyes deeper than usual.  He doesn’t doubt he looks the same, if not worse.  Despite the majority of the day dead and gone, the only thing they have to show for the amount of time spent in this room is a quickly filling tray of cigarette ashes and a messy desk of conflicting files, open laptops, and empty mugs of both tea and coffee.

"Nothing.  We just have some questions regarding your birth family."

You chuckle bitterly, your voice strained from the day's events even through the intercom.  "You had me kidnapped and nearly killed for a couple of questions?"  

Laswell's mouth opens and then snaps shut again. 

Price flips the dog tags through his fingers like the world’s most unlucky coin.

"This isn't an interrogation,"  she eventually responds.  "We’re trying to help you.”

“Then why am I in an interrogation room?”

He thinks its hard to find anything surprising, nowadays.  Price thought he saw pretty much everything there was to see already.  He’s traveled the world, faced every obstacle with bared teeth and clenched fists.  He’s seen death in all its forms, he’s seen someone come back from death—and yet, this was a new problem.  One he hadn’t encountered before.  A mission he, for once, didn’t know how to approach. 

He sighs, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees as he watches Laswell shuffle through papers.  This is usually what the chief specialized in—getting intel—but it appears even she's left flustered and clueless with how to handle the iron will of a shell-shocked teenager.

You’re sitting in a similar position as Price himself as you sit across from Laswell; a too-big S.A.S. sweater on your shoulders paired with sweatpants of a similar fit, your previous clothes ruined with blood.  Eyes downcast, hands clasped and shaking; Price can’t imagine the things running through your head.  He felt even worse that they didn’t have spare shoes, leaving you in your untied sneakers stained red-brown with the blood from earlier that day.  

You’re lost in thought.  You try to focus on what Laswell says, but her questions seem to go in one ear and then back out the other if you don't snap with a sarcastic comeback.  Laswell swallows heavily, much more used to this routine involving adults with war crime lists as long as the very building is tall.  She’s being gentle—well, as gentle as she can manage given your sharp tongue—but you haven’t given them any answers since you showed up.

You're scared.  You want answers.  Anyone in your situation would be the same.

So, after a few more minutes of talking and getting nowhere, Laswell stands.  She spares you one last, sympathetic look before crossing the room to the door—where she leaves the room in favor of the small office Price resides in.  A long breath leaves her as she stops at the table, lifting her arms and then letting them fall back to her sides in defeat.

“Nothing,”  she breathes.

Price nods.  He takes another drag of his cigar and exhales the smoke in a heavy sigh.

“Figures,”  he says, leaning over to snuff the embers out in the dish.  “Simon scared ‘em shitless.”

Laswell scoffs.  Shaking her head, she drops the file on the desk with a slap before sitting down herself—rubbing her tired face.  Her gaze falls to you sitting alone in the room, her brow furrowed tight.  In all his years of working with her, Price doubts he’s seen someone get under her skin like this in a long time.  

“We can’t wait for answers—not with the news spreading like this.”

He hums.  “You’re right.  We can’t.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?”  She asks, genuinely.  “Because this isn’t working.  The kid's not talking until we tell them what's going on."

Price is silent for a moment.  None of the team had expected anyone else to catch wind of your location so quickly—nor had they expected such an organization like the Shadow Company to get involved.  What was supposed to be a silent search-and-rescue mission turned into something more of an ambush.  Something Price knows Graves will eventually seek repercussions for.

He feels his stomach twist from the thought, but he shakes it from his head.  Right now, proving to you that you weren’t in any danger was his priority.  The sooner you felt safe, the sooner you would answer questions—the sooner Price could formulate some semblance of a plan going forwards.

He pushes himself to his feet.  “Then we'll just have to give 'em what they want."

Laswell sighs, “John—”

“We owe the kid answers, Kate,”  He insists.  "We have for a long time.  Far too long."

“And if Graves or someone worse gets to them?  What happens then…when they give up intel?”  Laswell argues.   “We’ll just have to keep them until they’re ready to give up answers.  It’s the only way to make sure we don’t get compromised if shit hits the fan again.”

Price’s brow furrows.  He looks back out into the interrogation room for a moment, at how you stare down at the table wiping your bruised face on your sleeves.  Laswell is right, of course—she usually is.  If you gave up sensitive information to save your own skin after everything you’ve been through, nobody would blame you.  It could ruin everything, and it would be his fault, but that’s a risk he’s willing to take.  

He turns to Laswell again, his voice low as he steps closer. Palms flat on the desk, he leans down to her level.  “Then we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen, yeah?”

Laswell just stares at him for a second, her gaze hard in calm resolve.  She seems to consider his preposition, carefully weighing the pros and cons as she searches Price’s gaze for any hint of self-doubt.  As usual, she finds none.

She sighs again, shakes her head, and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the table.

"Fifteen minutes, Captain."  She says, resolute, as she lights a cigarette between her teeth.  "That's all you get."

Fifteen minutes.  He’s saved lives with less, but yet he still finds himself taking a nervous breath as he grasps the doorknob anyway.  Up until this point he hasn't officially met you.  In a perfect world, he probably never would have needed to.

He swallows the lump in his throat and opens the door.

Immediately, your eyes dart up to meet his.  Your expression is a tangled mess of things.  Fear, maybe.  Anger, definitely.  There’s sadness and anxiety in there, too, as Price meets your gaze for a moment before padding inside.  He makes a point to leave the door open behind him as he walks forwards, pulls the chair out, and sits down with his hands on the table.  Your legs are pulled up to your chest now; arms hugging your knees as you stare up at him—defensive.

Like you're a cornered animal ready to bite.  

You are, but that's besides the point.

He regards you for a moment, attempting to look past how you have your father’s eyes—bright and focussed and unrelenting underneath the deep, puffy bruise on your left eyelid.  The wound looks old, at least by a few hours, so he knows it wasn’t caused by any of his men.  Even the Shadows wouldn’t swoop so low as to hurt you without reason.

"Nice eye,"  is all he says.

Immediately, you look away, suddenly self-conscious as you wipe at the aching, bruised flesh.  It hurts, that’s for sure, but you do a good job at hiding it.

"The other guy looked worse,"  you lie.

"A soldier?"

"No…"  you clear your throat and shift, your shoulders easing just a little from exhaustion.  "No.  Some kid.  Long story.”

"Ah,"  he chuckles a little, as if you aren't sitting across from him with your hands still stained in some dead guy's blood.  "Somehow, I don't doubt that."

"Who are you?"

Hm.  The dreaded question.  For a second, Price debates how much he should tell you—and he knows Laswell is holding her breath hoping he'll hold his tongue, but you deserve answers.  It's the least he could do.

The dog tags feel like they were burning a hole in his pocket.

"Captain John Price.  British Special Air Service."  He answers through a sigh as he sits back in his chair.  "But you can just call me Price."

That furrow in your brow loosens just a little.  Slowly, you remove your arms from around yourself, letting your shoes hit the linoleum flooring.  Maybe you recognized his name somehow, or maybe you’re just relieved to be talked to like a human and not a cornered animal—but you’re more relaxed than you have been that whole day.

"And the woman?"  You press.

"A friend,"  Price answers honestly.  "She helped us find you.  You can trust her, too."

"And how do I know you're telling the truth?"

Price hesitates at that, glancing towards the one-sided mirror where he can feel Laswell watching.  Then, he reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out the dogtags.  He tosses them over and they slide across the metal table before landing in your hands.  You turn the metal chips over in your palm, tracing the enamel with shaky hands.  When you look back up at Price, it's in disbelief.

They're your father's.

"To make a very long story short: over a year ago he had a mission,"  Price begins.  "Your old man was tasked with disarming a missile.  He succeeded, changed the code...and died before he could deliver it.  As of a month ago, it's been missing.”

It's a grossly summarized version of what happened over the course of the past year and a half, but Price figures he’ll spare you the details.  Details like how your father was tortured for months before he was finally killed while escaping.  Details like while he was stuck in enemy territory—you were all he would write about.  Your interests.  Your face.  Your words.

You're silent for a moment, squeezing the cold metal in your palms.  When you speak, it's quiet.

"That's a lie," you argue.  "Dad died when I was five. In Mexico."

Price nods.

“Maybe,” he says quietly.  “But, like his kid—he wouldn’t go down easy.”

You let out a breath, sitting back against the chair as you digest the information handed to you.  He watches dots string together in your mind as you mull over your whole life up until that very moment.  He knows what you’re thinking of already; not because he ever met the man personally, but because with the past few months he spent reading and rereading every letter, email, and assignment report—he feels like he did.  He knows you’re rethinking every letter your father sent you right up until his supposed “death" and every call promising his return soon.

He knows it’s a lot to take in, and that aching guilt in his chest rears its ugly head.  He wished he could do more—apologize on behalf of your father, reassure you things would be fine, take you back to your home…but, alas, all of those things were impossible.  So, instead, he’d answer whatever question you asked.

Because that was all he could do.

Almost a full minute passes before you speak again, quietly.  "And why, exactly, am I so important?"

"Because your father kept a journal,”  he answers promptly.  “In that journal, he said you knew the code.”

You laugh bitterly.  “It’s not like he was around to tell me—I don’t know shit.”

“I figured,”  he sighs, nodding.  “So, until we figure things out…you’re sticking with me and my men."

You bristle again, shoulders tensing.  "I never agreed to that."

"I never gave you the choice,"  John hardens his tone, not leaving any room for argument.  "It's what your father would've wanted.  Those were his last orders."

At that, you fall quiet; your face scrunched with frustrated anger and unshed tears as you look away to steel yourself.  John sighs and softens again.

"You’ll have a temporary room for the next few days.  Then, Friday; you, me, and my team are moving to a different base to plan and gather intel.  Everyone here answers to me, and if any of ‘em give you trouble—I’m never far away.”

He leans in close.

"I'm sorry, kid.  Really," he says, "but you can't go home."

Finally, you nod in understanding, your gaze falling to the table.  Lost in thought again, another long moment passes.  He watches as you look down at the dog tags before, hesitantly, lifting them up and over your neck.  They fall to rest at your chest as you clasp them before looking up at Price.  You won’t ask the question—won’t admit what you’re thinking—but he meets your gaze with calm resolve as he speaks again.

"You'll be safe here," he says. “Alright?”

You purse your lips, thinking.  John almost holds his breath, waiting for your response.  Conflicting emotions swim in your eyes as you squeeze the metal on your neck. 

He pretends not to notice the tears pricking your eyes as you swallow heavily and nod.

“Yeah…yes,”  you choke out.  “Not like I have anywhere to go, anyway."

After that, things go smoother.  There were supposed to be more tests—more questioning, interviewing, and other supposedly mandatory things that would get everyone nowhere.  Instead, Price decides to bypass all of it with Laswell’s permission.  The walk to your room is silent, and he assures you, again, that nothing will happen to you here.  He apologizes profusely, but he’s not sure you truly hear any of it—simply nodding and thanking him before the door is shut, and the halls are quiet.

Only then does he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, slipping his hat off to run his hand back through his hair.  There’s paperwork he has to do, a briefing to attend to, and he still has yet to touch base with Soap and Ghost about what exactly happened earlier that day.  Despite it all, though—he feels somehow lighter.  Months of tracking down your father’s only family coming to a close now that you were found and safe.  Or, maybe, it was just because the dog tags were weighing him down.

Nevertheless, he barely spares himself a moment to recollect before his hat is placed back on his head, his expression is hardened again, and he finds himself walking back down the hallway—already itching for another cigar.

It was going to be a long fucking week.

@brokenpieces-72 @warenai

[specialagentlokitty]

Negan x reader - you have so much

TW: mentions of not eating, thoughts of death, self inflicted injuries

Sitting in the middle of your cell, you hand your hands resting on your knees, listening to the door was it was opened.

You felt some bread hit you in the head but you didn’t both to open your eyes, you simply just sat there which math man laugh.

“Seriously? You’re still doing this? Fucking pathetic.”

You said nothing and he laughed again.

“Keep going, you’re gonna die in here, gonna turn, then we’re gonna set you on your friends so you can fucking kill them all.”

The cell door was slammed shut, and you stayed exactly where you were.

They brought you food at the same time every day, so you knew the routine, you had been here for a week.

You were hungry, you were so hungry, but you didn’t eat a single thing they gave you.

You could hear them talking outside, saying Negan will be pissed when he find out how they’re treating you, and that nearly made you scoff.

You were weak, you had the start of a fever, you going to die in a matter of time without food and medicine, and you didn’t care.

“Then we just kill her before he gets here, say she was bit on the way in or something.”

You took a small breath, shuffling back so you could rest your back on the cold wall behind you, helping to relieve how hot you were feeling.

You listened to them argue, and you slumped to the side a little, you couldn’t keep holding yourself like you had been doing.

So you moved to the corner, but you stayed sat up, resting your head on the wall next to you, taking small, shallow breaths.

You must have fell asleep like that, because what woke you up was the sound of people in the hallways, all arguing and shouting.

You slowly opened your eyes, seeing your cell door still shut, and you closed them again.

You heard Negan’s whistle, you’d recognise it anywhere, it was the last thing you heard before you were knocked out and brought to their sanctuary.

You weren’t going to tell them anything they wanted, you weren’t going to tell them anything about the place you now called home, about your family and friends.

You raised your head, hitting it on the wall next to you slightly, and you raised it again to do the same thing.

They couldn’t force information out of you if you were unconscious, or more likely in your state, dead.

You kept going, despite how painful it was and the fact your body was trembling, you felt a small cut open your head, and when you hit it again you felt it open more

You couldn’t make out the sounds of the talking outside, but you stopped when you heard the lock to your cell click.

“Now, let’s see if our little guest has any words of advice for us.” Negan smirked.

He swung the door open, the lights making you turn your head, eyes screwed shut at how bright it was.

Negan chuckled a little, tapping his bat against the metal door a few times.

“Now, it’s rude not to look at your host sweetheart. I’m the one who’s looking after you, you know that.”

You slowly turned your head to him, opening your eyes to stare into his.

Your half dead eyes boring into shocked and angry eyes as he stared right back, taking in your sickly form.

You were covered in sweat, you were pale, dark circles under your eyes, and if it were possible in the last week he had seen you, you looked thinner.

He saw the blood on the side of your head, and he watched it drip on to your shirt, then flicked his gaze to the wall next to you, the still wet blood running down it.

You took a shaky breath.

“Looks like… you lose…” you rasped out.

Negan turned around to stare at his men who all subconsciously shuffled back from the sheer look of rage on his face.

“Who the fuck let this happen?” He asked lowly.

There was silence and he slammed Lucille into the door, creating a loud echo.

“WHO DID THIS?!” He shouted.

Nobody dared to answer him, and he began to pace a step back and forth.

“If I don’t get answers I’m going to bashing heads into the ground, I don’t give a fuck if you did it or not, every minute I wait a new skull is getting mashed into shit.”

You laughed weakly, causing him to look at you, and you coughed a little.

“It.. doesn’t matter…”

“It does fucking matter, who the fuck was the one who was supposed to be looking after you?” He snapped.

You closed your eyes taking a few ragged breaths before looking at him again.

All you did was offer him a shrug.

You were going to buy yourself as much time as possible, and when he turned around again, you hit your head on the wall.

“Times up!”

Negan raised his his bat, there was a chorus of screams and finally someone was pushed to their knees in front of him.

He looked down at the man who was begging for Negan to spare his life.

“Did you let this happen?”

“I thought you wouldn’t give a shit! It’s just Ricks sister!”

Negan raised his foot, boot colliding with the face of the man, sending him flying to the ground.

“Get this fucking prick downstairs, I’ll be down to make an example of him as to WHY WE FOLLOW THE FUCKING RULES!”

Everybody scrambled away while two grabbed the man to drag him away.

Negan grabbed hold of one of the workers and shoved them the opposite way they were running.

“Tell the doc to get ready.”

With that Negan turned to you, and you raised your head, he took a step forward.

“Don’t..”

“You don’t get a say.”

He set Lucille on the ground next to you, and he crouched down, placing his hand between your head and the wall as you went to hit it again.

“Fuck!” He hissed.

Pulling his hand away, he shook it a few times to try and ease the pain.

Negan grabbed your arm, hauling you to your feet and he picked up his bat, walking you from your cell, or more, dragging you from it.

You couldn’t walk, and the sudden movement made you go light headed, and you fell to the floor with a head thud.

“Oh fuck! Fucking hell!”

He looked around.

“Follow me!”

He shoved Lucille into the hands of Simon, and Negan put his arm under your neck, the other under your knees as he hauled you up.

You braced your hand on his chest, and weakly pushed yourself, the sudden shift in your weight causing him to stumble, but he didn’t fall.

Negan tightened his grip around you and glanced down as he carried on running through the halls.

“Sorry sweetheart, you don’t get a free pass that easily.”

You tried to think of another way, your vision pulsating, and you could only think of one sure way.

Bringing your head to the side, you opened your mouth and dug your teeth into the exposed skin of his wrist.

“Fucking hell! Were you raised by fucking animals!? Holy shit!”

Negan rushed you into the infirmary and he set you on the bed, pushing your head back so you would let go and you did.

“Shit! What the fuck?!”

“What happened?!” Carson asked.

“She fucking bit me!”

Carson rushed over to his boss and he was shivered away, a hand placed on the back of his neck as he was led over to you.

“She isn’t dead, she’s alive, and you’re going to do everything to fucking keep her that way, if you don’t then you better be wearing your pissing pants, because you’ll be needing them…” Negan sneered.

While the doctor tried to look after you, Negan began to gathered everything he needed to tend to his new wound.

Carson was trying to put an IV in you, but you kept fighting it, grabbing the doctors hand you dug your fingers into his skin, making his drop it to the floor.

“I.. I need a new needle.” Carson said.

Negan grabbed one, slamming it on the table.

You locked eyes with Negan, breath trembling.

“I’ll be dead.. by the.. end of the day…” you sneered.

“You wanna bet on that? I’ll be fucked if I’m letting you die that easily. Simon grab her arm.”

Negan walked over, he trapped your other arm under him, using his arm he placed it on your collarbone, keeping you down, his other hand on your forehead, making sure to stay clear of your mouth this time.

He avoided the head wound you had as well, and he leant up so he could look at you.

“Stop.” He said quietly.

You were breathing deeply, jaw clenched as you tried so hard in your weak state to break free.

“Fucking hell (Y/N) we’re trying to keep you alive, stop!”

You locked eyes with him, and you slowly stopped fighting, your eyes closing but you tried to fight it.

“A sedative, it’ll wear off in a while.” Carson said.

Simon and Negan moved from you, Negan took his Lucille back, sending his friend away and he stood next to you, watching the anxious doctor work.

Carson hung a bag up, and he moved to clean your head and stitch it up.

“You better hope she makes it doc, your very life is depending on it.” Negan warned.

Carson glanced up, before turning his attention to you.

“She has a minor infection, some antibiotics will clear it up, and fight the infection before it gets to her head injury, she’s dehydrated, and she will need to eat something soon.”

The doctor stood up, and Negan looked at the bag.

“It’s one I made, it should get the antibiotics and some fluids back into her system, how did this happen?”

Negan said nothing and Carson quickly nodded his head, knowing it was better than to ask his question again.

When you woke up, it took a few minutes to realise that you weren’t in the infirmary anymore, you were on a bed.

You turned your head, groaning a little in pain, but it didn’t stop you from sitting up.

You didn’t recognise the room, you didn’t know how long it had been, but there was a glass of water on the table next to you.

You ignored it, hand reaching up to your head to find a bandage around it.

Glancing around the room to make sure that you were alone, you slowly began to unwrap it, tossing it aside, and you ran your fingers along the stitches.

Finding the first one, you began to try find a way to undo it, blood trickling down your face as you breathed through the pain.

The door was opened and closed, Negan walked in, setting Lucille down on a chair, not seeing thay you were awake, and he set some food down on the table.

You carried on what you were, trying to find a good angle or grip.

Negan froze, and he spun around, marching over he grabbed your wrist, pulling it from your head.

“Stop, now.” He warned.

You grabbed his wrist, trying to bite him again and he grabbed both your wrists in his hand, placing his hand on your head to stop you.

“Seriously?! Who the fuck bites people?! I’m trying to save your life! Stop trying to fucking bite me! If you’re going to bite me at least do it in the fun kind of way!”

You stopped, looking at him and he smirked a little.

“Yeah, that made you stop didn’t if.”

“Pig…”

He shrugged a little, taking his bandanna off and he placed it gently against your wound, picking up the bandage you had discarded.

“It made you stop didn’t it? I’d say that’s a win. Now, sit still.”

You tried to move away and he gave you a warning look, making you stop.

Negan wrapped your head up again, and he handed you the glass of water.

“Drink it.”

You set it back down.

Sighing, Negan picked it up, taking a drink from one side, and handed you the glass back.

“It’s just water, that’s it.”

You smacked the glass out of his hand and it crashed to the floor.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You need to drink, and eat if you want to keep on breathing, don’t you understand that?!” He hissed.

He walked over to the table, picking up the food and set it in your lap while he began to clean up the water you had thrown.

You didn’t want to waste food, so instead you just set it where the water was.

Negan noticed this and he sighed.

“It wasn’t my intention for you to get hurt in anyway. You weren’t supposed to be put in that cell, and the fuckwit that put you in there had now joined our lovely team of walkers out the front.”

You rested your back on the headboard.

“If you’re… going to kill me… just do it…”

“I just spent all that effort and those resources to save you, why would I kill you now? I gain nothing from that except your very pissed brother storming my sanctuary.”

You turned away from him as he set the food back down in front of you.

“Seriously? What is this a strike? Eat.”

You turned your head a little further away so you didn’t even have to look at the food.

“Fine.”

Negan left it there leaving the room.

The theory was that maybe you would eat without him around, but you didn’t. Or if you did he didn’t notice anything missing.

He tried the harsh approach, the just seeing how you did approach, the trying to force you to eat approach which worked for a few days until you had enough strength to punch him in the jaw before you stopped again. He had tried to engage you in conversations, which sometimes you’d take part in, he tried to engage you in card games or even just a walk around the halls.

You would take part as long as it didn’t involve him trying to help you in any other way, if it was just company you’d take it, but that was it.

Now he was trying another, he brought your food in, and he sat on the chair next to the bed, setting the food in your lap.

You didn’t even look at it, you just sat there.

“Look, just tell me what I’m doing wrong here. Do you not like the food? Do you need me to leave while you eat? What? What do you want? Because I’m running out of ideas here, and I can’t exactly return you to Rick the prick in this state, so you’re stuck with my ass until you’re healthy.”

You looked at him.

“What do you want from me sweetheart?”

Negan watched you, the way you refused food or water, the way you were so determined to hit you head and take your stitches out.

These weren’t the tactics of somebody who was trying to survive.

“Just kill me…”

Negan swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Do you wanna die?” He asked quietly.

“Yes…”

“Why?”

You looked away.

“Why do I need a reason?”

“Tell me why.”

You clenched your jaw.

“Because I can’t do it myself…”

Negan slowly nodded his head.

“This why you’re doing all this? So I get pissed off and kill you?”

You nodded.

“You tried this before?”

“Rick, Michonne… they took all my weapons, won’t let me go anywhere without someone there… I even tried to walk into a herd of walkers…”

Negan got up, taking the food from you, setting it aside and he sat on the edge of the bed.

He tried to get a better look at you but you wouldn’t let him.

“Why the fuck would you want to do that?” He asked.

Despite his swearing, the tone was gentle, soft, it sounded like he was actually worried about you.

“Because what’s the point? We’re all going to become one of those things some how, at least I’d have control over my death. I have nothing anymore, Rick isn’t even my biological brother, he just feels guilty he killed Shane, so I have nothing.”

You turned your head, contacting eyes with him.

“So do it. Kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

Negan took the food, setting it back in your lap, and he took some from the plate to eat, just like all the other times he brought you food.

“You said you had nothin’ but that’s not true, you do, they’re all waiting for you to go back, demand for you to go back. I’d say that’s something.”

Negan picked up the fork, and he held it out to you with a little grin.

“Come on, it’s good shit.”

He took the fork back, putting some food on it and he held it up and you took it.

“I can feed myself..”

“Yeah, because that’s gone well huh?”

You glared a little and ate some of the food, and you turned the plate, gesturing to whatever you just ate to him and tried something else.

Negan got another food, eating the part of your meal you didn’t like, he didn’t say anything in case you stopped.

“You ever gonna take me back?”

“When you’re healthy enough.”

You nodded, glancing at him before looking away.

“You got any apples?”

He chuckled, sitting up to grab his walkie, asking someone to bring him a bowl of apples to the room and he set it back down.

“Whatever you want you just ask, I’ll have that shit here in no time.”

[toxintouch]

Hyperspecific Leander Fluff Headcanons:

sleepy time themed bc I am supposed to be asleep

[They pronouns used.]

He loves to bring his partner breakfast in bed. It honestly might be more for him than for them; he loves it that much.

It's not an every morning thing. (Unless??) There's an element of surprise to it - he will sneak away at some unholy hour of the morning to prepare/obtain everything.

He knows all the best hidden delicacies and can always miraculously get something prepared at odd times of the night/morning. He's just a nice, normal guy doing his part to support his local economy! :)

(He'd be more keen on making breakfast (or other meals) himself if he's cooking with his partner. He'd enjoy the domesticity of helping them cook/bake if that's their hobby, or would love learning alongside them if they showed an interest.)

Breakfast in bed tends to happen more often if he was taking care of Bloodhound business all night and didn't get to sleep ("sleep" - does he ever even sleep?) next to them.

Loves being the one to wake them up in general, even if it's not a breakfast in bed type of morning. :)

Getting to see them all sleepy and unguarded and adorable is priceless for him.

Secretly loves it even more if they are slow to wake or grouchy first thing in the morning because that means he gets to dote on them and/or gently coax them awake with cuddles and kisses all over their face.

(If they are really grouchy: 🥺🥺 Is there anything he could offer that might make them more happy to wake up? 🥺🥺 😏)

On that note, he is completely unfazed by morning breath. It simply doesn't exist to him. They don't want to kiss him because of morning breath?? Invalid argument, he doesn't even know what that is.

(He's a morning person. Also a night owl. Also very active in the afternoon. Seriously, does he ever sleep?)

Even if he's staying up whereas they're going to bed, he always walks them to their room. Will excuse himself from whatever he is talking about with his Bloodhounds just to kiss them goodnight.

If he was away and thus didn't escort them to bed and wish them goodnight himself, he'll ask around regarding when they were seen heading to sleep. That way, he knows when is a good time to wake them up! He can't have them undersleeping, after all. (Man's a hypocrite.)

(Or, if they wake up at the same time every day, he'll adjust his schedule to accommodate.)

Crowds his parter when they are doing their nighttime routine. Always trying to hug them around the waist when they are brushing their teeth, etc. They come up from rinsing their facewash off and he's there behind them like a jumpscare.

Endless chatter while they get ready for bed unless they can quiet him down with some form of affection. Chatter will continue as he tucks them in.

Except... as their relationship progresses, he'll stick around on nights where he's feeling more burnt out needy quiet. He'll go in for an embrace and not let go... then transition into a gentle sway. The two of them end up doing a kind of mindless slow dance, if they allow it. Mentally, he's worn out but physically he's still restless. Hopefully they'll indulge him for a while?

Absolute worst at telling bedtime stories. He's too much of a showman. He'll turn the shortest little fable into a sprawling epic. Will act out the parts like he's in a play and/or make tiny magic illusions. It will be an hour(s) long affair. Worse, they won't even notice time passing because he's such a compelling storyteller. Always manages to put a fresh spin on the tale in question.

Has a great reading voice to fall asleep to. But even when he's supposed to be reading off the page, he editorializes, changes the story where he doesn't like the source material -- more often, changes the story to cater to their tastes specifically -- , finds ways to add in anecdotes about random things/people, bring up shared experiences and inside jokes...

If his partner starts playing with his hair, he'll stumble over his words. Every. Time. If they keep at it, he'll quiet down and just enjoy being in the moment for a while.

You'd think he would want to be the little spoon, but nope. Big spoon so he can smother hold them to his heart's content. ❤️

Okay, maybe sometimes he'll be the little spoon. More specifically, he'll quite happily be the little spoon while they are awake - he loves having their attention - but as soon as they are asleep, he swaps to be the big spoon. He likes the feeling of protecting them while they are asleep. :)

He's impossibly good at removing himself from the bed without waking his partner. Doesn't matter how entangled the two of them were, he manages it.

[idontknowreallyidontcare]

KÖNIG HC’S FOR MY KÖNIG GIRLS.

- I HC him as being definitely taller than your average man, but not his fanon height. Many people go with the narrative that he’s 6’10/2m 08cm’s, for what I understood this is a made up data, nowhere is it specified that he’s actually 6’10, so what I actually assign him is a height of 6’7, we know how Ghost is somewhere between 6’4/6’5 which it’s still pretty tall (1,89 cm), but we also know by comparing the models, that König is a bit taller, so I am kind of basing his height on this difference between him and Ghost. Also, knowing he could not be a sniper because of his height motivates me even more to think that he is indeed a guy bigger than your average. Again, it’s a personal HC, may or may not be shared, it’s not a canon attribute.

- As I already specified in some of my other posts, I view him as a clean individual, in a sense than he has a routine and will try to maintain it even on duty. Being at the barracks will not obstruct his routine, he washes his hair with shampoo and conditioner, he uses a particular face soap, made for his type of skin, and he uses body lotion instead of a bar of soap. It has to be said that he wasn’t always this organized, for example, thanks to you he got to buy the face wash that he now brings everywhere he goes, you kinda talked to him about using a bar of soap for all the body and explained to him how unhygienic was to use the same towel for face, body and cock/ass, because despite you being ‘clean’ after the shower, you’re still dragging bacteria form around your body onto your face and hair, overall you kinda motivated him to uplift his already good habits. He sometimes lets you do his skincare too, and when he remembers, he will actually put some face cream on. He’s still a bit fearful of coming as not very masculine, but you’re making him work on it, so he can accept that taking care of himself will never be a turn down for you, not when he’s already so hot for his age, he better maintain himself!

- Another critical point about our Köni is his age. We have a vague idea of how old he could be, many HC’ing him from 35 to late 40’s. My guess is he could be somewhere between 38 and 43, I do prefer him as a 39/40 years grandpa tho. Again, personal HC, do not take it as canon! I’d be happy honestly if they would reveal his age, probably because no matter what, I’d still simp even if he turned out to be 50 years lmaooooo.

- Yes, he does come from a village in the country side, but he did join military pretty young, so I HC him as being actually a pretty open minded individual. Remember he gets to work with technology every day, he knows what’s going on around the world, and him joining young actually was a benefit, because he got to form his own opinions in a place that welcomed every kind of human beings. He didn’t get to grow up from the hate he received at school so he kind of escaped a life where he could’ve easy became what we call an inc€l today. He grew some balls, got his priorities right. He was for sure subjected to some kind of morally wrong opinions that grew into him, that’s why you’re spending time on him, being patient and trying to explain to him many things he considered undeniable reality until he meet you. The classic ones are: males should not cry because only girls do, women can work but they would be better at home, men don’t pay attention to their physical appearance that’s for feminine boys, and many similar things. He’s slowly getting out of his habits, and you’re proud of him.

- Listen, people have mixed feelings about this one but imma say it, aside from shipping and all, König is not and will never be Homophobic. He does not have any problem with lgbt+ nor is he disturbed by couples openly showing affection in his presence. Early access to internet and a very religious family could have created the worst possible outcome for him, but he was never big into religion, already redeeming it a waste of time at a young age, but still attending church because of his mom. He knows some recruits are openly gay, he doesn’t see a problem nor does it bother him knowing he could be someone’s crush. Now I do HC him as completely straight, but again it’s MY way of imagining König, I still think that in an orgy or threesome with reader, if he trusts the other male part, he would not be against having their cocks in the same hole, rubbing against each other, or in general he would not be against having some skin to skin contact with another male because at the end he does it because it only benefits you.

- He is a perverted dog, not only because he is ‘old’ and has fucked young girls (not minors! He is not morally fucked up like that), or generally his sexual history is pretty normal for a man that age, he was just always eager to see, learn and search for what he felt was exciting to him. He had threesomes before us, he has sex, he did many things that gave him the skills and experience he’s been using on us, but yes overall I HC him as being the one that always had a porn journal under his pillow, he would even lend them around the barracks.

- He loves pussy. He eats it for HIS own pleasure okay? He would die between your legs. He cums only by eating you out. He gets drunk on pussy. Pussy is what he lives for. He’ll never die on field, living purely out of spite, because he’ll no! What do you mean he’s never gonna enjoy your pussy again if he dies! ABSOLUTELY NOT! He’ll get home, beaten, cut, stabbed, whatever, but he’ll be home to you, and he will lick your pussy for the rest of the night saying “this what’s keeping me alive honey”. And truth is you can’t deny it to him, because it’s so good, no matter the circumstances, it always brings him back home.

[beegalactica]

HOT GIRLS ARE CONSCIOUS.

I haven't been on Tumblr in about 3 months (life has been busy), and when I finally decided to check back in today, I kept seeing the same thing over and over again, so I am here to dispel some myths.

If you have seen any of my posts, you will know the issues I have with traditional TikTok-y trendy 'glow-up' advice, but today I realised how much of it is just a ploy to get us to spend tons of money on things we CAN live without. I think we all need to be more CONSCIOUS: conscious of what we can realistically afford and implement into our daily lives.

For example, in a typical 'glow-up' advice post, tiktok or youtube video, they recommend these super unrealistic routines that include a full skincare routine of every type of cream you could ever imagine, and an incredibly detailed list that lays out how you need to spend every 10 minutes of your day in order to achieve this perfect form.

It's all hear-say.

Don't get roped into thinking that you need those brand new clothes, or you need those skincare items to be your best self. The idea of turning your 'glow-up' into a sustainable part of your life is to do things you can manage to do over and over again. The secret to glowing up permanently is having a routine that keeps you happy and healthy. Instead of buying a full shelf of skincare all in one go, get 1 or 2 items with positive reviews to start. You don't need to throw out your whole wardrobe and sell your soul to TEMU just to look aesthetic; use what you have. Rather than making short term impulsive purchases, treat every part of your life as an investment.

Especially when it comes to clothing, being someone who has lost weight and no longer fits into all their old clothes, instead of throwing everything out and starting from scratch, I bought a little amazon sewing kit with a couple of needles and different types of thread and started cutting and sewing my way to a better wardrobe. (Even TODAY, I turned an old pair of jeans that I never wear into a cute miniskirt all from a 5 minute YouTube tutorial.) If sewing isn't your thing, you can try using some hemming tape and an iron, fabric glue, or whatever you can. Be conscious of the things you buy and how often you buy them.

I know lots of people like thrifting, and you can thrift online with apps like Vinted, which I personally use and love, if you don't have access to massive thrift stores like they do in America (I'm totally not jealous at all 🙄🙄; I live in the UK and the closest things I have near me are charity shops but there's a sort of stigma around shopping in them but honestly who cares what others think).

When you shop for clothes, look for timeless and versatile pieces you can mix and match, layer and style with lots of different things, allowing you to wear them well. Try to find good staple pieces, that will make the basis of your wardrobe. Be an outfit repeater. Do not blindly follow trends; take the time to curate and explore to find your style. Make a massive Pinterest board of everything you think looks good, and start to make a list of common items of clothing and accessories you save the most; these will be your staples. Don't feel like you have to stick strictly to one aesthetic; my wardrobe ranges from 'fairycore' maxi skirts to y2k denim skirts, but what matters is that I am mindful of whether I will use the things I want to buy.

Of course, feel free to treat yourself, you 100% deserve it, but don't get sucked into the idea that your self worth is determined but WHAT you have; instead it should be how you FEEL in what you have.

I like to see my blog as a little notebook of things I wish I could have told my younger self, and things I want to remind my future self, and I feel like it would be a disservice to not talk about the oversaturation of our feeds with infinite products, to the point where everything feels like an AD.

Moral of the story: don't just take everything you see online at face value. Don't get trapped in extensive consumerism; it's bad for your bank account, it's bad for the environment and it's bad for your mental health.

Also here's my Pinterest if you want to have a peek around <3 Pinterest

[sunsetsands]

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[dystopyx-blog]

scratch

You have an itch. 

A terrible, gnawing, festering itch.

It eats away at you, daily, nightly.

It’s just there, at the back of your every thought.

And you can’t for the life of you find a way to scratch it.

And so it remains, constant, nagging, unbearable.

Until you’re finally able to scratch it.

And when you do, it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever experienced. 

Then it’s all over. The itch that had been plaguing you for what might’ve been months is gone, and you can live your life in peace! 

You’ll never have to worry about that damned itch again.

Or at least, that’s what you think.

But eventually, when you least expect it, it returns. 

It itches. 

You think it might even be worse than before.

It’s begging, begging for you to scratch it! 

And so you do.

You realize this itch of yours isn’t something you can be rid of, at least not permanently. But that’s okay, because you know how to deal with it.

With time, it becomes predictable. You form a routine. You set up a system so that the next time it comes, you’re ready to scratch it. And all of a sudden, it’s no longer an aggravating rash that burdens your every day life. It’s more of an everyday irritant, one you can take care of with the right steps and procedures. 

Except this “itch” of yours couldn’t be further from an everyday irritant; because to scratch your itch

somebody needs to die. 

You live in a world divided by two; the darlings and the yanderes.

Darlings are the “normal” people. Everyday, run of the mill citizens. Each one is unique in their own way. Each has their own aspirations, dreams, flaws, fears, past, quirks, and so on. 

Yanderes are the same way in that sense. Except there’s one key trait separating them from the rest of the world, the “darlings”; a sickness that darlings are incapable of having, but runs rampant in every yandere. 

Love sickness.

Yanderes are obsessed bastards by their very nature, and once they find the object of their obsession, it’s game over for everyone else.

Yanderes are willing to commit any sort of heinous crime to ensure their “love” remains with them. 

And for years, the rest of the world was forced to accept this as simply the way that it is.

Until the creation of “Yancity”.

Technically its real name is San Valentín, but nobody calls it that. From its inception everyone called it “Yandere City”, which was eventually shortened to “Yancity.”

Your government tracked down every last yandere it could (how so was beyond you) and shipped them off to some city in Alaska. 

And to keep them there, they filled the city with darlings, too.

Living in the city was free, aside from food and accoutrements. There were plenty of apartments, rent was nonexistent, and jobs were easy to find and get. Life is easy in Yandere City; so long as you ignore the fact that you’re a sheep in a city of wolves. 

So the poor, homeless, and otherwise down on their luck offer themselves to the gates of hell.

You are one of many willing victims, though you are no sheep. 

You are a snake who slithered its way into the wolf den so you can safely shed your skin. 

You’ve found the perfect place to scratch that itch.

hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii this is the prologue chapter for my yandere x reader story “Scratch.”

if it interests you, you can read it on quotev :)

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  Pricklywhicket/@messessentialist ! Prickleywhicket has four fics published to AO3 -- All in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by pricklywhicket:

so let's sneak in from the cheap seats, honey

it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)

start by pulling him out of the fire

"Sadie is so super talented in the way she describes literally everything. She is so good at writing and it's a shame that she's flown under the radar because she's not the quickest at putting things out there." -- Anonymous

Below the cut, Pricklywhicket answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Why do any of us write anything? Because we want the story to exist in the world, and it doesn’t yet, so we gotta hike up our pants and do it ourselves!

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Hurt/Comfort. I’m always a sucker for the blorbos taking care of one another, in whatever form that takes. This has always been true, across a truly astronomical number of fandoms I’ve found myself dabbling in over the years.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

…actually, probably hurt/comfort! I just need to get those little dudes some validation and unconditional positive regard, okay?

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I’m sure I won’t be the first one to say this, but: I HAVE TO PICK ONE????? Okay, alright. I can do this. I’m gonna say…Sanctuary by SpicedSage.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I’ve only written canon or canon-adjacent fic so far, so I’m eager to work on something that’s completely AU. I think there’s a unique challenge to keeping characters recognizable as themselves in a world that might not have all the same contexts that made them into that person.

What is your writing process like?

I would love to say it’s super organized and well-planned, but the truth is it’s mostly about routine and responsibility. I set aside time to do it every day, even if I can only tap out a few sentences. I’m not very strict about writing in a straight line - I can stop a scene if it’s giving me trouble, write a note about what I think happens in some [brackets], and move on to something that I have more fully fleshed-out ideas for. Sometimes writing the next scene helps you know more about what needs to happen in the current one. 

Do you have any writing quirks?

I'm sure my betas would say yes 🙃 I tend to write a lot of dialogue - a lot of my revision process is going back through and realizing I have two pages of a conversation with no indication of what’s physically happening in the world around the speakers.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Definitely when I’m finished. Prior to my ‘23 bang fic, I had never written anything chaptered. I knew going in that I could NOT start posting if it wasn’t finished, because I’ve been burned too many times by abandoned works. I didn’t want to do that to people reading my fic, and the best way to avoid it is to finish before you post.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Easily start by pulling him out of the fire. The biggest, most ambitious thing I’ve ever attempted - I still kind of can’t believe I wrote 85k.

How did you get the idea for start by pulling him out of the fire?

Like most terrible ideas, it was spawned in a fandom discord chat. We were discussing the tendency of Steddie fics to centralize the party at Steve’s house, because his parents are never there anyway. And then someone mentioned what if the parents came home and found their house occupied, and someone else mentioned Wayne being there, and it just sort of…spiraled out from there.

When writing start by pulling him out of the fire, what was something you didn’t expect?

I had no idea, going in, that I was going to write a comprehensive history of the Wayne and Eddie Munson relationship. I started writing it where I did to give some background on Wayne’s existing distaste for the elder Harrington, and then I just…kept writing. Over the course of a month or two I wrote 20k of WayneAndEddie that I had no idea was in me - it just kept coming.

What inspired it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)?

@wynnyfryd. It was a gift for her birthday. We were talking about our mutual love of Letterkenny, and she mentioned that the episode was her favorite and wouldn’t it be funny if someone wrote… and the rest is history.

What was your favorite part to write from it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)?

I had an unreasonable amount of fun with that one in general. But I think my favorite part was Eddie polling the party about what Steve means to them all. It was fun to sort of put myself in each character’s shoes and think about how they would answer. Plus y’know, any excuse to unironically love on Steve Harrington.

How do/did you feel writing so let's sneak in from the cheap seats, honey?

I believe my exact words upon deciding to write it were “jingles miserably to a blank google doc.” This was a classic case of saying “god I wish there was a fic where—” and having friends tell me that it was now my responsibility to write it. I’m glad I did, though. I love that story, and it proved to me that I could write sex and publish it and not burst into flames. I also just really, really love summer storms. And Wayne’s use of the singular ‘herpe.’

What was the most difficult part of writing so let's sneak in from the cheap seats honey?

Getting over the fear of publishing something E-rated. It was just something I hadn’t done, and I had a lot of anxiety that people were not going to respond well to it. I made three people individually review the sex scenes before I even asked anyone to beta the full fic. Of course I was worried for nothing, the reception for that fic was super lovely and gave me the confidence boost I needed to attempt start by pulling him out of the fire!

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This is like asking me to pick a favorite child. I’ll say this: most of my favorite lines in start by pulling him out of the fire were taken directly from conversations @wormdebut and I had about the fic. She’s my number one cheerleader and sounding board, and sometimes she’s so goddamn funny that I just have to include it. You have her to thank, for instance, for Steve quite literally dropping his croissant when he first sees Eddie in glasses.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I have a couple of irons in the fire, but nothing I’m ready to share just yet! I’ve been taking a breather from writing (blame baldur’s gate 3, okay) but my WIPs are still very much IP. Stay tuned!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Not that I can think of!

Thank you to our author, Pricklywhicket, and our anonymous nominator! See more of pricklywhicket's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[hangeswif3]

Out of line

Warning: a little nsfw, maybe a bit yandere if u squint. Hange being possessive. Angstttt, no happy ending. They/them pronouns for Hange.

Summary: You and Hange break up, they don’t take it very well.

Note: This is just the second thing I write so please be nice, also English is not my first language so it might be kinda grammatically weird. Written in completely free form so I hope you understand. Thanks for reading <3

Hoping that Hange manages your breakup in a healthy way was a terrible mistake.

“What?” Hange answered turning to look at you, you can see how the confusion in her eyes turns to anger.

“I said we should breakup” you said with more anger than you intended “I’m so tired of you trying to push me back, you know im worth more than staying to do office work”.

You had gotten transferred to Hange’s squad not very long ago (against all odds, since you were on Levi’s squad before and you thought he didn’t transferred soldiers easily). And the truth is, you were a little worried about having a secret relationship with your section commander, but you never anticipated the real issue. Hange wanted to keep you inside the walls. You wanted to fight, you loved the rush to being out there, and you knew you were good. Hange knew that too. But they always found a way of leaving you behind, helping with the “logistics”.

So, you thought it was time for them to realize how stupid that decision was, and the only way to do it was by breaking up your personal relationship. Easy, right? Or so you thought.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about now, you wanna risk your life stupidly and you think I’ll let you if we’re not together” they stated, you can see how they are trying to control themselves.

After what seemed like forever, they smiled and said “Okay, we break up, but don’t think this ends here”. And they left.

Now, 2 months later it’s been a power game since. You can’t count the amount of times they have texted you drunk.

2:30 am Hange: wher are you? I’m outsde your room

2:31 am Hange: whoo are u with rm? It better not be that soldier I saw u with the othr day

3 missed calls from Hange

2:35 am Hange: amswer ur fcking phone

2:35 am Hange: I swear to god im gonna break down this door

2:40 am Hange: okay im srry just open the door pls

Only for you to get a “sorry about that” text the next morning.

Hange was extremely jealous when it came to you talking to any other person.

Even came to doubt about the friendly relationship you and Levi had.

Every time they saw you with Levi, or practicing fighting with a new soldier, they had to restrain themselves from going there and rip you apart from anyone who was touching you.

Cause they couldn’t do that anymore. You weren’t theirs.

But let’s face it, you didn’t wanna break up with them either, so when you saw them with some other soldier from Levi’s squad at a party, you couldn’t help but to drag them away.

“You’re out of line soldier” they said with a small smirk.

“Shut up” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

“You’re a brat” Hange responded.

“And you’re sleeping now with Levi’s soldiers? Classy” you said with a humorless laugh.

The commander leaned a little to whisper in your ear “I have to keep myself entertained, otherwise I’d come back and fuck you senseless for even suggesting that we do this”

After all that, they ended up eating you out in the nearest restroom.

That was the beginning of your routine.

It was a common reoccurrence now, you made each other jealous, you fought, then fuck, then came back to the “break up”.

All to come back the the same reason of the breakup, they didn’t wanna risk your life.

Hange had lost a lot of people on the way, but they couldn’t bare to lose you. Everything but you. So they kept you inside the walls, and they’d keep doing so.

That was your routine until they couldn’t take it anymore. Until their jealousy got the best of them.

It was a normal day for you, you were just practicing fighting with Levi, he kept helping you practice and getting better. You missed fighting titans, you missed the last two expeditions due to Hange’s need of leaving you out of it.

“Pay attention brat” Levi said kicking your legs and knocking you down.

“Ugh” you responded standing up, feeling a little dizzy.

“Wow there” Levi quickly grabbed you by the waist when you stumbled, getting you close to him, in an awkward position. “You good?” He asked.

You still felt a little dizzy but just nodded, looking at him, noticing how you were extremely close together.

Hange was looking from afar, this was a normal reoccurrence, they used to look at you from afar sometimes, that was their way of keeping you in check. Making sure no one did anything they weren’t supposed to.

They were already annoyed by you and Levi getting so friendly, but they had perfect control over them. But when they saw Levi’s hands on your waist, and the way you were looking at him, Hange saw red. They couldn’t help but to walk slowly towards you two.

You weren’t the first to notice. You just saw how Levi was smirking until you turned your head and saw Hange. At first you thought it was gonna be a normal fight-fuck think between you two, but the face they had, you knew it was dangerous, and for a moment you were afraid of what was going to happen.

“Fucking finally” Levi said “she needs to go to the infirm…”

He was interrupted by Hange punching him on the jaw, Hange was wearing rings per usual, so quickly Levi started to bleed. This made him a little confused so he stumbled back. When you saw Levi looking back at Hange you didn’t know what could happen, so you stood between them, trying to push Hange away.

“You’re a dead man” Hange said in a deep voice, a voice you had never heard before.

“Stop Hange, let’s go” you said, trying to pull them away with you. But they stayed there, looking at Levi.

It seemed like an eternity, Levi and Hange where looking at each other, you saw Levi deciding what to do in his mind. A crowd was forming around them, the punch certainly attracted many people’s attention.

“Please” you said, just wanting to go.

Hange finally looked at you, you couldn’t believe what was happening, until they looked at Levi and said “don’t ever lay a finger on her again”. Before letting you drag them away from there.

Levi just smirked, knowing what this was about.

You dragged them to their office and closed the door behind you, before turning back to them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You said, your heartbeat still going at a thousand.

“Why was he touching you?” Was the only thing they said.

“What the fuck? Levi? Really?” Was all you could say.

They walked up to you, lifted you up by the waist and sat you on their desk, putting both their hands on their desk at each side of you and leaning closer.

“Why. Did. He. Touch. You?” They repeated, clearly annoyed and more angered.

You just wanted this to be over, you could see how angry they were. “We were just practicing and I got dizzy so he helped me not to fall”

“Bullshit” they said slowly, hitting the desk and backing up, passing their hand through their hair. “Why do you keep doing this to me?” They said, almost painfully.

“To you?” You laughed ironically “I am the one that’s gonna be the new scandal around here thanks to your little act”

That just seemed to annoyed them more.

“Can’t you see this, I was just trying to protect you” they said, now referring to the breakup.

Finally you looked at them. They looked exhausted, like they hadn’t slept for days.

“I can protect myself” there was no backing up now.

“But I can’t. I can’t focus on protecting my squad when all I can think about is you being safe. I can’t” they said painfully.

“So what do you want me to do?” You finally said, tired of all this.

“Quit the corps” they said.

“What?”

“Quit the corps, come live with me. We can be free together, we can have a nice house and you’ll be mine”

You sighed, you couldn’t believe they were asking you this, they knew how important this was for you. But you love them too.

“Would you quit with me?”

“What?” They asked, clearly confused.

“If I am going to quit my dream for you, it’s only fair for you to quit the corps to be with me, if you love me”

Hange stayed silent, it was too much. You knew how much they loved titans, and science, it was their nature, and it was why you loved them.

After a long silence, you knew the answer. You didn’t notice you were crying until you could taste a salty tear. You cleaned your face with your hand before speaking.

“I’ll request a change in squad in the morning” was all you said with the strongest voice you could muster.

Im sorryyyy, should I make a part two of this? Thanks for reading. Love u.

[planet-dusk]

Who in SKZ do you think cums the most when they jerk off👀

🏷️ masturbation, cumshot, cum eating, porn mention

listed from most to least:

minho: turned masturbating into an art form. not necessarily by choice but because he knows his own body like no one else. he doesn't masturbate a lot, so when he does, he takes his time. bringing himself to the edge of toe-curling pleasure and back only to do it again. and again. has amazing self-control. also knows it’ll feel better if he abstains for a few days. doesn't like the mess it gives so he’ll usually jerk off in the shower when no one's home

jeongin: has, in his opinion, an embarrassing amount of hardcore kinks he tries to hide from the others. has been living with brothers and stray kids his entire life so he doesn’t know any better than to rub one out quickly whenever he can. gets a kick out of doing it in public places (like a venue’s bathroom) because he loves the adrenaline rush. secretly hopes someone will catch him in the act one day. it doesn’t matter how often he masturbates; he’ll cum a lot every time. proceeds to be both embarrassed and proud of his cumshots and may take pictures

hyunjin: once again, art. literally. cummed over one of his paintings once just to see what would happen. then became so embarrassed he had to destroy it right after. enjoys the twinge of pain that comes with edging himself for hours, getting off to his own tears. chooses his own fantasies over watching porn. loves the splattering of cum on his chest while he stares up at the ceiling imagining the love of his life wrapping their soft lips around his cock. has filmed himself jerking off but always made sure his face isn’t in the frame. doesn’t know why but he keeps the videos, hidden on his laptop

felix: even though he likes watching porn felix doesn’t have a very high sex drive. it’s not that he doesn’t like sex; he just doesn’t care about jerking off as much as some other people. when he does it’s usually fast and quick, picturing himself as one of the people on screen. sometimes he’s the one taking it and sometimes he’s the giver; it depends on what mood he’s in. wants to be ruined and ruin someone at the same time. will only admit it when drunk but has jerked off to a picture of changbin’s arms on several occasions

chan: he's always working which means he's under a lot of stress. knows how to take good care of himself and his body (emphasis on knows; doesn't always follow through with it). tries to maintain a routine of jerking off in the shower every morning. he'll succeed for a few weeks before getting buried under a mountain of work getting snappy and cranky until one of the others has to tell him dude, please go rub one out for our sakes

changbin: too busy getting his dick wet instead

seungmin: if he didn’t jerk off every day he’d be higher up on the list. for seungmin it’s less about sex drive and more about routine. he’s methodical with it, rubbing one out every night before he goes to bed because it makes him sleep better. and why change a working formula? seungmin knows exactly what works for him, including the kind of porn he watches. he’ll usually go for the same videos but is open to trying new things if they get recommended to him (mostly by jeongin)

han: is horny 24/7. this man has no cum to spare. jerks off whenever he feels happy, anxious, or any other emotion; an orgasm is the perfect relief no matter the situation. is very easy to arouse. he doesn’t like the feeling of being edged so he’ll run for the finish line without hesitating. sometimes when he’s too sleepy and lazy to get out of bed to grab new tissues he’ll lick his own hands clean (or that’s what he tells himself; secretly likes the taste of his own cum and has fantasized about tasting other’s) 

[cripplecharacters]

Hi everyone! I am a teen writer and I'm writing my first novel. I live with a chronic condition and I am thinking about having one of my main characters live with the same condition. It is a rare type of adrenal gland insufficiency and I have to take medication everyday. I want to write my character taking their medication every night in a way that just feels normal. Does anyone have any tips on how to write this sort of stuff? I'm not 100% confident on how to approach this. Thank you:)

Hello beloved asker!

I think when you're writing about your own condition, especially if you have a rare form of something it's a free for all as that experience is personal to you and that character is gaining your experience. With that, depending on your meds or even if you want the character to take the same meds as you (certain regimens change), I would pick and choose parts from your own routine and use that as a makeshift template for the characters routine. Study your routine and why you do the things that you do and how you do them. This can help in describing actions and such to see how stuff you do translates into writing.

When writing I personally like to Sandwich the thing I don't want too much attention to fall on. And essentially you start the thoughts/dialogue/actions, and then you go to the thing you don't want the attentions on, and then you go back to your original thought/action/dialogue. And I'll put an example from one of my writings in case that makes zero sense.

"I'll be at the studio," he said, swallowing back the handful of pills. "Practice is gonna run late, I'll be home after."

This is just a normal sentence honestly but you can do this with a thought or action too though instead of dialogue like I did. The point is you don't want the attention to be on them taking their meds but rather what is actually going on in the story.

Now unless you do want it to stand out for another writing/plot reason or even if your transitioning their thought to their condition, then you can delve into it more. The only thing with delving into it is, its fine if something happens that impacts the character and makes them think about their condition. But otherwise it's not something that is done often or realistically.

About 99.9% I just take my pills and go on with my day. Every so often, especially with taking hydrocortisone which is a med that needs to be stress dosed, I'll really think about it. Like when a death has happened or something traumatic. Another is if you're running low or can't get this very important med, that might be another reason to dwell on the topic longer rather than gloss over it.

That's all the writing tips I have for that hopefully some more people can chip in with theirs. Happy writing!

~ Mod Virus 🌸

[thatgoblin]

It Doesn't Matter

Summary: You work for the 141 in the office as a researcher. Your job is important and needed, but you still feel empty. You're invisible to your coworkers, no one can remember your name, all of it adding up to a spiral with only one end in your mind.

Warnings: ANGST, but with a good ending, suicidal ideation, lots of depression, lots of talk of suicide. You've been warned.

Sitting in front of your computer and staring at the blank document had taken up nearly a half an hour of your time. It wasn’t that you didn’t have things to say, but you didn’t see the point. It was about birthdays and doing potlucks and such for events. Nothing off base or too expensive, but you truly didn’t see the point in giving what you liked to eat or drink or enjoy. You had known it for a while now, suspected it even longer, that no one cared about you. You were invisible to everyone on base unless they ran into you.

It was sad enough that you knew the trope meant you would become an evil villain should you gain superpowers. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t even use them if you did have them. What would you do? Become the next super soldier and be in the field fighting terrorists? You’d probably end up getting the power of invisibility and truly disappear from the world. 

Exiting the document, you went back to work. It was the only thing that gave you purpose because you were one of the very few people who could do it in the world. Without it you probably would have sank into the inky blackness of your brain long ago. Sending off the report to Laswell, you went onto the next task and then the next. Soon you found yourself looking at the clock with bleary eyes to see it was nearly 1 AM. Not out of the ordinary, but your back was screaming and your stomach making angry noises. It was time to head home. Locking up, you walked out into the empty hall, automatically moving if something was in the way. No one was around to say good night or had checked in with you. 

At home it was the same situation. Quiet and lonely. You followed your routine of eating cold take out from the day before, showering, then passing out after sending a few emails from your phone. 

When you wake up, the cycle starts all over again. No one talks to you and if they do, they forget your name every time. Laswell is the only one who knows who you are and what you do. She helped start the task force with Captain Price, but you’ve never met the man or the team. You understood why, for safety reasons, and didn’t get curious. That you saved for your job. 

Even that feels pointless some days. Sure, you were one of the few who could do it, but you could still be replaced. No one would miss you. How easy would it be to just log off and never show up again? Laswell would only ask if the reports weren’t coming in. They’d try to find you then, but it would be too late. 

It would be so easy. 

“Fuck!’ You hissed, the hot coffee scalding your hand and you for not paying more attention. 

“You alright?” A voice asked as you grabbed a towel to clean the spill up. 

“Fine, just not paying attention,” you said, not even looking up. It doesn’t matter. They won’t remember who you are in five minutes. They never do. 

“Alright, just checking.” 

You were proven right, yet again. The person moved in quickly and you were left sinking even lower into the bubbling pit of your brain. 

Going back to your office, you sit at your desk. You want to cry, you want to scream, you want to be noticed, to have someone fucking care and reach out because you are clearly not okay. You want someone to see you. But at the same time you don’t because you don’t want them to see how weak and broken you are. How selfish and bitter you can be. 

It starts out as you thinking it was a good form of therapy. Just writing it out. Not on your computer because you knew how easy it was to trace things. In a notebook at your desk. It’s a composition notebook with shiny, gold stars and moons on a purple background. It was an impulse buy and something you just liked looking out. As soon as the thought had come to you, the notebook was perfect. 

The paper would be your sin eater, gobbling up everything you gave it and then some. The blue ink made it seem less dark. ‘No one ever wrote a suicide note in blue ink,’ you thought to yourself. It was always in black on a coffee stained page or ripped from a spiral journal. It was clear those were serious notes while the ones you wrote were just to pour out some of the overflow so you didn’t feel like you were drowning anymore. 

At first it helped, like watering plants every day, you would tip some of yourself out. But like all things for you, it became a chore and it was less about trying to stay afloat and more about you holding rocks to stay under. You used to put words like ‘sorry’ or ‘forgive me’, but you didn’t anymore. The words became colder, more solid. ‘This is where I am and where I am going.’ There was finality because you knew it was becoming more final in your drafts. 

That was what they were. Drafts. All along, you had lied to yourself about it being therapeutic and not practice. 

When you reached the end of the notebook, you had one last blank page. No more waxing and waning, no more begging for someone to care or for forgiveness. You wrote out your details of your job, gave information needed to replace you, and lastly, you put your address and a spare key so it would be easy to find you and take care of everything. Leaving the notebook on your desk, you walked out of your office. 

Once you finished locking it, you turned to leave for the last time only to collide with someone. 

“Careful!” The gruff voice said as firm hands caught you before you could fall. “Sorry, guess I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s okay,” you said, not even looking up to see who it was. It doesn’t matter. “I was just leaving and didn’t look up. My fault.”

“You were standing still. I should have seen you,” the man said as you dug out your car keys. Then he said your name. Your eyes shot up to see his face. “That’s your name, isn’t it?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you said, stunned. “Sorry, people don’t usually talk to me. I’m the behind the scenes person.”

“Really? Well your report got us closer to AQ than we had in months,” the man said with a soft smile. “Oh, right, uh, I’m Captain Price.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, it’s been a long day,” you said, shaking your head a bit. “Well it was nice to meet you, Captain Price.” 

“Likewise,” he said with a nod. “Keep up the good work, we wouldn’t be able to do it without you.” You want to believe it, to accept the compliment, but you knew it wasn’t true. 

“Thanks,” you said with a nod, turning away quickly. Practically speed walking out, you went right to your car then home. 

It was time. You had put it off long enough. Something inside you knew it would always come to this. This would give you the relief your body had been aching for. 

Except you couldn’t. 

Sitting on your bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to lift a finger to start it. You were waiting for something, for someone, to stop you. To prove you weren’t really alone like you were certain you were. It broke your heart to know that no one was coming, to have all your fears confirmed. 

It doesn’t matter if you lived or died to anyone, not even yourself. 

Just as you’re about to lay down in the darkness to pass out, there’s a pounding at your door. The sudden noise startled you up. Hurrying to the front, you opened the door just as Captain Price was about to use a key to open your door. 

The key you had taped to your notebook that you had left at work. 

“Oh thank God,” he breathed. You stared at him wide eyed and in panic as you realized he had read your notebook. “Let me in, please.”

“No-no, it’s okay, I promise. Just go,” you said, terrified as you tried to slam the door on him. His combat boot was already in the doorway, trapping you. “Look, whatever you read, it’s just therapy notes. Okay? Just go, please,” you begged as your chronic dry eyes were starting to fill with tears. You didn’t want him to know. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not till I know you’re safe,” he said. “Have you done anything? Taken anything? Please let me in.”

“No, no, no, I haven’t done anything, just pretend you didn’t see anything, please?! Please!” You sobbed, unable to hold back as you lost it. “Please just pretend I’m not here. You won’t have to worry about anything, I promise!” Full body wracking sobs allowed him to gently push the door open as you stepped back. “Please.”

Captain Price’s words were soft and even, like luring a spooked animal closer. He didn’t move suddenly, didn’t accuse you of being weak, he just kept you in his sights. 

“Listen, I know you don’t want me here, but I have to know that you’re safe,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Is there someone I can call for-”

“No! There’s no one! There never has been anyone!” You yell at him. “I am alone and no one cares!”

“I care,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I care, that’s why I’m here.”

“No, you don’t,” you sob, shaking your head. “You care about keeping me alive because it would make you feel bad if you didn’t try to stop me.”

“Yes, it would,” Price said with a nod. “But more than that, I care because you are a person. A person who needs someone to care, to show they give a shit.”

“And? You’ll be gone again soon,” you said. “On another mission and I’ll be back to being alone. Even if you weren’t, what would you do? Ask me out for drinks with friends? See a football game? You don’t know me. You don’t know if you even like me as a person. You don’t know if you would get tired of me or get fed up because I’m not what you thought I was.”

“How can if you won’t let me?” Price asked. “Does it matter if I would find you interesting or funny or a good person if you won’t let me get to know you?”

“You don’t want to know. No one does,” you whimpered. “They forget my name after five minutes, no one cares if I’m there except for Laswell and that’s because I work for her!”

“And me,” he said. “You also work for me and I try my damndest to make sure my people are safe and good. I fucked up. I over looked you and I’m so sorry. You’re right under my nose and I didn’t stop to think about it.”

“I’m not your responsibility,” you snarled. “I’m not some pet that you forgot to take out for a walk!”

“I know, I know, but my people are my responsibility. I have always thought like that,” Price said. “Whether or not you believe it, I want to help you. It won’t end with you being fired or locked up, I promise.”

“How can I trust you?” You asked. “How can I know for sure none of that will happen? I’ve never even met you before today and suddenly I’m your top priority?”

“My top priority is always to save as many people as I can,” he said. “If I can keep even one more person alive and they have a better chance than before, then I did my job. I want to help you, will you let me?”

After everything, the silence, being forgotten, no one reaching out, here was what you wanted. All you had to do was let yourself have it. 

“You matter,” he said, stepping forward as you relaxed your stance a bit. “You really do. More than you know, more than I know.”

“I. . . I want to,” you said softly, your body aching for that reassurance, that physical weight to ground you and keep you from being swept away and pulled under. “I want to matter.”

“You do,” he said, reaching out slowly to rest his hands on your shoulders. It was like someone pulled you up for the first time, letting you gulp fresh air that wasn’t poisoned by your mind. Looking at his face, it was too genuine to be a lie. 

Laswell had said that. That he was genuine and kind and determined and fought hard for his people. She was right. 

Choking out a sob, you wrapped your arms around him and held him tight as you sobbed into his chest. The pitcher was truly pouring now, taking away from the dam before it burst. Price held you just as tight, rubbing your back as he let you get it out. He probably wondered how long you had gone on like this or if you had always held this weight. 

Minutes went by before you pulled away even slightly. Sniffling, you saw his shirt had large wet blotches from your tears. 

“Sorry, I got your shirt messy,” you said, feeling lighter than you had in probably years.

“You’re fine. It doesn’t matter,” he said with a soft hum.

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[dwcmarshalarts]

I adore your style and content - I’m considering doing masters studies of some of your pieces just to try it out, but I’m still fairly new to art. I was curious if there’s any part of your process or any particular advice you’d have?

Gave this answer before to someone who asked me the same question, and I think it still counts! 1) Build stamina. You can do this by drawing often- and with intention. Start your drawing with a warm up- something light, not overly serious. Focus more on the literal mechanical feeling of your hand moving to draw. Then focus on the heavier stuff after you’ve both literally and mentally warmed up, setting the stage for more involved drawing. Make this a routine and drawing overall will be less tiring over time.

2) Focus on replicability, not detail. This goes hand in hand with the previous point. A lot of people develop a kind of perfectionism early on, where they get overly attached to a specific sketch and don’t wanna budge from it, and put details until it “looks good,” even when the subject as a whole is wonky. I like to equate this to “too much icing, not enough cake,” or “building on sand foundations.” I’ve been there before, and it can hold you back. Instead of focusing on a specific piece and how you rendered it that one time, focus on how you render it such that you could do something similar, easily replicate the concept. Once you’ve built more stamina, you can open up the gates to tackling the same subject matter in different ways.

3) Mind your mark making. Some folks agonize over the tiniest detail, sometimes for hours. At the end of the day, that itself doesn’t necessarily bring improvement- that’s more of a test of patience. Unless someone specifically asks, you don’t- for example- need to draw every single ridge of every knob on a switchboard in great detail. These things can be implied through mark making. Remember, a lot of drawing isn’t about literally making something for people to see- it’s tricking the eye into believing what’s drawn is actually there. You’ll be amazed at what detail can be like even when you don’t define every part.

4) Drawing is more seeing than “making it up.” * Don’t be afraid to use references and such. It’ll help you render form than imagining it- sometimes the imagination can conjure things incorrectly. *Even seasoned artists who don’t typically use too much references need to do studies from life or books every now and then to reinforce skills.

One point I didn't add before for style things specifically is: 5) Look where the artist got their inspirations from if you want to learn from them. No art exists within a vaccuum, everyone has their influences. Trying to do a study from someone's art will only take you so far- because then it'll feel more like mimicry than actual, learned study. Research or try to see parallels with artists that you might think had a hand in influencing a given artist's style. Notice the patterns there- certain textures are invoked here, this form was defined like this, etc. A lot of folks confuse wanting "more of a thing" as opposed to "what makes that thing desirable/unique." If you'd like to know where some of my influences come from, I'd say look at the works of Squiddy, covers for Hellboy comics, and the Snowpiercer graphic novel.

Addendum: If you're looking to draw anatomy specifically- study from real anatomy, and learn how to do those before you begin to "break the rules" (exaggerate, anthropomorphize, etc). For resources on that, I'd recommend the Morpho books (all of them haha) and Dynamic Human Anatomy by Roberto Osti.

Hope this helps somewhat, feel free to ask if I missed anything.