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coollemonsaresour · 3 years

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Promising Hands

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Child reader x Romanrogers

Warnings: blood, Injured child, violence, angst, but fluff. THIS SUCKS, it was a rush job, and is not edited

Summary: One Red-head Russian, One Cool Ranch Dorito, and a mission that can change their lives forever.

Word count :1458

A/N: Spare me I have not written in awhile. this has been in my drafts i have just be to S H Y to post them. oh, and request are open.

Request?: NAH!!!!!!!!!!! DIS WAS ALLLLLL MEH . Spare me i have not written in awhile.

“Steve this floor is clear, I'm moving to Sub-level one.” The Russian spy said, pressing and releasing the button on her earpiece. “Okay, be careful.” She then rolled her eyes with a scoffed and pressed her earpiece. “When am I not?” She said, continuing down the flight of stairs. “I can think of a couple of times,” he said in a seductive voice. “You know what Rogers, I have work to do, you should do the same. “Whatever you say” she then turned “Mmhmm'' she said with her guns raised starting down a hallway. She then came in contact with two hydra agents but shot them down effortlessly, each three times. Head. Chest.Stomach. She then saw a light flicker in a room down the hallway with its’ door cracked open.

She walked down the hallway and pushed the door open with her gun ready for any danger. The room looked like a messy lab, things were everywhere, the computers were destroyed, chemicals and serums spilled on the table as if they were in a rush.

An agent then came behind her and wrapped his arms around her neck, making her drop her gun. Nat countered by elbowing him in his face and then kicking him in his chest through a glass table, then grabbed her gun. When he attempted to get up she shot him twice in the stomach.

She then heard a gasp and snapped her attention toward the sound raising her gun once more. She then slowly proceeds toward the table. She leaned over the table and looked under it to see a little girl about 3 or 4 with her knees curled up to her chest and her head buried in her crossed arms.

“Hello,” Natasha said in a calm and friendly tone, which is very unlikely for this assassin. The child then looked up and flinched trying to scoot back farther. When she backed against the wall, she snapped her focus back at the women.

Her e/c eyes were met with fiery red hair and emerald green eyes, which were comforting. She gasped when she saw Nat’s gun. “H-hey, it’s’ okay, I won’t hurt you,” Nat said, putting her gun into the holster. “What is your name?” She asked the girl “Y/n” the child responded barely above a whisper.”That is a beautiful name, I’m Natasha, now let's get you somewhere safe.”

“N-no more b-bad people?” The little girl asked, voice is full of insecurity. “No more bad people,” Nat said reassuringly. “You promise?” “I promise” “How can I trust you?” “We promise to protect you from bad men always, and if you give me your hand I promise to never let it go, Okay?” “Okay,”

At the moment, Nat knew that she was immediately attached to the wounded girl. What wounded girl!?! Nat was too distracted by the girl to realize the blood-soaked shirt and the growing crimson pool around the girl. Without hesitation, Nat grabbed the little girl and rushed out of the room. “ Hey Steve I found Hydra’s project and she needs medical help.” “She?... It’s a person?” “Yes and she needs medical evac, keep up Steve.”

The little girl wrapped her arms around Nat’s neck and her legs and her waist. When they got outside the little girl buried her face in Nat’s neck to avoid the blinding light in the sky that was unknown to her, Nat could help but think of how cute the sight was.

Nat felt the body go limp and started to run faster. When she reached the quinjet, Nat carefully laid the unconscious girl on the floor and then examined the little body. The little girls were very pale, hardly breathing, and had lost a lot of blood, multiple cut wounds, a very big and deep stab wound. It looked like someone tried to kill her, in the mist of their base being invaded.

Nat found a cloth and started applying pressure while Steve flew the jet as fast as he could. With one hand Nat tried to stop the bleeding, and in the other she held the child’s hand, keeping her promise.

When they arrived, Nat ran with the little girl straight to med bey, there she found Bruce, who was talking to Dr.Cho. “Hey Na- who is that?” he asked immediately getting a gurney. “Hydra’s project, and she needs help,” Nat stated, placing the girl on the bed, still holding her hand. “Bruce, help her please, she stopped breathing like a couple of seconds ago.” she said still holding the girl’s hand, following the gurney down the hall toward the O.R. when they reached the doors of the room nat was stopped by a nurse, the sudden action causing her to let go of the girl's hand.

“ No I have to stay with her.” she said, trying to push past the doctor.“ Ma’am you should let the doctors do their work.” the nurse said, trying to block the doorway. Nat was getting angry, and trust me you do not want to make Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow angry. “ No she needs me. I have-,” “Ma’am, please, listen to me-” “ NO! You listen to m-” “ Sorry nurse, I’ll take it from here” Steve said, cutting off Natasha and pushing her away from the door to a wall in the hallway.

“Steve, babe, no, I-i h-have to be in there, I-i need, i need to hold her hand,” Steve looked at her with a sad expression “She was scared, and I know what it is like at that age, when your in a situation you don’t want to, a-and have horrible people do bad things to you and make you do bad, bad things.” she stated with worry.

Steve gave her a small smile and then pulled her into a hug. He knew that she was referencing the red room, and how she hated what they did to kids at such a young age and how it was scarring. “Nat, everything will be fine,” he said, stroking her hair, all she did in response was give a nod. “Why don’t you go take a shower and get something to eat and come back down, and I will be here when they finish with her in the recovery room.” he said pulling away from the hug, she just nodded again and walked down the hall.

When Nat came back down to MedBay, (y/n) was out of o.r., and in recovery. She walked into the room to see the girl connect to all different monitors, an IV, and a breathing tube in her nose. Steve was asleep on the armchair next to the bed with one of his hands resting on top of one of the girl’s. That made Nat smile softly.

She was walking around the room reading Bruce's analysis, and that's when Steve woke up. “You look refreshed” he said stretching, his voice still groggy. “Yeah after showers, eating, and debrief, I was really tired, and took a cat nap,” she said, kissing his forehead. “How’s she doing?” Nat said, holding the girl's other hand. “M’kay, but my tummy hurts.” the girl said with a small smile, Nat and Steven happily returning it.

That a was 4 and half months ago

Y/n woke up in a cold sweat, breathing heavy, and tears streaming down you face. A bad dream. The small girl got out of bed and walked down the hall. Three doors down, make a left, first door on the right.

Being the trained ex-assassin/spy she is, as soon at the door opens she lifted her head to see who it was. “Y/n, hun, why are you up?” she said concern taking over her face. “I had a bad dream” she whispered. “M’sorry babes, do you want to sleep with me and daddy,” she asked giving the little girl grabby hands. The girl gave a small smile, and nodded her head, walked over to Nat’s side of the bed and climbed in. the girl got under the blankets and and cuddle closer to Nat and she held you tight, and buried your face in her chest.

“я люблю тебя, детка” she planting a kiss to the girls forehead. “I love you too mama” the girl replied with a small yawn. Steve then rolled over, moving closer to the pair, wrapping a protective arm around Natasha and y/n.“ I love you y/n/n” he said. “I love you too daddy.” “My two favorite girls,” “Good night babe” he said to the redhead, giving her a kiss. “Good night baby.” she said, returning the kiss. “Good night y/n” they said at the same time, kissing your head. “Good night”.

я люблю тебя, детка~ I love you Baby

FIN

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ebookporn · 3 years

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What “Finished” Means To An Author: Diana Gabaldon

Diana Gabaldon is the New York Times bestselling author of the wildly popular Outlander novels.

As my husband often remarks, "’FINISHED’ is a relative term to a writer." This is true! I thought y’all might be interested in Just What Happens to a book after the writer is "finished" writing the manuscript: (NB: This is the Standard Operating Procedure (SOP). When there’s a tight Production schedule—such as there was for MOBY and THE OUTLANDISH COMPANION, Volume 2--a lot of these steps can be done concurrently, rather than sequentially, and a few repetitive steps may be skipped. But by and large, this is how it works.) 1: Books don’t go directly from the author to the bookstore. A. Books go from the author to the Editor, who i. reads the manuscript ii. discusses the manuscript with the author, and iii. suggests minor (we hope) revisions that may improve the book B. The book goes back to the author, who i. re-reads the manuscript ii. considers the editor’s comments, and iii. makes whatever revisions, emendments, or clarifications seem right. C. The book goes back to the editor, who i. reads it again ii. asks any questions that seem necessary, and iii. Sends it to D. The copy-editor. This is a person whose thankless job is to i. read the manuscript one…word…at…a…time ii. find typos or errors in grammar, punctuation, or continuity (one heck of a job, considering the size not only of the individual books, but of the overall series), iii. apply “house style” to things like numbers (e.g., do we write “two” or “2”?), and iv. write queries to the author regarding anything questionable, whereupon E. The book comes back to the author—yes, again— who i. re-reads the manuscript ii. answers the copy-editor’s queries, and iii. alters anything that the copy-editor has changed that the author disagrees with, and iv. adds things inspired by the copy-editor’s comments that seem like a good idea. After which, the author sends it back to F. The editor—yes, again!—who i. re-re-reads it ii. checks that all the copy-editor’s queries have been answered, and sends it to G. The Typesetter (aka Compositor, these days), who sets the manuscript in type, according to the format laid out by H. The Book-Designer, who i. decides on the layout of the pages (margins, gutters, headers or footers, page number placement) ii. chooses a suitable and attractive typeface iii. decides on the size of the font, leading and kerning iv. chooses or commissions any incidental artwork (endpapers, maps, dingbats—these are the little gizmos that divide chunks of text, but that aren’t chapter or section headings)—or, for something like the OC II, a ton of miscellaneous illustrations, photographs, etc. that decorate or punctuate the text. v. Designs chapter and Section headings, with artwork, and consults with the (NB: people always want to know how many pages the book will be. This depends entirely on the Book Designer’s decisions, so there’s no telling ahead of time. The font, leading, kerning (leading and kerning are, respectively, the amount of space between lines and between letters) and page layout will all affect how many words fit on a page.) I. Cover Artist, who (reasonably enough) designs or draws or paints or PhotoShops the cover art (this often happens earlier in the process, but I put it here for convenience), which is then sent to J. The Printer, who prints the dust-jackets—which include not only the cover art and the author’s photograph and bio, but also "flap copy," which may be written by either the editor or the author (I usually write my own), but is then usually messed about with by K. The Marketing Department, whose thankless task it is to try to figure out how best to sell a book that can’t reasonably be described in terms of any known genre <g>, to which end, they i. try to provide seductive and appealing cover copy to the book (which the author normally approves. I usually insist on writing it myself). ii. compose advertisements for the book (author usually sees and approves these—or at least I normally do). iii. decide where such advertisements might be most effective (periodicals, newspapers, book-review sections, radio, TV, Facebook, Web) iv. try to think up novel and entertaining means of promotion, such as having the author appear on a cooking show to demonstrate recipes for unusual foods mentioned in the book. v. kill a pigeon in Times Square and examine the entrails in order to determine the most advantageous publishing date for the book. L. OK. The manuscript itself comes back from the typesetter, is looked at (again) by the editor, and sent back to the author (again!), who anxiously proof-reads the galleys (these are the typeset sheets of the book; they look just like the printed book’s pages, but are not bound. (NB: of recent years, galleys are often provided in electronic form)), because this is the very last chance to change anything. Meanwhile (Somewhere in here, recording begins on the audiobook, which is normally released at the same time as the hardcover. Ideally, the narrator is given a version of the manuscript that’s pretty close to the ultimate printed form, but they may get earlier or partial versions from which to prepare their performance (choosing accents and pacing for different characters, for instance).)) M. A number of copies of the galley-proofs are bound—in very cheap covers—and sent to (NB: This is SOP, but we haven’t been doing it for the last few books, owing to the fact that the book itself is coming out on the heels of Production; there’s no time to distribute ARCs (Advanced Reading Copies).) (NB: These days, it’s often PDF’s, though paper ARCs are still used, too.)) N. The Reviewers, i.e., the bound galleys (or PDF’s) are sent (by the marketing people, the editor, and/or the author) to the book editors of all major newspapers and periodicals, blogs, website, and to any specialty publication to whom this book might possibly appeal, in hopes of getting preliminary reviews, from which cover quotes can be culled, and/or drumming up name recognition and excitement prior to publication. Frankly, they don’t always bother with this step with my books, because they are in a rush to get them into the bookstores, and it takes several months’ lead-time to get reviews sufficiently prior to publication that they can be quoted on the cover. O. With luck, the author finds 99.99% of all errors in the galleys (you’re never going to find all of them; the process is asymptotic—vide the typo in the very last line of MOBY…), and returns the corrected manuscript (for the last time, [pant, puff, gasp, wheeze]) to the editor, who sends it to (The ebook coding happens somewhere in here.) Q. The Printer, who prints lots of copies (“the print-run” means how many copies) of the “guts” of the book—the actual inside text—are printed. These are then shipped to R. The Bindery, where the guts are bound into their covers, equipped with dust-jackets, and shipped to S. The Distributors. There are a number of companies—Amazon is the largest, but there are a number of smaller ones, and the large publishing houses have their own warehouse facilities, too—whose business is shipping, distributing, and warehousing books. The publisher also ships directly to  (1) Arrangements are made in this phase for ebook distribution through retailers like Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Books-A-Million, etc..) T. Bookstores, but bookstores can only house a limited number of books. Therefore, they draw on distributors’ warehouses to resupply a title that’s selling briskly, because it takes much longer to order directly from the publisher. And at this point, [sigh]…the book finally reaches U. You, the reader. And we do hope you like it when you get it—because we sure-God went to a lot of trouble to make it for you.

#authors #writers #writing #writers life #librarians #literacy #booksellers #reading #Diana Gabaldon

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 8

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - reader confronts her abusive ex boyfriend.

Author’s note: ANGST! Mention of an abusive relationship although I've tried to gloss over it as much as I can. Sorry this chapter was a long time coming. I'm so happy that people are enjoying Sugar and Spice.

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER EIGHT - NEXT

"I think," Maxwell swallowed. "No. I know. I know that I've fallen deeply in love with you."

You swore your heart stopped at his revelation. Hand still cupping his cheek, you looked deep into his glazed, honey brown eyes and saw nothing but the truth. The man who had rounded his career on lies and greed loved you. You felt your throat dry up, searching for words but not knowing what to say. Maxwell looked at you too, his soft eyes beginning to cross in bewilderment when you didn't say a word. He wished so desperately that you'd say something, anything. The last person Maxwell Lord said 'I love you' to, was his father. You couldn't leave him hanging.

You wanted to say it back, you wanted to so desperately tell him the truth— that you loved him too, because, you did. You hadn't confronted your feelings, you hadn't realized it fully until faced with your current situation. But now everything made sense. The jealousy, the lust, the need for affection and the want to be cared for.

Fate brought you both together. Running from an abusive relationship, getting almost kicked out of your apartment, and finding yourself in the expansive office of Maxwell Lord the IV. You thought you were going for an assistant position but instead you found yourself as his sugar baby and now… now this only complicated everything.

"Max," you whispered and he closed his eyes slowly, one final year falling down his cheek. Your gaze flicked between him and the almost finished bottle of whiskey on his desk. He'd been drinking at the gala and he'd been drinking when he got home therefore it was for certain that Maxwell was not in the right state of mind at all. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"You don't love me," Maxwell tried to ask but it came out as an embarrassing croak. "Of course you don't." He regretted the words immediately after they fell from his lips. He was so sure that he had ruined everything and things would never be the same again.

What was wrong with you? No matter how much you wanted to tell him you just couldn't. "Max," he admired the way his name fell from your soft lips. You continued to smooth his hair out of his face and he hummed in contentment, his eyes still closed. "You're so sleepy. Please, let me take you to bed." you whispered and Max barely moved. You called his name one more time and he opened his eyes the slightest. You pulled him up and wrapped an arm around his body. Despite him being much bigger than you, you somehow managed to navigate the drunk and hurting man the corridor and into his master bedroom. He slumped onto his king sized bed and you gently tucked him under the blankets. He mumbled something incoherent, reaching out and making grabby fists. He wanted you.

"Lay with me," he mumbled, trying to pull you down on top of him. You wanted to but you weren't even sure if you could stay at the penthouse after his revelation. You hadn't even shared a bed with Maxwell, and now suddenly he was requesting that you lay with him?

"I have to go." you whispered, running your fingers through his hair and pushing his bangs out of his face.

"No." he mumbled, but he was already half sleep. You planted a gentle kiss on his forehead before stepping back.

You had genuine trouble trying to process what just happened and why it happened. Maxwell trusted you. He shared with you a family secret that nobody else knew, and all because he was in love with you. You were perplexed.

Before you could leave his bedroom, you were greeted with your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a mess, your ballgown was ruined and your makeup was tear stained. You padded into Maxwell's closet and took out one of his shirts and tailored suit pants. That man desperately needed to get a pair of normal casual clothes and fast. You tried them on, not minding the way they fit your body. You could've gone all out, finding a belt or a pair of suspenders to clip onto the light grey pants, but you decided against it. You pushed your hair out of your face and padded into the en-suite to wash your face. You didn't look much better, and you figured you probably just need a good night sleep. At least this way, no one would recognise you. You were almost certain the press would still be walking the streets looking for you and Maxwell. You actually kinda liked wearing Max's clothes, although there was no doubt in your mind that they looked better on him than you.

The streets were freezing and filled with thick snow. You regretted not taking one of Maxwell's suit jackets or warm winter coats but nevertheless you shivered all the way home. Your feet were like bricks of ice by the time you got back to your apartment. As you walked up the flights of stairs, digging into your purse for your keys, you were greeted with an unwelcome visitor. Tristan.

"Maxwell Lord," he deadpanned, standing in front of your door. You paused, looking at him hesitantly. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at?" Tristan snarled.

"What do you mean?" you asked innocently.

"You were on national television!" Tristan accused. "You and him, and a bunch of other snobby business pricks. Bruce fucking Wayne too… and the president!"

You rolled your eyes. "Tristan, it's late. Please move so I can enter my apartment and go to bed." You reached out to press your key into the lock when Tristan's large hand grabbed your wrist, his fingernails digging into your skin. You winced, trying to flinch back but he wouldn't let go, and suddenly the memories came flooding back. "Tristan," you gritted out. "Fucking let me go."

"I sold your apartment." Tristan spat.

"What?" you gasped, tears filling your eyes. "But I paid rent!"

"You're fucking around with Maxwell Lord, aren't you?" He growled.

"Who I fuck around with is none of your business! Now. Let. Me. Go." you tried pulling yourself away from Tristan but his grip around you only tightened. You squealed when he slammed you into the door. "You're going to wake the neighbours." You hissed trying desperately to keep your cool. You didn't want to seem weak. You weren't weak. You had this under control.

"Let's go somewhere more private then." Tristan smirked, dragging you unwillingly to his own apartment and locking the door behind him. "Now you tell me right now what the fuck is going on between you two."

"Or what?" You snapped back. "What the hell are you gonna do?"

"Is he your boyfriend?" Tristan quizzed.

"He's a friend." you glared at him, backing away everytime he took a step bearing you.

"A friend," Tristan repeated with a scoff of disbelief. "Just like you said on television."

You wondered how much of the gala and the interview outside had been televised but now wasn't the time to ask questions. You knew Maxwell had the power to rid you of Tristan. If he knew about the awful things Tristan had done to you and the way he had hurt you… well, Tristan may as well have had a death wish.

"Jesus Christ Tristan can you just let me go home?" you sighed, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

"I knew you were struggling with rent. I knew you had been laid off from work and it's Christmas coming up… if you had just told me you were struggling I would've made a negotiation." Tristan shook his head shamefully. "But no."

"Negotiate?" you questioned in disbelief. "You're a fucking manipulator!"

"And you're a fucking whore!" Tristan screamed, towering over you, his cheeks turning bright red with rage. "You know, I really didn't think you had it in you. Fucking around with some big CEO who thinks he's a hotshot."

"And what are you supposed to be?" you exhaled shakily, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. His words stung. "Maxwell… he cares about me. You never gave a shit about me."

"You think he cares about you? You seriously think Maxwell Lord cares about anyone other than himself?" Tristan barked. "He has you wrapped around your finger. I thought you were smarter than this."

"You don't know him the way I do." you smiled bravely. Fuck, you really did love him. And you needed him now more than ever. You knew that he was just a phone call away and if you told him you were in danger he would come running to rescue you with his whole team of security. If only you had just stayed with him. If only you had just decided to lay next to him, curled up in his arms in his warm bed.

"So you are fucking him?" Tristan scrunched his nose up and looked at you with disgust. He double checked the door was locked and put his key in his pocket before walking over to his bedroom. "You can sleep on the floor like the whore you are." Tristan laughed before going into his bedroom and shutting the door.

Once he was gone, you were left standing in the middle of your ex boyfriend's apartment feeling small and helpless. You didn't know what to do or where to go. You didn't even have Maxwell's number memorised so you couldn't call him. You let the tears free fall as you glanced between the locked door and the windows that you knew you couldn't squeeze out of even if you tried. You were trapped in a place that has brought back so much fear, and you didn't know what to do. You didn't know what tomorrow would hold.

You could barely sleep, the December cold hanging over your body like an icicle. You would give anything to be in the warmth of Maxwell's penthouse. God, you'd give anything just to be with Maxwell. You needed him.

The next morning, Maxwell woke up groggy, and his butler, Kenneth, was already waiting by his bed holding a platter of French toast, cup of black coffee and a glass of water. "Good morning sir," he greeted. "Your hangover breakfast, as requested."

Maxwell rubbed his eyes and shuffled upwards in bed as Kenneth placed the silver tray on his lap. It smelled delicious but he couldn't help but wish you were there to share it with him. He imagined you laying next to him in bed, giving him sleepy kisses while Kenneth presented you with your favourite breakfast meal; waffles and berries. The perfect life.

That's when Maxwell remembered. He practically three the breakfast on the floor and dived out of bed, still in his clothes from the night before. He caught a glimpse of your gala gown in the entryway of his closet and his heart sank in his chest. The memories came flooding back. He told you he loved you, but he didn't remember you saying it back.

"Have you seen Y/N?" Maxwell asked hurriedly, trying to weigh up what time you must have left. He quickly tore open his shirt and grabbed a clean one out of the closet.

Kenneth stood there awkwardly watching his boss work up a frenzy. "Uh no sir," he replied. "So I gather you won't be eating breakfast?" Kenneth's gaze flicked from Maxwell to the mess of French toast and spilled coffee that was sure to stain the cream coloured carpet.

"Shit no, sorry Kenneth. Could you call Jeeves and have him drive me to her apartment? I have to see her." Maxwell asked as he buttoned up the top of his dress shirt.

"Right away sir, but there's something I think you must see first." Kenneth swapped out the usual business newspaper that Maxwell would read for a glossy red-top tabloid magazine.

"You know I don't read that bullshit." Maxwell sighed, quickly combing his hair and trying his best to style it into place given the stressful circumstances. He wasn't going to forget to spritz his cologne either.

"Sir…." Kenneth drew out again, flashing the cover in Maxwell's direction. Maxwell caught a glimpse of it and his heart stopped. Front page was an image of you trending through the thick snow in the dead of night wearing Maxwell's clothes. The headline was explicitly disgusting, shaming you in every way possible. Maxwell's lips parted as he drunk in your appearance and he was horrified as he read the mean words the journalists had wrote about you.

"She cannot see this. I want you to buy every copy of this god forsaken tabloid and have them all destroyed. You understand?" Maxwell ordered, slamming his black business credit card into the chest of Kenneth. "Get the rest of the house staff to help you and do it fast."

"No worries sir," Kenneth smiled. "Jeeves is waiting for you outside."

Maxwell nodded appreciatevely as he tied his shoelaces. "Thanks."

"Sir?" Kenneth asked timidly.

"Yeah?" Maxwell asked, semi breathless.

"When you're with her, I see your face light up. I see the same happiness in you that I once saw in your father." Kenneth admitted and Maxwell's heart blossomed at the comparison. "When you get her, please don't ever let her go."

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added)!

December Magic: @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @thisisthe-wayson @this-cat-is-dea @blonde2bomshell @maiyaaaa0130 @autumnleaves1991-blog @justanotherblonde23

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #pedro Pascal smut

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css1992 · 3 years

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Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X / Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

What the fuck was he thinking?

That was the first thought in Peter’s mind when he opened his eyes the next morning and remembered what he had done the night before. Agreeing to meet with a subscriber, really, how dumb was that? It was one of those things he did before bed when his brain was too slow to make good decisions and then the next morning there were consequences. Consequences. Peter couldn’t deal with fucking consequences, he was still struggling with the fallout of his other terrible life choices.

I should cancel, he thought, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to wake himself up.

He should definitely cancel. Right. It was only reasonable. He could tell Tony he slept on it and realized it wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Or he could just say he was sick – for the foreseeable future. Or something. He would figure it out as he typed.

He sighed heavily and reached for his phone on the nightstand, pulling up his chat with Tony. He was going to call the whole thing off – he was! – but he made one crucial mistake. Before he started typing an excuse, he re-read the conversation from the night before. He didn’t understand why or how, but Tony’s words just – inebriated him, and by re-reading them, he was put under his spell all over again.

I need to see you, he said.

Not want. Not would like. Need. The word choice wasn’t lost on Peter, but he wondered if he was reading too much into it, if maybe Tony just said the first thing that came to mind without giving it much thought. But it couldn’t be casual, could it? Nobody would say they needed something casually.

Right?

He pictured the older man holding him close, whispering in his ear, “I need to see you”, until, somehow, in his imagination, words got lost somewhere and it became, “I need you”. Peter shivered just thinking about it. He was sure his voice would exude power and confidence, he just knew it, he wouldn’t be able to resist Tony’s commands, and yet–

Please.

He asked nicely. Peter was hyper-aware of the fact that the word “please” had an unreasonable and slightly concerning effect on him, he should probably talk to someone about that, but it just did. It fucking did. Tony could have demanded whatever he wanted – and embarrassingly, Peter would have probably said yes. He could have been an asshole about it, pushy, like some other people were, but no. He was…

I’ll treat you right.

Peter never stood a chance, he realized, sighing, letting his phone fall off his hand and onto the bed. That man knew exactly what he was doing, didn’t he? Peter wondered if he was that transparent, if anyone who talked to him for more than five minutes could see how needy he was, how badly he craved affection. If so, how embarrassing was that? A touch-starved porn star with feelings?

Ex-porn star, his brain supplied, and Peter rolled his eyes at himself. But still, technically, he was not a porn star anymore, he was more like… A model. A social media influencer? An adult entertainer. He could settle for that.

He picked his phone back up and looked at the chat, re-reading their conversation from the night before, over and over again. At least it didn’t seem like he thought Peter was a hooker – well, he hadn’t offered money, so Peter assumed he meant it as a casual meeting, not a business transaction. Nothing else has to happen, he promised. Nobody would ask a hooker out not expecting anything else to happen.

Right?

While he freaked out wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into, his phone beeped and vibrated in his hand, as he got a notification saying he had a text from an unknown number. He frowned, because not a lot of people had his number, but when he opened the text message, his heart dropped to his stomach.

“Hey, babe, it’s Quent. I saw you unblocked me on Instagram. Can we talk?”

He felt immediately dizzy, his vision blurred and his hands shook. His only reaction was to throw the phone as far away from him as he could, as if it was on fire. His throat closed up and breathing became harder, he thought he might suffocate, as he sat up on the bed and tried to take deep breaths. Deep breaths. Tried not to get lost in his –

“I can’t do this anymore, Pete,” was the first thing he said the minute the younger man walked out of the en suite bathroom, drying his hair with a towel.

“Do what?” He asked, confused, tilting his head to the side. He watched as Beck slowly got out of bed and walked to him. Peter noticed he wasn’t naked anymore, he had put on some pants and a t-shirt. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the situation.

“This. Us.” He gestured between them and Peter stared at him for a few seconds, as the words flew around in his head, refusing to provide any meaning. After a couple of minutes, he laughed weakly, even though his eyes burned and his chest felt crushed. Beck’s expression remained impassive.

“You’re joking, right?” Even as he asked that, he knew in his heart that he wasn’t. His face fell when Beck simply shook his head. “Quent… What...” He didn’t even know what to say, what to ask. He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, trying to stop his eyes from watering, Beck hated it when he cried for no reason. “Listen, let’s just – let’s just talk about this, I’m sure–“

“There’s nothing to talk about, Peter, I’ve made up my mind. I’m sorry.” He took the two steps that separated them and ran a hand down the younger man’s wet cheek and Peter grasped it desperately, as if it could make him stay. “You’re immature, needy and quite frankly… a little boring for someone who gets fucked for a living.”

“I can do better, Quent, I can change, please don’t – don’t leave me,” he begged quietly, voice cracking, barely audible over the sound of his own sobs. Beck winced, pulling his hand away.“Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, please… Please, don’t leave me...” He shut his eyes tightly, trying to wake up from that nightmare. Just a few minutes earlier, everything was fine, they filmed a scene, Beck told him to get in the shower and the minute he walked back into the bedroom everything went to shit, how the fuck did that happen?

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, Peter. Look at you, listen to yourself right now. It’s… Pathetic.” He looked at him like he was the saddest sight he had ever seen, a mixture of pity and disgust, annoyance and impatience. Peter remembered a time when he looked at him like he was precious, like he was the most important person in the world… What went wrong? Where did he fuck up? How could he fix it?

“Quent, I-I – you’re all I–“

“That’s the problem, Pete,” he scoffed, shaking his head with an incredulous smile on his face. “I’m tired of being your everything, it’s exhausting. You’re exhausting.” He leaned against the wall next to the bedroom’s door, as Peter freaked out just a few feet away, thinking he was having an actual heart attack from how bad hearing that fucking hurt. “I don’t love you anymore.”

He was pulled from his memories when the doorbell rang and his heart jumped. Could it be him at the door? He couldn’t have found him, he had no idea where Ned and MJ lived – hell, he had no idea where Peter went, he didn’t even bother to ask. For all he knew, Peter could be living on the streets. He knew he had no money, no family, and he didn’t fucking care, he just fucking kicked him out, he barely gave him time to pack all of his things, his eyes were cold, arms crossed over his chest as he waited impatiently for Peter to leave. And he begged and kept begging, and–

Fuck, he was losing it. He was going back to that dark place he had barely crawled out from just weeks earlier.

He took a deep, calming breath and shook his head, trying to get his emotions under control. It was not Beck at the door. He had no way of finding him, and Peter knew he wouldn’t even try to. The only reason he had to contact him was probably a job. He knew a lot of people in the porn industry would still try to book him through Beck, since he was his agent for so long. That was obviously the reason he was trying to reach out. Money. As always. That was all.

So he took another deep breath and walked slowly to the front door. When he checked the peephole, Ned and MJ were casually standing outside, talking to each other like nothing was wrong in the world. He didn’t think twice and yanked the door open.

“Get dressed, loser, we’re going– what the fuck!?” MJ’s eyes almost jumped out of their sockets once she took a look at him. He knew he must look like garbage, he had no idea how he was even standing on his own two feet, he felt like his whole body was falling to pieces. He threw his arms around Ned, who was closest to him, and the older boy just pulled him close and let him bury his face in his neck, not missing a beat.

“Shh, it’s ok, buddy. Everything’s fine now.” He rubbed his back gently and Peter cried a little harder, a mixture of relief, sadness and regret filling his chest, leaving him confused and exhausted all at once. “Come on, let’s sit down for a minute. MJ, bring him some water, will you?” He pushed him lightly inside the apartment and directed him to the only piece of furniture in the living room, crouching down in front of him as MJ rummaged his tiny kitchen. “You ok, man?”

“I’m ok, I’m ok. It’s just… one of those days.” He forced a smile, trying to dry his face with the collar of his shirt. He didn’t want to tell them that Beck had tried to reach out, it would only cause them to worry unnecessarily. They were the ones who had convinced him to block his number, even if Peter insisted Beck would never call.

MJ hurried back from the kitchen and thrust a glass of water in his face, seeming a little nervous and completely out of her element. He realized that it was probably the first time they ever saw him in such bad shape, he didn’t have the energy to try to put up a strong front for them, which he always did, ever since he was a ten-year old boy. They had seen him cry before, of course, just probably not like that. Peter felt like shit and he knew he looked like it, too.

He drank the water that was offered to him just to have an excuse not to talk for a few seconds, as he tried to cool down and get himself back under control. MJ was fidgeting, standing beside Ned who was sitting on the floor, rubbing Peter’s knees comfortingly.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Ned asked, squeezing his leg, and he shook his head firmly.

“No, thanks. I’m fine, really. Did you have plans for today?” He looked at his friends and noticed they both had their jackets on and looked ready to go out. It was, after all, a sunny Saturday morning. “I’ll go get dressed right now.” He tried to get up from the armchair but MJ placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, we can stay in, if you want.” She assured him, still looking a little freaked out, which was funny to watch. She was never very good at comforting people.

“No, that’s stupid, come on,” He got up, forcing Ned to do the same, and headed to the bedroom, but the older boy grabbed his arm before he could go too far.

“Don’t worry, c’mon, let’s go down to our apartment, at least we have a couch.”

Peter wanted to insist that he was okay to go out, but if he was honest with himself, he was... not okay. To do anything. And he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts.

So he just nodded at his friends and followed them downstairs. Back at their place, he plopped down on the couch with MJ next to him, as Ned headed for the kitchen. He came back with ice cream and three spoons and Peter smiled weakly, appreciating the gesture.

“So… Bad day?” Ned asked sympathetically as Peter pretended to focus on the frozen desert.

“Bad day,” he answered, simply, with a small smile on his face, and his friend nodded in understanding.

“Did something happen or…?” He insisted and Peter stuffed his mouth with enough ice-cream to give himself a brain freeze, just so he could avoid talking for a while. He shrugged.

“No, just… Memories.”

“Of course,” MJ scoffed, as she stabbed the ice-cream with her spoon. “That asshole. I can’t believe he gets to be your first love. That fucking sucks.” Peter was sure MJ didn’t mean to make him feel bad – or rather, worse – but he hadn’t even thought about that yet. The fact that Beck was his first love. His first everything, really. Nothing could ever change that fact. He swallowed the lump in his throat with a spoonful of chocolate chip ice-cream. “Don’t worry, one day you’ll find a decent man who will show you what a healthy relationship looks like, you know. That perv deprived you of even that.” MJ shook her head and Peter sighed, wincing.

“I don’t think I can find a decent man, MJ,” he mumbled, looking down at the ice-cream pint. “I’m a certified whore now. Imagine Prince Charming googling my name and finding my gang bang video, or the fisting one.” He scoffed, shaking his head. He didn’t dare to look up at his friends, he played with the melting ice-cream and shrugged. “I’m sorry for the mental image.” His face was burning red, he hated to talk about his videos with them, but they needed a reality check. He was pretty sure they never watched the videos, so they had no idea how bad the situation was.

“Good thing you’re not looking for Prince Charming, then, Cinderella.” She rolled her eyes. “You need a man who understands that sex is just sex, it doesn’t matter how many people you slept with, or if it was filmed or not. Besides, it was just a fucking job, like any other, people use their bodies to work. Writers use their hands, waiters use their legs, you used your ass, so-fucking-what?” MJ argued and she genuinely seemed to believe her own words, which made Peter laugh a little and feel relieved that his friend didn’t think badly of him. That made one of them.

The thing was, it was a beautiful speech, big words, great ideas, but none of it meant anything because it wasn’t real. He believed MJ thought like that, but most people didn’t. Most people would look at him differently knowing he used to do porn and knowing that he still did solo stuff on Just4Fans. They would think it was fine to fantasize about him, it was fine to jerk off to him, maybe it would even be fine to have sex with him casually, but have a serious relationship with him? Probably not.

He must have been distracted for a while and jumped up a little when he felt Ned’s hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, dude. Not everyone is that narrow-minded, you know. At the end of the day, it’s just porn. A lot of people do it, even more people watch it, it’s not that big of a deal.” Ned shrugged and Peter looked at him a little surprised. He didn’t look freaked out at all by what he said earlier, which – he didn’t think he would be rude or anything, he just didn’t expect him to be so cool about it.

He smiled at him and nodded.

Peter spent the rest of the day at their place and gradually started feeling a little more like himself, a little calmer. His head hurt from such a rough morning, but having his friends by his side helped a lot. They had pizza for lunch and binge watched a sitcom for seven hours straight, which helped keep all the intrusive thoughts at bay. Well, mostly.

When he got home that night, he picked up his phone that was still lying on the floor. The screen was cracked, but at least it was still working. He quickly blocked Beck’s Instagram and his new number before he could think twice about it, and only then did he notice there was a message from Tony waiting for him, from a few hours earlier.

“Hey, gorgeous. How’s your day? I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Can’t wait to see you.”

For some weird reason, reading that message soothed him. It should have freaked him out, sent him over the edge again, but it didn’t. He had forgotten all about the fact that he agreed to meet Tony, but he was glad he did. He felt exhausted from all the emotions he had to deal with all day long and he thought he didn’t want to do anything but sleep it off, but talking to Tony sounded like an even better idea somehow.

“Not so good, I’m a little tired, but I’ll survive. How was yours, daddy?”

He wasn’t surprised when he got an answer right away.

“I’m sorry to hear that, kitten. I’d give you a foot rub if I was there, would that help?” Peter couldn’t help but smile at that message, which was a little shocking to him, he thought he had lost the ability to do that hours ago.

“That would help a lot, daddy.” He sighed, rolling onto his side, burying himself under the covers. “I wish you were here.” He didn’t expect to mean it so much, not when he was talking to a virtual stranger, but Tony had such a weird effect on him when they talked. Peter felt like he knew him, like they were intimate, like he was safe. And none of that made any sense, but he couldn’t help it.

“I wish I were there, too. I’d take good care of you.” Fuck, and he kept saying those things. Those beautiful things that made his stomach turn and his head hurt and his heart go wild. He was so fucked. “Dinner’s still up? Does Thursday night work for you?”

“Thursday works fine. I’m just a little nervous.” He curled on his side, looking closely at the cracked screen. Immediately, Tony started typing an answer.

“Please don’t be, sweetheart, I promise you’ll have a good time. We’ll have a nice meal, some fine wine, a good talk. What’s not to like?” That was exactly what Peter thought the previous night, and it had made perfect sense in his head. When he woke up, though, it didn’t sound reasonable at all. And now there he was, hypnotized again by Tony’s charm.

“I don’t know.” He bit his lip, wondering if he should say what he wanted to say or if it would be weird.

“Then, please, don’t worry. You can leave at any second if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“Okay.” He replied, worrying his bottom lip, working up the nerve to say what was on his mind. “Look, you know I’m not, like… a prostitute, right? Nor an escort. I just post dirty pictures online, which might be misleading, but I’m not a sex worker. I hope you know that.” There, he said it. He held his breath as he waited for Tony’s answer, who kept typing for what felt like ages.

“To be completely honest, no, I was not sure, and I didn’t want to offend you by asking, but this changes nothing. I didn’t ask to meet you for that, I hope you know. I just really need to see you in person. I like talking to you here, but I’d love to hear your voice, see your smile, make you laugh. I promise I have no ulterior motives.”

“Oh, you’re good.” Peter joked lightly, because it seemed like Tony always knew what to say to wrap him around his little finger.

“I am, baby, I promise. You’ll see.”

He was pretty sure he had heard similar promises before, beautiful words without any meaning. Still, for some reason, it wasn’t hard to believe him.

-x-

Tag list (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list): @sadachmesarthim @iamnotparticularlyproud

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

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transgenderer · 3 years

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ive been having a lot of thoughts lately about responsibility and delayed gratification and ambition, both at small and large scales. delayed gratification isnt exactly what i mean, but it feels like the accepted term for what i mean, which is doing something you dont want to do now for the sake of a greater benefit later. i think the idea that the capacity for delayed gratification is very good is drilled into kids, and that makes sense, because its an important part of functioning, both in general but especially in modern society and especially especially in the education system. but i think this can be sort of...over-drilled, or taught wrong.

so like, the central idea is the marshmallow test: you can have one marshmallow now, but if you wait, youll get two later. and i think kids who can do that sort of thing are told is good, and they need to do that a lot. but theres an easy wrong lesson to learn, that doing the less pleasant thing that feels vaguely more responsible is always better. and of course, in life, theres no researcher! you are given, over and over, the choice to have a marshmallow now, and its only your own flawed predictive capacity that tells you what effect eating it now will have

so like, what do you do? do you enjoy yourself now, or suffer now to have good stuff happen later? obviously it depends on the case. school presents lots of situations where its obviously better to do unpleasant stuff now so you dont have to rush later, but those are all short term. what about longer term choices? should you go to the harder school that might improve your career chances? take the less fun class that might be more employable? study instead of having fun? and its not a binary, its a continuum, so you cant just say yes/no, you have to try to figure out the optimum choice

and the whole *idea* of ambition, of the grind, etc, which is pretty glorified, is about pushing as hard as you can towards the delayed choice, suffering now in the hopes of succeeding and being happy later. but culture is a tug of war, so theres also the big idea of living in the moment, of enjoying the now and ignoring tomorrow. but over and over you have to face that the optimal choice depends on information you dont have, or arent certain about.

i personally am kind of obsessed with acting optimally, which is foolish, and i have a massive irresponsibility-guilt module, so my balance involves convincing myself that im pushing myself as hard as i can, and pushing harder would actually make things worse, cuz maybe my grades would be worse if i took boring applied math classes that might be better for a job or something. but of course, i have no idea, my whole thought process is a tangle of motivated reasoning, vague hunches, and bad info. so its messy, and it sucks. and it makes me feel like maybe any sort of ambition is bullshit, i should just look for something easy-ish i dont hate, try to live somewhere cheap, and who gives a shit otherwise, about like, prestige or whatever. but idk! i never know, we are all always making choices walking backwards and telling a story about the path revealed with each step, which means constantly adding ad hoc bullshit to the preexisting narrative

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goosewhisker · 3 years

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russetfur vs. the entirety of skyclan || ch. 3

read this on ao3 || read this on fanfiction.net

chapter one

chapter two

summary: After enduring months of Turtlekit and Kitekit’s abuse, Rootkit finally snaps and accidentally awakens his powers. This has the unfortunate side effect of reviving the ghost of an angry Shadowclan warrior who: 1) is personally offended by Skyclan’s existence, and 2) has magnanimously taken it upon herself to relieve the world of that burden. Or something

okay so its been a minute since i posted. a lot of things happened, i got a kitten, a job, a new fandom, and i speedran a full semester of calculus in like the past four weeks. im sorry about how late this is and i cant promise when the next one will be up but its half written already so uh hope springs eternal. anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk

also shoutout to @turquoise-tulip for reminding me that ive had this chapter in my drafts for half a year now this ones for you im sorry its so stupid

Chapter Three: In Which Rootkit Practices the Art of Blackmail

The morning after is quiet.

...is what Rootkit would like to say. Actually, he gets woken up by Tree at what his mom likes to call 'the butt-crack of dawn' to go talk to Leafstar, thereby ruining his chances of being a normal warrior forever.

When they get to the leader's den, Violetshine is already there. Rootkit discovers this by walking into her while his eyes are closed in the middle of a yawn.

"See, he's about to fall asleep on his paws," his mom points out, sounding pretty close to yawning herself. "It's too early for this. Morning, kid."

Rootkit mumbles something that's unintelligible even to himself and falls asleep on his mother's paws. A few minutes later, he's woken by gentle paws on his back.

"Hey, kid. Kiddo. You gotta get up."

Rootkit hums absently, still mostly asleep, before realizing abruptly where he is. Mouse dung! Suddenly, he's completely awake. He jerks his head up, almost colliding with Tree's jaw before he pulls out of the way. Rootkit, too busy panicking, doesn't notice. He just fell asleep in Leafstar's den! After she'd brought him over to talk specifically to him! After seeing this humiliating display of incompetence, she'll really never make him a warrior, and Kitekit and Turtlekit will-

"Rootkit." The single word cuts through the panic. Rootkit looks up to see Leafstar, looking very serious with only a hint of amusement seeping through. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes!" The answer bursts out of him before he really thinks it through. And, well, it's not entirely true, but it's not entirely untrue either. Either way, he's up for answering any questions, which is probably what she's asking.

Leafstar looks at him just long enough for him to start fidgeting before she begins. "I've already spoken to your parents, Rootkit, so I know most of the story. I just need to know your side. What happened yesterday with the ghost?"

Rootkit looks at his paws, then back to Leafstar's calming gaze. "It started when I was at the grave. I was just- just talking, and then Kitekit found me..."

He tells her the whole, stupid story. How he'd lost it at Kitekit and Turtlekit and turned around to find a ghost looming over him; how he'd asked Tree for help, only for her to disappear; how she'd attacked him and Tree, announced her intentions, and vanished. At last, the story runs dry and he falls silent to watch her expression change.

Leafstar hums thoughtfully. She turns to Tree. "Do you think she's likely to hurt someone?"

Tree shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "If she's serious, yes. Most ghosts can't touch the living. Those who can - like this one - usually died violently or thinking they were wronged. And angry ghosts tend to be... volatile."

"Ah." Leafstar considers this.

"If it comes to that, what'll you do?" Violetshine asks. "Will you be able to stop her?"

Rootkit watches Tree watch his mom, and something in his dad's eyes soften. He leans over to swipe a tongue over her ear. "You want to help her, don't you?" he says quietly. "Because she's Shadowclan?"

Violetshine flushes, but she doesn't back down. "Many of them weren't kind to me," she says, "But Shadowclan was still my home once. I can't just forget that."

Tree purrs and winds his tail with hers. "That's why I love you," he whispers.

Rootkit sticks his tongue out in disgust. Bleh. Grownups!

"To answer your question," Tree adds, "I don't know what I'll do. I suppose-" he pauses, eyes tight with worry. "I've never exorcised a ghost who didn't want to move on before. I don't know if I even can. This may be something of an experiment."

The grownups look at each other for a long moment. "I will do whatever it takes to keep my clan safe," Leafstar says. There's something like a warning in her voice that makes Rootkit shiver.

"What should I do?" he asks. All three adults look at him like they've forgotten he's there.

After a moment, Leafstar's face breaks into a smile. "Tell you what. You can help by keeping an eye out for this Russetfur and letting one of us know when she's nearby. But listen, Rootkit," and her voice goes stern. "You must stay away from her. Russetfur is dangerous, and she may hurt you to get what she wants. Do you understand me, Rootkit?"

Rootkit looks into Leafstar's amber eyes - warm and worried and burning with a fierce, protective fire - and knows what he has to do. "I understand, Leafstar," he says, and just like that, his mission clicks into place.

From somewhere else in the camp - probably the warriors' den - someone screams, followed by Russetfur's haunting cackles.

Rootkit ignores it.

As he double checks his supplies, Rootkit runs through a mental checklist. He's talked to the ghost - check. He's figured out what she wants - check. He's given her what she wants - well... no. Tree's three-step-plan hadn't exactly accounted for what happened if what the ghost wanted was unobtainable.

Well, it doesn't really matter now. This plan is sure to work.

"Are you sure this is gonna work," Needlekit says again.

"Yes, I am, Starclan above will you stop nagging me," Rootkit says.

His sister makes a disgruntled noise and hauls the next bramble into place with a particularly vicious tug. "I'm just concerned you have no idea what you're doing, is all."

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

Rootkit doesn't have any idea what he's doing.

"Hmm." Needlekit seems thoroughly unconvinced, but she gets on with the task anyway. The trailing brambles she's weaving into place will form a turtle-shell-shaped cage laced with warding herbs over the grave when they're done. The plan is more or less to summon Russetfur into a cage she can't phase through, leaving her unable to escape. In Rootkit's opinion, it's a pretty solid plan for someone who has no idea what he's doing. "Why're you so set on doing this, anyway? Didn't Leafstar tell you not to mess with Gingerpelt?"

"Russetfur," Rootkit corrects her automatically. "And, well, yes, but..." he hesitates. "It's just... you know. I was the one who set her free in the first place, and..."

"Yes?" Needlekit prompts him. She's given up on the brambles and moved to stuffing moss and bracken into the gaps.

Rootkit fidgets uncomfortably for a second before the truth bursts out of him. "And now Russetfur's running wild everywhere and it's all my fault, and what if Leafstar decides not to make me an apprentice? If I don't become an apprentice, I can't be a warrior! And if I can't be a warrior-" he cuts himself off. He can't repeat what Kitekit and Turtlekit had said; even saying the words aloud seems like tempting fate... and he can't burden Needlekit with that, anyway.

Needlekit looks at him, though, and her gaze goes soft. "And being a warrior is your dream," she says, and starts stuffing the gaps with renewed vigor. "Well, come on, then! If we can trap Scarletfuzz then Leafstar will have to make us both apprentices! I can't be an apprentice without you; then I'd have to share the den with just Kitekit and Turtlekit. Can you imagine?" She pulls a disgusted face that has Rootkit giggling despite himself.

"Alright, alright," he says. "While you're doing that..." He shoves aside the piles of bracken they'd collected and settles down on the dirt. In his stories, Tree had never really talked about summoning ghosts - his work had been more about getting them to leave - but Rootkit is pretty confident about his ability to summon her again if necessary. More importantly, one or two of his stories had been about things the average, non-ghost-seeing cat could do to ward off spirits.

Rootkit spreads out his supplies, most of which had been scavenged from the medicine cats through a combination of tag-teaming and white lies. The herbs really are going to help his mom, just not in the way Fidgetflake thinks.

Thistledown. Rosemary. Lavender. Thyme. All plants that either attract or repel spirits, according to Tree (from what Rootkit can remember, anyway). Plus a lot of spiderweb.

"Hey, are you sure that's right?" Needlekit asks, leaning over his shoulder. "I thought we were gonna get some sage. And why'd you pick up the thistle?"

Rootkit frowns. "Well, Fidgetflake was coming back too soon and I panicked, alright? If you've got a problem you can get some more yourself."

Needlekit snickers and prods the massive pile of spiderwebs. "No thanks. I think you could've gotten a little more spiderweb, Frecklewish might still have some left over... yeesh, alright, I'll leave off the sarcasm. You don't have to glare at me."

Rootkit rolls his eyes. The immaturity of some cats. "Maybe I went a little overboard, but we need it. Frecklewish can just send the 'paws out to find some more. Now help me apply it; we need to cover the entire cage so there's no chance of getting out."

It's the work of a few minutes to paste it over with cobwebs, and the work of a few more to weave in all the protecting herbs. With luck, they'll prevent her from just phasing through. By the time they're done, it's so dense that a living cat would find it impossible to escape; Rootkit can only hope that the same goes for a dead one.

"Alright, fire 'er up!" Needlekit commands.

Rootkit closes his eyes to focus, trying to recall the feeling of power rushing through his being. Once, Tree had told them of a time when he'd jumped onto a wire fence and been struck by something he'd called electricity- what lightning is made of, apparently. Rootkit imagines it feels something like that.

The power lying dormant in his veins leaps forth eagerly at his call. It swells like a crescendo of sound, rushing out through his paws into the ground.

Rootkit focuses on the grave with every fiber of his being and wills it to summon its spirit. "Russetfur!" he cries out.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, something shifts.

It's like a hole is briefly torn through space; instinctively, Rootkit reaches in, grabs something, and drags it through.

Beside him, Needlekit gasps. "What the heck was that?"

But her voice is wavy, distorted. Rootkit opens an eye and finds his world is tilted sideways. Needlekit makes a high pitched noise that scrapes its claws across the most inner parts of Rootkit's ears.

"M'fine," Rootkit mumbles. His words are slurred, he realizes distantly, because half his face is pressed into the dirt.

Needlekit jabs him. "This is no time for sleeping, Rootkit. Did it work?"

Rootkit blinks. For a moment, he has absolutely no idea what she's talking about; then, the memories start to flood back. He narrows his eyes, remembering the feeling of hooking a soul on his clawtips like a fish. "I think-"

He's interrupted by an infuriated caterwaul that drowns out whatever he was going to say.

"What is this?"

The cage shakes as its captive throws her entire weight against the wall, but it holds steady. The herbs have done their job; even a ghost can't pass through.

Needlekit laughs triumphantly. "It's bad kitty jail for bad kitties!"

Russetfur snarls back something absolutely obscene and proceeds to attack the inside of the cage with a ferocious determination. At least, Rootkit thinks she is; it's kind of hard to tell since they can't actually see her.

"Can she get out?" Rootkit wonders.

"No," Needlekit says at the same time Russetfur snaps, "You bet your kittypet hide I will."

Rootkit blinks.

"Literally," Russetfur adds. "Because I'll strip it off your back to line my nest."

"Oh." Rootkit drops his head back on the ground. The dirt here is very comfy, he realizes. Maybe he should just sleep here from now on. "Yeah. That was kind of unclear."

"It'll become very clear in a few minutes, runt. I'll even give you a demonstration."

Needlekit leans against the cage with a smirk that probably would have been infuriating, if Russetfur could actually see it. "Don't worry, Redpelt, you're clear as crystal."

Rootkit freezes. Even the scraping sounds coming from inside the cage cut off. "What was that," Russetfur says suspiciously. "Did you just-"

"Keep your spirits up," Needlekit says. "I'm sure you'll be back to your old haunting grounds in no time."

Rootkit tries to slam his head into the ground and discovers that it's really much harder to do when you're already lying on it.

Russetfur doesn't say anything.

"What's wrong, ghostie? You're as silent as the dead in there."

Then a translucent ear rises out of the ground right next to Rootkit's face and he screams loud enough to be heard halfway to Riverclan, probably, and scrambles out of the way. Needlekit screams, too, and then Russetfur is climbing out of the ground like a corpse emerging from its grave.

She shakes herself off and grins down at them with more teeth than a cat should rightfully have. "You forgot to ward the bottom," she says. Rootkit makes a very small sound that definitely qualifies as a whimper. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

All the fur on Needlekit's body has bushed out so she looks twice her size - which, compared to the full-grown warrior before them, is almost nothing. She's shaking like a leaf, but undaunted, she spits at Russetfur's feet. "Drop dead!"

Rootkit could kill her.

In a blur of movement, Russetfur pins Needlekit to the cage wall with one paw. "I admire your spirit, kit," she hisses. "But if you want to sass me, you're digging your own grave."

That's it. Rootkit has had enough. That is the final stars-damned straw. "Shut up with the stupid ghost puns, I swear to Starclan," Rootkit screams.

The wind rustles gently in the treetops as the two she-cats stare at him.

"The next person to make a single stars-cursed ghost pun, I am going to snap your fleabitten neck. Is that clear?"

Needlekit makes a stifled noise muted by the heavy paw slowly crushing her windpipe.

"Ah." Russetfur looks to be considering it. "Would you say we're dead m-"

Rootkit makes a very aggressive series of throat-slitting gestures.

"...you've got your father's spirit in you, I see."

"I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it," Rootkit snarls.

That gets her attention. Russetfur's eyes widen, then narrow. "Oh?" Her voice is considerably less friendly.

This is where it gets tricky. Rootkit's at a disadvantage - he's just seriously ticked off a relatively powerful ghost with a grudge against his relatively powerless clan, she's got his sister by the throat, and his only bargaining chip is a bluff. But there's an opportunity somewhere here; he just has to navigate a very prickly, very dangerous minefield and pray he doesn't blow them all up.

Time to channel his inner Tree. "Look," Rootkit says, in his best diplomat voice. "Clearly, we both want something here, something that we can provide for each other. What do you say we make a deal?"

Russetfur narrows her eyes and tightens her grip on Needlekit. "I don't think you're in a position to bargain, here," she says.

"On the contrary." Rootkit raises a paw. "I am in every position to offer a deal... as you just experienced yourself."

Russetfur scoffs. "What could you possibly have to offer me?"

"Your life."

That gives her pause. "If you could exorcise me, you'd have done it already."

Rootkit gives his best imitation of her knife-sharp smile and proceeds to lie through his teeth. "What do you think we were doing just now?"

The ghost narrows her eyes and says nothing.

Rootkit seizes his opportunity and plows onward. "You don't want to be exorcised, and we don't want you in our camp. So here's the deal - you leave and we don't follow." The last few words are growled out, like Leafstar whenever someone threatens the clan.

It's very intimidating, in his opinion, but it doesn't seem to have an effect in Russetfur. If anything, it only seems to make her angrier. "I won't sacrifice my honor as a Shadowclan cat to run from a bunch of kittypets," Russetfur snarls, leaning closer. "Even if you kill me again, I'd sooner die fighting for my clan than kowtow to some coddled housepets."

Rootkit grits his teeth. She hasn't called his bluff, but they can't have her running loose and hurting people. Think, Rootkit! "Another deal, then," he says. "If you won't leave the camp, then you just can't hurt anybody."

"No deal," Russetfur snaps.

"That's the final offer," Rootkit says coldly. "Under no circumstances are you allowed to hurt or injure any Skyclan cats. I'm not going to compromise on that point. And you can't really afford to bargain, anyway," he adds with a shrug. His heart is pounding so loudly he's almost sure Russetfur can hear it. "If you don't, I'll just summon you into the cage again and exorcise you for good. Or who knows? Maybe we'll leave you in there for a while. And this time we'll cover the bottom." He finishes with the nastiest, most hateful smile he can muster - which isn't particularly difficult, right now.

Russetfur goes silent. He can practically hear the gears in her brain ticking as she weighs her options. There's clearly only one real option here; he just hopes she isn't too prideful to take it.

"Fine," Russetfur growls, voice so low he has to strain to hear it. "Fine. I agree to your terms." The hatred seeping from her voice is almost palpable.

Well, the feeling is absolutely mutual. Rootkit dips into a little bow and bares his fangs in a farce of a smile. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Russetfur disappears into the air, leaving Needlekit to slump to the ground, wheezing. Rootkit waits until he's certain the ghost is gone before sinking onto the ground himself, body shaking with all the fear he couldn't allow himself to show before. Holy crap.

"Are you," Needlekit begins, then cuts herself off with a raucous bout of coughs that makes him wince. "Are you... okay?" she whispers hoarsely.

Rootkit makes a high-pitched, keening noise before breaking into nervous laughter. "No, no, not even a little bit. Oh, Starclan, I can't believe I'm alive, I thought she was going to kill us both. Oh stars..." he trails off with a giggle and buries his face in the dirt.

They lie there for a couple minutes, the silence broken only by Needlekit's wheezing and Rootkit's trembling.

"I want Mom and Dad," Needlekit whispers.

Rootkit couldn't agree more.

#warrior cats #warriors fanfiction #wc #wc fanfiction #warriors #rootspring #needleclaw #russetfur #tree #leafstar #violetshine #now that the general premise is done #everything from here on out is stupid ghost shenanigans #you know #if i ever get around to writing them

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theautisticquillholder · 3 years

Text

Murderous Love Chapter IV

(WARNING: This fanfiction has themes of Suicidal Ideation, Suicide itself, Self harm, Sexual Assualt, Murder, Extreme Bullying and Humiliation and a lot of Mental Illness related content and is NOT appropriate for children and the faint of heart. If you are under 18 or may be triggered by the content of this fanfiction please do not read this.)

Motochika’s POV

Myself and Mitsuhide were relaxing in our mini studio apartment that his parents made for us so that we can live independently while we are minors.

Tomorrow our fight to get Da Ji charged and convicted of sexual assault and distribution of Child Pornography and Loki and Ares charged and convicted as accomplices to Da Ji begins.

I knew Odin and Zeus would not take us putting those three in jail laying down. Mitsuhide was scared, he knew his life would become worse if those three are acquitted of those charges. Thankfully Dousan, Noh’s father is the best lawyer we have and has given us a no win no fee guarantee because he knew that due to Zeus and Odin being rich bastards, we may not get the outcome we want.

I hugged Mitsuhide tightly while singing to him, hoping that my singing would soothe him. I then noticed that Mitsuhide was not calming down at all, he then looked at me saying

“Hide the blades, medication and long cords. Now.”

When I heard that I let go of Mitsuhide and went to do so. I’m so glad Mitsutsuna taught me what to do when Mitsuhide ends up having a manic episode or a depressive episode. I then looked at Mitsuhide asking “Anything else?”

Mitsuhide nodded “My wallet.”

I nodded and hid his wallet as well. I then walked to my beloved and hugged him “I love you, I won’t leave you, you’re a god amongst men, you’re the strongest guy I know, you’re an absolute badass, you’ve survived so much and you’re still here, I’m so proud of you”

Mitsuhide rested his head on my chest smiling. I wasn’t told to tell Mitsuhide nice things about him, I just added that to combat the intrusive thoughts that might come up as he deals with this episode, such as feeling unworthy of anything great in life. He looked at me smiling

“I’m so sorry for having that episode.” He spoke,

I looked at him weirdly before saying “Don’t be sorry for something that is not in your control.”

Mitsuhide looked down “No one wants to hire me so I can’t get a job and I don’t want to rely on my parents to get my medication…”

I soon became worried. I looked at him before letting go of him “I just need to ask your father when dinner is ready”

I then walked out of our studio apartment and towards Mitsutsuna saying “Hey sooooooo I found out why Mitsuhide is having these episodes. He doesn’t want to rely on you to get his medication, even though he knows that you and your wife are more than happy to help him…”

Mitsutsuna froze “Wh-What? O-Oh my god!”

He then picked up his phone and called Ritsuko (Mitsuhide’s mother).

Mitsutsuna then said “So, Mitsuhide has not been taking his medication for his bipolar and his depression…

He doesn’t want to rely on us to get it for him…

I know we had that conversation with him that we’re his parents and if we can’t get him the medication he needs then we don’t deserve the honour of parenthood…

Please just get the medication for him, I’ll have a chat…

Motochika managed to get him to talk about whether or not he’s getting his medication…

Okay, I’ll do that for you”

He then hung up the phone and looked at me saying “Thank you so much for telling us this.”

I nodded “It’s okay, if we can at least get him on his medication for the duration of the Trial we can manage his condition as the trial goes on.”

I then walked back to our mini apartment, Mitsuhide looked at me saying “You told them didn’t you…”

“I’m sorry honey, I had to, they want to help you, please let them help you.” I replied.

I hugged him tightly before Ritsuko arrived and handed me the medication. “Thank you Motochika, I think you’re the man that my son needed.”

I nodded and accepted the paper bag.

THE NEXT DAY

It was the day the trials of Da Ji, Loki and Ares began.

I stood by Mitsuhide’s side as we made our way into the court room. Da Ji glared at us as the evidence was presented.

Soon it was Dousan’s turn to present evidence. He walked to the whiteboard and projector and turned it on soon revealing the Instagram post made by Da Ji that had the photo of Mitsuhide naked lying on the dingy bathroom floor.

Loki, Ares and Da Ji were held back as Dousan revealed the evidence and explained the statements given by myself, Mitsuhide and the school staff who found us in the bathroom.

The trial lasted for about five days and Judge Orochi sent the Jury out to discuss what the verdict is going to be, as we waited for the verdict Loki looked at Mitsuhide saying

“Now you’ve fucking done it, how much attention do you fucking want you whore!”

I blocked Mitsuhide’s ears when Loki opened his mouth to talk.

We then saw the Jury enter the courtroom again and the jury Forewoman Tamamo was asked if Loki was guilty or not guilty.

Tamamo replied “Loki and Ares had the majority vote of not guilty of all charges. While I have voted guilty I believe there has been some form of bribery going on that I do not know about. As a result for the sake of the members of the jury who are sympathetic towards the victim the least the courts should do is grant him the restraining order.”

“OBJECTION BITCH!” was heard, I looked in the direction the voice came from to find that it was Loki, he then looked at the judge saying

“Your Honour, I do not believe that Akechi Mitsuhide should be applying for a restraining order against myself and Ares, the three of us are all minors and there is no need for a kid to be applying for a restraining order against other kids, I believe he is doing this for attention, he imagined everything, that Instagram post is fake and we will take legal action if you allow the restraining order to go through!”

Orochi slammed the podium saying “ORDER IN THE COURT! Mr Loki Asgardian you have spoken enough, do not argue with our jury members again. Tamamo, my apologies for the interruption. Do you find Da Ji guilty or not guilty of the Sexual Assault charges and Child Pornography Charges?”

Tamamo replied “We have found Da Ji guilty of Sexual Assault and Production and distribution of child pornography, however, the majority recommends mercy.”

I saw Tamamo roll her eyes, I could tell that she has tried to get us the justice we deserve.

Orochi looked at everyone saying “Loki Asgardian and Ares Olympus are acquitted of all charges and I sentence Da Ji to four months in juvenile detention” he then grabbed the hammer and hit the hammer puck to make the sentence final.

Mitsuhide soon started crying but these tears are not happy ones, they’re tears of sadness and anger.

I called out to Orochi saying “THAT IS NOT FAIR! HOW DO YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT KNOWING YOU LET THEM OFF SO LIGHTLY!? THEY DESTROYED MITSUHIDE’S LIFE! AND AN ACQUITTAL FOR THE ACCOMPLICES AND A FOUR MONTH SENTENCE IS ALL YOU GIVE THEM!? MITSUHIDE WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO LIVE THE CLOSEST POSSIBLE THING TO A NORMAL LIFE WHILE THESE CRIMINALS ARE RUNNING FREE!”

Orochi looked at me with a sullen look saying “I’m sorry, this is the best I can do…”

“FINE IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO GIVE US THE JUSTICE WE DESERVE THEN I’LL GET IT MYSELF! AND THAT IS NOT A THREAT IT IS A PROMISE!” I shouted as I picked Mitsuhide up and walked out.

Four months for raping Mitsuhide then taking a photograph of him in the nude without his consent and posting it on the internet is unbelievable! What do we get!? Stuck with the trauma and having those assholes smiling like fucking crazy because they got away with it.

“Mr Chosokabe?” I heard that which brought me back to reality, I turned around still carrying Mitsuhide bridal style.

The person calling out to me was Tamamo. She walked to me and handed me a folder “Here. I have made it a rule that any communication between the prosecution or defence and the jury must be screenshot and sent to me. If you do anything rash that could get you in bigger trouble with the law these might help you justify it. These are all of the messages from the defence bribing the majority of the jury to give a not guilty verdict or if it has to be a guilty verdict to prevent suspicion recommendation of mercy.”

Mitsuhide took the folder while I had tears in my eyes said “Thank you so much, you’re so sweet”

Tamamo giggled saying “Don’t thank me, thank Kaguya, another juror for bringing this up. She was suspicious of the defence for a while and was a bit annoyed that she wasn’t the jury forewoman, I told her that if she needed to talk to me about what was happening in the court I am happy to listen. This was what she presented. Good luck taking matters in your own hands, I will be supporting you from afar.”

I nodded as we walked to the car. I placed Mitsuhide in the middle back seat, he put his seatbelt on as I sat next to him.

Hades was driving us as he was given a note by Mitsuhide’s parents stating that they are unable to bring us to the courthouse. When Hades got in the car he then screamed loudly “FUCK YOU ZEUS YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE WHY THE FUCK MUST THE WORLD LET YOU BE SO PRIVELEGED THAT YOU COULD JUST FUCK UP A FUCKING TRIAL LIKE THAT YOU FUCKING PERVERTED PLAYBOY ASSHOLE I HOPE YOU FUCKING ROT IN HELL!”

I blocked Mitsuhide’s ears as Hades screamed. When he was finished Hades looked at us with tears in his eyes saying “I’m calling your parents and asking if I can take you two somewhere for icecream and shopping to cheer you up.”

He then did so, explaining the situation, thankfully both my and Mitsuhide’s parents approved of this before we could leave a guy with silver hair and aqua streaks in his hair got in the car and looked at Hades and kissed his forehead saying

“Hey Hades, baby, what’s wrong?”

Hades looked at the guy saying “My younger brother is a privileged asshole Yang Jian… he made my mental health client lose his court case…”

Yang Jian kissed Hades’ forehead again saying “I’m guessing a repeat of us when we were sixteen? Everyone pulled the ‘they didn’t know better they’re only little’ garbage?”

Hades nodded he then said “I have asked my client and his boyfriend’s parents if I could take them out for ice cream and shopping to cheer them up. If you want you can go somewhere else while I do this”

Yang Jian looked at Hades saying “which client is it?”

“Akechi Mitsuhide” Hades replied.

Yang Jian replied “You referred Mitsuhide to the place I work for and they chose me to be his mental health support worker. This is the perfect opportunity to get to know him, even if I spend the entire time with him in silence, building rapport does not require talking at the first instance.”

Hades nodded before turning on the ignition and driving to the next town over. I’m willing to assume to keep us away from Ares and Loki so we can have some time to breathe and be happy before we get thrown through the gauntlet of bullying for trying to throw people in jail.

When we got to the mall Yang Jian looked at us asking Mitsuhide “Hey, is it okay if we just spend time together just you and me? Hades will look after Motochika for you.”

I looked at Mitsuhide who replied “O-Okay b-but if we see those two no ifs, whats or buts, I’m finding Motochika and staying with him.”

Yang Jian nodded “I understand, I want to make sure you’re comfortable and safe.” Mitsuhide put the folder in my satchel, grabbed his Lapras plush doll and his handbag and went with Yang Jian while I stayed with Hades.

I looked at Hades asking “’A repeat of us when we were sixteen’? Are you saying that this has happened before!?”

Hades nodded sadly “Yes. Not to this scale, but my parents never approved of Yang Jian, they acted like Yang Jian was a bad influence on me. I wanted to pursue a career in mental health, so did he.

My parents wanted an accountant. But because of the fact that my parents hated Yang Jian, Zeus gets to be a dick to me and not get in trouble for it.

Which sucked… and it also sucks knowing that he gets to get away with letting his son and his friends do what they want with light consequences…”

I nodded and we went to a musical instrument store because I wanted to get a new shamisen.

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philomenafm · 4 years

Text

(NATALIA DYER, DEMI GIRL) - Have you seen PHILOMENA CARMICHAEL? PHILLY is in HER/THEIR SOPHOMORE year. The WILDLIFE SCIENCE MAJOR is 20 years old & is a TAURUS. People say SHE/THEY are WHIMSICAL, PATIENT, APATHETIC and UNPREDICTABLE. Rumors say they’re a member of CALLOWAY. I heard from the gossip blog that SHE CONCEALED MURDEROUS EVIDENCE (JAMES. 21. EST. THEY/THEM.)

ive done sm switches bt. she is the one. she is the one i love. trust me. ples. this is an old intro n im frankly. too lazy 2 read it bt. i love her a lot shes very good please like her

TW CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION DISORDER ( ALT. DISSOCIATION ), DEATH, DECAY, MAGGOTS.

aesthetic.

wildflowers in your hair and bare feet against moss, binoculars and maps, madonna beating out of half-dead speakers in a half-dead van, whipping wind, jumping off cliffs and rolling down hills, a bandaid wrapped around each finger, cryptic bumper stickers and cryptids in the woods, facing the sun and letting the rays hit you, counting stars late into the night, dancing naked in the woods with nothing but fire to light your way, mismatched socks and lucky ribbons, hoarding a box of special treasures, shoplifting and diner-dashing, bleach against roots, pink sweaters paired with ripped fishnets and slip dresses with knock off uggs, willingly wearing crocs, glitter stickers, fungi and feeling one with them, lying down and decomposing, they’ll find us in a week. they’ll find us in a week.

basics.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, etc.

b.o.d. - april 20th, 2000

label(s): the amaranth, the halycon, the neophyte, the wanderer, etc. etc.

height: 5′4″

hometown: woodside, ca

sexuality: demisexual

pinterest ( & her family pinterest b/c they’re my most developed family uwu)

stats

favorite song: wonderfully bizarre, bendigo fletcher / we can be defined by the things we want / i’ll be a life full of free haircuts from the one that i love / we’ll collect fallen out teeth in a candy jar / mice for the backyard peregrine falcon reservation.

background.

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are … eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children … it doesn’t last for too long.

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels…less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen … van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

during particularly desperate times, they two resorted to identity theft & credit fraud - getting away with it only by ditching the cards once they’ve made it out of state.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs.

there is trauma though, deep-rooted but somewhere inside - you just have to look for it.

you. just. have. to. look. for. it. look for it. look for it. look for it look for it look -

you were ten and she was thirteen, an off-trail hike in familiar woods in a familiar town, safe and familiar. it was your idea, to stray from the carved out paths, down creeks and up hills and round, and round again. you’re the one who spotted the scarf first, sticking up from the dirt and dancing in the wind like the beginning of reincarnation. it was not reincarnation, it was discovery. it was ruin. with curiosity drawn, you skidded down - with compliance, followed juno, followed your sister - clumsy in her steps and tumbling down quicker than you. you saw the corpse, but juno felt it. decaying flesh and maggot.

and she left juno, just like that - just five years later, when juno had finally gone to the end of her wits. philly up and left. abandoned her.

philomena and elektra leave the city after that therapy session. they do not return. she’s always been good at hiding her secrets.

three years later and her parents want philly to have a higher education - desperate for it, really - worried for her future. it’s a battle that she loses, getting her ged and applying to a local college in florida in shameful compliance.

they’re there for a year until philly gets (expectantly) expelled from the community college & the two of them are banned from the town they’d residing in up until that point. they don’t talk about it - but boy, was it one hell of a time.

they found refuge in preaker, a town that seemed to suit them well - it suited elektra’s desire to travel up and down the east coast, and it intrigued philomena enough to the point of her being content with staying. soon after, philly officially transferred to yates for her freshmen spring term & theyve been here since.

(whenever anna brings cillian uh. he’s in here too he’s been traveling w them fr like 3ish years. i just cannot rewrite atm KDSGLSDKLGKFGHLKSL bt hes here. n hes sexy. n we love him. bro3tp)

OH. hey yeah the secret. errmm. tht’s on cillian. philly just hid the evidence. no they didnt kill someone yes they did no they did not <3 yes

personality & facts.

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon (& so does leo fowler eyes emoji)

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been. she tries to be good while in preaker / yates - would hate to be forced out by mobs with torches and pitchforks

currently living in calloway while elektra stays in their van, florence - sometimes philly stays there during the weekends.

they used to live in motels on the occasion, the cheapest room, and more often than not they’d both go home with strangers for a comfier bed and a hotter shower.

it was a common occurrence - she didn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weaseled her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first and only kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her. edit: her first & only kisses hv been w leo fowler. this is important

will consume anything you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her. third favorites? florence, of course. fleetwood mac. the bird and the bee.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggling.

also, accordion.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

( like her frequent visits to the woods, late at night when the moon is high and full. it’s freeing to dance around a fire, stark naked in the cold. builds immunity )

comes and goes wherever she pleases, nothing & nobody can stop her. she knows to respect nature. exudes natural trust energy <3 dont know wht tht means but

the trust expands to animals as well, she has a certain knack for getting them to like her. has too many ‘pet’ rats that reside with her, alongside a baby raccoon & a few crow pals. has a new animal companion everyday, but she doesn’t contain them or force them to stay. edit: she hs a tabby cat named pail, now. named in honor of her mother, bucket.

leaves her window in calloway wide open because of this, because her window is conveniently right besides a tree with sturdy branches. good for animal smuggling, sneaking in and out, hiding, etc. etc. world is her oyster.

though her room in calloway is ??? frankly a mess ??? already ??? usually keeps most of her possessions in her memory box but she’s also turned her room into a mini labyrinth of knick-knacks. very cozy, but very nest-like. think of howl’s room from howl’s moving castle.

wanted connections.

how did you get in here ;; someone whose room she perhaps crashed at late at night, mysteriously. she refuses to explain where she’s come from. she’s gone before you wake. they could literally not know her at all she’s just sleeping halfway under their bed like <3 thank you <3

ma’am this is a wendys ;; someone who sees her constantly <3 doing outlandish shit <3 bc lets b real. shes weird. shes a weirdo. why do u think she wears the same hat everyday. (she doesnt wear hats often) anyways. they probably dnt even like her? just think shes very strange?

im literally going to dissect you ;; someone who. wants to figure out philly. pick at her brain. wear her shoes. kind of in the same category of above in this general like. ur fkn weird. bt they wna figure out why <3 they wna play therapist <3 jokes on u she hates therapists

liddle thief in the night ;; someone who has caught her stealing. or dining n dashing. either/or. perhaps both. she steals a lot :/

oh like. friends n stuff ;; of any closeness. ppl she talks 2 conspiracies with, ppl she goes on late night walks with, ppl she explores with, ppl she steals with, ppl she smokes with, etc. etc. ppl who bring her out to parties cos they like her funky little ways when she gets drunk n tries to climb atop everything <3

thts nice. anyways ;; this is fr like. literally anything unrequited. philly doesnt like <3 a lot of ppl <3 In That Way. so its basically just. ur muse thinks shes very neat n she thinks ur muse is very neat bt platonically. she doesnt do hookups or anything n if she does i tend 2 like. run purely based off of chemistry even with. most of her connections in general.

uuhh. anything ;; HLKDGKSDLKGHLKSFDSHGKFD i nvr rly hv a lot of connections up fr philly bc shes like. a very unpredictable muse n i think its usually better to just. throw her in! n see wht happens! we cn still plot obv n come up w some fun things bt fr the most part shes very organic

#yatesintro #cancer tw #trauma tw #death tw #dissociation tw #maggots tw #murder mention

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oldfritz · 4 years

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this was surprisingly hard because half of them I wanted to throw in f, but then felt guilty about it so here’s where we are. explanations under the cut to be nice (fair warning: I’m writing this while tipsy so this is a journey)

S-tier

Old Fritz: look me in the eyes. look at me. are you looking? good. where else was I was going to put him? where? in C with the other losers? foolish. I am ruining my life for this man, I’m going to go into debt so I can be moderately qualified to write books on him so Tim Blanning and Christopher Clark don’t boo my off the stage. I sit here sometimes and I’m like ‘y’know, I would start a podcast to talk about his life’ as if I’m some straight white guy who thinks any of you want to listen to me for an hour. he’s a bastard, a smug bastard, and is the epitome of self-destructive tendencies. and, honestly, I wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t so fucking misogynistic all the time. ‘oh women aren’t fit to rule’ shut up Fritz before I time travel to fuck your wife and make her have one night where life feels worthwhile. but he’s funny, I enjoy how he does foreign policy, and he’s unfortunately relatable to me. cheers, Fritz. here’s to never being satisfied from one gay disaster with anger issues to another. may we burn in hell together

A-tier

Friedrich iii: “Suzanne, he was only on the throne for 99 days!! how can he be this high up when some of these bastards refused to die?” I hear you, my friends, and I have answers. I’ll tell you two words you’ll be shocked to hear put together: liberal Hohenzollern. a rare breed, isn’t it? imagine, friends, a world where he got over his throat cancer because he listened to a doctor and we get through the 1910s, 20s, even the 30s without Wilhelm II Electric Boogaloo being in power. Prussia is still on the map, the Anglo-Prussian alliance is strong, and I live in peace. but no. this stupid man had to keep smoking. because he’s selfish and doesn’t care about my needs. you know, he actually loved his wife. rare in this family. loved her and wasn’t abusive. the bar is so low, guys. and his wife is amazing too, Victoria. the world would’ve been in competent hands if they’d been in power longer (and Bismarck would’ve been out of a job still but at least these guys are smart. their son inherited grandma Vicki’s IQ). I would sleep with both of them and would thank them for the honor (when it should always be the other way around, remember that)

B-tier

Friedrich I: if your name is Friedrich and only Friedrich, we’re buds. that’s my rule. I have to give him credit where credit’s due. he was the first. while I agree with Fritz in his proscription that he was ‘small in big ways and big in small ways’ (I may have flipped that around), he wasn’t a bad guy. he just was born into the wrong job for him. I appreciate that he rode on his father’s coattails of proving useful to the Habsburgs and did a little himself to get that sweet, sweet kingship. smart move. I also like that he saw Louis XIV and said to himself “I stan, I kin, on God we’re gonna do that’ and tried. only for have his stupid, ungrateful, unclassy son to do away with that. I, too, am a woman of luxury and self-indulgance and if I had all the riches of Brandenburg and Prussia at the time (not much), I would spend them ridiculously on outfits and music and art. now, what did he do as king? what policy legacy did he leave behind? that’s a good one :)

C-tier

Friedrich Wilhelm III: now as a king he sucks. and I stand by this because, you know, he lost to him *imagine me pretending to be short and saying ‘oui, oui’ in a bad french accent*. and as any proper Englishwoman I can’t support a monarch who goes around losing to the French unless their name is Mary I. but, he’s a pathetic little man. he really is. so indecisive, so unsure of himself. what are you doing little guy? you think because your last name is Hohenzollern, God thinks you’re a good king? well it is like 1805 and, while divine right isn’t really being used as much, it’s as good as any reason on why you’re the chosen one and my family is eating dirt in Sicily and on the Scottish border. he’s really just a dude, nothing extraordinary about him except that his wife was the only one with brains and was the first to establish that (sorry Wilhelm I). he cried when he found out that his children didn’t call him ‘papa’ and went into a deep depressive state when his wife suddenly died. he’s an average man, of average abilities, but of big heart. and the big heart is what bumps him up, for me, from his old place as an F to a C. though, his moralizing is tedious

Friedrich Wilhelm II: this man should have partied with Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. everyone’s got that one ruler whose all about sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll. for the US it’s JFK, for the UK it’s Margaret Thatcher Charles II, France has Louis XIV. Prussia has this guy and we should thank him. so many mistresses, so much sex, so much revelry and debauchery and sin! this guy’s personal life is like a treasure trove of political and sexual intrigue. if you’re into that - as I am as a town gossip - you’ll love him. I am constantly amazed by the fact that some STD didn’t kill him. syphilis, herpes, crabs. something, man, anything. but he didn’t. he’s a shit king though. absolutely horrible. all he did was whine that he didn’t get taught anything by Uncle Fritz and, yes, that’s not good if it’s true (but it’s not completely because the treatises are detailed but I guess he didn’t have time to read) but c’mon. actually apply yourself and learn on the job. I know that would’ve required him to not be balls deep somewhere, but unfortunately he’s not Dorian Gray. there’s work that needed to be done and he didn’t do it. boo!!

D-tier

Wilhelm I: apparently he was a good guy, unlike the other 3 who populate the lowest rungs of Prussian kinghood. so I give him that and I can respect that. but what did he do? what were his own ideas? I thought about putting Bismarck as king instead because, really, he was. Bismarck was a minister who ran around the king’s back to set things up exactly as he liked and it fucking worked because he was the brains. his wife was intelligent too, but theirs wasn’t a wamr and loving marriage. and Bismarck worked to get Wilhelm to distrust her because she was liberal and the fact that Wilhelm would listen to Otto even if it meant allowing himself to be drowned in the Rhine is pathetic. fun party at Versailles though. hope it was worth the war reparations

F-tier (bastard time) I’m going in a different order because I want to go from the ones I hate least to most xoxo

Friedrich Wilhelm IV: “I won’t accept a crown from the gutter” then you won’t accept a crown at all, stupid idiot! god, the smugness. the authoritarian impulses. I know it was the cool thing in 1848 to put down any revolts/protests with as much force as possible, but man, at least the Habsburgs were transparent. homie was like “yeah guys lol I’ll make a constitution and it’ll be epic! you’ll have so many rights! xoxo gossip girl” and then...nope. and AND he wanted the Habsburgs in charge of things too! Mr. ‘I’m Nostalgic For When HRE Was Great And We Blew Austrian Dick!’ grow up man. it’s Prussia time buddy, Austria is beginning to fall apart. don’t look to the past, look to the future, but you didn’t have that vision did you?

Wilhelm II: *banging pots and pans* I blame this man for everything! now, intellectually, does Germany take all the blame for WWI? no, that’s foolish and propaganda of the Allies only. if you’re a European power in 1914, you get to share the blame (ex: why did UK need to make this a naval arms race? Austria should’ve declared war on Serbia sooner if that’s what it wished to do. Russia, please stay out of the Balkans then and forever). but does my irrational hatred of Wilhelm blind me to this truth when I see his stupid face and that ugly fucking mustache that I wish to yank off? my god, yes. I see him and Rule Britannia and The Yanks Are Coming start playing so loud in my head and I’m like ‘yeah, the kaiser’s gonna pay.’ I’m sorry that Bismarck’s ego was bigger than yours but did you have to prove him right by getting incompetent buffoons who were playing checkers when he set the board up for chess to replace him? Did you have to prove Freud right by displacing private problems onto public life with your little tit-for-tat with George IV (VI?) because his mummy loved you more? Why did you need to fuck every naval vessel you saw like an inferior of Peter the Great who believed he was Sir Francis Drake? but that’s just the first war and he lived to see things setting up for the second. wasn’t in convenient for you to be close with the N@zis when you thought they might want a king back on the throne and you could reclaim your little tyrant. like every goddamn Prussian conservative or Junker, you thought you could play the tyrannical cockroach. sure, you figured out earlier that he was no pal, but you still collaborated and you still allowed yourself to get played like the weak man of conscience you are. cheers!

Friedrich Wilhelm I: ladies and gentleman, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! the biggest bastard straight outta Berlin, FW1! and who doesn’t love an abusive father? who doesn’t love a man, so insecure and pathetic, that he needs to terrorize children to be able to look at himself and have a little pride. I understand that it was because he wanted his kids, specifically Fritz, to be best. but being best and perfect meant being miniature versions of him and aren’t we supposed to want our children to be better than a carbon-copy of a small man? honestly, I could live with the occasional smack for this time period. it’s within the norm and, while horrible, isn’t irreparably damaging. this guy really had to beat the shit out of Fritz and Wilhelmina and I’m sure Augustus and Henry and Amalia and all the others (so many kids) didn’t get spared either because if you hit one, you’ll hit ‘em all. and I judge them for their flaws all the same but, for some of them, it gets hard to. because what fighting chance did they have when their father was telling them how worthless they were and beating them senseless and threatening death and life imprisonment on some? I’m constantly impressed by Henry and Fritz and Wilhelmina for amounting to any semblance of maturity, even though it’s always fleeting, because this man didn’t give them the tools to be functioning adults. but each of them managed to be greater than their father, as did Amalia managing a really cool coup in Sweden. and what did FW1 get? he built up his army, had a tall guy fetish, increased the treasury, and made the cabinet and executive offices more efficient. there used to be this one guy on here that would argue that that was all a good king made and that this lowlife didn’t deserve the contempt he got by some on here (an obvious vague of me) for his behavior as a father. and maybe I’m a crackpot, but I believe the quality of a man outshines all those other achievements and that that’s meaningless to me, in my personal life. and when I get to hell, before I go to any of these other men, I’ll go to him and ask him how hell’s fires feel because, if his God was real, it would never love him. and that’s beautiful

#i just wanted to give you guys the mental image of ol maggie doing lines of coke #i dont like her i just like to give nicknames to all my enemies #makes them uncomfortable #im very tipsy so this is weird #i apologize #but i hope its kinda funny and enjoyable #frederick the great #old fritz #the name frederick officially looks meaningless to me #frederick william i #frederick i #frederick iii #frederick william ii #frederick william iii #frederick william iv #wilhelm i #wilhelm ii #prussian shitposting

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thesunnyshow · 4 years

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Name: reya

Writing Blog URL(s): @chu-ni

Age: 19

Nationality: african-british

Languages: english, swahili, korean

Star Sign: libra

MBTI: enfp/entp (it always changes lol)

Favorite color: purple!

Favorite food: i really love chicken burgers

Favorite movie: princess and the frog

Favorite ice cream flavor: vanilla!!

Favorite animal: elephants

Go-to karaoke song: fancy - twice

Coffee or tea? What are you ordering? caramel frappe with whipped cream, in general i prefer tea though

Dream job (whether you have a job or not)? secretary general at the UN….or an author

If you could have one superpower, what would you choose? making anyone agree with me and do what i want them to do

If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose? ancient egypt!!

If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you?.....no.

Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken? neither if i could lmfao but i’d go for 100 chicken sized horses

If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been? the nerd who’s actually really pretty after she gets a cool makeover

Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures? im not sure about aliens, but i definitely believe in ghosts and spirits.

What are some small things that make your day better? when i can have moments to myself to enjoy my own company. or when someone asks me what i want to eat and they bring it for me 🥺

Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know? uhm…...probably the fact that i write fanfiction lol..but outside of that! i sing in the shower. and i talk to myself a lot.

What fandom(s) do you write for? nct dream currently, but in the future i want to expand to other groups!

When did you post your first piece? 17th of June 2018.

Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why? i can never write just one genre. predominantly i write fluff with a dash of angst for spice simply because i love a story that has an issue and then having that issue be resolved for a happy ending. when i started my blog i was 17, and so i said i wouldn't write smut. now that i'm older im feeling more and more comfortable writing suggestive content at the very LEAST.. so maybe in the future i might write smut, who knows? i like writing fluff because i like making people feel good, but i like adding angst to it because i feel like the contrast between the two is very *chefs kiss* to me.

Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc? i only write x readers!

Why did you decide to write for Tumblr? i first got tumblr when i was 13 years old and i was a fresh kpop fan lmfao. i wanted somewhere that shared my interests. of course i discovered x reader fics on here and i was in awe, i guess of how much power writers had in contributing to fandom content and keeping readers satiated. i’d always loved to write and so i’d always wanted to start my own writing blog, and for 2 years i did write for other blogs! it wasnt until 2018 that i finally took the leap and decided to start my own, because i wanted to impact people's emotions and take them on a journey through my writing.

What inspires you to write? what inspires me….teen movies, music!! music is a big one for me, and also the books that i read. i also grew up playing otome games so the plots and writing from those influence my writing a lot.

What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most? i really enjoy writing royalty!aus as well as exes!aus. i love to do them cause they require me to build a world and with royalty aus specifically i love weaving together bits of political intrigue, or arranged marriages, etc. its so much fun!!

What do you hope your readers take away from your work? that if this world is too rough or too much, you can always escape from it. it might not be physical, but immersing yourself in a universe that's entirely different for a little while can help soothe you.

What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively? usually i try and take breaks. the problem with that is that my breaks can go on for longer than i’d like and im trying to fix that. so my other solution is to read read read!! read as much as i can, or go back to books that i loved. ask myself what i liked about the writing, what are some parts that i thought were amazing examples of good writing - i note them down then see if i can apply that to my own work. another thing i do is take a break from writing my longer, fleshed out works and write blurbs! blurbs are a great way for me to write but not feel like its tedious because i don't have to spend as much time on them and it gets me into the groove of writing without feeling stressed out.

What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful? my favourite piece of work is miscommunication. it took me months to write that, even after i lost all the work halfway through, and its the longest piece of work i have written so far, so its kinda like my baby. my most successful is candy jar. its also the work i owe my blog exposure to - it was the first piece i published, and it was also the first piece of writing i did in around 4 years.

Who is your favorite person to write about? i don't have much out for them, but i really enjoy exploring mark’s and jeno’s characters. they're people, but in my work i enjoy analysing them and judging how they’d act in different contexts.

Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose? the only difference for me is that fanfiction (depending on the fandom) has some of the stuff fleshed out for you already, such as the world its in. if youre the type to write AUs then the only thing you already have is the characters - the planning, the writing, the drafting, and everything else is still the writer's responsibility. therefore there isn't much of a difference between the two for me.

What do you think makes a good story? a good story, to me, is one that takes me on a journey. it could be any genre, but i like to feel immersed and connected to the characters and the world in it. also aside from the obvious, like good grammar, a good story feels natural to read. i don't feel like skim reading half of it.

What is your writing process like? my writing process consists of me getting inspiration - usually from a song, or a film or a book ive read or a game ive played - i note down my idea and who i want the story to be about, and then bullet point the whole story, with some snippets of particular dialogue i want the reader or the other person to say at certain scenes. i then open another document ( i have a writing app on my phone, called werdsmith, so i use that!) and set a word count goal i want to hit so i can track my progress and start writing the fic, with fleshed out language and exposition. when im done (usually after a couple weeks up to a few months, depends on the length of the plan) i read through it to fix any mistakes, then i transfer it to docs so i can read it again and italicise any areas i feel need it.

Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story? i...don't think so. mainly because the original fiction i read and would like to write for myself is predominantly fantasy, whereas the fanfic i write on my blog is usually non-idol, normal fics.

What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand? im a SUCKER for enemies to lovers, royalty ofc, “and they were roommates”, and i think superhero aus are really cool but there isnt enough of them :( idol/you as member aus....not feeling her… also abo/werewolf/vampire aus….not feelin em

How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you? a LOT. a HUGE amount!! i said before how i like giving my readers somewhere where they can immerse themselves as an escape, even for a short while. hearing about how my work affected them, made them feel, makes me feel less insecure about what im writing and thus more confident to publish it.

What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)? i’d say reblogs. and also putting out more content. when i first uploaded candy jar i went to my one of my favourite writers (jaeminlore) and asked her if she'd be okay with reading it and giving feedback. to my surprise she loved it and her reblogging it to all her followers is literally what gave me a bunch of followers all of a sudden who loved what i’d written. to keep that momentum i created more and more content, and while i haven't uploaded as often as i've wanted to or written as much as i’d wanted to, i can say i have a good amount of work on my masterlist for people who are looking for more to read.

Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged? 100%. fanfic has an unfair reputation for just having bad writing and cringey fics (and i feel like this is because of the way society views the demographics who predominantly consume and create it), when in reality i feel like those who write fanfiction are extremely talented and selfless people. they're on the internet creating content for free for people to enjoy and like any other work of art they're putting time and effort into it. i think it should be respected. any form of art is going to have its good and bad sides.

Do you think art can be a medium for change? hmmm….yes. i feel it can be a way to reflect the thoughts of people and also be a way to inspire people to do more.

Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself? sometimes. sometimes i feel like i'm forcing myself to write because i feel like if i don't then people will forget about me or they’ll forget about my blog. while what i choose to write about is for me, i feel like the speed of my writing and what im writing isn't to the quality i want it to be cause i feel like i gotta get it out for people to read.

Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times? i've never felt that way!

Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr? only 2 of my friends know, and i only told them like. a week ago!

What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers? i wish you guys would message me more! i'm quite a sociable person, and i’d love to have regular anons who talk to me 👉🏽👈🏽

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there? i think one common thing amongst all writers is that we write what we want to read. so don't feel like nobody's gonna read your work, cause somebody will. you gotta act like your work is top tier even if someone says it isn't - always write the best you can, and just do it! like don't even give yourself time to overthink it, write that fic, make it look pretty, upload it onto tumblr and do not be afraid to ask your favourite fic writers to read your work once its up!! i’d be happy to read and give feedback for any fic writers as well so don't feel afraid!

Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr? ive been on here for 7 years….i grew up on this site lmfao. but i don't think i regret joining tumblr once.

Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey? shes not very active anymore and i miss her very much but user hyuck-s was so supportive and i love her!!

Pick a quote to end your interview with:

she believed she could, so she did.

BONUS ROUND: K-POP CONFIDENTIAL

#@chu-ni #thesunnyshow #featuredauthor #episode 32 #nct dream

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rainywritingsx · 4 years

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Request: Can I get a bnha matchup please? ;u; I'm a transman, 165 cm, 20 and bi/pan with no gender preference. I'm usually quiet/reserved, monotone/boring when spoken to, but once a subject of interest is brought up, or when im with someone I'm comfy with, my personality does a 180 - I'm loud, sarcastic, and annoying. My sense of humor is all over the place lol Ive been told that I'm "old in spirit" bc I'm really mature when I need to be, even if most of the time I act like I'm 5 lmaoo

I'm pretty chill for the most part, idc what u do as long as it's not hurting anybodyhdjdh im also rlly stubborn but a huge pushover, dunno how that works. I'm both carefree and a worrywart (to both others and myself) and I typically hold my emotions in cause I don't wanna bother others. I try to help others 24/7, even if it affects me negatively. Uhh physically speaking im a lot stronger then look, and I own literally no nice clothes lol its all graphic Ts, cargo pants and hoodies for me

I'm a huge ass nerd when it comes to anything science related, especially paleontology + herpetology. I love all animals (no phobias) and I have 3 snakes whom I adore. I also like to draw and write occasionally. I have severe MDD and SAD, so even with meds I can have really bad depressive episodes and/or panic attacks. This is getting super long so I'll stop now fjfkh thank you !! Sorry if I repeated info I got a shit memory

Before I start, I personally have no experience with MDD or SAD, but I did look up both disorders and I hope that what I wrote about them is okay. If you’d like to correct me, please feel free to do so ^^

I’m sorry that this is so long lol, but I wanted to discuss as many things you noted as possible ^^ Hope you enjoy it!! ^^

Reminder that as of right now, requests are closed!

I ship you wiiiith

Hawks!

Your personality reminds me of a rainbow in a way? So, I feel like Hawks would never ever find a day boring with you! Since he has this whole thing of people calling him fast etc, I lowkey get the idea that that also applies to his personal relationships, so having someone with so many fun personality traits is perfect for him.

I think Hawks is mature in a way, just like you are. I mean, he started his own agency at 18 and a few years later he is the number 3 Hero, that definitely does something to you. So I think it’s nice to him that you are the same, while also remaining carefree most of the time. It makes his busy and serious life a bit more fun.

Your chill attitude is yet another thing Hawks loves, since he wants to be that way as well. Also, with his job, he most likely can’t always tell you everything about it for safety reasons. As for whether it’s hurting people… He can’t always promise you he won’t do that, but he will let you know it’s always with good intentions. Villains can’t always be defeated with just talking to them.

It kind of warms his heart when you are worried about him. I don’t think Hawks is really the type to fall in love easily, so if he had any relationships before meeting you they may not always have been genuine. While part of him likes it, he also doesn’t want you to worry. He always promises to come back, and it does make him a bit more careful when patrolling, because the last thing he wants to do is upset his wonderful boyfriend.

Now, when it comes to you keeping in your emotions, this is where it gets a bit difficult. I don’t know exactly how much time you two will be able to spend together, so he may not always be able to be there for you when you’re having a hard time. However, while Hawks appears to be chill, he’s also smart and analytic and notices when you are feeling down. He won’t force you to tell him what is wrong as he knows it’s hard for you, but he does reassure you that you’d never ever bother him and he will always listen to whatever you have to say. However, if it seems to go on for a long time, he might push you a bit more, simply because he knows keeping it in won’t do any good. But also here he can tell when it really gets too much, so if you still won’t tell him, he will be a little hurt, but definitely stop.

He thinks you’re the sweetest person ever, but he also worries about your well-being at times. If he sees you absolutely exhausted but still telling him everything is fine, he will just scoop you up and go somewhere so you can relax for a bit. Sorry not sorry :p

He thinks it’s kinda hot that you’re stronger than you may seem heh, like if you work out or just do something that requires strength and he sees it, he might make a flirty remark about it and appear chill but on the inside he lowkey panics because uhm what how is his boyfriend so attractive???? explain?

I don’t think Hawks cares that much about what you wear really, if you feel comfortable in it that’s all that matters. You could literally wear a potato sack and he will think you’re the most attractive person on the planet. He might even spoil you a little by buying you hoodies and other clothing which he knows you would love. And no, he won’t let you give it back, it’s yours.

I can’t really see Hawks being super interested in paleontology or herpetology, but he won’t mind you rambling about those things to him! While he might not always focus 100% on what you’re actually saying, he will study your face, smiling at how your eyes are lighting up and your lips are curled in a happy smile as you go on and on about it. If you catch him not listening to you, he will just make a remark related to your beauty, partly to see how you react and partly because he genuinely means it.

So you love animals? Bird boi is perfect for you, now he sees why you fell for him ;). He definitely likes birds, i don’t think he particularly adores any animals but I can see him strongly disliking some mammals like cats and dogs (I think these sometimes eat birds sooooo yeah..) He definitely thinks your snakes are pretty cool.

Hawks doesn’t seem like much of a reader, but he would definitely love to see your drawings! He thinks every single one of them is super awesome, and if you ever give one to him, he will definitely make sure it gets a special place in his house, a place where he can look at it easily whenever he misses you or just feels like it.

As for your MDD and SAD, at first Hawks will be clueless on how he can help you out. If you have a depressive episode that causes you to isolate yourself, he will definitely force you to go outside. It could be just walking to his place, or taking you on a nice flight at night over the city. Afterwards, he will bring you to your favourite restaurant or buy you food that he knows you love. You will also definitely be showered in lots of love and affection. If you’re uncomfortable with PDA however, he will only do it when you two are alone. He will also joke around and flirt with you just to see you smile, but if he sees it doesn’t help he will stop.

Same goes with your anxiety attacks, at first he’s completely lost on what to do. Hawks isn’t stupid of course, but he’s aware that every person is different. If he finds out about this before you have an attack, he will ask you what would help you in situations like that. However, if this happens without him knowing about it at all, he can recognise what’s happening and will do his best to get you to calm down first before talking about it with you. Hawks may not always seem like the most serious guy, but when it comes to you he’s dead serious and always careful.

So, you’d be very lucky to have someone like him by your side :) Once Hawks is in a relationship, he will give his all. And any moment with him is definitely far from boring

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tanoraqui · 4 years

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*chinhands* so tell me about guinevere being gay and doing crimes in space

There are three rules that an e-space* Navigator lives by:

Know who you are

Know where you’re going

Know where home is (just in case)

*“espace”, more often; hyphens don’t survive casual parlance; it’s short for “extra-space” because scientists aren’t always good at naming things. just thank god for the one physicist who raised an early objection to “subspace”, even though in early models of layered reality, what came to be known as “espace” was, indeed, below our space.)

The third is easiest, because it’s drilled into every recruit from the second they’re brought to the Lighthouse - which is usually at an age so young they’ll forget having lived anywhere else before. There might be an official name for the headquarters of the Navigators’ Guild on paperwork somewhere, but inside the space station’s halls and outside it, on every ship and planet and empty space between stars in the galaxy, it’s the Lighthouse. There’s a general understanding of why: it’s where navigators call home, where they can look to for aid and succor when the seas turn rough, in this space and the other.

Most people don’t understand, though. Because most people are not navigators: they have never stayed awake while every other mind in the ship was sent very carefully and very deeply into sleep, while the ship passed across a crackling boundary between this reality and another. They have never held themselves together in a world where up was not quite down because neither of those terms applied, where colors were tastes were neither, where time and space were both only suggestions, and the map is a matter of focus in your mind.

You are lost as the default, in espace. Or, “lost” isn’t a term that applies, because all reference points are only in your mind, and if you don’t have your destination absolutely clear, you will be lost in the metaphorical sense as well as not quite the literal. So the politer, more bureaucratic line is that navigators (orphans, usually) are taken in so that their training can begin as early as possible, the truest truth is that it is so that when they begin their training, they will have somewhere to come back to. (Their very secretive training; it’s not, allegedly, sink or swim, but the Guild protects the secret of how it trains its navigators more closely than it guards anything.) So that no matter what, if they lose track of their destination - too unfamiliar, or even unwanted - they can always remember the Lighthouse. The bunkbeds and warm corridors of the dormitories; the creatively placed asteroid ring, more for agility practice in dart-fliers than anything else; the iconic long body of the station itself, modeled half-seriously after a lighthouse of old (symbols can matter in espace), floating amidst darkness and a starry background, the nearest planet several standard-orbits away for the sake of autonomy…the navigator’s last and truest port in a storm.

The earlier a young navigator-to-be can fix that in their heart, so surely that they’ll know the exact moment its closest, to fire the engines to make the jump back, the more likely they are to, indeed, return home.

The second has been touched on! Navigation in espace is a matter of focus and knowledge, intuition, sense of the shape of a world without shape and essence of a world - or rather, a very specific part of a world - in which its rarely manifest. Many navigators dabble in art of some kind - painting, sculpture, crochet, poetry - because it helps them capture what cannot otherwise be captured. Or maybe so much time in espace means they can’t help but see this world differently as well, and need an outlet…opinions differ. Among navigators. Person to person, you know?

Anyway, because of this quirk of interstellar travel, most planets have, gloriously from a worldbuilding perspectively, entirely in-canon motivation to have highly specific unique traits. The easier a planet or station is to remember, itself and only itself, the less likely ships are to be lost on the way to it. So there’s a planet in Alpha Centauri renowned for its deserts, and its annual global competition, bringing thousands of would-be bakers, confectioners, and more each year. There’s a space station circling Rigel where every citizen proudly gets a new tattoo each year, and so does the station itself, vast stenciled artworks commissioned by the ruling council and drawn by artists in space suits. There’s old Red Mars itself, now more a tourist trap than anything but still just as proudly rust-colored, the closest any interstellar ship is allowed to the nature reserve of Earth.

So, know where you’re going, because going back to the Lighthouse gets you safe, but it doesn’t get you paid. The Guild cares for its navigators, it really truly does…on average. But there are bureaucrats and business managers in there, too, and they know they’re sitting on the galaxy’s most valuable monopoly.

And first: know who you are. Nothing in espace is real the way it is in standard space, including the self. Don’t worry about the crew or the passengers, or even the materiality of the ship itself - the ship AI will keep track of them, as well as of time as it should be passing. Nothing determinedly holds to numerical time like a digital mind. They’ll keep track of the navigator’s physicality as well - that’s what the biotagging chip is for. But most navigators do some sort of dance, martial art, or other exercise as well, to give themselves a better sense of, well, themselves - it’s always good to have a backup. Any passengers and crew are so unconscious that they may as well be inanimate, which is why an AI can keep track of them jus fine - the navigator, of course, is awake for the whole voyage.

So, the woman who in another life might be named Guinevere…

Her first name is Djinn, because a lot of navigator orphans are named after mythical creatures or heroes, from one culture or another, that can fly. A lot others are named after mythical heroes or creatures known for sight. The people in charge of children at the Lighthouse are a bunch of nerds, really, or they were once, and tradition stuck.

Her last name is probably Navigator, because being named after your profession is as old as civilization, and there are fewer things its easy to be proud of than being an official Guild-licensed navigator. You get to choose a surname when you get your license, and like many before her, Djinn chose that.

Once a navigator has their license, they’re more or less loosed unto the galaxy, if they want to be. You’re welcome to work as an independent contractor, so long as you still pay your percentage back to the guild of every navigating fee, and don’t undercharge the Guild minimum.

Djinn elected not to do that, actually. She wanted to travel, of course, to fly, to spend as much time as possible in hte giddy twistedness of espace. But she didn’t want to manage her own business, and she didn’t mind the Guild taking a little higher percentage to have jobs lined up for her. And she was good, oh, she was good, so it wasn’t long before she was flying precious cargos and even passenger ships - small ones, to start, and not particularly pricey (not used by the affluent, that is, who would pay more for a more experienced navigator, with more successful trips under their belt). But still, a very promising career, and she was comfortable.

She always has a sketchbook, luxurious paper so she can save or destroy the drawings as she wants, rather than wipe them clean from a laminate. Physical rather than digital, because she’s drawing this world, she says, so it has to have real mass - but she almost only ever uses pale colors. Bright things, she saves for paint, when she has time and space and money for an easel, and that art is twisting and bright and incomprehensible to everyone but a fellow navigator - and even then, most understand what she means, but now how she’s representing it. No one really experiences espace the same way.

She’s short of stature and of hair, skin probably #C26604-ish? and walks with a dreaminess in her eyes and the confidence of someone who knows she’s weird - as most navigators do. Also, definitely practices some science fiction equivalent of judo. Has slightly more energy than she needs at any given moment, and when she decides to move fast, will do so. Physically, emotionally, and in terms of decision-making - will put off decisions if they’re unpleasant, but will make them quickly if they’re not, and commit 100%. Stubborn or determined, however you want to phrase it; holds grudges…but if pushed to reconsider something, will do so, and will willingly change her mind. Often in the 100% opposite direction from before.

(It’s hazardous to go into espace unsure of what you want in life.)

Also, she’s not actually a licensed navigator anymore, by Guild rule. See, I said she was good, right? Really good? So, most navigators have a seat on the bridge - they don’t really need to be there, but it feels right - and that’s where they stay for the duration of the espace journey. Easier to focus if you don’t need to move, don’t need to think about anything but where to go and when (”when” maintained by the ship’s clocks) exactly to make the jump back to get there. There are probably IV tubes and catheters and everything, because it can be a several subjective hours sometimes, and better safe than sorry.

But Djinn was good, oh, she was really good, and she didn’t need that stuff. She didn’t want that stuff. Always a little more energy than necessary for the moment, remember? So her knee jiggled, and that was fine. She stood and stretched, and that was fine. She paced the bridge, alone save for the AI, and thought about the swirling patterns on the outer skin of that one station, or the best donut she’d ever tasted on that one planet (she always wanted to be more of a sweet tooth than she actually was.)

None of this was per regulation, but it was the sort of thing that got comfortably ignored by the Guild, if you admitted it - and you were encouraged to, for your own safety as a navigator and that of your ship, and in the interest of more data gained about espace travel. And then not reported on to whoever’d chartered the navigator, so long as the nav was back in their seat by the end and got the ship to its destination just fine, because what the layperson didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.

But, well…

It doesn’t get much harder to hold yourself and everything under your care together as they are the longer you’re in espace - additionally, but not multiplicatively, much less exponentially. Time and space still function in a way, so trips between this planet and that are known to have a certain average amount of time, but it’s flexible. If a navigator can confidently know themselves through, and the ship AI has a confident grasp on everything else, there’s no reason she shouldn’t pause in her destination-seeking, or at least not focus quite so hard, and just…wander the ship for a while. See the sights (that aren’t quite, here.) Enjoy the upsideways-tasting sensations.

So, Djinn met an AI with whom she really got along, did a couple trips in a row on that ship specifically, and then talked them into covering for her while she stole stuff from the passengers. More for fun than anything, honestly. But she got…well, she got caught, mostly, more than she got anything particularly valuable (probably?). (She got away with it like a dozen times, first, though.) And stealing from passengers while traveling through espace, while nearly unprecedented, is illegal by the laws of every place of origin she flew from…which is what applies on-ship until the destination is reached, by interstellar law.

More importantly, it was against Guild rules. They claimed precedent, because the Navigators’ Guild looks after its own, so Djinn wasn’t imprisoned anywhere. But her license was revoked for 7 years.

We meet her sometime in year 4, maybe 5 of that probably, I think on the equivalent of Jackson’s Whole.

#uhhhh #my fic #original fic #science fiction #arthurian legend #astria et al #hermionehair goylebrain

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johannstutt413 · 4 years

Text

The Doctor sat patiently in the chair as Warfarin went about the preparations for his weekly Oripathy examination. As a scientist (in a way) himself, knowing that the renowned Dr. Blood was willing to perform these routine examinations was humbling - after all, the advancements in hematology with minimal assistance…Of course, some of that might be thanks to her vampirism, but that had never bothered him.

“Everything is in place,” she announced amidst the Doctor’s contemplations. “You’re ready as well, I assume?”

“Correct...Warfarin, can I ask you a personal question?”

As she walked over to him with a needle, Warfarin nodded. “Of course.”

“I understand that you often drink blood from bags,” he mused, “but without them, you’d have to drink directly from the subject, if I’m not mistaken?”

“You’re not...If you wish to continue this discussion, maybe it should wait until I’ve drawn the necessary sample.”

The Doctor acquiesced. “Sure. Can I ask a different question?”

“Quite inquisitive today, aren’t you?” She sighed as she delicately stuck the needle into his arm. “Usually my patients refuse to converse, doing their best not to look terrified - or, of course, they’re incapacitated, but that’s neither here or there. What else are you wondering?”

“I was looking through the disciplinary documentation, and apparently you’re not allowed to come near me in a non-medical context for some reason...could you tell me anything about that?”

Warfarin took a sharp breath. “Another question that should wait a moment.”

“As you wish.” He watched her as she stared at the needle, a strange look in her eyes. “Hmm.”

“What is it?”

The Doctor smiled. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

“Well then.” She removed the needle and set a clump of absorbent material over the now-leaking hole. “Pressure. A few more minutes, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” His hand brushed hers for a moment...It was surprisingly warm, despite the rumors.

When Warfarin returned with a bandage, she seemed nervous to the Doctor. “Compression applied. Normally this would mean you must leave my office immediately, but as this contact is being made of your own volition, it should be okay. Perhaps, to be safe, we should start with the second question, so you understand the risks.”

“Risks?” Light danced behind the Doctor’s eyes. “Warfarin, what do you mean?”

“The restraining order was put in place because...because I want your blood, Doctor.” She took a seat on a rolling stool next to the patient’s chair, her hands pressing into her lap.

He leaned forward. “Is that unusual? You sustain yourself on blood and have devoted yourself to researching its properties as both a Sarkazian scientist and a sort of vampiric sommelier, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Sommeli-” Shock joined the mix of emotions in her glances. “You read those papers?”

“Sarkazians interest me greatly - the variety of body types would suggest you’re not a single race after all, but a coalition of different races classified as such by the fearful and unscientific, and the vampire branch in particular...Besides, your opinion is important to me, both in scientific fields and other things.”

Warfarin averted her eyes. “This must be a result of your amnesia, Doctor, because I don’t believe you could feel this way if you knew all the things I attempted-”

“Let me guess.” The Doctor stepped out of the patient’s chair and perched himself on another stool, closer to the vials of blood, which he moved back to Warfarin as she once again avoided looking at him. “Despite your best efforts to restrain yourself, there’s some chemical combination in my circulatory system that triggers a primal response from you - you have to have a taste, but you know that once that first drop crosses the threshold, there would be nothing to stop you from draining me dry, and yet the sheer force of this urge pushed you to acts that go against Rhodes Island’s ethical policies. The old me, or perhaps those in charge of ensuring his safety, saw this as too great a risk to my health, and so they prohibited all unnecessary contact between us. How much of that is true?”

“...All of it. If only I could isolate the compound that makes you smell so delicious- no, no, I shouldn’t think like that. I know I wouldn’t be able to contain myself.”

He smiled. “You’re doing a good job of it now, aren’t you?”

“I...” She forced herself to look at him. “Doctor, I think you should leave.”

“And I think I should stay. My first question remains - how do you feed from a person directly?”

Warfarin was silent for a moment before she started stamping her feet against the ground. “No, no, no, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening!”

“Warfarin.” His voice was authoritative but coaxing, as if he were trying to convince a child to relinquish a toy. “Warfarin, it’s okay. Just answer the question for me.”

“I would use my teeth to cut into somewhere on your body, preferably hairless, and lick and suck on the wound as it bleeds. As my name suggests, my saliva is a natural anticoagulant...Doctor, please go. This teasing is too much for me to handle.”

He rolled close enough to grab her hand. “It’s not teasing, Warfarin. I want to know what I’m signing up for.”

“Signing up?” Her eyes widened. “Doctor, have you not been listening?”

“You seem to have forgotten what I can do; if your actions become life-threatening, I am more than capable of removing the danger. I trust you to know both my limits and yours, though.”

Warfarin simply stared. “Why? What gives you such confidence in me?”

“It’s simple, really - I know your work.” He moved closer with each sentence. “I know how much your body will let you drain from me, and it’s not enough to be harmful.” Inches from her face at this point. “And most importantly, I find the idea of you feeding from me so attractive that I can’t force myself away.” Saying that, the Doctor went in for the kill, kissing her square on the lips.

She wasn’t just warm - she was feverishly hot. Rather than reciprocate, Warfarin pushed him away, their stools amplifying the force and leaving them on opposite sides of the office.

“I can’t.” She weakly asserted.

“Can’t or won’t?” He started rolling back towards her. “What’s stopping you? I’m willing, and we’d both enjoy it, so what keeps you wanting to hold back?”

Warfarin shook her head. “If I let the pleasure of feeding become entangled with romance, I’ll end up like the others of my kind - insatiable, relentless predators who commit unspeakable acts to keep their cold hearts feeling some kind of adrenaline rush.”

“You seem pretty warm to me.”

“Stop it! I’m serious!” She crossed her arms. “This is as much for your own good as it is mine.”

The Doctor glanced at the door and back to her. “You can’t simply use me as your sole meal provider?”

“I need to drink three liters of blood in a day to maintain normal functions. That would kill you.”

“What about if you synthesized artificial blood using mine as the model?” He smiled. “I know you could do that with the facilities on base.”

Warfarin sighed. “You are pushing far too much for this to happen for you to be in a healthy state of mind-”

“I’m not.”

“Huh?” She blinked. “You know you’re in an excited state, then?”

The Doctor, his usual uniform hanging from the door, wearing a red T-shirt, couldn’t hide anything from her at this point. “You’ve brought me to this excited state, Warfarin. Now that I’ve had a taste of you, I don’t want to stop.”

“Doctor...Now you understand, then.”

“Just- just one more kiss, please, that’s all I’m asking for.” He grabbed his head in his hands. “Just the one, and I promise, I’ll-”

Warfarin stood from her stool, growing agitated herself. “You feel it now, don’t you? The inexplicable desire, the primal imperative, the cravings. It’s unbearable, isn’t it?”

“Just...just one more...please...”

“I have been fighting the urge for months while you were in that clinic in Chernobog, forcing myself to stay here while your body was just lying there, hooked up to IVs and all sorts of life support.” She wrung her hands. “It would have been so easy, so so easy to just take what I wanted, but I kept my distance for your sake. You’ve kissed me before, you know.”

He shook his head. “Impossible, I’d remember something like this.”

“Through complete loss of identity to the point of having to relearn how to use a computer? I’m not surprised you forgot, considering how much you struggled the first and second times. The third was less coercive, but by then, they had you under lock and key...Now, you come to me, offering yourself on a silver platter, afflicted with the same curse of desire I’ve felt for years, and you expect me to relent so easily?”

“You don’t have to drink my blood, then,” he muttered, “just let me hold you, caress you, feel your heat against my skin...”

Warfarin smiled. “To think this is the reward for my patience. Doctor, I’m offering you one more chance to escape.”

“Escape what?!” The Doctor leapt to his feet, hands balled into fists. “Go back to my daily life a tortured soul? Hmm? Are you so sadistic that you want me to suffer for the harm another, more foolish personality in this body caused you? Could you be so cruel after the oaths you’ve taken? Could you?!”

“I could be...oh, who am I kidding.” She pounced, picking him up and tossing him onto the patient bed and following shortly thereafter.

The delight in his eyes was infectious. “Finally, you’ve come to your senses!”

“Oh, no, Doctor.” There was no mistaking the hungry stare now. “I’ve completely lost them. All thanks to you.”

Considering what happened that afternoon, the fact that the Doctor was able to walk out afterwards with nothing but a dull headache spoke to his resilience; the further reality that he left to carry Warfarin off to his room announced the breakdown that had already begun. This was a star-crossed love if ever there had been one...and somehow, for all the catastrophizing the two of them would do over the next week as they debated coming clean, things turned out alright. Kal’tsit was reluctant to revoke the restraining order, but after the Doctor’s reaction to this news was noticeably more dangerous to his health then the alternative, she assigned him a counselor and relented. Warfarin became his personal assistant, continuing her research from his office, and those who knew her said that she was substantially more satisfied with life. Somehow, they salvaged a happy ending from something so accursed...

This Doctor’s tale is a cautionary one - after all, most Sarkaz vampires are far less noble in their intentions and means.

#arknights #warfarin (arknights)#this is why monster girls are dangerous #you don't need the suck that much trust me #arknights fic

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brideofedoras · 4 years

Text

Soulbound: Almost Human

Disclaimer: I do not own Almost Human or the characters, only my OCs...

Word Count: 2900+

Rating: 18 +

Warnings: Death and injuries, anxiety, asthma. More warnings to be added in the future.

Chapter One

“Samuel Jacob Williams is… was… my hero,” she schooled her grimace as she stared down at the paper in her trembling hands. For a moment the blue ink blurred out of focus, but three rapid blinks of her baby blue eyes cleared her vision. “He was a wonderful husband and father, the best dad a girl could ever hope for, and he was a great detective.” A slight wheeze rattled up her throat. “He always knew he would die in the line of duty, more than once he would tell me he wouldn’t go down without a fight but he would be damned proud to give his life if it meant The City would be safe for another day.

“He spoke often of his old partner and the rookies he’d break in, the fresh new detectives he trained. They were more than coworkers, fellow cops and detectives, they were his other family. His brothers and sisters in blue. I grew up hearing many funny stories about the job, and as I got older he opened up about the harder cases. Losing Eddie Kennex had been one of the hardest moments for him, Eddie lost his life shortly after Mom lost her battle with cancer. I remember waking up in the middle of the night to hear him drunk and arguing with Sandy and two other detectives as they dragged him into the house and to his bedroom. It took him a week before he could open up about Eddie, and another week before he could face his coworkers and Eddie’s son.” Her eyes blurred again. She blinked them several times to clear them, gripping the podium with her free hand to ground herself as she realized it was her anxiety rearing its ugly head. “He made me promise not to follow in his footsteps as a cop, and I reminded him that I preferred to tinker with the guts of an android or a computer. I’ll help keep the city safe by keeping the MXes in tiptop condition.”

Her ears perked up when she heard someone seated behind Sandy mutter something that sounded like “Kennex”. She looked up just in time to catch the look that crossed her godmother’s face.

Sandy shook her head, indicating for her to continue.

“Daddy was proud of every one of you,” she went on, only to stop when she noticed several of the cops were whispering to one another. She caught “Kennex” and “setup” and “he never should’ve been leading that raid”.

Anger flooded through her, white hot. The hand holding the paper her notes were written on clenched. “We are here to remember a detective, not trash talk a fellow cop,” she snapped. “Daddy spoke highly of John Kennex! He spoke more about John and Martin Pelham, Eddie and Sandy than he ever spoke about anyone else! He would be ashamed that you guys are on a witch hunt at a memorial service for a fallen detective!” She wadded up her paper and threw it aside. “This is the hardest thing I have to do today, saying goodbye to my father, the only blood family I have left! And you’re talking crap on a man who is in a coma in the hospital, hanging on by a thread when his best friend and his mentor died!” She looked out among the crowd of fifty men and women gathered in the chapel, taking in the shocked looks on their faces. “Here I am, twenty-five years old and honoring the life and death of the most important person in my life and you all are acting like a bunch of immature assholes ganging up to beat the hell out of someone!” She took a step back from the podium, pride filling her chest for standing up and speaking out in defense of someone who wasn’t there to defend himself. “I hope you’re proud of yourselves for ruining what should have been a remembrance!”

Her chin wobbled. Her eyes burned. Her chest tightened.

Her vision blacked out.

Emily Williams zipped her backpack and set it on the table next to the teddy bear and the vase with a small bouquet of sunflowers and daisies.

Her phone vibrated on the bed behind her. Her eyes slid shut for a moment as she drew in a slow, deep breath before she picked up the device. Seeing her godmother’s name she tapped answer. “Hey, Sandy.”

“Hi, Sweetie,” Captain Sandra Maldonado’s voice sounded a tad frazzled. “I can’t leave just yet to pick you up. We had a lead come in a few moments ago.”

“On the ambush?” She reached up with her free hand to rake her shoulder-length chocolate brown locks from her face.

“Not the ambush, but on a related case,” Sandy told her. “It’ll be maybe half an hour before I can leave the precinct. I know you’re ready to get the hell out of the hospital--”

“It’s fine, Sandy,” Emily couldn’t help the smile that teased her lips. “I’m in no hurry to go… to go home. I am ready to get out of this room. I’ve already told one of the CNAs to just rename 418-B the Emily Rose Williams Room.”

Sandra laughed at that. “They do keep admitting you to that particular room, don’t they?”

She shook her head. “Yeah, they do.”

“Well… Since you’ll be there for at least another hour, would you feel up to going upstairs to visit with John? I’m not going to be able to visit with him tonight. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to be here late working this lead.”

“Sandy, I could always call a cab or one of my neighbors to come get me,” Emily offered, moving toward the window to look out at the street below. “If this case is related to the raid I don’t want to pull you away from it.”

“I’m coming to get you, Emmie, I need to give my brain a break for a little while and check on John,” Sandy’s tone brooked no argument. “I’ll be there when I get there, we’ll grab lunch, and if you decide you want to stay somewhere else tonight you are more than welcome to go to my place.”

She couldn’t help but smile again. There was no arguing with the redhead. “All right. I’ll go sit with Detective Kennex and wait for you.”

“Any place in particular for lunch?”

“I’m not really hungry, but considering breakfast was turkey sausage and rubbery eggs, I’d settle for noodles,” she shrugged.

Sandra snorted. “You and Kennex would get along famously, Kiddo. He would live off noodles every day if he could get away with it.”

“With all that salt?” Emily shuddered. She loved Chinese noodle dishes, but every once in a while was enough for her. They tasted too salty for her.

“Yeah,” her godmother murmured. “Will you need to stop anywhere else before I take you home?”

“I’ll call the pharmacy to deliver my prescriptions,” she answered.

“Okay. I’ll be there when I can. Oh, and Emily?”

“Yeah, Sandy?”

“Talk to Kennex? They say that a person in a coma can hear when someone speaks to them. John could use another friendly voice.”

Emily nodded. “What would I say? I’ve never met him, Sandy.”

“Talk about your dad, or about yourself. Tell him you��re applying for an internship with Rudy. Those two butt heads a lot.”

“Sandy, you know I hate talking about myself!”

“John’s in a coma,” she reminded the younger woman. “He needs to hear a friendly voice. And even if he were awake, he wouldn’t tease or pick on you. He’d probably flirt with you.”

“I doubt that, Sandy,” Emily turned away from the window.

“Oh, he would, and he’s so terrible at it,” Sandra’s humor faded. “John’s going to need all the support he can get.”

“I’ll do what I can, Sandy,” Emily agreed softly.

“Okay,” her godmother murmured. “I’ll see you when I get there. Hopefully I can sneak out of here in thirty.”

“You’re the captain, you can do whatever you want,” she grinned, knowing full well what Sandra was going to say.

“I am, but I prefer to lead by example,” she laughed.

They ended the call with a quiet see you later.

Emily slipped her phone into the back pocket of her distressed skinny jeans before she walked over to the chair near the bed to wait on the charge nurse to bring the discharge paperwork and doctor’s orders.

Fifteen minutes later she found herself standing in front of the private room Detective Kennex was in.

“It’s good to see someone other than Captain Maldonado visiting the detective,” the CNA escorting her murmured.

Emily looked at the blonde, eyes wide. “No one else has been here?”

Sarah, she belatedly recalled the woman’s name, shook her head. “Not a soul. Does he not have any family or friends?”

“His dad died ten years ago,” her heart ached for the man. “A few months after my mom passed away… His mom… I think my dad told me Detective Kennex’ mom passed away when he was in high school. As for friends… I honestly don’t know, I’ve never met him,” she confessed. “He worked with Daddy, he’s close with Sandy. He lost his entire team in that raid, and everyone else is working long hours trying to find the people responsible.” She dragged her eyes from the frosted panel of the door to the CNA beside her. “Sandy said he has a girlfriend. She’s not been in?”

“He’s been here for thirteen days,” Sarah’s mouth twisted into a frown. “The captain has been the only visitor. And now you.” She pressed a button on the panel beside the door. “Come on, let me introduce you to our resident strong and silent detective.”

Emily followed the blonde into the room, her baby blue eyes sweeping the sterile space. No flowers, no cards, no stuffed animals. Just a framed photograph on the small dresser by the bed and a dragon figurine. She set her bouquet and bear on the counter by the sink before slowly approaching the bed.

“Detective Kennex, you have a new visitor,” Sarah spoke in a cheerful voice as she gently adjusted the detective’s position and checked the leads and IVs. She stepped back and motioned for Emily to come over.

Emily shrugged her backpack from her shoulder and set it on the chair as she joined the CNA. She looked at the blonde. “I have no idea what to say to him,” she whispered.

Sarah smiled as she squeezed Emily’s shoulder. “Basketball or hockey scores, the weather, maybe something you’ve tried recently that you absolutely love. We talk to him every time we’re in here, hoping he’ll wake up and tell us to shut up. A couple of us are keeping him up to date on our favorite soaps, even if he’s not a fan.”

She managed a smile at that. “I don’t watch soaps or sports, I’m a grad student.”

“Then talk about your studies,” Sarah headed for the door. “Thank you, Miss Wililams, for coming up here.”

She nodded before she slowly turned back to face the detective. She reached out and took John’s left hand in her two cold hands. A shiver of heat coursed through her from the feel of his limp, callused hand in hers. She smiled shyly as she studied the healing bruises and cuts on his face, the scar on his chin. “Um, hi, Detective Kennex, I’m Emily. I hope you don’t mind me, someone you don’t know… I… I’m not exactly a stranger since you worked with my dad… I hope it’s okay for me to come visit you while you’re in the hospital. I’m waiting for my ride to pick me up and she wanted me to wait here for her. She’s been visiting with you a lot, and I… Nobody should be alone in the hospital. If it weren’t for her, I.... I, uh,” she laughed nervously when she felt his hand squeeze hers. His heart rate kicked up briefly on the monitor attached to the bed. “I’m rambling, I’m sorry. I’m, yeah… You probably can’t even hear me since you’re in a coma, but I want you to know that I hope you have a quick recovery.” She reached up with her right hand to comb her fingers through his dark hair. She smiled when his brow furrowed slightly. Was he ticklish? Was he responding to her touch? Or was it just a random tic totally unrelated to external stimuli?

She quickly shrugged that thought off before reaching over to move her backpack off the chair. She pulled it toward her and sat down.

“I just finished up my own hospital stay,” she said after wracking her brain for something else to say. She frowned when her lungs grew tight and shifted to fish her inhaler out of her jeans pocket just in case her growing anxiety brought on an asthma attack. “I have asthma,” she admitted with a twist of her lips. “I’ve got it under control for the most part but it’s mostly triggered by anxiety attacks. Three days ago was my dad’s memorial service. Quite a few of the officers and detectives attending were being disrespectful of Daddy, being disrespectful to me, they were talking about you, blaming you for the… for the lives lost… and I lost my temper. I stopped in the middle of the speech I’d prepared and ripped them a new one. I cussed in a church,” she could laugh about it now. Three days ago it had put her in the hospital. “I was so caught up in my emotions I didn’t realize my anxiety had gotten the better of me. One minute I was feeling proud for shutting them up, the next I’m waking up in the emergency room with an oxygen mask on my face and all kinds of monitors attached to me.” She stopped herself from continuing, remembering that initial panic and ripping the mask and the leads from her chest before the nurse returning to the trauma room stopped her. She didn’t need to unload on the detective. “Anyway they decided I could go home today. I’ve been meaning to come up here and visit with you anyway. I want you to know I don’t believe a word they were saying about you. I don’t blame you. Daddy thought the world of you, he was always talking about you to me. Said he wanted us to meet, but never did anything about it,” she smiled, shaking her head. “I asked him one time if he was ever going to take me to McQuaid’s to meet you some evening and he told me, ‘You’ll meet him when you’re supposed to meet him, Princess.’ I don’t know what he meant by that, he never answered when I would ask why.” She idly played with the callused fingers of the hand she still held. She blushed when she realized what she was doing, and stammered out an apology. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, standing up to gently lay his hand on the blanket by his hip. “I’m holding your hand as if I have a right to, and I don’t, I’m so sorry. I just… I didn’t realize I…” She stepped back from the bed as she scrubbed her hands over her face. “I’m… I’m just not used to… to… this.” She started to pace the room. “Sorry, my anxiety is getting the best of me, and you’d think I’d be excited about getting out of the hospital after being a patient here myself. I am, but I’m not. I’m… I don’t want to go home to an empty house. I’ll… I’ll probably be ordering a pizza tonight, I don’t think I can handle cooking dinner for just myself. Dammit, I’m sorry, Detective, you’re in a coma and I’m unloading on you. I…” She jumped when the door opened, looking over to see Sandra Maldonado standing there with her coat draped over her arm.

“Any change?” Sandy asked softly.

Emily shook her head. “No, just reflexive movements,” she answered. She turned her attention back to the detective, her left hand curling over his left once more, her right hand stroking through his hair. “Can… can I come back…” She laughed nervously at herself. “Why am I even asking, you’re unconscious… If it’s okay with you, I’d like to come back tomorrow to sit with you,” she finished in a whisper. “Hospitals get awfully lonely.”

Her eyes were drawn to her hand when she felt a slight squeeze.

“Did he just…?” Sandra asked slowly.

“I think it’s just reflexes,” she shrugged, but she squeezed his fingers. “I’ll be back tomorrow, sometime, Detective Kennex. I need to get my assignments and get caught up on what I’ve missed in my classes.” She smiled to herself as she pulled away. “Maybe I’ll work on my assignments while I’m here, work on them out loud. Some of the classes are very boring, I’m hoping that you’ll wind up coming to just to tell me to shut up and get out.”

Sandra laughed. “That sounds like something John would do, but I doubt he’d ever say that to you, Emily,” she smiled. “I’ll just hound him about the paperwork that was supposed to be turned in weeks ago on the Andretti Corp case.”

Emily giggled. “Daddy hated the paperwork part of the cases.”

“We all do,” Sandra leaned down to grab Emily’s bag. She smiled sadly when she saw the flowers and the bear by the sink.

“Thought I’d brighten up his room,” Emily shrugged.

She nodded. “He’d appreciate it.” She slipped her arm around the younger woman when she walked over to her. “And I think he’d appreciate the company.”

#almost human #john kennex #john kennex/ofc #soulmates #angst

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