#I’ll see what’s doable at least

[asachuu]

Alright, BSD/AO3-related “confession” time, although this shouldn’t have really become a confession.

While my works over on AO3 are occasionally quite dark, the full extent of which is entirely subjective, yet still one I could describe as such objectively, I do sometimes try to water a lot of it down out of fear I’m starting to sound “edgy for the sake of it”, as nonsensical as I personally find that description. Though I’m aware the thought process goes against what I personally believe on these matters, I still don’t want anyone to look at anything I write and assume it’s nothing but a mindless pile of brutality treated without proper seriousness and/or something to exaggerate for “no real reason”, and I often find myself worrying whether or not it’ll come off as such, even though I understand each author has their own visions and motives, me included, and not everyone will assume those correctly, nor will people ever universally agree on them, enjoy the content or even have the willingness to accept the mere existence of art that isn’t pure or sanitized, therefore one shouldn’t feel anxious over this when nobody owes any sort of explanation or justification for their creations to strangers anyway, but…let’s just say I’m still trying to get past that. Unfortunately, I suppose spending too much time around audiences who consider going into any type of ever-so-slightly darker territory in one’s works as an act only terrible, cruel individuals would do may have had its long-lasting effects…but I digress.

There was one work which was initially meant to be entirely unfiltered, “uncensored”, if I should say so, and that work was meant to be what would eventually become both A Second Chance and No Retakes, given the two are merely two varying iterations of an alternate universe I wanted to create for the ship I’m writing about. I suppose it’s the third, never spoken about version of it, and although there are four to five total versions as of today, this one in particular had almost made it through, had I not completely washed everything I were to include away just a few days before I got to writing my “first” fic. In fact, it was precisely the fully clean version which became A Second Chance; the series is essentially only different in its beginning, past and subsequently the way said past would affect what was happening, yet the more general events stayed intact, unlike No Retakes which is still not being too truthful to its original introductory disclaimer as of the last update.

Now, I felt like I had to tidy this one up, and if I am to be honest, it was mainly thanks to my only “enthusiastic” audience at the time always focusing on any sadder element of my writing and pinpointing how much it ruined the whole work, which was…a rather demotivating experience, aside from all else I could say about it. Considering this was a work I would be posting publicly with the intention of actually having others see it and associate it with this chain of accounts instead of someone’s random throwaway I could just ditch at any time, and not only that, this would also be something of great personal importance to me, I didn’t want to discard what I assumed to be my only chance at making something I could look back and be satisfied with. There is certainly far more to this story, but all that is to say, I didn’t want— and frankly couldn’t even afford— this to be dismissed as someone’s “horrible” work with such “unnecessary cruelty” in it, or however else it would have been described.

Even after a long time, after I had started publishing far more “risky” things, such as my whole Rimlaine-related series, and detached myself as much as possible from an audience which would ultimately never find any enjoyment in what I actually wished to be creating and would only serve to bring me down or make me dislike my own content, there was one thing I didn’t change my mind on, and that was feeling as though I still wouldn’t have been able to write the original concept of the ChuuArt series/fic/etc. I had in mind, even after everything I had written by that point and even after many chapters of No Retakes. In fact, I changed my mind a mere four weeks ago, which is the only reason I’m writing this.

If you’ve never heard me describe what the original consisted of, I’ll have to slightly disappoint you this time as I definitely don’t have enough confidence to actually state what it could have been, but as is probably very obvious, it wasn’t for the faint-hearted. I feel as though it’s no exaggeration if I say it was far more dark than every single Rimlaine fic I have ever written combined. I don’t believe I ever considered it “unreasonable” or any other such descriptor, not even when I was too afraid to write it, though— in truth, I sincerely believe both A Second Chance and No Retakes are extremely unrealistic and don’t represent practically anything I had been envisioning. Right now, I’ve decided to see if it’s possible for me to rework the outlines for the latter as it’s obviously very far from done and nobody apart from me would know what the original was meant to be, steering it a little bit closer to its long-lost predecessors, but even if I do manage to pull this off, the concept has been lost from the very beginning, and nothing can replicate it unless I somehow wholeheartedly try to overwrite people’s memories.

Of course, not stating it directly doesn’t mean I can’t imply it, and I will have to, just for the sake of what I’m trying to get at. The initial premise was always having Arthur survive the events of Fifteen, that much is obvious, and while there is one other version of the AU in which he survives on his own accord without any interference from the Port Mafia, the rest of them did require him to fall into the organization’s hands. Now, here is where I feel like ASC/NR completely fail at being anyhow logical, and this has hit me more than ever recently, though I’ll explain why afterwards, despite being somewhat confident that you could figure it out even without my input from here.

Naturally, there is absolutely no reason for Arthur to have been entirely safe and intact until meeting Chuuya in any iteration (…maybe aside from that one exception, but I think you’ll get what I mean more specifically), and no horrible living conditions I place him in are even remotely comparable to what I believe an organization such as the Port Mafia would do to a traitor if he were to be kept alive for any reason instead of immediately assassinated, as implied in Fifteen. I will give off somewhat plot-important spoilers here for No Retakes, so please beware, but NR tries to give some flimsy reasoning for this as I seemed to have become more and more self-aware of it while writing the initial outlines— I thought that perhaps, if Arthur regained his memories and could have potentially held some valuable information about other organizations, it would have made sense to try and keep him alive and well, and while it would have definitely been more straightforward for any PM member to just…let’s say…“standard-mafia-procedure” the information out of him, nobody would have had any reason to do that if he’d either been completely unconscious or he forgot everything again, right…? And one more “spoiler”, although it’s been slightly hinted at in the fic itself already and I heavily regret giving it such little relevance— even that much didn’t sit right with me, so he doesn’t escape entirely unscathed, but nonetheless, all of it is extremely tame, in my opinion. (Spoilers end) It feels more like a last resort to attain more realism points which simply aren’t really there, or so I believe.

The original, however, went all-out with this “realism” I so speak of, and I’ll just say that every variation of this AU has a five year gap between Fifteen and its present at the very least, but in both I’ve written about so far, Arthur isn’t particularly conscious for any of those five or more years. In that version, for one reason or another that hasn’t been properly worked on before being discarded and turned into one of the newer ideas, he’d been reluctantly kept alive, but not a soul would have given him the luxury of just leaving him be for ages until he would have most likely rotted away like in ASC, or until he’d woken up again like in NR. I believe everyone can have their own interpretation of my words here as I don’t even know how I would type this out in the first place, but essentially, at that point, Chuuya wouldn’t have simply carried him away for the sake of it or been tasked to watch over him, it’d be more of him just outright saving whatever was left of his life. I’m sure that anything one could imagine here would also lead to an obvious difference between how this AU’s Arthur would act, as opposed to both AU versions of him currently existing, yet to write all that simply felt…wrong. Not wrong because it didn’t make sense and felt like a pointless gore fest— the complete opposite, actually, but wrong as in, according to my mind and my mind only, something “too dark for AO3” or the BSD fandom as a whole. I probably would have had the tendency to overdescribe it as well instead of letting the reader make up their own mind, which would have added onto that factor, and I was too worried to even dare venturing there. Some of it certainly also had to do with fearing I wouldn’t be able to pull it off as a more amateurish writer, but it wasn’t the main driving force.

Now, anyone could sit here and tell me that my reason was complete bullshit, and I can’t believe I’ve only arrived to this conclusion myself so late. What led me to it, you may ask? Simple— Bungou Stray Dogs itself.

I’ve drafted this very post those four weeks ago when I changed my thoughts on these matters and just edited it to make it fit recent events, but at the time of writing this initially, I was only on chapter 40 of re-reading the manga, and that has been enough to convince me none of my fics, not even the original AU I had in mind, are “too edgy” for anything to do with BSD (and AO3, of course, I think that site has seen it all). Though I firmly believe no such thing even needs some kind of “justification” to be written in the first place, as for my observation, all of my harsher ideas would still be reduced to mere dust if compared to that or the light novels. There is not a single thing I could have ever written that would have gone “too far” by my own anxiety-driven standards, and even if I genuinely took that entire concept and wrote it to the full extent I’ve had in my mind, it would only be dreaming of being on par with something like Atsushi’s backstory or Q’s treatment, both of which are basically at the mere start of the manga. If not that, it would absolutely pale in comparison to the entirety of Stormbringer, for example, and if one was to put it simply, the amount of missing limbs, dead bodies, torture, on-screen and described gore in this series would make my own concepts…I want to say laughable, but it’d actually make them just a tiny bit more BSD-worthy.

Nothing I’m writing feels like BSD itself from this perspective, and I understand that I’m writing fanfiction— I’m in a space where people don’t always want to match the mood and tone of the media they’re making their own spin on, and there is not a single thing out of place if I make any of my works more toned down, peaceful and whatnot, but at the same time, there will also be nothing out of place if I don’t. Honestly, this may be somewhat clear already, but I don’t want to write works which are fully sanitized, clean and light-hearted only, and while yes, I believe a couple of those exist on my page, those aren’t meant to be the majority as that was never my goal to begin with. I didn’t even have one at first, but when I both actually tried to think of one somewhere along the way and reflected on all my old drafts and notes, the answer I got was to make the opposite of what I look for while browsing AO3 myself, ironically— as I don’t usually spend my time reading much, not even on there, I only ever read short fics that I can go through in one sitting which don’t leave me thinking about anything surrounding them and I feel as though I’ve read them from their true beginning to their true end, with the plot being only what was in the 4000 or so words I skimmed through rather than something much different, something I’ve only looked through a window into, and, simply put for what I think is my case, something far more pretentious than that, of course. Hopefully, there is no need for me to clarify I clearly do enjoy the shorter, less complex fics and am in no way trying to devalue them, they’re just not what I personally would like to write myself— I would be delighted if someday, I could feel as though I have created something which has a full, proper story in itself, and additionally, seeing as it’s BSD fanfiction, absolutely not have this story be one in which you could almost believe all the characters are regular office workers with rather mild problems in their lives. The only thing which is closest to this, yet which still fails to meet the former criteria, is probably all to do with Rimlaine that I’ve written, but that was not the initial plan, and now I’m seeing that it didn’t really have to be this way.

Not that I regret it too much, seeing as I could fix this if I truly wanted to— No Retakes was mostly born out of late regrets after I’ve fallen in love with that version of the AU and spent months wishing I had worked on it from the very beginning instead of having a thousand separate worries about it, all before I realized there were more people encouraging me to write it than people who would have insinuated I’d already written a ChuuArt AU and another “similar” one wasn’t necessary anymore. I could undoubtedly go back and show everyone one more of the originals, the one which would have rivaled every single work of mine in terms of just how dark it would have been, but I’m not sure whether it’s my ongoing WIP or general exhaustion stopping me more here, aside from the fact that I simply don’t have that much of a desire to do it when I could still try and pray to salvage said WIP a little bit and find a middle ground that doesn’t require me to start another project I will inevitably have no time to work on without getting too worn down.

Anyhow, I suppose I’ll get to looking through the outlines again, perhaps cut out some chapters on the way if I can and hope not to add more by accident. For better or for worse, while the reason should have probably been a bit different, I’m glad to be a bit less willing to censor half my works now that I’ve at least realized what media I’ve actually been using this whole time, and I’m hoping it will have some impact going forward as I really want to write what I alone want to write, not what people who don’t even care about my works want to see me create.

#text post #asachuu #all that being said I think reworking the outlines properly is sadly a bit too hopeful #I’ll see what’s doable at least

[katnissgirlsmakedo]

13 days until chain of thorns. it’s going to fix me i’m telling you. seeing cordelia is going to be so healing you don’t even understand

#thank god for the shadowhunter chronicles or i wouldn’t have anything to be obsessed with and weird about all the time constantly #well. i’m not THAT weird about it. i do think about other things it’s not like the horrors when all i ever talked about was merlin #i wonder what day of the horrors it is. when’s day 200? #my anniversary of starting the show is coming up in two months i know that much #anyway it’s nice to have a fallback obsession for when you don’t have something completely stupid to spend all your time thinking about. #well actually i am technically mid obsession with now you see me but it’s normal i’m being normal about that #i just need to rewatch danny at least once a week or i’ll die. but i’m normal #anyway. i think tsc was a good investment to make at 12. it’s served me well <3 near impossible to get into nowadays for new people tho #obviously doable with effort and time and real love for the game #most people don’t have that though so it’s hard not to gatekeep #anyway. cordelia is going to fix me. unless the book is bad and then i’ll be upset for years #i don’t think it will be bad though i think the plot will be ridiculous but getting to see all my guys happy in the end will be lovely #however i WILL have to suffer though bad plot and stupid miscommunication and love triangle BULLSHIT to get there #god this is easily cassie’s WORST love triangle. i mean seriously. james cordelia and matthew. seriously. cassandra you can do better #it’s really just so horrible like WHO wants cordelia to be with matthew. #matthew might be dead by the end of that book and personally i won’t care if he is. cassie hasn’t done shit to make ME like him since 2014 #beth.txt

[luxe-pauvre]

In that predicament, if I'm lucky, I'll remember the observation, usually attributed to Joan Baez, that "action is the antidote to despair." People tend to quote this in the context of political or environmental activism, but it applies to everything else, too: an overfilled inbox, a cluttered garage, an intimidating creative project or overdue tax return. If you can get yourself over the gap between knowing what you need to do and taking an action, things can only get better from there. Which means that at least the nature of the immediate challenge is clear: not to "become more productive" or "get motivated" or "make a plan for the month" or something like that, but just to do one thing to address whatever situation you're in. […] If you can approach your daily life in this way for a while – as a sequence of momentary, self-contained, eminently doable actions, rather than as an arduous matter of chipping away at enormous challenges – you might notice something profound, which is that, in fact, this is all you ever need to do. You can make your way through life exclusively in this manner. (As E. L. Doctorow said of writing, it's "like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.") And not just that: actually, it's all you ever could do. There is no achievement, in the history of human civilisation, that has ever been accomplished by any means other than as a sequence of doable actions. In the end, it isn't really a question of "breaking big projects down into small chunks." It's more a matter of seeing that "big projects" are nothing but psychological constructs, quasi-illusory entities summoned into existence by taking a particular view of what our lives really consist of – which is moments, and the actions that unfold in them. After all, in any given moment, we're never actually "working on a big project" or "addressing a major challenge" or anything similar. We're always just taking an action. And then another. And another.

Oliver Burkeman, How to get out of a rut

#Oliver Burkeman #How to get out of a rut

[corruptedcaps]

Brat App

Ugh why did Mom have to marry the Dad of that bitch Alison?! As if being bullied at school isn’t enough now I have to get it at home too? I guess it’s not all bad though because I was able to hack into Alison’s phone and invite myself onto the exclusive ‘Brat App’ that Alison and her friends are all on. No idea what it is but with any luck I’ll find out some dirt on Alison to get her finally expelled so I can have some peace.

Hmmm this just looks to be some sort of social status game with challenges built on top. Every challenge has a ‘Brat’ value associated with it. So the more challenges a person does the higher up the leaderboard they climb and the higher up the rank. No big shock that Alison is sitting at the top as a level 10! Which gives her the rank of ‘Brat Queen’ which appropriate. By my calculations that would be…. nearly 10,000 points! Wow she must be addicted to this game. Looks like I got 1,000 bonus just for signing up and I can spend it on my little avatar of myself. Let’s see what I can buy. Sure why not, let’s improve her eyesight.…

Holy crap what just happened? My body feels all tingly and different. My glasses are making my eyes blurry. Did… did this app just cure my eyesight? This is unbelievable! What else can it do… more athletic, long nails, thick hair, big boobs, perfect posture. It makes sense now! All these challenges are real life challenges! This is how Alison is the hottest most feared girl in school! Ok new plan, if I raise the ranks of this app, and surpass Alison’s score then she’ll have to listen to me and become nicer. How hard could it be? I’m already at level one after all and these challenges don’t seem that difficult….

Bold makeup. Check. Revealing dress. Check. And that’s net me… let’s see here. 50 points? At this rate I’ll finish college before I have enough points! I need more bigger ticket items. Let me redeem these pathetic points at least. Mmmm nothing changed but it did give me a nice little tingle. Ok for 1000 points I need to… send some nudes?! Absolutely not! Alison hasn’t even done that! For another 1000 I need to suck a married cock? How vile! Ok this is more doable. Spread a vicious rumor about a classmate for 300. I could do that I guess. Hmmm I have to post it directly to the app so it can’t be about Alison or any of her friends. I know, I’ll say something about Lisa the unfortunate overweight girl in our class. She’ll never see it. I’ll say she was banned from Dairy Queen for breaking in and eating their whole stock. And send! Ohhhh somethings happening!

Oh god my tits! They’ve gone up like two sizes! But why? Hmmm looks like I hit some hidden ‘Bitch Bonus’ by doing that challenge. This is amazing and all I had to do was make fun of that whale Lisa. I know it was mean but it feels so fucking good! She’ll be fine it’s not like anyone will believe it anyway. <ding> ohhh that felt nice, what was it? Oh one of Alison’s friends liked my post. <ding> mmmm another one of her friends liked my post! Every like is 10 points and feels so gooood! <ding> oh fuck yesss girls keep liking! It feels so hawt! Maybe I should spread a few more lies…

Mmmm my body feels so much better in these clothes I redeemed! After only a few more rumors I got easily up to level 5, ‘Beta Bitch’, which unlocked my beautiful nails, my gorgeous silky hair, my perfect makeup, and all the knowledge to maintain them. Even my body is better shape, I’m so flexible now! Not to say anything about my lovely big tits! Alison’s friends seemed to really enjoy my wicked little rumours. I can’t deny it wasn’t fun writing them and it was even better getting the likes for them!

But I do feel kind of bad for all those losers I wrote stuff about though, I think the Brat App is effecting not just my body but my mind too. I feel so nasty and mean everytime I use it and even more now in this tight blouse and short skirt. I can’t help if I’m hotter than those dorks now! No that’s the app’s influence talking! I have to stop using the app, but I need to topple Alison! Ugh what do I do? <ding> what’s this? I’ve unlocked a new bonus. ‘Morality Suppression’? Hmmm that would solve my problems I guess and there is an option to turn it off later. Ok I’m going to do it! It’s for the good of the school after all. Here goes…

Ohhhhh fuck yesss that sooo much better. Like hell this is for the good of the school this is for the good of me! I feel so fucking free now. To think I was feeling regret for those pathetic fattys and geeky nerds I was writing about! I only regret not writing more! The only people worth anything are my bratty followers who like my posts and even they need to know their place and they will when I surpass Alison and become the new Queen bee. Oh fuck I feel so horny being this bad! I need some release and quick! Mmmm maybe I can finally tick off some of these challenges old me was too much of a loser to attempt. Mmmm yesss those will raise my rank in no time! Oh I have the perfectly wicked idea that will make me a bratty goddess by the end of the day! Oh step daddy!

Changed? Nonsense step daddy I’ve always looked like this. I’m a spoilt wicked little bitch just like your precious daughter, only you can fuck me. What’s the matter step daddy? Cat got your tongue? I bet you always wanted to fuck your mean little princess didn’t you? But you’re a good man and would never do that would you? But guess what? I’m not your daughter but I’m everything she is and more. Would you like a look under my shirt? Sure you would.

Hehe I see you like it step daddy. The outline of your cock is practically bursting out of your pants. Mmm and it looks so impressive. Let me have a peek <zip> oh step daddy, I can see why mommy married you. You’re so big! It’s making my mouth water. I need to have it step daddy, please say yes! I know you’re still hesitant so maybe it might convince you if I stopped calling you step daddy and instead called you… daddy. Mmm you like that don’t you… daddy? You want to put that big cock in my mouth and have my perfect pink lips suck it don’t you… daddy?

Mmmm thanks daddy for the great fucking, you’ve helped me complete so many nasty challenges. Suck a married cock. Check. Fuck an older man. Check. Call him daddy. Mmmm double check. After everything we got up to I completed over a dozen challenges, more than enough to take you bitch of a daughter’s crown. I just have to redeem the points now and assume the throne…. Mmmm it feels so good but something different is happening… oh fuck something amazing is happening!

Mmmm oh fuck yessss! Look at me, I’m a blonde busty bitch now! Im older and sexier and I feel so fucking nasty and hawt but how is this possible? Oh I see I unlocked a new challenge tree and a new rank. Mmmm ‘Homewrecker’ I love the sound of that! Who needs to be a bratty queen when I could be the wicked bitch that stole her daddy instead. Thats right darling, I’ve levelled up to being your mistress now and if you’re lucky and do as I say soon I’ll unlock ‘Trophy Wife’ and you can spoil me rotten as you should. Don’t worry I’ll still call you daddy, it makes everything feel so much more naughty. My mother? You mean that old crone Emma? She’s not my mother anymore, she not even my rival, she’s just an obstacle to our love, isn’t that right? Mmmm I knew you’d agree…. Daddy.

EPILOGUE

Alison was wondering what her father was doing that was taking so god damn long that he couldn’t have sent a car or something to pick her up from the mall like he promised. She had spent so much on his credit card that she was surrounded by high end boutique bags. Just when she was reaching her finally straw she got a message from him telling her he had sent a friend, some woman by the name of Gabrielle, to pick her up. Alison hadn’t heard of any Gabrielle before, except maybe her new dorky step sister but she went by Gabby anyway.

Following her father’s instructions to Gabrielle, Alison’s mouth was agape when she turned the corner to find a stunning blonde waiting for her. The blonde looked at Alison with distain and made Alison feel insignificant for the first time in her life. She didn’t like it. Gabrielle didn’t let up with her stare down, enjoying the way Alison averted her gaze. Alison meanwhile was grateful that their encounter was going to brief.

“So you’re Ted’s daughter? Hmmm I expected somebody a little more… impressive.” Gabrielle said not willing to hide her distaste. If this was anyone else Alison would have ground them to dust with only a few choice words but she felt so intimidated as she got into the car with the blonde bitch.

So much so that her phone dinged to tell her she lost some Brat points for her weakness. She had never lost points before! Gabrielle smirked to herself as she looked at her own phone and saw her points climb. She couldn’t wait become a wicked step mother.

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #magic #evil bitch #evil couple #power transfer #magic item

[storiesforallfandoms]

junker ~ beck oliver;victorious

word count: 2011

request?: no

description: after her car breaks down in front of the dreamy boy’s house, he helps her to fix it

pairing: beck oliver x female!reader

warnings: swearing, one mention of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

“No,” you said to yourself as your car began to slow. “No, no, no!”

You hit your steering wheel in frustration as the car came to a stop in the middle of the road.

This wasn’t the first time you had encountered issues with your shitty excuse for a car. It was definitely because the car was older than your parents. It was a miracle it even started in the first place, which, to be fair, it didn’t most of the time. You had no idea what your parents were thinking in buying you this hunk of junk to be your first car. They didn’t have to buy you a brand new sports car or anything, but they could’ve gotten you something from this decade at least.

You got out o the car to inspect what had happened. You opened the hood of the car and inspected inside. You couldn’t tell if anything was off because it all just looked the same to you. There was probably something, but you weren't exactly knowledgeable on cars.

You exclaimed in frustration and kicked the wheel, followed by a string of expletives as pain exploded from your toes.

“Car troubles?”

You turned to see a boy around your age stood at the end of a driveway.

“It just stopped,” you said. “I have no idea what’s wrong with it.”

You sighed, running a hand over your face as you realized how screwed you were. You were a few blocks away from home, so walking wasn’t necessarily off the table, but it would take you a while to get home. Not to mention you had no idea how you’d get the car back to your place, or off the road at all.

“Here, bring it into my driveway,” the boy said. “I’ll take a look at it.”

“How are we gonna get it into your driveway? It’s like...dead dead.”

He approached the car, taking a quick glance at the still open hood before reaching to close it. “Put it in neutral. I’ll push, you can steer.”

You weren’t sure if that sounded like a good idea - one person pushing a car on their own didn’t seem super doable - but you had no other choices. So, you got back into your car, waiting for him to get in place, then shifted the car into neutral. You started turning the wheel, shifting the car towards the driveway. It took a while, but eventually the two of you had managed to get the car into his driveway. You put it back in park as he came around to pop the hood again.

“I’m Beck, by the way,” he said as you got out of your car.

“(Y/N),” you responded. “Thanks for the help. I thought I was screwed.”

“Why are you driving a junker like this? It must be like, a century old.”

“My parents got it for me when I got my license. Something about wanting to get an older car as my first one until I learn responsibility, I guess?”

“So they gave you a rolling death trap?”

You scoffed. “Yeah, basically. I bet they’ll regret that now.”

Beck leaned in to get a better look at something. “When did they buy it?”

You shrugged. “A few weeks ago, I think.”

“Well, they’ll definitely regret however much money they wasted on this thing. It’s completely dead.”

Your eyes widened. “What?!”

Beck stood back up. “There’s not a single thing that works in this thing now. Engine is toast, battery zapped, starting motor gone. It’s a wonder this thing ever worked in the first place.”

You let out a long groan. As if your luck couldn’t get any worse. What were you supposed to do now without a car? You couldn’t go back to relying on your parents to drive you everywhere, and you certainly were not about to start taking the bus to school again.

“Do you have a phone?” Beck asked.

“It’s dead,” you said. “I was on my way home anyways, I thought I’d be fine.”

“Listen, mine is in my RV. You can use it to call your parents if you want.”

You eyed the silver RV in the yard. “You live in there? When there’s...a house?”

He chuckled. “I prefer to be on my own. The RV was the only compromise my parents would come to. If you’d rather not come in, I understand. I can bring my phone out instead if it would make you more comfortable.”

You shook your head. “No, that’s okay. It’s starting to get dark, so it’s probably best if I wait inside instead of out here while it gets cold.”

Beck nodded for you to follow him into his trailer. It was a decent size, big enough for one person living there. It was also evident that a teenage boy lived there given the mess. Beck must’ve noticed, too, because he quickly started picking up dirty clothes and laundry from the floor, mumbling something about ignoring the mess. You quietly giggled to yourself.

Beck passed you his phone. You sat down on his couch and dialed your mom’s number first. It rang for a long time before an automated message told you she was away from the phone. You hung up and tried your dad’s number, only to have the same outcome. You rolled your eyes and hung up, handing the phone back to Beck.

“They must be busy,” you said. “God, this sucks. What am I going to do?”

Beck sat down next to you. He was close enough to you that you could feel his shoulder brushing against yours. You were suddenly very aware of your situation: alone in a trailer with a boy who was incredibly cute. A broke down car, no way to get home until your parents answered your calls. You shuffled awkwardly in your seat, looking down at your lap when looking into Beck’s eyes became too much.

“I could drive you home,” he offered. “Then, when your parents are home, you can tell them what happened and where the car is. Then they can decide if they want to come get it, or they can leave it here and I can salvage whatever parts I can from it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You think there’s anything salvageable from that car?”

“Well...the tires.”

You both laughed. You knew you should be getting home, but part of you also didn’t want to leave yet. Sure, you would still see Beck again whenever your parents decided to come get the car - if they decided to come get the car - but after that you may never see him again. He wasn’t familiar to you, and you were sure you’d remember someone like Beck at your school, so that meant he went to a different school. The likeliness of you two ever crossing paths again were incredibly slim.

But you also couldn’t just invite yourself into his place to stay for a while. You were still a stranger to him, and him to you technically. And you probably should get home so you could charge your phone, just so your parents didn’t start freaking out if they tried to call you and couldn’t get through.

So, you took Beck’s offer and followed him to his car. It was definitely a lot nicer than your old piece of junk. You were almost embarrassed that he had to see what you were driving before. The one silver lining to this whole situation was that your parents might actually buy you a good car after all of this.

You knew it was going to be a short ride to your house, so you had to make the most of it. You looked over at Beck and asked, “So, what school do you go to?”

“Hollywood Arts,” he responded.

“Oh! So that’s why I haven’t seen you around. You’re too busy becoming a big star.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so. Trying to, at least. I’m not a singer like most of the people who attend that school. I’m trying to become an actor after I graduate.”

“Hey, the world needs actors. That doesn’t sound like an impossible dream to achieve.”

He shrugged. You felt like the conversation was drifting away, and you desperately wanted it to keep going.

“I do appreciate what you did for me,” you said. “Most people in LA probably would’ve driven right past me and wished me luck.”

“I couldn’t let you just stay there stranded right in front of my place,” he said. “What kind of a guy would I be if I didn’t offer the pretty girl some help?”

Your face immediately burned at his compliment. You quickly looked away so he wouldn’t see how flustered you were.

“Still, I appreciate it,” you said. “And the ride home. I probably could’ve walked, come to think of it.”

“No way. I wasn’t going to let you walk when I have a perfectly good car that could’ve driven you home.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

He chuckled. You noticed the car slowing to a stop, and when you looked up you saw that you were in front of your house. You almost deflated with disappointment. Your time with Beck was finally, and unfortunately, coming to an end. There was no way you’d be able to see him again, you were sure of that. It was already pretty clear the both of you wouldn’t be running into each other at schooling events, unless you managed to make it out to a performance at Hollywood Arts that Beck just so happened to be starring in.

“This is me,” you said, trying to keep the sadness from your voice.

“So it is,” Beck said with a nod.

You looked down at your lap, trying to stall as much as possible. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how I can repay you for all of this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“What if I wanted to? I mean, surely there’s something else I could do or give you as a way of saying thanks. Something more than that lump of junk that’s still sat in your driveway.”

He made a face. “No, that’s a terrible thank you gift actually.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying I want to give you an actual thank you gift.”

He thought for a moment and you waited patiently for his answer. Finally, he looked back at you and said, “There is something you could give me.”

“What is it?”

“Your number.”

He was holding his phone out to you. You looked from his phone up to his face. You were almost sure this wasn’t real, that you were hallucinating that this was happening. But the longer it took for you to take Beck’s phone and put your number in it, the more his face was starting to show worry. As if you were about to turn him down.

“Yes!” you finally blurted. “I mean...yeah. Yeah, I can...I can do that.”

He seemed amused by your flusteredness. You quickly took his phone and typed in your name and number before handing it back to him.

“You better get your phone charged,” he said. “Otherwise, how am I supposed to try and plan a date with you?”

Oh, he smooth.

You wanted to say something back that was equally as smooth, but you were at a loss for words. Instead, you just nodded your head for a long time, like a crazy person, before finally saying goodbye for real and getting out of his car. You could feel him watching you as you walked up to your front door and let yourself in. He didn’t leave until the door closed behind you, and even then he waited for you to lock it and turn on the light over the door.

Once you were alone, you leaned back against the door and you couldn’t stop the wide smile that broke out across your face.

Okay, at least there were two silver linings to that stupid thing breaking down.

#beck oliver #beck oliver imagine #beck oliver x reader #avan jogia #avan jogia imagine #avan jogia x reader #victorious #victorious imagine #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

[pinknightsinmymind]

hi!! Your works are so sweet, I love them^^ I was wondering if you could write a ellie x reader, where both Ellie and reader need to share a bed but its awkward with them both yearning for each other unknowingly, until they finally confess and cuddle up with light touches, just so much fluff

【 let it snow - ellie williams 】

ellie williams x fem!reader

wc: 4.9k

content: mentions of alcohol, reader and ellie drunk stargazing, they go on patrol, chased by infected (briefly), caught in snowstorm, mentions of weapons, mentions of blood, mentions of drugs (no one does any just talked about), pining and yearning, sharing one bed, eventual confession, fluff, comforting ellie

a/n: FUCK THIS IS ONE OF THE OLDEST TROPES IN THE BOOK BUT ITS STILL ONE OF MY FAVS .... so i got a lil carried away writing this lol but i digress

Everything was woozy and off-kilter as you talked to Ellie. The two of you were outside, drunk off your asses, staring at the stars while you laid on the snowy ground. You felt the whisper of cold air dancing against your skin as it made you yearn for warmth. It was such a beautiful night, and all of your sentimental feelings just kept bubbling up. Ellie was just as drunk as you, but that didn’t stop her from going on and on about space and the stars. The stars looked blurry to you, almost like someone had smeared paint against a dark canvas. You couldn't help but think of the countless paintings Ellie has in her room, the times she’s let you see her painting process. Such an artist.

“—and the universe just keeps expanding. It doesn’t stop,” you heard Ellie say in wonder. You turned your head to look at her, at the girl whose eyes looked too much like the stars you were both admiring.

“I love it when you talk about space,” you said to her.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yeah.” You rolled over to lay on your side and truly look at her. “I think you’re beautiful when you… when you talk about the things you love.” The alcohol in your system was making you feel warm and fuzzy. All you wanted to do was speak the truth, to tell Ellie all about the feelings you guarded within you.

“Are you messing with me?” Ellie asked, turning to face you as well.

“No, never,” you said to her. You got lost in her eyes the way you get sucked into a whirlpool. You leaned in without realizing, pecked her lips lightly, then pulled away. You could see the shock on Ellie’s face, but she said nothing. A moment of silence passed before she spoke.

“You need to go home and sober up,” she said. Even in your drunken state you could see the sadness on her features.

+ + +

The next morning you could feel the chill enter your room far before you woke up, burying yourself into your blankets further. You felt at peace in your deep slumber. It was definitely some of the best sleep you’d had in a while—until you heard a certain someone knocking on your door, and last night’s events came crashing down on you.

“[Y/N]? You there?” you heard Ellie call from outside. Shit. This was bad. Very bad. How were you going to face her after what you did? But with both of you as drunk as you were, did she even remember? You groaned as you burrowed yourself under your covers.

“Go away,” you responded groggily. You didn’t want to leave the warmth of your bed, and you didn’t want to wake up and go on patrol with her after last night. Oh, God, what were you going to do? You considered your options, and the only doable one would be to pretend that none of it ever happened.

“Come on. Is that any way to talk to your favorite patrol partner?” Ellie teased. You rolled your eyes.

“Yes. Especially when she wakes me up from good sleep,” you said curtly.

“Ouch,” she said from behind the door. “We’re running a little behind schedule. You need to get up.”

“No thanks.”

“You decent?” she asked.

“No, but I’ll let you get a good look.” Maybe you shouldn’t have said that after last night’s events, but you needed to keep the facade up somehow. It was hard to act like everything was normal, but at least you were making it so far. This was the kind of humor you and Ellie had around each other, anyway.

“Aw, fuck off. You’re so grumpy in the morning,” Ellie said. “I’m coming in.” You heard the rustling of the doorknob, and you screamed internally. You had given her a spare key to your place a long time ago when she gave you one to hers. You and Ellie had been close friends ever since she first showed up in Jackson, thick as thieves, someone whom you had always put your trust in. You were still hidden underneath your covers when you heard the door open and close, followed by Ellie’s agile footsteps. You didn’t know how, but she had mastered walking so silently she was undetectable, but not to you. You recognized her footsteps like your own heartbeat. There was a dip in the mattress beside you, and soon you felt a hand gripping onto your blanket and ripping it off you.

“Ellie!” you shouted, the cold air hitting your face immediately. “You’re such an asshole.” You sat up in bed and glared at her. She was already dressed for patrol with her hair in a low bun and her backpack on. She dressed in layers today, which made sense given how snowy and cold it had been lately. “Since when are you ready so early?”

“Ever since I learned my patrol partner doesn’t like to get up early. Someone’s gotta protect us from Maria’s wrath.”

“You’re right.” You rose from the bed quickly, rubbing your hands together for warmth. If there was one thing you feared more than Infected, it was probably Maria when she was angry—or maybe now it was facing your best friend. Regardless, you’d rather not get scolded again for delaying patrol rotations.

“That was quick,” you heard Ellie remark once you were in your bathroom. “Thought you’d be too tired from partying last night.” Her words made you freeze in front of your sink. Did she remember? Even if she did, you needed to stay committed to acting as if you didn’t.

“Yeah, well, I’d rather not be on Maria’s bad side today.” You ran the water from the faucet as you freshened up for the morning. “Also, I’m not hungover, so I’m good,” you said lightly. You may not have been hungover, but you wish you were instead of feeling nauseatingly anxious. You drunkenly kissed your best friend, and now you needed to pretend none of it ever happened. Why couldn’t I have been drunk enough to forget? you thought to yourself. Once you were done, you grabbed some fresh clothes from your closet before heading back to the bathroom to change. All the while Ellie just sat on your bed patiently and made small conversation with you. Still no other mentions of last night. After you finished getting dressed you hurriedly prepared your backpack for the day with all the supplies you’d need.

“Ready?” Ellie asked. She rose from your bed and walked over to your desk where you were preparing your things.

“Yeah,” you answered, even though it took a moment for the words to leave your mouth. It was hard to stay composed when Ellie was so close to you. Although you felt awkward, you were doing your best not to let that show, and you hoped Ellie wasn’t suspicious of you. “Alright, let’s go.” You slung your backpack over your shoulder and exited your home with Ellie, locking the door behind you. The two of you gathered your horses, weapons, and ammo before logging that the two of you were leaving for patrol. As you left Jackson, you could see more and more snow covering the ground and trees everywhere. The once lively branches that swayed in the wind were now still and bare in the midst of winter. You and Ellie stayed close together on your horses as you kept keen eyes and ears out for anything amiss. The most important part of patrol was to clear any Infected and gather whatever supplies you found. You also hoped that the time outside could clear your head.

Despite the fact the sun was out, it did nothing to help the cold. While wandering through the empty streets, you and Ellie managed to find an old drugstore of sorts. You gathered lots of supplies, such as painkillers, unopened gauze, and bandages among other things. You felt pretty good about the haul, and Ellie found a good amount of supplies too. You glanced at her from the other side of the store. She was looking at some of the trinkets they sold, toying with a keychain in her hand.

“What you got there?” you asked. She glanced at the keychain, then you, before tucking it away.

“Just some keychain I found.” You figured she’d show it to you later, so you didn’t question her further. She did seem a little more quiet than usual today. It was unlike her to not be chatting you up, and she had been stuck in her head since patrol started. You wanted to ask her if she was okay, but you weren’t sure how. What if she was upset because of you? What if she remembered the kiss and wanted nothing to do with you? Then again, if you pretended to know nothing, could anything really go wrong? You wanted to check up on her, because after being friends with Ellie for so long you knew her too well. You knew something was bothering her and plaguing her mind because she always does this—she gets quiet and pulls away. You can’t help but think back to when you first met and how something about her just drew you in. Maybe it was her bright eyes, or her spunky attitude, or the way she carried herself. She was so strong and she held such determination for whatever she did. You admired those things about her, and soon that admiration grew into something much more. Every time you looked at her you felt your heart give way. If it could, your heart would grow legs and give itself to Ellie without a second thought.

The question is, would she accept it?

That was the only thing you were unsure of, but you were sure of your love for Ellie. Everything about her soothed you and pulled you in while also managing to ignite a burning passion within you. Your love for her was strong, and you wondered if such a flame could ever exist within her. Yet, as you thought about your hopes of a love with Ellie, that fire was quickly extinguished. You couldn’t forget the look of shock on her face after you kissed her. It seemed she didn’t feel the same way about you, and maybe now you’d have to mourn a love that could never be. After some time wandering around quietly, you finally decided to break the silence.

“Hey, you okay? You’re a little quiet today.” You looked up at her from the shelf you were skimming to find her gathering old rags and bottles.

“Yeah, I’m… alright, I guess. Maybe a little hungover.”

“I don’t know. You just seem a little down,” you said. You didn’t want to push her too much, but you still wanted to be there for her. What if it really was your fault she was upset?

“How much do you remember from last night?” she asked. The question threw you off, the fear running through your veins making you feel colder than the weather outside. Oh, God, she remembers, you thought.

“I remember going to the party, dancing with you, Dina, and Jesse, our card game, going home… That’s about it,” you answer. Ellie nodded her head. “Why? Is there something I’m supposed to remember?”

“No, not really. Was just wondering if you’re as hungover as me.”

“Oh,” you say. “No, not really.” You heard her hum in agreement. “Well, what’s been going on with you lately?”

“Nothing much, just girl problems,” she said simply.

“I see.” Girl problems. Hearing her utter the phrase brought a dull ache to your chest, but you knew it was best to play along like you knew nothing. “So, who’s the lucky girl?”

“I’d rather not say. Doesn’t seem like it’s going anywhere, anyway.” What does that even mean? you thought.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You zipped up your bag after organizing the supplies you gathered. “It’s her loss, then.”

“Think so?” Ellie asked, glancing up at you from her bag. You nodded.

“I know so.” You slipped your backpack on, Ellie doing the same shortly after. “Anyways, let’s brighten your mood. Get your mind off things.”

“How?” she asked grumpily.

“Um, hello? It’s winter and there’s snow outside. We should enjoy the nature.”

“You’re one of those people Joel would call a hippie.”

“A what?” you asked. You had maybe heard the word once or twice before, but that was only from the much older people in Jackson. People your age never used the word, much less knew it. You and Ellie exited the door and found your horses still waiting for you both outside. It was then that you noticed it had begun snowing again.

“A hippie. They, like, love nature and the outdoors and do crazy drugs and dress weird.”

“Oh, that’s kinda cool,” you say. Even though she rolled her eyes at you, Ellie quickly started smiling as she watched you hoist yourself on your horse. “Would you have been a hippie with me?”

“Why? So I’d do crazy drugs with you?” She climbed onto her horse's back and waited for you to take off so she could ride alongside you.

“Yeah, why else?” you joked. You heard Ellie let loose a small laugh. Good. You hoped she was lightening up a bit.

“And we could travel cross country. Joel says they listened to rock music and traveled together in vans and shit. Isn’t that weird?”

“That sounds like lots of fun.” You let out a small sigh. “Man, we live in the most fucked up reality.”

“Tell me about it.”

“See? Isn’t this fun? It’s so beautiful out today,” you said to her. You watched as Ellie’s eyes scanned her surroundings: the falling snow, the stillness around her.

“Hippie.”

“Whatever. You like it.”

“I do,” she said softly. You both glanced at each other, something hanging in the air between you two. The way she looked at you—there was something in it—and you felt your heart seize and pound against your chest. “Thanks for making me feel better. Your pick-me-up’s always work.”

“Anytime,” you replied. You stared into her eyes, a sort of softness appearing that hadn’t been there before. It mixed with the cold and snow perfectly, and you wondered if this is how winter felt before the whole world fell apart. She made you feel like you could forget about all the chaos inside you. In this moment you felt all the anxiety and worry about the night before falling away. None of it mattered. Not when you were here with her and she was looking into your eyes like this.

However, as much as you longed for it, that tranquility and beauty didn’t last long. In the distance you could hear the dreaded sounds of chirping and clicking. You and Ellie’s expressions changed immediately as you both drew your guns. You took the safety off yours and cocked it, scanning your surroundings. You saw nothing when you surveyed the area around you, until you saw movement out of the corner of your eye. The Stalker let out a large scream as it ran towards you from the left. You didn’t have time to think. You just pulled the trigger and watched as blood spilled from its fungal plates. The Stalker screeched loudly, but it had yet to fall. You shot it once more, and only then did it collapse.

The relief you felt was short lived because soon after you heard screaming and more clicking. Fuck, there’s more, you realized. As you squint your eyes, you could see at least half a dozen Infected running through the cloud of snow.

“Fuck, fuck, Ellie, we need to go!” You and Ellie fired off a few shots at the Infected before whipping the reins of your horses and taking off. The screams only grew louder as they chased after the two of you. The snow was starting to get heavier, and you cursed internally. You couldn’t believe your luck at being chased by Infected during a snowstorm. Neither you nor Ellie knew where to go, but you were hoping to keep going until you found some place to stay. You kept your horse in close range of Ellie’s, turning when she did and snaking past buildings and left behind debris. Eventually the sound of Infected was far behind you both, and you found an old abandoned house with the front door and windows boarded up. The snow was quite heavy by the time the two of you dismounted your horses and checked the area for any Infected. Once you both deemed the area clear, Ellie boosted you through an open window on the side of the house to open up the garage. The two of you would just have to standby and wait for the storm to die down.

+ + +

It had already been hours and the storm had yet to calm. The wind howled loudly, and you could almost hear the cold outside. You and Ellie surveyed every part of the house after you found it. There were no Infected, and it was clear no one had lived here for a long time, but whoever once did took good care of it. It was a small, one-story building with only one bedroom, an old home office, a bathroom, and a kitchen that was connected to the living den. Nothing fancy, but could you really be so choosy in such a world? The couch in the living room was all torn up with stains of who knows what all over the cushions. There were no family portraits, no decorations, nothing. It made you wonder who lived here before, what their life was like.

You and Ellie talked about nonsense back and forth while you sat together on the living room floor. There was a slight chill that still entered the home, but since you and Ellie were still layered up it wasn’t too bad. You may have felt extremely awkward and anxious earlier in the day, but Ellie was always able to put you at ease. As you and Ellie’s conversation continued, so did the howling of the wind outside. It seemed to get louder and louder with no end in sight.

“Shit. The storm doesn’t sound like it’s died down at all,” Ellie commented.

“Should we look out the window to check?” you asked.

“Yeah, let’s head to the garage real quick.” You and Ellie walked to the garage door and opened it up, the bone-penetrating cold immediately hitting you. You were glad you got blankets to cover the horses earlier to keep them warm for the time being. You reached the area beneath the window, waiting for Ellie to give you a boost. Once she did and you saw outside the window you gasped.

“Holy shit,” you said. “It’s still fucking snowing and the sun’s set already.”

“No way,” Ellie said. “Are we snowed in?”

“Pretty much.” You hopped off Ellie’s cupped hands, watching as she straightened her back and thought quietly for a moment.

“Looks like we’ll have to stay here tonight. It’s too dangerous to travel back at night,” Ellie advised.

“You’re right. Do you think they’ve sent anyone after us yet?”

“Knowing Maria, probably.” Ellie paced around for a little bit, then stopped to pet Shimmer’s hair. “We should probably figure out what we’re gonna do to pass the time.”

“How about you feed them and I find extra blankets for us?” you suggested. Ellie nodded, reaching for her backpack she left on the garage’s workbench in the corner. You gathered at least four different blankets and dragged them to the living den for you and Ellie to just pass the time. Knowing her, she wasn’t ready to go to bed yet—seeing as she was a huge night owl—and neither were you. A few minutes passed until she rejoined you, plopping down on the floor next to you.

“They’re all fed,” she announced. “If it gets any colder, should we let them stay in here while we sleep?”

“Yeah, I think that’d be best.”

“Okay. We’ll take care of that later.” Ellie grabbed one of the blankets nearest to her and wrapped herself in it before laying down and resting her head on your lap. “Any interesting things to share?” she asked. She looked so pretty from that angle, looking up at you through her eyelashes like that. If you could, you’d kiss her right now, over and over again, and you’d do it right this time.

“Well,” you said coyly. “You’ll never believe what Jesse told me last night.”

“What?” she asked, suddenly intrigued.

“The hot gossip is that he and Dina are dating.”

“No way!” She sat up suddenly, and a part of you wished you could ask her to lay back down again. If she’d let you, you would play with her hair. “How? Since when?”

“No idea. Maybe he has some secret, suave tips with the ladies we don’t know about. Should I ask him for advice?” you joked.

“Hell no,” Ellie said quickly. “I don’t know what’s worse: asking Jesse for dating advice or watching your friends date.” The two of you laughed together at that.

“I mean, Jesse’s a cute guy. I can’t exactly blame Dina.”

“Ew, [Y/N],” she said.

“What? I’m just being honest. I have eyes, don’t I?”

“Gross. I literally can’t see Jesse that way.”

“My apologies,” you said. You loved the smile that lit up Ellie’s face. You wish you could make her smile everyday. There’s a lot of things you wish for when it comes to her, like her love. “I noticed there’s only one bed. Are you okay with sharing tonight?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she responded.

“Fair enough.” You picked at the threads of your blanket. “Can I ask you something?” The question had been troubling you since this morning. You needed to know if she remembered—if she wanted you to remember—and you’d give her this last chance to come clean.

“Sure,” she said.

“Is there something from last night I forgot?”

“No, there wasn’t,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“Oh, okay,” you said back. She seemed to remember the kiss, but maybe she just didn’t want you to remember. Maybe it’s because she didn’t want you and only whatever girl she was talking about this morning. She had Ellie’s heart, not you. You decided to take this as the answer you always wanted, only it was a no. It was painful, but if you could keep her friendship by pretending you knew nothing, then that’s what you’d do. You’d rather be Ellie’s friend than not have her at all.

“Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything stupid. I just asked to check on you.”

“Thanks, Els,” you said. You gave her your best smile, but on the inside you felt anything but happy. “I’m gonna head to bed.” Ellie didn’t dispute you. She just stayed silent as you grabbed your two blankets and headed to the bedroom. You shut the door behind you and pulled off your outdoor clothes until you were in your long sleeve and underwear since you’d rather not sleep in jeans. You flopped into the bed you fixed up earlier, pulling the blankets over your body. You had to replace the old blanket with another you had found, and although there were no pillows you’d make do. You laid in bed for a long time—you’re not sure how long—until you heard the door open slowly. You could hear Ellie’s footsteps and the sound of her blankets dragging on the floor. You didn’t move, instead continuing to stare at the ceiling without another word. You felt Ellie stack her two blankets on top of yours then slide into bed next to you. She was only wearing a t-shirt and boxers, just like she always did.

“You awake?” she asked. You let out a small hum. “Tired?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Me too.” You felt Ellie shift in the bed, linking her hands together underneath her head. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m pretty warm.”

“Good. I can’t have you getting frostbite on me.”

“You also can’t have an icicle sleeping next to you,” you joked.

“Definitely not.” Feeling her so close to you tonight was painful. God, she was the only thing you ever wanted.

“Els?”

“Yeah?” she asked, craning her neck to look at you. She could still make your shape out in the dark, even if she couldn’t exactly see your features.

“I didn’t forget,” you breathed out. You were so scared to admit the truth, but you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You didn’t want to lose her, but never taking the chance to be honest was more painful. This was your last chance to come clean.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she said immediately. She pulled you into a hug, and you didn’t know if it made you feel better or worse. “You were just drunk, okay? I know you meant nothing by it.”

“But that’s not true,” you explained. Your head rested against her chest, and you could hear her steady heartbeat. “It meant everything to me.”

“[Y/N], you better not be playing with me,” she whispered. You felt her arms loosen around you, almost as if she was preparing to pull away.

“I’d never do that to you.”

“Don’t lie to make me feel better,” she warned. She pulled away from you entirely, and you could already feel her warmth leaving you. She sat up in bed and swung her legs over the edge. Her back was to you now, and you couldn’t imagine anything more painful than that.

“Why would I lie about this?” you asked.

“Because why would you kiss me? You could have anyone in Jackson, so why me? You just got a little drunk and kissed me because I was right there, not because I’m actually the person you want. To you it meant nothing.”

“You’re everything to me, Ellie. You’re my everything, and you have no idea.” You sat up in bed now, the blankets sliding off your body as you did.

“If that’s true, why’d you act like you didn’t remember?” she asked.

“Because I remember the face you made when I did it. I thought maybe you didn’t feel the same after all, so I’d rather pretend to forget so I don’t have to lose you.”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you.” Her voice was lower than usual, almost like she wanted to whisper. “I thought you just did it because you were drunk. I was shocked because I never expected you to, and if you really forgot I wasn’t going to embarrass you and make you remember.”

“So what are you saying, Ellie?” you asked.

“That you’re all I’ve ever wanted,” she said earnestly. She finally turned her head to look in your direction.

“And I’ve always wanted you. Always.” She reached out to you again and pulled you closer to her until you were laying on her body. Her arms snaked around you, her hands rubbing your sides and your back. You wrapped your arms around her neck, and you could feel her breath against your skin. You’ve had sleepovers with her before, slept next to her countless of times, but never like this. This was new, and it was exciting.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, finally breaking the silence.

“Go ahead.”

“Let me kiss you again, and let me do it right,” you requested.

It took Ellie a moment, but you felt her cup your cheek with her hand, rubbing a thumb across your skin. She was so gentle, so kind. Everyday you only fell for her more and more. You heard the cloth of her shirt rub against the blankets as she leaned in, her head tilting as her lips slowly made contact with yours. You knew it technically wasn’t your first kiss with her, but it sure felt like it. She kissed you softly and slowly, like she had all the time in the world, because in a way she did. It was as if time had frozen with the snowstorm, and she’d have you all to herself for the rest of the time spent in this house. You had dreamed about kissing her so many times, but none of it compared to the way her lips actually felt against yours. You felt her other hand come up to grab your face, but nothing about her movements were harsh—they never were. God, if there was one word to describe Eillie it would be “gentle.” Her hands were so warm against your skin, and you never wanted any of it to end.

Begrudgingly, Ellie pulled away, but she still held your face in her hands. She wished it wasn’t so dark so she could admire you like she always had, but she’d still treasure and cherish this moment with you.

“I’ve always loved you,” she said.

“I’ve always loved you, too,” you replied. You felt like someone had placed heaven in the palm of your hands, because that’s what being at Ellie Williams’ side felt like. “It seems like both of us have been pining for each other this whole time,” you observed.

“It sure does,” she replied. “It’s kind of gay.”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m kicking you out of this room,” you said, but you couldn’t help the laugh that spilled from your lips.

“I’m sorry, I take it back,” she said, but not before pulling you into another kiss.

#tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #tlou ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #tlou x reader

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 16: Heat

You decide to make yourself useful. The Mandalorian decides to keep his distance from you. It has... mixed results. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-16 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warning: UNABASHED SMUT :D (fingering. Just a lot of fingering.) The helmet stays on this is the way. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 5.8k

You were’t sure just what had set the Mandalorian off but it wasn’t getting any better. It seemed like an overreaction to going for a walk, especially from a man who tended toward quiet and stoic. It had to be something else, too.

Part of you supposed you deserved it, you were hardly welcoming when he’d shown up on Garqi. But he was the one who’d basically put a blaster to your head and made you come along with him. The rest of the day you’d gone for a walk, he largely ignored you except to glare in your direction when he thought you were pushing yourself too hard. That night, he’d stayed in the grass outside the ship and you’d gone into the hold to nest yourself into a corner. You didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

The next day, you tried to set your frustration aside and see if he could act like a damn adult. 

“Question,” you said, the baby on your hip as he worked on something on the exterior of the ship. He looked at you but didn’t say anything. Fine. “Is that bag the only thing you have to carry him?” 

“There’s a pod, too,” he said. “Why?” 

“Just doesn’t seem the best set up for conflict,” you shrugged.

“Well, Doll, if you see a market somewhere here to improve the situation,” he turned back to his work. You rolled your eyes but carried the kid onto the ship anyway. 

“Your dad’s a piece of work,” you muttered, setting the baby on the ground for a moment and looking at the crates in the hold. They weren’t any taller than the ones that had been there three years ago, but climbing was harder now. You took a deep breath, steeled yourself, and pulled yourself onto the shortest one. The pain in your back flared but you ignored it until you were on top of the crate. The baby watched you, eyes wide. You met his gaze. Questioning and desire. He wanted to be up high, too, and couldn’t figure out how to get there. 

“When I’m a little more sure on my feet, kiddo, I’ll bring you,” you smiled. “Sit tight for two minutes.” 

Getting onto the taller crates from the shorter one was easy, and you were able to make your way to the upper part of the back corner of the Crest’s hold. There was a panel there that you were pretty sure the Mandalorian either didn’t know about or thought was too inconvenient to use - which wasn’t really wrong. Regardless, you thought there was a good chance that the sewing kit you’d stashed in there the last time you’d been aboard would still be in there. The panel was stuck from disuse but, after a few good knocks with your elbow, it popped open. Inside was a small treasure trove of things you’d hidden away years ago. You smiled a little, smug. He’d been stuck traveling with little pieces of you whether he wanted to be or not. 

The sewing kit was in there, as were some data drives you’d forgotten about - nothing too special, just music, art and books to keep you entertained while Mando was hunting that you’d picked up on Hosnian Prime. You grabbed them, thinking something on them might keep the baby engaged for a bit. There was a bottle of whiskey, too, that you’d intended to give him at some point. You’d gotten it on Coruscant, a token of appreciation. It had probably aged into something better now, at least. You left it where it was. 

You clambered back down, the baby still watching in almost total fascination. Landing on your feet hurt more than you remembered, the heat and pain in your back spiking for a moment, but it was doable. You kept one eye on the kid while you rifled through the bag the Mandalorian had packed for you until you found a dress from your days as a handmaiden on Naboo. The skirt had layers, all of them thick and resistant to blaster bolts. You pulled the two middle layers out from the rest and opened the knife with your teeth before stabbing it into the fabric and cutting them loose. The kid toddled over and touched the cloth, picking it up and holding it in front of his face. 

“This is for you eventually,” you said, folding the knife up and putting the dress away. “But not yet, I have to actually make it into something first.” 

You folded the fabric, set it next to the sewing kit and scooped the kid up, popping him onto your hip as you looked around the hold for other tools. There were some straps for holding down crates that you didn’t think you’d ever seen used, so you grabbed a few of them, hoping that left enough extra that Mando wouldn’t be pissed about it. 

“He’s pissed at me all the time anyway, right?” You said, looking down at the baby and bouncing him a bit. He just smiled and you felt his easy contentment. “Man, why am I not a species that gets to be a kid for a few decades? I don’t think I even got to be a kid for one…” You gave his little nose a kiss and gathered the rest of your supplies and your data pad before leaving the ship again. You purposely set up in a place that was out of easily sight of the Mandalorian and the ramp into the Razor Crest. After laying out the fabric, you put the kid in the middle of it, using his little body to measure just how big a bag he might need. Something big enough to comfortably hold him but small enough that he wouldn’t get too jostled when running with him on. On the data pad, you sketched out a quick plan, the kid watching you intently. You turned it around and showed it to him. 

“You like?” You asked. He squeaked. You smiled. “Yes, I know, I’m an excellent designer. You’ll be so stylish, all the other foundlings are going to wish they were you.” 

The kid settled in the grass, picking at the blades of it and toddling after the tiny bugs that flitted from place to place. 

The fabric was tricky to cut, both because of the material itself and because you were stuck working with your knife and not scissors but you made the most of it. Once you had the pieces cut according to your plan, you put one of the drives in the data pad - this one with art from different worlds - and handed it to the kid, who had moved on to trying to terrorize the small, furry creatures that burrowed in the grass on this planet. He abandoned his latest quest in favor of the data pad, happily watching the artwork flit by in front of him. 

It was easy to lose track of time once you started sewing. It felt good to make something again. You’d always known how to do some of this work - clothing repair just one of the many things it was useful for a handmaid to know. But you’d started making and building and fixing more things in your time on Dantooine. Kann had left much of the management of farming operations to you, so you’d learned how to repair the equipment from a droid he’d rented for a season. You’d started making and building things just to feel like you were doing something constructive, the pace of country life so much slower than anything you’d ever lived. Moisture farming on Tatooine had required much more constant effort, the grind of daily chores enough to keep you distracted from your lack of purpose. Dantooine had been different. You’d discovered that the quiet, slow life you’d longed for wasn’t built for you. Or you weren’t built for it. You were’t sure which. 

“Watch the kid,” Mando called do you at one point. “I’m going hunting.” 

He didn’t wait for a response and you watched his glinting armor head for the woods. The baby watched him, too, before he looked at you. He felt worried. 

“It’s OK,” you lightly tapped his little nose. “He’ll always come back for you, don’t you worry. And you’ve got me in the meantime.” 

He still looked longingly after the Mandalorian until he disappeared into the tree line. 

“Yeah, kid,” you sighed. “I know the feeling.” You glanced down at him. “Don’t tell him I said that.” 

The bag was relatively quick work, and you made sure the straps could be adjusted to fit the Mandalorian’s more hulking frame or your smaller one before attaching them. You tried it on without the kid first, putting the straps over your arms and securing the base of the bag with the strap at your waist. 

“See?” You said to the kid, who was far more interested in an animal burrowing nearby, the data pad all but abandoned on the ground. He looked up at you, making a little questioning squeak. “A backpack, so you can be a little more secure. Maybe I’ll even take you climbing.” 

You took it off and scooped him up, slipping him inside it and leaving the top open so he could see out. He seemed to fit securely enough. You carefully put the bag on, strapping it to yourself again, looking over your shoulder to him. 

“He’ll probably find a reason to be upset with me over this,” you said to him. The baby cooed. “But fuck it.” 

“Upset with you for what?” 

You nearly jumped out of your skin, wondering how you’d managed to miss him coming back from the forest from where you’d been working. 

“How are you that quiet?” You demanded, hand over your heart. 

“Practice. Why am I going to be upset with you.” 

“You’ll find a reason, I’m sure,” you replied. “One of your many talents.” 

“Doll.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“This,” you said, turning so he could see the child in the backpack. You couldn’t see but you heard the kid’s happy sounds. “It should fit either of us, it’s more secure than the shoulder bag, definitely better for running with…” 

“Where’d you get it?” He asked, his voice lacking the edge it had held since he’d tracked you in the woods. You considered being sarcastic for a second but couldn’t bring yourself to do it. It was too nice, hearing him be something besides cold to you. 

“Made it,” you said. “Used some fabric from one of my dresses from Naboo, from my handmaid days. It’s fabric that can dissipate some of the energy from a blaster bolt, so it will protect him. I used some of the crate straps from the hold, I hope that’s OK….” He didn’t say anything and the silence seemed more uncomfortable than usual. You started unhooking the straps. “Here, you try it.” 

You slipped the bag off gently, pulling the kid around to the front of your body as you did and turned to face the Mandalorian. He was standing close to you, so close that there was barely room for the child in your arms between you. You looked into the visor, you couldn’t help it. You could feel him there, behind all the metal he used to distance himself from the world. The softness you knew was in him was there, the quiet passion, the deep empathy he held for things that suffered. All the things he tried so hard to pretend didn’t exist just inches away. 

He turned, slowly, so his back was to you and you cleared your throat before handing him a strap and helping him put the pack on over his cloak. The kid cooed happily, craning his neck back to try to see Din’s head. He shrugged into the pack, rotating his shoulders, settling into it. You came around the front to adjust the straps and set the waist strap in a good place before stepping back to admire your work. 

“Jump a bit with him on,” you said, hand under your chin. He obeyed, the straps in front staying put. The baby giggled. “Turn around and do it again?” 

He obeyed and you smiled a little. Finally, a way to get the Mandalorian to actually listen to you. You fought the temptation to abuse your newfound power. 

“One more test,” you said, stepping back. The baby smiled at you. You smiled back, his contentment making it easy. “Bend and twist with him a bit? I want to see if he’ll come loose…” 

Mando obeyed. The kid slid a bit much for your liking when he bent all the way forward, enough that you stepped toward him to catch him if you needed. You thought for a second. 

“OK, let’s take it off,” you said, helping him out of it. “I’m going to add one more thing that should fix it…” 

You pulled the baby out of the bag and propped him onto your hip. He fit naturally there. He leaned forward in your arms and grabbed a handful of your hair. 

“Next time I chop it all off, I’ll save you some, kiddo,” you teased him before looking to Mando. “So, found a reason to hate me for it yet?” 

“No,” he said. There was no challenge in his voice, no animosity. You tried to hide your surprise. He was still very close to you, so close that if you weren’t very careful, you’d brush against him if you moved. 

“Good,” you said, chin up defiantly. You moved delicately around him, not wanting to feel what you knew would happen in your body if you touched him, and went to the hold to scrounge up some rope. 

Din was skinning an animal when you came back outside, rope and a snack for the kid in hand. 

“That should hold us for a few days,” you said, eyes going a bit wide. 

“Thought it’d be easier than dressing something every day,” he shrugged. You nodded slowly. You’d never tried hunting, most of your survival training focusing on gathering and finding what plants would be safe to eat. You watched him work as you added a drawstring to the top of the bag. You put the kid inside and tightened it around him before putting it on your front, moving with him in place. He stayed put, his little hands clapping happily. You smiled, proud. At least you’d done something that day. 

You and the Mandalorian sat in silence around the fire after eating, watching the kid stack rocks, the flames reflecting off armor and the child’s wide eyes. You were hesitant to break it. Being alone for so long had taken its toll, having Din mad at you was more uncomfortable than you remembered it being before. If shutting up kept him from biting your head off, fine. You’d take it. You pulled your legs into your chest, resting your chin on your knees. 

“The backpack was a good idea,” he said. You glanced away from the baby to him and shrugged. “Thank you.” 

“Sure,” you said, looking back to the kid. “He’s pretty great, can’t let him get hurt because we don’t have the proper equipment.” 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. 

“I want to start training tomorrow,” you said. He didn’t respond, so you pressed on. “If I’m going to be of any use to you at all, I need to be able to do what I used to do. Or at least close to it.” 

“Don’t get yourself hurt because you’re impatient,” he said, his tone a little cooler. You tried to not frown. 

“I’ll ramp up into it,” you shrugged. “But I need to at least get to the point that I can run, climb, throw a good punch before we leave here. Otherwise I’ll just be cannon fodder.” 

“You could just stay with the kid on the ship,” he said. “Don’t need skills for that.” 

“Yeah, I’ll definitely be able to pay off cybernetic implants on a babysitter’s salary in this lifetime,” you rolled your eyes. “It won’t take much to get me at least above the baseline. A lot of my training was predicated on me being smaller and weaker than my opponents anyway, I just need to get back into practice.” 

The kid yawned, falling back onto his little bottom and looking surprised about it. The Mandalorian took off his cloak and put it over him. His eyes drooped and he lay back, adjusting the makeshift blanket as Mando tucked him in. 

“Fine,” he said after the child was settled. “But I’m teaching you a few things.” 

“Like what?” You frowned. 

“You’re good with a blaster,” he said. “But I’m guessing bodyguard training didn’t include learning how to be a sniper.” 

“Correct,” you nodded. 

“I could use long distance cover,” he shrugged. “I imagine you’ll pick it up quick. You’re also learning how to fly.” 

“No thank you,” you shook your head, your stomach knotting. 

“Doll…” 

“No,” you cut him off, voice harsher than you’d really intended. 

“Why,” his voice was gentle. He was doing that thing where he was asking a question without actually asking. You glared at him. “Come on. Why don’t you want to work on your flying.” 

“I feel very out of control when flying, OK?” You looked at the fire to avoid what you were sure was a judgmental gaze. “There are so many other factors, you have to rely on your ship or your speeder to work properly. My blaster jams and I have alternatives - hell, I can even just throw it at someone. Can’t do that with a ship. And if there are passengers? Sure, I’ll gamble with my life, I’m not doing it with someone else’s.” 

“How’d you get away with protecting the queen of Naboo without knowing how to fly?” He sounded like he was trying not to laugh. You glared at him before looking back at the fire. 

“I know HOW to fly,” you snapped. “I just only know the basics. I can get on and off planet, I can set a jump to a place I’ve got memorized, I can dock with a ship. But a dogfight? Or doing what you did with the speeder on Coruscant? No.” 

“You’ll learn,” he said simply. 

“In what, the Crest?” You jerked your head at his ship. “That thing is older than me - maybe you, too.” 

“It’s older than me,” he sounded like he was smiling. 

“Yeah, you don’t want me doing a thing with it,” you replied. “I’m not going to be responsible for breaking your damned ship. You love that thing. Even though it looks like you haven’t been keeping it up quite as well the last few years.” 

“It’s old,” he said, looking into the fire, his tone a bit defensive but still light. “Hard to find the parts.” 

“All the more reason I should leave it be,” you said. “You hate me enough already, I don’t need to add to it when I break something that can’t be fixed or replaced.” 

His head turned to look at you so quick it made you jump. 

“You think I hate you,” it seemed like he wanted to ask it. You shrugged. 

“Maybe hate’s a strong word for it but…” you shrugged again. “Indifferent at best. At least bothered by.” 

“Why would I have found you if I was indifferent?” He asked - actually asked, for a change. 

“That one I can’t quite figure out,” you propped your chin on your arms that were folded atop your knees, just looking at him now. “I genuinely don’t understand you, Din. I used to think I was good at reading people - and maybe I’m just losing my touch, maybe I’m out of practice - but I can’t figure you out. What you want, how you feel. You’re inconsistent.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You’re inconsistent with your actions,” you said. “You obviously hated me when you first met me.” 

“I thought you were Imperial when I first met you,” he reminded you. “But I didn’t hate you. I wanted to, but I didn’t.” 

“Hmm,” you cocked your head, examining him. He was watching you, you could feel his eyes on you. “It definitely seemed like hate.” 

“If I hated you, why do you think I would have saved you on Crait.” 

You watched him for a moment. 

“Because you told my father you’d deliver me safely,” you said eventually. “As much as you disliked me, you believe in your creed more.” 

He didn’t argue with you, so you took it as a point in your favor. 

“Regardless,” you continued. “You never particularly liked me. You were backed into a corner on Coruscant and asked for my help. That changed things a bit, I thought you maybe liked me then. It felt like we were almost friends, at least for a bit.” You paused, sitting up a little straighter. “Then I fucked it up on Bisneth and…” You shrugged. “You were back to disliking me.” 

“No,” he said sharply.

“Yes you were,” you said. “Really, it’s fine. I’m not saying you wanted me dead or anything, I know you didn’t. You didn’t wish me ill but you were happy to get rid of me as soon as you could after. I don’t blame you for it…” 

“Doll…” 

“I don’t need you to like me, Mando,” you shrugged. “I’ve been on my own for a long time. It doesn’t matter.”

He was quiet for a moment. 

“You said you didn’t understand me,” he said. “What don’t you understand.” 

“Why come looking for me?” You asked. “Why go back to Dantooine at all? Were you just curious? So used to dealing with bounties that you decided you needed some closure with me? What was it?” 

He didn’t respond so you kept going. 

“You tracked me down on Garqi,” you pressed on. “You killed Kann. You saved my life, got me fucking cybernetics instead of just leaving me there or stopping the bleeding, went back to my house on Dantooine and found my things and made it look like I died there so I could try to stay in hiding… and for half a day? It felt like I remembered it being before I fucked it up the first time.…” 

“You didn’t fuck it up.…” 

“And then I go for a walk and you’re back to hating me,” you ignored him. “You give me whiplash, Mando. If you regret picking me up on Garqi, fine, leave me here and I’ll figure it out. Or drop me on the nearest inhabited world, I can find my way from there but stop making me feel like you’re enduring my existence because you’re being forced into it. You’re not. No one made you find me, you did that all on your own.” 

“I don’t regret picking you up,” he said. 

“Really?” You said, skepticism evident in your tone. “Because it sure seems like you do.” 

“I don’t. And I don’t hate you. Never did.” 

“Then what is it?” 

He looked at you for a moment, the tension heavy on the air. 

“If you want to start training tomorrow, I need to make sure your implant can handle it,” he said. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he was changing the subject. “Turn around so your back is in the light.” 

You sighed but obeyed, pulling your hair over your shoulder and leaning forward. You heard him come up behind you and sit down. He lifted the back of your shirt, slowly, and you held your breath without really meaning to. His finger brushed against your ribs and you fought to keep still. He’d taken his glove off again. 

He gently pressed his fingertips into your spinal column and you closed your eyes, focusing on the feel of his touch. Why not, you figured. You felt the way you felt. You were past the point of being able to really deny it so why bother? May as well enjoy it. 

His fingers were soft. It still shocked you, even though you’d felt them before - and you’d remembered feeling them plenty of times since. It seemed like they should be rough, callused. Hardened like the weapons they were. The gloves must do their job well. 

“What’s the verdict?” You asked after a moment, hoping you disguised the desire in your voice. 

You didn’t. 

***

He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. It was a mistake. 

The wall he’d put up had worked well. A bit too well. You thought he hated you. He hadn’t wanted it to go that far. A little distance, that’s all he wanted. To be able to keep you at arm’s length. Make it so you could work together without the animosity on one end of the spectrum or the temptation on the other. 

But he couldn’t seem to manage that with you. Anything less than actively pushing you away and you were pulling him into your orbit, he couldn’t help it. It was like gravity, a force he couldn’t see or even hope to control, so much stronger than he was. You pulled him in with your tenacity, your biting wit, your tenderness with the kid, your soft skin, your lush hair. He fought to keep his hand from trembling as he touched you, testing the implant and memorizing how your skin felt like silk below his fingers. He took a shaky breath. 

“What’s the verdict?” Your head was turned, your hair in your fist as you looked back toward him, your voice heavy with want. A familiar ache settled in him, the desperate need for you. He pressed more of his hand into your back, spreading over your skin, soaking up as much of you as he could reach. Your breath caught. 

“It’s better,” he said, his hand ranging over your back. He wanted to touch you everywhere, needed to touch you anywhere you’d let him. 

“Good,” you said, pressing yourself back into his touch and closing your eyes. “That’s good.” 

He let go of your shirt then, both of his hands going to your bare waist, the fabric falling over his forearms. You let out a small gasp and it was like it went straight to his groin, the ache in him growing. He knew what needing you was. He’d lived with it for years. He didn’t expect it to hit him this hard, this drive to bury himself inside you until he couldn’t feel anything but you anymore. 

He pulled you back against him, your shoulders against his stomach, your head at his chest. You looked up at him, cheeks flushed, pupils blown. Fuck, he wanted you.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” his voice was quiet, low. You nodded quickly, your hands dropping to his thighs. His hands slid over your skin, so soft against him, around to your front, slipping over your ribs until he reached your breasts. You whimpered when his fingers first brushed them, your back arching into him, pressing yourself against him as he cupped you. He welcomed it, your warm, soft body against him, his arms tightening around you, the velvet fullness of your breasts in his hands. He wanted to touch all of you, feel all of you. For now, he settled for your chest as you bit your lip, pressing your cheek into him. 

And he would have been content to have held you like this, touched you like this, forever. But you started moving against him, your hips searching for something to work themselves against and he wanted to give you everything. 

One hand slid down your body, your skin warm with want and the heat from the fire, down to your pants. Your breath caught in your throat. You were frozen against him, almost like you were afraid to move, afraid he’d take his hands off you if you did. 

“Breathe, Doll,” he commanded before slipping his hand into your pants. You gasped as his fingertips brushed you, gently, exploring you. He found your clit and lightly rubbed it, moving the hand still at your breast in time with his fingers between your legs. Your fingers gripped his thighs and you swallowed a moan as he shifted his hand, leaving his thumb pressed against the top of your slit while working his fingers lower. He reached your entrance, so warm and wet it was hard to think straight, and he circled it lightly, teasing you, relishing the delicate sounds dripping from your lips. He pressed into you slowly, gently, so tight he had to work for every fraction of every inch. You ground down against him and he stopped. 

“Be patient,” he whispered, heat seeping into his voice. He wanted nothing more than to make you cum around his fingers but he wasn’t going to let this end quickly, not if he could help it. You stilled, panting against him. He sank his finger further into you and you moaned softly but stayed still. “Good girl.” 

He took his time burying himself fully inside you, trying not to think about what it would be like if it was his cock in you instead of his finger. He stilled against you, savoring the way your body tensed against him, how desperate you were to move and take what you needed. But he wanted to give it to you. 

He moved slowly at first, the finger inside you moving in tandem with the hand at your breast, never fully leaving you as his thumb worked your clit and his finger pressed deeper before pulling back, curving against one spot on your inner wall that made you pant with need. Your back arched further, your breaths getting more and more desperate. He felt your core begin to tighten and he added a second finger, a strangled groan slipping from you. 

“When was the last time someone made you cum, Doll?” He asked, increasing his pace. “Someone besides yourself.”

“Three years,” you panted softly, one hand leaving his thigh and reaching up and back, going around the back of his neck to hold yourself against him. “You, on Bakura… fuck!” 

The last word came as a desperate gasp as he felt you get even tighter around him. You were needy, straining to not writhe against him, just moving your body further up his own until your face pressed into his neck. 

Part of him was happy about it, proud that no one had brought you that high since him. But you deserved pleasure in your life. 

“Have to make up for lost time then,” he said, suddenly moving his fingers faster and harder against you, your body tensing even more, core tightening so much just the thought of his cock being deep in you was damn near enough to make him cum and you came undone with a desperate gasp, your body going slack against him. He thrust his fingers deep and held them inside as you throbbed around him, savoring the feeling of your ecstasy. 

You panted for breath, eyes opening, but he hadn’t had enough of you yet. He slowly started moving his fingers in you again and you let out a shocked whimper, the loudest sound you made since he’d started touching you. 

“Do you want me to stop, Doll?” He asked, looking down at your slack body against him. 

“No,” you moaned. 

“Then don’t wake up the kid,” he said, taking his hand away from your breast and slipping it over your mouth. He picked up the pace of his fingers slowly, gradually working you higher and higher, your body tightening like a spring around him, back arching again, fingers grasping desperately at his neck for something to hold while the ones at his thigh curled against him, needing an outlet for the growing tension until your body exploded around him. You moaned against his hand, reckless, as you went slack again. He released your mouth, his hand gently running over your face to your hair. 

“Din,” you panted softly, eyes meeting his below the visor. He felt like he could drown in your eyes and die happy doing it. “Please…” 

“Please what?” He asked, still gently working his fingers inside you as he stroked your hair. “Please stop?” 

“No,” your voice was shaky. 

“Good,” he said, pressing his fingers more firmly into you. “Because I want one more from you tonight.” 

You nodded weakly against him, your body soft and relaxed. He stroked your hair as he held you against him, his fingers slowly, deeply moving in and out and over you. You curled into him, like a surrender, like you had no choice but to trust him to do what he wanted with you and you liked it. He built your last orgasm slowly, pulling it gently from your wrung out body until you came around him almost softly, like your muscles didn’t have any more heat left to give. When the tension left you, you wrapped around him this time and he pulled his fingers slowly from you, putting his arms around you and holding you against him. He barely caught the tear at the corner of your eye, glinting in the firelight like a crystal. 

“What is it, Doll?” He asked gently, cupping your cheek with the hand that had been in your hair. Your hand went to his helmet, holding where his cheek lay below. 

“Don’t hate me in the morning,” you whispered. “Please.” 

“I won’t,” he pressed his metal covered forehead to yours. “I could never hate you, cyare.” 

You closed your eyes and nodded, the tear slipping down your cheek, and you slipped into unconsciousness in his arms. 

He waited a few minutes, until he was sure you were asleep, and picked you up, carrying you to the other side of the fire where the child lay. He was still fast asleep. He tucked you in beside him and you curled around his little body instinctively. Din watched you for a moment before going into the Crest. 

He closed himself in the fresher, immediately unzipping his fly and freeing himself, fisting his cock with the hand that had just made you cum. He remembered how you felt as you came undone, the sounds you made, the way you gripped him like you couldn’t have enough of him. It didn’t take long for him to cum with a strangled moan, struggling to stay on his feet from the force of it as he panted for breath. He took a moment to compose himself before getting cleaned up and going back outside. 

You and the kid were completely out. He lay on the other side of the child, on his side so he could look at you. He’d meant to keep his distance from you. He really had. But now? He was fucked. And he was having a hard time making himself care.

#fanfic #smut fic #mandalorian fanfic #enemies to friends to lovers #din djarin #slow burn #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the helmet stays on

[oksana-moods]

Queen of Promise - Part 10

Summary: The hell you were put through seems endless. 

A/N: To those who are still around: you are lovely. Please, make yourselves known, it’ll give some confidence and will certainly help with this detachment I’ve been feeling with writing. 

You’ll gona ask, what about part 11. I know. Well, I don’t know when we’ll see it, I’ll try to work on something the next few days, but as I said to that anon, I’m going through some work stuff and it’s draining a lot. Let’s hope for the best. 

Warning: Angst, blood, gore, torture?, mentions of death.

Previous Parts here

"Hopeless and taken"

There was something funny about the dark. How your eyes adjust to the environment to the point that first, you are able to discern things, later you can properly see things in the dark. And then, then you start to imagine it. 

But maybe the imagination part is not related to the darkness that enveloped you in that cold stoned dungeon at all. Maybe your hallucination was due something else entirely. 

Perhaps, how you could barely feel your toes because the weather started to show or how you hadn’t properly eaten ever since they left you in this hellhole had something to do with these things you supposed you’re imagining.

Or that rat really ate something that lingered around a piece of bone long forgotten in the corner and you swore there were no other leftovers except your own flesh, it probably would be the next thing that animal was going to eat. See, it was hard to tell one thing from another in the dark. 

Also, in the dark, it was really easy to lose track of time. There were no windows, and usually dungeons are held underground, there wouldn’t be any windows, that’s why you didn’t know whether it was day or night. 

Furthermore, it’s pretty hard to grasp how much time has passed while you’re out of consciousness. You don’t say you sleep, because this way, you’d be outstretching this word and its meaning. No. It was understandable even, you know you pass out after your body gives up due to exhaustion, hunger or because you’re beaten until you can’t stand anymore.

There was a lot to say about the dark, and you didn’t like it at all, but the dark is doable. The silence though, was something else. 

It was deafening. It was maddening. 

The silence remained imperturbable. 

Except for the occasional sound of rats and mice fighting for some dirt somewhere your eyes often couldn’t reach, the sound of your chains clicking when you moved or the eventual whimper you failed to conceal in the depths of your despair. 

There was no other sound.

After a while, your heart began to process the situation you were in. Alone, thrown into a cell, all the respect due to someone like you had been neglected. Not that you expected to be treated like a princess of your status should, but at least, you supposed you should be treated fairly, at least. 

However, reality was far worse than the things you believed were fair. 

You had experienced war, fights, battles, treason attempting, riot and several other crises throughout your short life as a ruler aspirer, by the gods, you even endured to be held as prisoner before. 

Yet, nothing compared to the taste Wanda’s betrayal left in your mouth.

Maybe you were being silly, sulking into your misery instead of putting up a fight or trying to find a way out of this nightmare. Perhaps you should be doing these things, trying to turn the tide of events to your favor, however, there isn't a single bone capable of keeping going. You were paralyzed. 

Frozen in time and place, your head still insisted on wrapping itself around the last events, filled with thousands of questions that you knew you probably wouldn’t get any answer to. Have you been naive for falling in love, or have you been just reckless? 

When did Wanda decide that you were the weakest point in this whole story? Was this play obvious to everybody that you would fall for a lie incarnated in a perfect body with a beautiful face? 

Maria did warn you, though. Maybe it was obvious to everybody else except to you. 

Certainly, if you had your head in the right place, you would find this embarrassing. However, right then and there, you realized it was just sad, because to you Wanda was everything, and all she’s done was use you for her personal purposes. You were just a prey that failed running off the huntress.

Time seemed to drag itself at a snail's pace, but then again, you didn’t even know how much time had passed. For all you knew, it could be a month already. Even if you were able to count a hundred of days, you supposed your mind wouldn’t stop its assault with the thoughts of Wanda. 

It was all too impressive the way your heart still yearned for the woman, even though your feelings were shattered on the floor, broken beyond repair. Too bad something so good took this unexpected turn and the bitter taste was just another reminder of how unbelievable this was. 

How unfortunate your heart happened to be in the middle of everything.

All those beautiful moments you had shared were nothing but a ploy, a set up built on lies. And you wondered how long it would take for you to swallow down your throat the shards of your ego that threatened to choke you or to pick up the shreds of your heart poured in the wind.

The salty, ironed copper taste was the first thing your mind was aware of as it drifted back into consciousness. Usually the cold, hard ground felt like a twisted, sick embrace to your beaten body, except, you awoke on your feet, body hanging from the ceiling by the chains. 

The dim light reaching your eyes creeped from the creak between door and floor betrayed the torches burning in the corridors. It could only mean one thing. It was late and someone would be walking through these halls. Other than this, the heavy door made with iron never allowed you a simple glance of anything else. 

Besides, maybe, by the small opening in the middle that was usually closed except when the guards opened it to come and check up on you. It always made you feel like an animal in a zoo, and you supposed you were the main attraction in this godforsaken place. It was almost disrespectful the number of times they came to see if you were in the same place. 

As if you could go anywhere else.

The chains hanging from the ceiling were their first guarantee that you couldn’t move more than a foot unless they loosened it enough for you to lay down on the floor. This mercy was granted only for a few hours. 

They made sure you wouldn’t mistake your staying as an unwanted vacation in the Northern Castle. And this was definitely not your winter cabin to enjoy the glamor of the current season. You were a prisoner after all, not a guest.

And then, perhaps worse than everything else, there was the smell.

The room ricked to death, rot, and body fluids. The smell was awful. Sick. It made your stomach churn, and your vomit was a new addition to the horrid smell impregnating the walls, your clothes, skin and nose. Hell, even your brain was probably infected with this stank.

It hadn’t been long, you mused, but your clothes were wasted already, torn to shreds. Your hair clang to your head and face due sweat and blood, and you knew dirt was just another layer of your skin by now.

However, no matter how fucking dreadful your situation was, no matter how fucking awful you were feeling. Nothing would ever compare to the feeling of Wanda’s betrayal.

Right on your first day, Vision had come to your cell to gloat and brag about your stupidity and naivety of falling on their plan like a deer hunted by a huntress. Every word stung deep and deeper on your entire being, but you wouldn’t let it show.

That’s why you decided to headbutt him, which earned you the pleasant view of his face contorted in pain and embarrassment. But as the blood slid from his nose, blood slid from you too.

With an incredible amount of stamina, strength and hatred Lord James Barnes, pleasantly, whipped your back until your legs gave in and you couldn’t keep up by yourself anymore. Blood splattered on the floor, over the walls and even his face.

The wicked smirk present on Vision’s face turned into a satisfied grin once your low grunts of pain became higher, though never really screaming, he contented himself with your humiliation after you couldn’t stand on your own anymore.

Obviously, you were ashamed of showing any sort of weakness before your enemy, this was one of the first lessons you were taught when younger. The shame burned just as the wounds on your back burned with an angry fire as if your skin was boiling from inside out.

Still, it didn’t burn or hurt as much as the thought of Wanda.

The memories of your moments with Wanda Maximoff assaulted your brain mercilessly, without invitation, without stop. Nothing could erase the feel of her touch or her lips. No matter how hard you tried, though brief, your time with the Princess of Sokovia was beyond intense.

You’d experienced love for the first time. It was fast and strong like wildfire; it was only obvious that the devastation in its wake would be just the same.

You didn’t even need to be dropped in a cell to rot into oblivion to be punished because your broken heart was punishment enough. No matter how many physical assaults the Sokovians could think of it would still be nothing after what Wanda did.

Your internal whimper came to a halt when you heard the dungeons floor clicking with the sound of shoes. You weren’t aware if you were the only one in these chambers, but you knew better. This would be Vision, coming for another nice chatter.

He must be bored.

“Lioness, good to see you awake.” The man hissed as he entered the cell you were in. One would expect to be treated like someone of your status would, but this was a piece of Hell on earth. Sokovia didn’t regard the nobles as the other realms did.

Therefore, you didn’t reply. You stood there eying him with disdain, gritting your jaw and silently pleading to the gods to give you strength to not break his nose again. You could endure the pain, but you weren’t mad. Yet.

“Hm, not feeling so talkative today, are you?” Sir Rumlow snarled a few feet from you and in a span of milliseconds, your body moved so fast that one would think that you acted on instinct.

In a blink of an eye, your hands gripped the chains holding your wrists and with an unexpected force, you lifted your body and dropped your legs around Rumlow’s neck. You pressed your thighs hard against his head and the feeble lights coming from the torches allowed you to see his face turning purple due lack of air.

Lord Barnes stopped you from killing the man after he punched your ribs with the hilt of his sword. The searing pain ripped the air out of your lunges and your legs automatically left the knight’s neck and sought to support your body.

You were granted, though, with his embarrassed eyes, coughing lightly due the pressure your legs had put on his throat. You smiled lightly, taking this as little victory to your personal score of vengeance.

The good feeling was short lived, for Vision took one step closer to you, though a little more preoccupied about your fighting skills even chained to the ceiling like you were, and his smirk was on. 

You’re yet to see this man without that smirk and you knew, somehow, that he posed like that because he thinks he’s won the war.

Maybe he did.

“I wouldn’t be so smug If I were you.” His eyes darted around the place as if to indicate that there was nothing to be amused about. “You’re still in this hellhole and I can see your face stained with tears.”

His expression morphed into a mockery of a dramatical sad face, lips now facing downwards and only then you were aware that you had cried. And you hated to show another sign of weakness to the man that was exceedingly fast becoming your archenemy.

Yet, you knew so little about him.

“Why are you so sad?” He asked rhetorically and pretended to search his head for possible reasons why you weren’t feeling so super lately. The nerve of this man. 

“Is it because mommy isn’t here to clean her baby?” He mocked, then continued. “Is it because you weren’t as smart as you thought you were? Or…” His eyes went wide as if realization clicked in his head right then and there.

“Awn you truly thought she loved you, Lioness?” He laughed. He had the gall to laugh off your feelings, but you let him. “Know that in a couple of moons, I’ll have Wanda’s hand and you’ll be nothing in my memory or hers. Barely a nuisance long forgotten.” He made a movement of dismissing with his hands, but your tongue was sharper than his words.

Shrugging your shoulders, the best you could chained to the ceiling, you replied. “If you don’t mind where her hand was.” You were hurting but you would not give this man the satisfaction of seeing you broken. He’d see strength, nothing else.

However, you couldn’t deny that his words had an effect on you, you couldn’t deny that you were hurting and the idea of Wanda marrying this idiot hurt beyond explanation. Somehow, your stupid heart still hoped that this was a trick, or anything else but truth.

Jealousy simmered through your veins and stomach. Jealousy, confusion and betrayal. Was this her plan all along or did you do something that changed her heart?   

The days you shared that house with the Princess of Sokovia were magical, past perfection. There was no word to describe the woman who owned your heart nor the moments of complicity, love and tender you had experienced. Too bad it was just a lie.

It was all but a lie.

And Vision made his job to remind you of that. She had lied to you, deceived you into a ruse just so they could lock you up and request a ransom deal. It was slimier than thousands of snakes. And you fell for that.

The wedding, though, was only a confirmation that you were stupid and fell for a woman that played you around like a ragdoll and didn’t even have the guts to come down to this piece of hell and look you in the face.

What for, though? To mock you? To laugh at your poor state? Maybe it was a mercy not having her present to rub it on your face.

But what you could and wanted to do was to bring the man standing tall in front of you down, lower than where you were now. And the good thing about rock bottom was just this, there was nothing holding you back. 

“Tell me, Vision, do you taste me whenever she kisses you?” Your grin was clearly smug, you bare your teeth more like fangs ready to pierce a piece of flesh of those who dared to think that only because you were locked imagined you were tamed. Far from it.

He punches you, hard, but the anger boiling in his eyes was your prize. “Could you be more vulgar? You speak like a whore.”

Suddenly, you realized that physical pain was a solace from your internal misery. Maybe if you pushed his buttons hard enough, he’d kill you then you wouldn’t have to live with all this pain you were forced to deal with inside your heart.

A renewed salty, ironed copper taste danced on your mouth and his only answer was a blooded grin to his rhetorical question. You spat the blood on his shoes and asked another question. “Does she call my name whenever you fuck? Or does she call you babe afraid of making a mistake?”

Another set of punches and screams of anger and you could only laugh. Oh poor man, maybe Wanda didn’t love him either and she could very well be a woman playing with both hearts. If yes, he deserved it. Maybe a twisted god would say that you deserved it too.

“Stop.” A new voice was heard above the noise of fist hitting flesh and irritated mutters from Vision.

You had heard a lot about him. Official stories, reports, songs sung by bards, memories from Wanda and a lot else, but this was the first time you properly saw him.

Pietro Maximoff was a handsome man, and the stories did him justice when it comes to regal stance and beauty. He walked as if he had everything figured out just like a King should.

The knights Barnes and Rumlow bowed instantly, dropping to their knees but Vision limited himself to turn and look at the man as if he were annoyed by the interruption. He probably was annoyed. He probably wanted to kill you.

“Lord Vision, I believe I already informed you about my concerns involving our hostage.” The exacerbated formal tone caught your attention. Pietro was a king, yes. But this was a prison, he didn’t have to act all regal in a place that stank more than any sewer.

“You have, my king, I was only having a conversation with her.” He side-eyed you as if to engrave your distasteful state into his brain for later, as if this meant he had won. 

“I see.” Pietro looks at you and you expect mockery, some snarky comment but nothing comes. “Leave, please.” He demands. “All of you.” The men were ready to protest but his somber expression left no room for any argument.

He didn’t know whether you were dangerous or not. Just as you had only heard about him, he had only heard about you and to step inside your cell without an escort or visible blade told you he was brave. Or he was a reckless fool. 

“The tales credited you a few inches higher, I’m afraid.” Pietro finally says something directed at you after a while sizing you up and down.

You spat another amount of blood, that hit the floor, for his shoes were keeping a wise distance from you. “Maybe you’re confused with my sword’s size, Your Highness.”

He looks at you for a moment, then chuckles. “Ahh ever the brave cub that keeps roaring even on a leash.” Despite the grin on his face, his words dripped with sarcasm.

“Did you come here to kill me already or will you keep mocking me until I die of boredom?” Your impatience was visible. It’s been too long and no one told you what was going to happen. Except for Vision telling you he’d marry the princess.

Certainly, you wouldn’t be held in this place forever. You were too much of a precious prize for that.

Again, Pietro chuckled and clicked his tongue as if disagreeing with your idea. “You know how these things work; I can’t kill you. You’re too valuable.” He patronized and you wished he was closer so you could headbutt him as well. You didn’t mind if your temper could get you killed, you were past the point of caring for what’s stored for your future.

Then, your head stopped thinking about your broken heart for a second and understood what they planned. A ransom deal that would grant them everything that they wanted. They’d redraw borders and Taharr would lose a lot.

In a futile attempt to discourage him, you lied. “She’ll never negotiate with you because of me.” It was plain and obvious to every person that ever heard about Queen Calanthe that she’d trade her soul to protect her children.

Again, Pietro tsks because he knew his enemy’s greatest weakness. “You know that’s not true. And if something were to happen to you, I’m sure Queen Calanthe would gather every capable person to fight, every sword, march north and stop for nothing until she has my head in a spike after breaking brick by brick down.” He explained, rather amused at the idea he painted with his mind eye. Though you knew she’d do exactly what he had said and more.

“I bet she’s already restless knowing you’re my hostage.” He crossed his arms and looked at you again. “But I gave her my word that you’ll be back alive, unscathed, the moment we draw new borders.”

Unscathed.

Sokovians probably needed an update of the meaning of this word. Despite calling you hostage, you were a prisoner, and it was only obvious you were paying for your crimes and sins. One of them, the worst of them, was your little romance with Wanda.

You closed your eyes at his words. Your fears proved to be true, you’d be the demise of entire families, not to mention how much your kingdom would lose because of you, because you couldn’t keep your pants on. People would suffer and that would be your fault, so much so for trying to stop the war.

“What did you ask?” You questioned through gritted teeth. “The highlands above Ororo’s Fortress?” In your head, it was only reasonable, because that would represent a great deal of farms and the heart of the golden mines.

Your train of thought was interrupted by his voice, though. “Everything above Red Widow Valley.” He smirked triumphantly as your eyes widened.

“That’s outrageous! She’ll never agree with that.” They were asking for more than a half of Taharr’s territory. The farms, the people, everyone who depended and relied on Taharr to not starve would suffer. Guilt weighted on your shoulders like heavy iron.

“She already has.” He stated simply, with a smug grin hanging in his mouth.

“You’re probably thinking so high of yourself, aren’t you?” You looked at him with eyes cold as ice and continued. “You play war as if your people were nothing, you play with a mother’s love…” A scornful look morphed your semblance. “But it’s pitiful that you had to use your own sister to get you what you failed to.”

At the mention of Wanda, his chill demeanor turned into a flame of anger. “You do not get to talk about my sister.” He yelled and you spat the blood on your mouth on the floor once again, this time, you realized he was much closer than before. “You played enough with her and had fun. Now go back to the whores waiting for you in Taharr.”

He dared to speak with you as if you were the one playing her heart when, in fact, she was taking piece by piece of you these past months.

All the hate in you flared. 

You wanted to hurt Pietro the same way you were hurting. All you wanted to do was to enumerate the despicable things you did in that bedroom with her. How you fucked her, how you had your way with her, and she still begged for you to fuck her harder.

You wanted to bring Wanda’s name lower than a whore’s, for, at least, with a whore you only get what you’re paying for. There was an urge in your heart compelling you to disclose your intimacy until his cheeks burned the same way your heart did from all the stabbing Wanda gave you.

But, in the end, you didn’t even have in you the strength to fight anymore let alone to pose as someone else other than a broken woman with a broken heart.

For once, there wasn’t in you that fire that was always present, that fire that compelled you to fight and stop only if Death claimed your body as hers. For once, the wild lioness couldn’t roar anymore.

“I loved your sister, Pietro.” Devoid of any humor or sarcasm, you spoke the truth of your heart. Why? There was nothing else left. “Even though she lured me to fuck with me and get your goddamn deal. We both know she was the one using me, instead of the other way around.”

Something shone behind Pietro’s eyes, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. They were so alike and at the same time they were so different that your brain short-circuited. When he spoke, there wasn’t mockery or sarcasm either. Which surprised you.

“Did you really fall in love, Young Lioness?”

He was close and you could finally headbutt him, but you were so devoid of fight or self-respect that you relented. Every single one of your mother’s rules went out of the window. That tale of not showing your enemy what’s in your heart? Or not showing your weakness? There was no point in hiding anymore.

You were defeated.

“How could I have not?”

—

The travel to the south was murderously slow.

As your retinue passed the villages that still belonged to Taharr but in a few weeks would belong to Sokovia, your heart broke over and over. You could swear that people looked at you with disapproving eyes at your actions even though they couldn’t really see you inside the wagon. Or know what you have done. Yet.

You hated wagons and asked to ride a horse, but they considered that you could run and disappear somewhere once in Taharr’s lands. They were probably right.

You hadn’t thought about escaping, but that idea would, most certainly, occur any time after you were surrounded by your kingdom’s vegetation, forests or villages. You knew basically everything about your territory, and this would obviously be an advantage.

Hence the wagon. And your boredom.

If the constant visits of Vision were a pain in the ass, not having visits at all were far worse if that makes any sense. You hated the man for gloating or mocking you but at least you could hate him and not suffer alone as you did when you were all by yourself.

Your wounds were treated before you could march south and the food was no longer distasteful, it was only bad. Which was a huge improvement, considering you still stayed in your cell with that smell, no longer chained to the ceiling. 

Your routine of self-loathing was only disturbed by the guards serving you food, for not even King Pietro or one of the knights came to your cell again. Natasha Romanoff never showed up at your cell, doesn’t even need to mention that you never caught sight of Wanda, not even a glimpse of that auburn hair.

When you finally reached Triskelion, it felt like every single person was on the streets to see the Sokovian legion arriving at the Castle, something unheard of since the early days of the Golden Accords.

Only the noble dignitaries and their protection unit were allowed inside the castle walls, as for the rest of the Sokovians prepared their camp somewhere on the left side of the main wall, outside the Keeper itself, where your people would keep an eye on their movements day and night.

You expected loath and hatred in your mother’s eyes, but you were surprised when you saw relief. You had been reckless like never before and you were sure you’d be punished for it, yet it never came. Somehow, it made you feel worse. You didn’t deserve compassion.

“Oh darling, I’m so glad you’re back home.” Her kind words warmed your heart, that so desperately needed some love and rest.

Loki’s face was pale, and you knew he hadn’t been sleeping or eating properly. Just like when you were taken by the Kree and Witch Harkness, Loki probably thought you’d die, and he’d lose his sister. It pained you that you caused him more distress.

Maria and Carol greeted you with the same intensity as they chastised you and that brought a sense of normalcy that put your heart at ease.

The following days you were treated by the castle doctors, and you took your time to heal and rest. Your bed never felt so welcoming, but you couldn’t take from your head the memory of Wanda’s. How soft and how warm her duvets were whenever she laid by your side.

It was obvious that your feelings for her would take a long, long time to fade off. If ever.

As the negotiations advanced, you could sense the restlessness building up on the room full of nobles. Taharrians and Sokovians.

While the latter wanted to move on fast and redraw the borders, Taharrians insisted that they needed to wait for King Tony’s approval of the new border and, especially, King T’Challa’s arrival, for he had requested to be present for the negotiations.

It was only reasonable. Taharr had a peaceful agreement with both Kingdom’s about borders but when it comes to the Embaku’s Forest on the east between Wakanda and Taharr, things were even more complicated than that.

Wakandans believed this forest was sacred and their spirits wandered about the trees to connect again so they could guide their people into prosperity. Your mother and your past relatives always respected their beliefs and never invaded or hunted anywhere near the forest.

King T’Challa, however, wanted to make sure the Sokovians would understand and respect this as well. But if you had learnt anything at all, it is that Sokovians loved a good scheme, were power-hungry and untrustworthy.

Especially untrustworthy.

Your back ached and your bones screamed with every turn and strike you managed with your sword, just as it did with every blow parried by your shield. You looked around bewildered; only moments ago there was a group of nobles discussing new terms and agreements which, somehow, erupted into a fight.

And, with the increasing numbers of Sokovians flooding the halls and chambers of Triskelion, you knew this was an invasion. Someone opened the gates and now a crimson and silver legion inundated your home.

Anger filled you whole and your chest wanted to burst. How many times would you be betrayed by a Sokovian?

You saw Maria running like a wild mare trying to get the Taharrian troops into the castle, for there were only a few units serving as patrol and escort. With Lord Barton lost, deceased or prisoner, information yet unknown, his legion was still adjusting to the new commander so they would take time to arrive.

Lord Wilson fought by your side, and this was probably an order from your mother. You wouldn’t complain this time though, your body was still trying to recover from dehydration, starvation, and from the physical and emotional slaughter.

You tried and failed to get a glimpse of your mother’s whereabouts, because the sea of red was overwhelming. The castle was cramped, so much so that it felt like the air filling your lunges wasn’t enough.

A sword came dangerously close to your head, but you blocked it in the nick of the time. This wouldn’t be a great time to get headless, you mused. With extreme difficulty, and great effort, you pushed back the Sokovians out of the Castle.

They were strong, organized and knew exactly what to do. This was odd. There was a traitor among Taharrians, and you couldn’t, for the life in you, think who would be capable of such absurdity.

From the castle walls it was possible to see Sokovians outside the Main Wall reinforced with two units that belonged to Hydrarr trying to organize a siege, it was definitely odd. If Hydrarr was responsible for stealing and burning Sokovian’s farms, how were they friends now?

Something didn’t add up.

The attempt of railing and controlling the castle backfired and with the arrival of Wakanda’s retinue, Sokovians and Hydrarrians got caught between your troops and the Wakandans. The whole fight lasted almost a day, but you finally stopped the enemies and forced their retreat to the north.

It was certainly a coup.

There were far too many soldiers on your escort in the first place and, even if they were afraid of insurgents as they had said, there were far too many units for a simple border draw. The group of nobles representing Sokovia was made of low-ranking nobles, no one really important to lose in a fight and, except for Sir Rumlow, you didn’t know who they really were.

Sokovians and Hydrarrians tried to overthrow your mother in the most violent and less honorable way possible. The gods should be thanked that the Wakandans arrived in time.

You searched the castle after your mother, but she was nowhere to be seen and even people who saw her fighting said they lost track of her. There was this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that something was wrong, very much so.

There were people, friend or foe, being carried to the medical bays to be attended to. As were the bodies. After you left the great hall and reached the main corridor, your heart sank when you saw Lady Carol kneeled beside the lifeless body of Knight Belova.

Knight Yelena Belova was one of the fiercest warriors in the whole continent. First, she served as spy, then requested to serve as knight and soon was graced with the honor of being one the Queen’s protector. The most noble and valuable warrior. And now she was laying on the ground in a poodle of blood surrounded by enemies’ bodies.

She fell fighting like a giant, you thought. However, you hated yourself for not paying the proper respect to her service and sacrifice because all you could think of was your mother.

A trail of blood not far from Belova guided you to another room, a few steps away from where you were now. As soon as your eyes landed on the figure in red and white clothes laying on the floor, you felt as though your heart’s going to explode right then and there.

You ran towards your mother, but it felt like your feet were moving through the water.

The second you reached her, you sank to your knees and only then you saw Loki sobbing by her side. He had her head over his lap and held her hand tight. You grabbed the other and it was cold, sickening cold.

“Mother.” You cried but there was no answer. You hoped she’d crack a smile or maybe simply look at you, but she didn’t move, she didn’t open her eyes. “Mother!” You called, urgently, this time. As if some energy could wake her up.

“Sister.” Loki called. His tone was already mourning, grieving, as if to tell you the truth. A truth that you couldn’t take or accept.  

“No.” You replied, shaking your head as if throwing a tantrum right then would make any difference, as if it could change fate. As if it could change the fact that your mother was gone and you weren’t there for her, even if to hold her and see the light fading from her eyes.

Your body shook terribly as though your soul was about to slip through your pores. She died a hero’s death, fighting. As she always said she wanted, but you couldn’t believe it, and in a selfish thought, you realized she was gone without teaching you everything you needed.

She was gone when you needed her the most. After all, you would always need her. She was your hero, your beacon. 

“Sister,” He tried again. “She’s gone.” His voice had an edge of something, as if he was trying to convince himself. You took him in and saw his robes stained with blood but no visible weapon, though it didn’t look like he was hurt.

“What happened?” You averted your gaze from your mother and met his. There was so much going on behind his eyes that kept your attention until they finally focused. He was lost and so were you.

It was all your fault. If you hadn’t decided to sneak into Wolfgang City, you wouldn’t have gotten caught and this absurd ploy orchestrated by the Sokovians or Hydrarrians wouldn’t have existed. If this deal had never happened, your mother would still be alive.

Hot tears slipped down your face freely, you were responsible for her death in the same way whoever wielded the sword that took her life was. Grief already soaked your bones as all you could think was everything you did wrong.

“I- I- tried, but-.” Loki tried to speak, but his voice trembled just like his body. He was in shock.

“You saw who did this?” Your voice brought his eyes back to you, he was confused and hurting, yet there was something about his expression that brought that uneasiness back to your stomach.

“Ru- Rumlow. I- I- think.” He stuttered more so sobbed the answer as he used his sleeve to clean the blood, sweat and tears staining his face. Then, you took him in and his clothes properly.

“Loki…” Your brother wasn’t a warrior per se, but with an invasion like the one they had just witnessed it was only reasonable that he’d be sporting a chest blade or shield at least. But there was nothing visible around him. Not even a blade or his famous scepter. “Where's your armor?”

Your tone startled him. His eyes darted around like a cornered animal. “Where were you this whole time?” You asked because you couldn’t remember his whereabouts ever since the breakfast that he, uncharacteristically, skipped.

“I- hm. I was-.” Stutter is not a trait that you’d ever associate with him. His demeanor shifted from shocked to someone realizing they’re on thin ice.

Your patience waned off instantly.

“Spill it out.” You hissed and it was absurd that you were about to argue with your brother over your mother’s dead body, but his behavior was too strange for you to ignore. Or you were just too paranoid by this point.

“I- Please, sister, you have to believe me. None of this was meant to happen.” His voice waved, he was about to cry again and the lump forming on your throat made it impossible for you to breathe properly. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You blinked. His words resonated in your ear as your brain tried to process every single word and what they really meant. You started to shake your head as they sank in, already dismissing the possibility of what was being presented before you. “Are you telling me you’re involved in this?”

“No.” He bellowed, as if your accusation was outrageous. “Oh gods, this is so messed up.” His eyes shot to the ceiling for a second then, they focused on yours again. “I was supposed to facilitate their entry, but they weren’t supposed to touch you. Or mother.” Loki’s eyes were hollow, haunted by his own actions.

You knew that. You could see it. His guilt was consuming him already, but you too were being consumed.

“You betrayed us, Loki! Your mother! Your sister! Your kingdom! And for what?” You grabbed him by the front of his robes and shook him violently, as if the action could knock some sense into his head.

“All I wanted was what is mine by right! I am a King with no kingdom.” He yelled, slapping your hands away from him. “They betrayed me.”

His slap hurt just as the weight of his words did. Though deeply hurting, anger was the only feeling accessible in that moment. “King of what, Loki?” Anger was the only feeling that you could rely on to not fall apart entirely, so you held onto it and let it course through you like the blood you had in your veins.

“In Jotunheim I’d be a King!” He puffed his chest as if it was plain obvious and anger boiled in him due your lack of understanding. And how could you? Loki thought. You were born and raised to be a queen, his unfaithful fate was barely a nuisance to you.

“In Jotunheim you’d be dead!” It was your turn to shout and bring him out of his head, bring him back to reality.

“Can’t you see that this is my birthright?” He asked, almost in a plea and you shook your head vehemently, as if he was being a stupid child.

“And you thought that overthrowing your mother, the woman that raised you as her own child, was the right way of achieving it?” Your head tilted to the side with your sarcastic question, and he opened his mouth to speak, but you weren’t done yet.

“As far as I know, Jotunheim is deep in a civil war again after the eighth in line killed the sixth. The third is crippled in a bed waiting for death’s mercy and all the others died, except for you, the seventh in line. And that’s because of her.”

Every word leaving your mouth felt like a double edge knife. Cutting him just as deep as it was cutting you. Tears streamed down his face as the bigger picture downed in his brain.

“I- I- sister, I beg you. You have to understand, I never wanted this to happen.” He was torn, his decisions would be the grave his grief would bury him in. “Please, forgive me.” He pleaded, suffering in advance.

Now his fate lies in your hands.

“No Loki.” You opened your mouth to continue, but you were devastated and devoid of words or strength to keep talking.

His eyes shot up and searched yours for something, anything. But there was just emptiness.

“No. There must be a way! You are my sister…” His eyes darted around, then focused on yours as he tried again. “Please, tell me what I should do. Anything and I’ll fix it-.”

You stared back at him as he searched his intelligent brain for a way to be forgiven. May your mother forgive you someday, but you couldn’t deal with it anymore.

“Run, Loki.” Your voice broke the silence, and he frowned at your answer or their meaning. “Run and don’t you dare to ever come back.” Your voice did not waver once, unlike how you really felt inside your heart.

“But I- you don’t-.” He stuttered once more, pale with the horrors he had just seen and with the horrors he would face as soon as he left the castle. Loki knows he’d be wanted and hunted down like a mad dog if he decided to stay in Taharr and knew that he’d be dead the second he stepped in Jotunheim territory.

Hells, without the queen’s protection, wherever he decided to go would be too dangerous for him. He was doomed.

Your disgust was evident when you interrupted him. “You don’t understand what your greed did to me. I lost my mother and my brother at the same time.” Sadness emerged in your eyes for the briefest of moments before you finished your sentence. “Leave immediately, you don’t belong to this kingdom anymore.”

Turning your back on him, you laid on the floor right by your mother's side and stood there. The cold of the marble floor impregnating your skin as her blood soaked your clothes, your soul and heart.

Despite the words spoken towards Loki, you knew you were just as guilty as he or Sir Rumlow was. Your greed brought your mother’s demise just as your brother’s did.

Your greed of thinking that you could end the war. The greed of thinking, wishing even, that you were allowed to love. Greed of believing that Wanda fell for you the way you did for her, when, in turn, you should’ve known better.

As you wept and mourned your dear mother, you remembered the last conversation you had had with her. If you only knew it’d be your last.

The what ifs would drive you mad before the sun rose in the horizon, for sure.

“I’m sorry mother. I failed.” Your voice was low, a far cry from your usually confident self.

“You did.” She stated as she offered you the cup of tea. “That makes you human.”

You smiled at her. Maybe she got too scared of losing her daughter, for she was being too subtle and forgiving in a way that was mostly out of character for her.

“You see, love, life is not an easy game to play.” She patted you on your face lightly, as she always did when she needed you to look intently at her and show you tenderness at the same time. “As a ruler, as a future queen, the path is even more tortuous.”

“Do you mean tortuous as complex or devious?” You took a sip from the liquid as lavender invaded your nostrils. Chamomile and lavender, she knew you hadn’t been sleeping. Of course she did.

“Both.” She smiled softly.

“Are you going to punish me?” You blatantly asked, almost ignoring what she had said. But you absorbed her words and their meaning. Life would be – was – difficult and deceitful at the same time.

You watched as Calanthe had the gall to laugh at your question, but then she shook her head lightly. “I believe you’re already doing it for yourself, love.” She patted your knee as she took a seat by your side.

The trees on the fields ahead were long naked, devoid of their leaves or fruits due winter, yet they were still beautiful, somehow.

“I was a fool and now our people will pay the price.” Your words were harsh, but not directed at her. It was all directed at you.

“They probably will, but you must not forget about the others under your command. If you keep looking at what you lost, you may lose even more by neglecting what you still have.” Her wisdom reached your ears and heart, but you retorted.

“How can we rebuild from this low?” Your voice resembled a child facing a puzzle or a challenge they cannot solve on their own and she smiled kindly at you, she probably saw it the same way.

“Well, love, I’ve learnt a long, long time ago to let myself get cut to always return whole with spring.” She spoke, not looking at you this time, but to the trees ahead on the fields.

“What?” You requested clarification and she gave it to you.

“You see how the trees always lose their leaves and get pruned over the winter? This is natural and the trim is a must so their branches can grow stronger. When spring arrives, the beauty returns to the trees, and they’ll grow whole again, with leaves, flowers, fruits…” The queen explained, all the while with a tender smile on her face, as though she’s explaining the meaning of life to an infant.

And, in fact, she was.

“You’re facing your winter, love, you’re getting pruned, and I know it hurts. But you’ll come back whole, you just must be patient and wait for the spring.” Her hand rested on yours and gave it a light squeeze. “Your kingdom will spring too, you just need to work through its winter.”

As her words sank in, your spirit felt renewed with a sense of duty and obligation to your people. You’d fight for their safety, and you’d work on deals to grant the families the decision to choose which realm they’d live in.   

Nodding slightly, you replied. “I will.”

“I expect nothing different.” The warmth provided by her hand and words were so welcomed that had you closing your eyes. You missed home, especially, you missed your mother. “And to answer your question, I could never punish you for following your heart.”

You opened your eyes to see her dark orbs boring into yours with the same tenderness that she used to look at you after falling from your horse when you were still learning how to ride. They were intense, they were protective, they were everything you could focus on.

Out of everything you could or should say, your chest spoke first. “Will it hurt like this forever, mother?” Right then and there, you were only a child scared of their first time hurt and she softened her features even more.

“Oh love,” She hugged you and you reveled on the warmth provided by her embrace and love. “I’m afraid I don’t have the answer for this, as my short experience with your father, I still miss him.” You took a deep breath. Your father isn’t often mentioned, it was like an open wound how he died so soon after your birth.

“I feel so stupid for being lured into that trap.” Your voice was muffled by her chest as she caressed your head, fingertips playing with the baby hairs growing on your hairline.

“You shouldn’t feel stupid for having feelings.” She kissed your forehead lightly, then resumed her ministrations. It was soothing, healing. “If anything it shows me you have a heart.”

“I hate her for what she did to me, and I hate that I can’t hate her.” You felt her chest moving, she chuckled at your words and their ambiguity. You drew back to look at her in the eyes and spoke again. “I mean it, I- I hate her and love her at the same damn time.”

You sighed and relented, for you had finally come out with your true feelings. You didn’t count that desperate and pitiful confession to Pietro. “Because only love can hurt like this, right?” You asked and again, you looked like a youngling about to enter a maze. Insecure and scared.

She nodded, trying to bite back the emotion striking her chest, as a mother she hated everything you had been through. As a mother, she hated the marks – visible or not – the Sokovian princess had caused you. As a mother, your suffering was physically painful for her to testify.

As a queen, though, she knew this was a lesson you had to learn. As a queen, she knew this would only make you tougher, no matter how daunting everything looked now. As a queen, she knew this was a path for you to understand – fully – how one single action has its burdens.

“You should make Loki next in line, for I’m not fit to be a queen.” Your blunt words brought her out of her head, and she blinked several moments before speaking.

“Where’s this coming from?” Her head turned fast to look at you, to look you in the eye and maybe pierce the answer herself.

Completely uncomfortable, you shrugged your shoulders avoiding eye contact at any cost. However, you gave her the answer she had requested. “Look at the mess I’ve made, look at the mess I am.”

With the corner of your eye, you saw her frown for a moment, then spoke. “I see a strong woman and nothing less. As for the mess, Pietro can have the gold, love, but he’ll eventually learn that he can’t eat metal in winter.”

Her hand softly touched yours, the comfort of the gesture couldn’t be measured in words, in fact, you thought your chest could burst with unshed tears, as if you were just a child weeping after their hurt knee. Though you couldn’t. You weren’t just a child anymore.

“As for the mess, you made a mistake. Do you think I’m perfect?” She completed after your silence, staring at your intertwined hands. You didn’t have to look up to see a small smile creeping to her lips.

“I do.” You replied sincerely and finally looked at her.

Almost out of character, the queen laughed. A wholehearted laugh erupted from her chest. “Thank you, but no, I did a lot and still do nowadays. When we make a choice, it can be good or bad. You just must live long enough to see which one is and have courage enough to fight to make it right, to make another choice hoping it’s for the best.”

Her index finger touched your nose softly, just like she used to when you were younger when she wanted to make a point. To point at you. “And you, love, you’re the bravest person I have ever met.”

“My courage just gets me in trouble, mother.” It was your turn to frown and look at her as if to double check if she weren’t mocking you. You had a lot of courage, indeed. You never backed down from a fight, never settled for the easy thing to do but the right one. Yeah, and there was always a huge problem hunting after your tail.

“You were brave enough to love your enemy, this tells me much.” Her words caught you out of guard, but a fond smile told she wasn’t mocking, or mad, it was as if she appreciated your stupid decisions. “That’s no easy feature and that’s why I know you’ll protect and be kind to our people. Your kingdom.”

“It’s your kingdom, my queen.” Your brows were furrowed again, not quite liking her tone or the direction this conversation was taking.  

“One day it will be yours, love.” A satisfied smirk punctuating her sentence.

A hand violently shaking your shoulder brought your head back to present and the pain coursing through your chest was now back on full force. Your eyes snapped open and found the source of the hand being Lady Maria Rambeau.

“Oh by the gods you’re alive.” The woman spoke at your movement, fussing all over to find a wound. “You’re so pale and there’s so much blood…” Her voice trailed off at the end, cementing your heart with the painful truth.

“Maria, she- she’s gone.” You sobbed and her eyes softened tons at your broken voice and expression.

“I know.” She spoke gently while trying to make you get up from where you were laying. “And now I need you to rise from the ground, my Queen.”

The weight of her words hit you like a spear piercing your heart. The weight of your destiny fell on your shoulders like a blanket made of ice-cold metal.

“How?” You asked dumbly. You were not sure whether she meant the literal ground, the cold stone ground your body was half laying, half seating on or the pit of madness and chaos you and your whole kingdom got into.

You were not sure of how you could do either.

You were lost.

Suddenly, you were transported to a memory of when you were just a kid chasing after a foal that got lost into the woods near the royal stables. Like a brave little silly, you entered the tree line, but it didn’t take long for you to get lost. Every tree looked exactly like the other and soon you didn’t know what was left and right.

Much like then, you felt that lost. There was no right or left nor up and down. Just a rock bottom of misery staring back at you.

The person who had found you cornered into the trunk of a tree crying like a silly lost girl back then, wasn’t here anymore to guide you. Your mother was gone, and this was a reality you couldn’t escape.

“Why do we fall?” Maria’s voice brought your attention back to her. A kind smile matching her kind eyes towards you, her protégé.

“What?” You asked, again, dumbly. Not really understanding what she wanted from you or for an answer.

“Why do we fall?” She asked again as if it would make any sense. After realizing you were too shocked to properly answer, she clarified. “So that we can learn to pick ourselves up.”

Her voice resonated throughout the room, but in your ears you could all but hear your mother’s voice and wisdom. This was the exact same sentence she had spoken so many years ago, after tenderly picking you from the ground.

Your mind was a whirlwind; This time it was your time to pick yourself up, you’d have to climb this hole by yourself.

Your brother betrayed you, your mother was dead and now you were the supreme ruler of Taharr. The people – your people – would look after you for guidance, for protection, to be their light in the darkest times, such as the ones you are facing now.

Getting up from the literal ground, you were back on your feet and though your knees were a little bit wobble, you kept your stance. Only now seeing Lady Carol and Lord Samuel also arrived in the room, eyes down with respect towards the body of your mother.

“Sam, help me take her to her room. Carol, gather the morticians to prepare her.” Your voice shook a little with grief and pain. Maybe being strong and trying to be a queen wouldn’t be an easy feat. Not that you thought it would.

After another intake of air, you turned to Maria and this time your voice was firmer. “Maria, you and I are climbing the north tower so I can light up the Goblet of Fire.” Some sort of reassurance took over your body as you decided to proceed with the costumes and traditions of when a king or queen dies in Taharr.

The next in line would be the one to light the fire that could be seen miles and miles away from Triskelion. The next in line would be the one to deliver the somber news to their people.

“We have an announcement to make.” You finished grimily.

taglist:@californianwhiterabbit @cowxpoke

Final

#queens of promise #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #angst #wanda x fem #wanda x oc #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x fem! reader #wanda maximov #princess reader #princess wanda #medieval au

[artsekey]

I'm not super into Lackadaisy, but I am super into animation, and...

How are they planning to finance an entire season with just 1,000,000?

(Everything below assumes that they're aiming for episodes that are comparable to the pilot & that they plan on fully financing the season with solely the donations on Backerkit. It's likely they have additional financing through merchandising, the pilot, and/or Iron Circus's other projects, but since that information is not available, I'll go off of what I know. Additionally, production management and budgeting are extremely project dependent, so the "averages" listed below may be far off what the PM on Lackadaisy's got quoted.)

[EDIT: It’s been brought to my attention that the episodes are 10-12 minutes long, which means it’s MUCH more doable than I was expecting! They budgeted for a lean (but doable!!!) production. Thank you to those who clarified! I’ll leave this post as-is for those interested, but read it knowing they’re considering roughly half the time I used to calculate everything below!]

Quick preface as to why I wanted to talk about this and Why I Feel I May Have Valuable Things To Say: I'm an indie filmmaker and professor of animation, production management, and VFX. I'm not trying to call out the company or the production because-- and I cannot say this enough-- I truly do not know what's happening on the back end. Every production is wildly different. Their original goal was 125,000, with 45% going to animation-- that includes rough, cleanup, & color. That means that for a ~27 minute animated episode, they've got $56,250. If we collect all facets of production together-- story, layout, animation, compositing, and editing-- we wind up with a grand total of $82,500. Even if we estimate at the lowest average production cost of $8,000 a minute, this budget would account for ~11 minutes of animation.

An animator's average hourly rate is ~$36. With the outlined budget, the Lackadaisy production would be able to afford ~1562 hours of animator manpower. Let's assume (for the sake of this discussion) they'll split that over at least four animators, leaving us with about 10 weeks of full-time work (~390 hrs per person) for four people.

Now this may seem like a lot of time, but as far as I can tell, the pilot was largely animated frame-by-frame without the use of 2D rigging. This means every frame needs to go through roughs, then cleanup, then color, then composite. Every frame you see on-screen has been worked over at least four times-- six if you count layout and story. Ten weeks is simply not enough time to finish 27 minutes of 2D animation.

Now, I know what you might be thinking; Artsekey, they never said their production period was ten weeks! And you're right! However, that's how much production time they can afford. Whether it's split over 20 weeks or a year, they only have enough money to pay their animators for 1562 hours of labor.... if they're paying them a competitive hourly wage. To be completely clear, I am not insinuating that they're low-balling their animators; there're a dozen unknown factors that play into this, such as:

The level of animator they're hiring (an apprentice animator may make ~$17-$23 an hour whereas an experienced pro may make ~$43-$45.)

Whether they're actually hiring animators as opposed to contracting animators (I assume their model is likely relying on the latter based on the fact that I'm seeing a lot of animators that worked on 1-3 shots). They may be doing single-sum deliverable based contracts rather than hourly.

The use of tools like EBsynth (which is listed among the programs they're using) and smart frame management (which they're definitely doing!). This can, if used properly, cut down on the number of in-betweens animators need to get done.

The amount of money the studio is planning to re-invest on their end. The goal on backerkit may just account for the additional funds the studio needs to enter production, meaning their budget may be far larger than what's listed. However, if this were the case, I'd hope they'd disclose it! If I were considering backing the project, knowing that the studio was going to be buying in would increase my faith in the fundraiser.

Obviously, the team loves animation. It shows through in the pilot, and I think that it's clear in their mission statement that they stand against the exploitation of animators. But... I also know that indie production is like trying to wring water out of a log. I'd personally like a more comprehensive breakdown of their expenditures not because I think there's anything suspicious happening behind the scenes, but because as someone who teaches production management for animation and who has an interest in indie production specifically, I'm wondering what choices they're making to stretch their funds.

And what about sound?

While I'm not an expert in audio design, I do live with a professional voice actress/audio engineer, and she had a few thoughts I'd like to share.

At their original goal, roughly ~12500 was set aside for:

Sound Design

Music Composition

Voice Acting

Now, I can only refer to my own experiences as an indie filmmaker regarding price, but the rate I received-- from friends-- for sound design was roughly ~325 per minute, and this was a very, very good deal for what I personally needed. The audio engineer can be responsible for collecting and/or recording foley, or the sound effects you hear in film. This can be expensive and time consuming. They're also responsible for editing all the foley, music, and voice acting together in a way that feels seamless. If we were going off the rate I was given (which was very reasonable given the amount of work that needed to be done), ~27 minutes of full foley, complex sound design, and mixing would run about ~8,000. This number could fluctuate significantly depending on whether they need the sound designers to create the foley, get some ADR in, or just mix the audio, but let's assume that Lackadaisy has a pre-existing foley library and that the price falls in a lower range of ~5,000.

Music's a complete wild-card. In my experience, most composers charge per-minute, and most of the indie composers I've worked with were at a rate of ~$100 per minute of music. That'll land at a nice $2,700.

Now where my friend got particularly heated was the rate for the voice actors. As a voice actress herself, she was floored that the budget for voice was so low-- particularly because the project's pilot pulled industry voices like ProZD. Obviously, the price for voice can vary wildly based on how many lines an actor has, their experience as a voice actor, their personal terms, ect. The cast for the pilot included 11 credited actors. I can't assume their rates or whether they charge a fee to even get in the booth (my roomate charges $100 flat at the start of a session), but if my other estimates are in the right ballpark, their goal budget accounts for roughly ~500 per VA (and it's extremely unlikely that it's divided equally for obvious (and logical) reasons). Honestly, for a full episode of animation, that's... about average. But average in the voice-acting community doesn't necessarily mean good. Voice actors are notoriously underpaid, and-- as previously mentioned-- bigger names with more lines are going to be taking in more of that pay-pool.

And, of course, the Production Managers.

I'm not going to speak on this for too long, but the original budget held 8750 for the admin team. I assume admin includes their PMs, director, and leads (if they have enough specialization to need leads). Assuming it's just one PM and one director, they're pulling in ~4375 a person. For the duration of the project. There's no way that prepro, production, and post would take less than 8 months. Of everyone involved in a production, these roles are on-board from start to end, and it's simply not enough! PM's are absolutely critical to success!

Not to mention the editor!

In animation, the editor is the director's right-hand man, and is working to edit the storyboards, reels, scratch music, and the final cut. This role is also on the production from pre-to-post, and their original budget allows for.... $2,500. What? If I go extremely low on the hourly for the editor, you maybe get one part-time weeks' worth of work for several edits of a 27 minute episode. With most everything else I've talked about, I've mentioned there's a lot of wiggle room because of all the factors I simply don't know, but in no universe is $2,500 enough for this editing job. (Even at the current budget of 1,000,000, $4,000 an episode is super low.)

But, hey! They've got more money now!

Of course, all of these concerns go out the window when you consider that the team's already raised a whopping $953,000 (as of 7/31/23) with the fundraiser only up for five days... right?

Well... It certainly alleviates some of the strain, but their stretch goals were scope increases! This means that once they reach their 1,000,000 stretch goal, they're adding on four additional ~27 minute episodes. This increases the budget-per-episode to 200,000 (yay!), but that still leaves the project with about $7,400 to spend per-minute... which, in the world of animation, isn't much!

All in all, I think that the original goal of 125,000 -- if there was going to be minimal investment from the company-- was completely insufficient, and it would have been irresponsible to try to produce a 27 minute long pilot with that budget. At the same time, I imagine the PM/Admin team could reasonably expect a strong outpouring of support from the fans based on past success and low-balled the original goal. Now that they're near 1,000,000, I think- and hope - they'll be able to swing it.

If anyone has any insight into the production of the pilot (either because you worked on it or know someone who does), please feel free to add context to this post! Again, I am not trying to call out Iron Circus. I'm fascinated by indie production and have been following the successes and failures of crowdfunded animation since it started picking up, and while the goal for Lackadaisy raised some concerns for me up-front, I think they're making strategic choices based on hard data (that we the public are not privvy to). They've already done it once, so they should be able to do it again!

#lackadaisy #animation #indie animatio #long post #production management

[sasster]

What IS That Thing?

Can you guess what ICP song is on this guy’s playlist with what was provided?

[Doc] —

The lights are out when you return to your hive, not just turned off, but actually smashed out. Small piles of broken glass near where the lamps live, only partially lit by the light in the hall of the building as you enter, indicate that much. Maybe the lights in these hivestems have a tendency of just exploding with very little stress put upon them, it has only been a few perigees since you moved into the place after all. At the behest of everyone that heard about your campaign to dethrone the local regional ruler.

Not many trolls possess that sort of audacity, at least not the ones that aren’t also fleet aligned. Dethroning those guys is a little bit like pulling teeth, or, more appropriately, getting rid of a bedbug infestation in the hive of a hoarder. Short of burning it all to the ground and starting over from scratch, it is always an uphill battle. But doable. Certainly doable. Actual Empress-fighting would be punching a little bit above your weight class, but you think you can handle a little skirmish with some run of the mill general. It should be a no skin off your nose sort of situation. After that, you’ll be able to put in place the sort of guidelines that will see that the people who live in these areas won’t have to deal with the mistreatment. The fight is only in a few hours, you’re amped, and there is no time for second guesses.

With caution you step around the broken glass and make your way into the small kitchen space that shares an area with your living room. It is a far cry from the near palace you were raised in, but laying low is important. The local regional ruler will have your head if they find you, and you’ve done so good to shake off their muscle thus far. What a shame it would be for it to all come to pieces now.

You sit in a stool in the kitchen and sigh, relaxing into a slump against the wall as all of the stress of the day starts to roll off of you in a wave. No one told you how stressful it would be to run this sort of campaign, but that might be just because it goes without saying. There is so little time between now and the fight, but you can’t show up to it wound up all tight like this. 

A creak in the floorboards draws your attention to your bedroom, and a cold dread pricks at the back of your neck. Did you shake off the muscle? Could have just been the building settling. Slowly you pull yourself to your feet and take deliberate steps back to the bedroom, stepping around piles of glass still while you do, and equip your trident in the process.

You call out toward the sound, “Hey, man. Whatever you’re getting paid, I’ll double it. Just get the hell out of here,”  as you near the door, using your weapon to slowly poke it open all the way. “Or I can kill you, it really doesn’t matter to me.”

The intruder is sitting on your bed when you enter, with a face obscured by a mask that appears to be smooth with some simple designs, from what you can see lit up by the dim moonlight. They angle their head toward you.

“They sent a laughsassin after me? Really?” Your laugh is breathless.

The intruder laughs as well, it is a mirror to yours, but much higher in pitch, and absolutely sardonic in nature. “I always get that. Laughsassin,” he bemoans as he stands up and stretches, there is something incredibly uncanny about the looseness he handles his own limbs with. “It’s outdated. Implies that all I do is kill and laugh. Which, alright, I won’t lie. It does take up a big chunk of what I do.”

Dealing with a clown today was the last thing you thought would happen, it was your understanding that GHBs don’t typically put their noses into the mess of seadwellers trying to kill each other. Isn’t it a net-zero loss for them, at the end of the day? But now that you’re thinking about it, they might just be happy to stick the old ‘the devil you know’ addage.

“Sometimes, I’ll have you know, I’ve also been known to convince.”

“You want me to believe you aren’t here to kill me?”

“I am here to let you know you’ll be taking a dive later this evening.”

This time when you laugh, it comes from sheer shock. They sent a clown.

To tell you to give up in your pursuit of the regional title.

They must be scared.

With his hands on his hips, the clown takes confident strides around the bed and closes some, not all, of the distance that separated you. Your grip tightens around your weapon.

“How about I kill you now, and then your boss later?”

He bounces on his heels. Why is he so flimsy?

“Or you can leave here with your head attached to your body, and watch from the crowd. I’m not taking any bribes.”

He comes to a stop within striking distance of your trident, you can make out two faint lines that curve like tear tracks down the cheeks of his mask, but you hold firm, watching him carefully. He stretches again, bending his body at the waist until something pops audibly. “Oh, I’m not here to bribe. Did I confuse you? The dive you’ll be taking will be the swan type. Y’know? Into your grave.”

In the time that passes between the words leaving his lips and confusion contorting your features, something else hits you, literally — A small blade, tossed with such precision that it slices through a bit of your cheek and ear on its way to embed itself in the wall behind you. “Y’know?” He echoes.

You are already advancing on him with your trident when the gears start turning in your head, and the springy bastard ducks out of the way of the attack and dances behind you with another laugh that suspiciously sounds like it’s still mocking yours.

Clowns are the worst. You didn’t even see him move to throw the damn thing in the first place. A frustrated growl rips out of your chest as you turn to face him.

“That’s all? You’ll need to do better than that if you’re going to scare me out of it.”

It’s hard to tell what he’s going to do next, without being able to see his face, which you gather is the whole point, but he’s already rocking back on his heels, reaching back to get a grip on his knife. He practically cackles, “You’re right,” followed by pulling the thing out of the wall. It doesn’t matter that he has his hands on his weapon, you think, without the element of surprise, a throwing knife loses the fight to a trident every time.

Smugness settles in your breast as you pull yourself to stand a little straighter, having found the confidence to make it through both of the fights the stars have set out for you this evening.

Then, the smugness quickly dissipates when the nuisance does something completely unexpected, and tips his mask up to uhm.

Well, it looks like he is lapping the blood, and bits of drywall but whatever, off of the knife.

“Why do so many fish carry a trident, anyway?” He asks and though you’ve instructed your body to lunge with the subject of his criticism, you stay rooted in place. A sinister glow begins to spill out around the edges of his mask. “I always thought it was a bit on the nose. You know? There are other weapons. Bet you’d have fared better with a harpoon gun.”

His words fly over your head, you are more concerned with your suddenly immovable body.

The masked intruder stays where he is, stretching and bending his freakish form while in the meantime your own disobedient body once again closes the distance between the pair of you. Your mind is racing. You’ve come so far, your aspiration right within your grasp, just to be killed by a clown.

His knife comes up to your cheek, where he’d already cut it before, and from the angle his mask sits at now, you can see two rows of sharp teeth exposed in some form of twisted grin. It is almost worse that the rest of his face is entirely concealed. He presses into the flesh and more of your blood is drawn out onto the blade.

“It’d be really nice of me to kill you just like this, y’know, but the boss wants to make an example of you. No hard feelings, right?”

#hm i made a mistake in choosing his title #because there are several things tagged as the bogeyman #or just bogeyman #whatever #termia #i’ll cope #long post #coko writes sometimes #not my best but it’s what i wasted my free time on today lol

[prince-kallisto]

Very much agree with all of your thoughts on Playful Land. The ending really was lackluster...to be honest, when I first saw the trailer, I was soooo excited for what had the potential to be THE darkest, most disturbing event in all of TWST (I thought their card designs were already so cool and unnerving at the same time! Their outfits but also their eerily puppet-like poses...!). But at the end, none of the topics that you mentioned that could have been explored were explored. Like hello, you are dealing with fucking HUMAN TRAFFICKING??!? Also more emphasis on magic being used for something like THIS. Turning people into puppets is fucking terrifying.

Also, very much a minor nitpick, but I kiiiind of expected/hoped this event to take place during the same time as the Masquerade event? Since the Playful event involved everyone who stayed behind. Like, I'm just imagining everyone who went to the Masquerade coming back after a hectic near death experience, only to find that the people left behind went through a terrifying experience of their own at the same time and are now traumatized, and nobody had a fun Halloween. Lmao. Although I guess it didn't make much sense to expect this, since Yuu's in both events and they can't be in the other when they're already at one lmao.

I'm also not hating, all in all it was actually a pretty decent event all things considered! I also loved the introduction of Fellow and Gidel. And the song slaps imo. Still, if you make a fix-it fic or find any, think you could share it? I'd love to see your work if you do make one!

Ahhh I feel the same way too! It really felt like the Halloween events were about to get darker and darker every year- they are HALLOWEEN events for a reason! Their cards were so eerie too, it made all the characters look like puppets under control. Which is why it’s so strange that none of that actually happened in the event? ∑(ﾟДﾟ) The boys did get wooden masks and such, losing their own autonomy, but I thought the puppet theme would be a lot heavier than it actually was. Like, at least forcing the boys to fight against Kalim, Ortho, and Ace, instead of using random wooden puppets.

THE HUMAN TRAFFICKING BEING BRUSHED OFF HAS ME ROLLING 😭😭😭. What do you mean Fellow just sails away to open a school for children 😭😭😭 Like the game literally never elaborates on what happened to the people turned into human puppets. Are they dead?? Are they alive and forever trapped in this horrifying puppet-like state??? Like??? I definitely need to read up on the last parts of the event, but the idea that someone can even has this ability is horrifying, and I really would’ve liked to see the commentary on this sort of magic. How magic and human greed combine to create unthinkable atrocities that are only doable through magic. It’s just…wow. It blows my mind that this incredible concept was conceived, but never elaborated on.

Haha, exactly! I think it’s so funny that no one’s predictions on Playful Land came true. Nothing about Ace’s brother was involved, the Masquerade event theory didn’t happen. I don’t think it was even Halloween during this event either. Maybe it could’ve been a “Fairy Gala IF” type of event where Yuu can be at both events for alternate-universe type of thing. Although, to be honest, neither Yuu or Grim played a huge role in the story (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*) I’m always happy to have Grim with us, and him dressed up as Lampwick made me cry, but Yuu was more of an observer than usual.

And same here! I know I sound negative but I’m really not! I love the event for what it is, and we got amazing new characters and animations and costumes. It’s just a shame to think of what could’ve been. I haven’t seen any fix it fics yet, at least on Ao3! I have been working on drafting a rewrite though! ✌︎('ω'✌︎ ) I’m really excited to write my visions for this event, especially with Fellow and Gidel’s backstory, and I’ll keep everyone updated on this. Whenever I drop the chapters, I’ll always post about them on my blog and link my Ao3 updates. It will take a while before I get there, but I hope it’s soon, thank you for interest! ＼＼\\٩( 'ω' )و //／／ Thanks for your ask, I loved hearing your thoughts about this event!

#kallistopost #twst playful land #ask kallisto

[sandinthepipes]

Hello fellow dyslexic/adhd/others who would like to enjoy fanfics through their ears, I just spent the entire day testing android apps to find one that doesn’t suck as much.

TL;DR - these two T2S, Audify

I feel like I need to share this because 90% the apps don’t even allow a web page as a source, let alone get past the log in page, and I cant be the only one who doesn’t want to download every single fic.

“Oh, but doesn’t android have a built-in text-to-speech function in the accessibility settings?” I hear you ask. Yes, but it sucks ass very badly. Firstly it only reads in the system language, so it doesn’t really work. Second, you need to highlight all that you want it to read, and seeing that I read a minimum of 15k words in a sitting, I’m not gonna do that.

Also I’m broke, I imagine you are too, but even if I wasn’t I’m not paying for this, if I did I wouldn’t even be supporting a human being, so no.

I’ll immediately break your trust with the first point, but it’s what I’ve been doing until now, and now that I know what the android mobile experience is like, I feel the need to include this. The best solution I’ve had so far (which works wonders, let me tell you) is letting Siri read them on the iPad. It’s only doable when I’m at home and it’s still an apple product, so that’s why I began the research. However the positive points are INCREDIBLE so I’m going to ads it to the list because I said so.

First of all it’s built-in and SO EASY to access, you literally just swipe with two fingers and it stars to read. It reads the punctuation, you might think that’s a given and so did I, but no. A question sounds like a question, an exclamation point does why its supposed to do, short sentences sound what they’re supposed to sound like. In apparently all the apps ever created, you won’t find any of it, just flat, monotone voices with flat little pauses. Overall excellent experience 10/10.

Cons: it’s on apple, I consider apple the same as Disney, I would love to not give them more money so that they can make the market increasingly worse. Every now and then a system update will fuck with the tts function and it will be unusable for a while. Sometimes it doesn’t like the text format on some fics. It’s not portable.

Now that we got that out of the way let us get to the meet.

Speechify - it sucks bad. At least the free version, but seen as it costs almost 10€ a month I’m not even going to consider the premium version. Fuck that. You can’t increase the speed, and as somebody who hasn’t watched a single YouTube video on normal speed since they added the function I can’t do that, too slow, I forgot what we were talking about once we get to the end of the sentence. Also you can only use those weird very robotic voices, and they’re not even that many. Don’t recommend. I felt like I had to include it since it was one of the few who allowed browser navigation and well, it’s speechify. Also you can’t t have saved more than 3 “files” per time. Doesn’t have sleep mode.

T2S - cute. It works. Again, no emotions, but it reads what it has to, nice voice selections, easy to use. The premium version adds literally nothing, they’re a good app, what they have, they give. Also you can customise the interface colour if you want. Has the sleep mode.

Audify - works exactly the same as T2S, but it saves the history and has a bit more customisation for how it reads and what it reads (which you don’t really need for ao3, but if you wanted to read, say, Wikipedia with all the notes and stuff, now you know). Has the sleep mode.

That’s all folks. Now go and be free of your reading impediment, or be free in your multitasking, or whatever you want to do. I’m done, I’ve given my datas to all kinds of shady apps, I need to go do damage control

#fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #dyslexia #dyslexic #adhd #texttospeech #text to speech #tts

[benkyoutobentou]

31 Days of Productivity Reading: Day twenty five

Before: We are getting scarily close to the end of the month… I absolutely want to read ten volumes of manga because I know that it’s doable. I had one month last year where I just ended up reading a ton and read thirty one volumes in one month. I’ve definitely been focusing more on novel reading this month, and I feel like all things considered, I haven’t had as much time for reading this month as I usually do. Which kind of makes me want to do this again some time.

The current plans for today are watch the last episode of ゆびさきと恋々, go to the library to study, and finish ベルばら volume two. It’s not supposed to rain today, so the current plan is to walk to the library. I’m also thinking that I might choose and English audiobook to listen to on the walk, so I’ll have to scour my English shelves to find one I want to listen to.

After: That was such a good last episode! I really hope they get a season two because this show totally deserves it. I love seeing people’s reasons for learning languages and seeing an interest that’s so dear to me in a fictional character is really special, so of course I loved seeing Itsuomi’s backstory. I also pulled out my fancy gyokurocha for this last episode. カンパイ！

Today's trip to the library was also successful and productive. My hold came in and they miscategorized my name again, but at least I know where to look now. I did in fact start listening to Little Fires Everywhere on the walk there, and studied some Mandarin at the library. My only issue with walking to the library is that after walking there (and walking the dog beforehand) and studying a bit, I get really hungry. Oh, I also discovered that my library has 青のフラッグ！This is great news for me and terrible news for my tbr.

I've been thinking lately on how this challenge is shaping up to be a little bit of a failure, and I'm trying to figure out why. I might get through all of my goals and I might be reading an hour every day, but I feel like I'm not prioritizing reading in my schedule this month like I normally do. Usually when that happens, it's because I'm not enjoying what I'm reading, or I'm not in the mood for it, but I can say pretty certainly that that's not what's happening here. Honestly, my hypothesis is that the timing aspect is putting extra pressure on me and causing me to avoid reading. Instead of reading a page here and there, which then turns into a longer reading session, I think I'm searching for the mythical "perfect time" to read so that I don't have to stop and start my timer much, and then putting off reading until the last possible moment in the day. Other than this odd little setback, I've been enjoying this challenge (and I think it's good for me), so I think I might bring it back in a few months' time and try setting a page count goal for myself rather than a time goal.

On that note, I read 56 pages today over an hour and one minute with an average reading pace of 1.1 minutes per page. Finishing this volume is absolutely in the cards for tomorrow, and I'd like to make reading a higher priority as well. It feels rough taking three days to get through a volume of manga anymore when I know I can do it in a day, it's just that I'm not giving myself the proper reading time to do so. Which I need to fix.

#benkyou posting #langblr #studyblr #language learning #polyglot #30 days of productivity #booklr

[redux-iterum]

Do you have any advice to help or prevent writer's block? I have a terrible habit of starting but never completing what I write. Also really excited for the Charred Legacy!

Hello and thank you! My advice splits into two categories of writer's block, which I'll call here Classic Block and Progression Block. Classic Block refers to the block people usually mean, especially when drawing: that you can barely write three sentences before erasing it all because it's awful and you hate it, leading you to sit around stewing in frustration that your skill level is so low. Progression Block, meanwhile, is the block where the actual work of writing something to completion is a Herculean task, even if you don't hate your writing style. The distinction DOES matter, as you’ll see.

To start off, Classic Block sources from your standards of writing not matching what you perceive to be your level of ability. Maybe you used to like how you write, but now all you see is the flaws. Your skills have leveled out or lowered instead of steadily increasing in quality – at least, that’s how it feels. This leads to you not writing at all, or only getting a bit done and then abandoning it because it sucks and what’s even the point and you’ll never make anything good anyway and so on. It’s the same thing as artist’s block, just with typing.

This brand of block has similar advice in every medium of art that it appears in, which is “study and practice”. The only way to get better is to examine where your faults are at and work to fix them. If you find how you write dialog unnatural, for example, you take a look at books or scripts you enjoy the dialog of and pay close attention to how the characters talk, or you find as many advice posts on the web as possible about how to create natural-sounding conversations, or even just listen in to people chatting in the real world. Like an artist studies anatomy and feels more confident about their improving work, a writer studies all the advice they can get and applies it to their story, and continues writing for practice until they get somewhere they’re okay with. It may not be as easy as artist’s block to conquer, depending on who you are, but it is doable.

Progression Block is a different beast, and I’ve certainly felt it before on my comics and writing. This is when you’re at the beginning or starting the middle of your project and you find yourself unable to continue on to the end. Maybe you’ve lost the adrenaline that the start gave you; maybe the prospect of a long-term story is too daunting; maybe you ran out of ideas or passion; maybe you don’t like the start now and you want to rewrite it before you continue; maybe (and this is the most common one) you’ve found yourself at a part of the story you’re not that excited about and it’s difficult to get through it. Whatever the case is, you’re good at starting ideas, just not finishing them. This is extremely common, so don’t feel bad about it. I can’t count how many webcomics or fics I’ve seen left to rot after about a month of work on them. I’ve done it myself, multiple times! We’re all at risk of it.

The biggest thing to address here is that, sadly, writing is not always going to be exciting. That’s just a fact. You are not going to be riding a high the entire process. You WILL get to something that feels more like homework than fun. This is a guarantee for every single project that goes on longer than a couple pages, and sometimes even the short stuff isn’t safe. This is not a horrible thing, it’s just something you need to develop methods to overcome. Discipline is important if you want to take writing seriously. There are ways to get through this: dinner-before-desert (the promise of “I have to write this dull chapter and I’ll get to write the scene I’m really excited about”), setting small goals to get the unfun part done a bit at a time (writing 200 words a day, or a couple paragraphs, etc), finding things to appreciate (like that joke you threw in or how pretty this scenery is), and having something occupying the senses to keep flow going (listening to music, mainly) are all tools I use myself to get past potentially weeks of writing that I’m not excited about. You do need to be a little stern with yourself, but the reward of getting to the thing you’ve been dreaming of since the start is completely worth it, I can promise that. You just gotta eat your dinner first, and then we’ll get you some ice cream. One carrot at a time. You can do this.

Something that can get to people is the prospect of being “stuck” with something for months or potentially years. The size of a project can be intimidating, I understand that. You’re doing this particular thing for god knows how long, and you have to do it on a regular basis if you ever want to get anywhere with it? That’s a little scary! I get it! But that does not mean you won’t have fun, or won’t ever be finished. It took me six years to complete a comic you can read through in one day, I’ve started one I know will take me at least ten, and Iterum itself is going to be a long fucking ride I don’t dare to guess the length of. I have had the occasional sensation of leaning on a table, bracing myself on my arms, staring down at a drink and thinking “Jesus Chirst” about how long all this shit will take me.

With that issue, I’ve personally found that taking joy in the process is the best solution. “Well, I do love writing these particular characters, I’m excited to see how they’ll grow over time!” “Planning chapters is a very chill way to spend my evenings while still giving me something to think about.” “It’s so exciting to have all these secret plot developments no one but me knows yet!” And so on. Like in life, you should appreciate the Now, not constantly be fretting about Later or Before. Learn to love typing out dialog and prose! It’s doable.

Of course, you should have a few thoughts about the future. That’s where planning comes in. Some people can make up shit on the fly and write a complete, excellent novel. I am not one of those people, and not many are. Some architecture is generally necessary. When I don’t have a set general path ahead of time for me to take as I write, I give up on things because I don’t know where to go next. Create your path, however vague or exact it needs to be! My advice on planning is to start with only the most major of story beats, arrange them in the order you want or need them to happen, and add smaller connecting lines to them, then connecting even smaller lines to those lines, slowly getting more and more specific and detailed as you zoom in on the story beat-by-beat.

Another thing that might help you keep at it is finding an audience – at least, it worked for me. When I started writing for real, I was doing choose-your-own-adventure threads in forums, and then a choose-your-own-adventure webcomic, where people got to send in commands to move the story forward. I could not get anything completed on my own to save my life, but having people participating and actively waiting for me to continue the story helped me develop the discipline and work ethic required to do the projects I’m doing now (and taught me how to improvise extremely well, as a side benefit). Your audience could be one person, or ten, or a hundred. Even if they don’t comment or regularly engage with the story, just knowing that someone is there waiting to see what happens next can be a good motivator.

One final thing: you may fall into the trap many do of looking at the small bit of stuff you’ve completed, not liking it, and wanting to go back and rewrite it, because this time you’ve got the skills to do it right.

DO NOT FUCKING DO THAT.

All that’s going to do is trap you in an endless cycle of “improving” what’s already there at best, and wear you out from going over the same old ground over and over and drain your love for the story at worst. You will not be fixing anything. Put it out and move on. Don’t keep trying to rescrub the same plate until you put a hole through it. You’re going to look back and think it’s shit. That’s normal. Doesn’t mean it’s true, or that you should waste time “fixing” it. Learn to go “well, I don’t like it, but I gotta keep going”. Get it done. It will never be perfect, and the sooner you understand that, the sooner you can get this project done.

That’s about all the advice I can think of for now. I hope this prattling helped you, at least a little bit!

#ask #anonymous #i speak #readmore #advice #writing

[mama-scarebear]

I happen to pride myself on being Mama’s perfection so there would be very, very little prompting needed in order for me to obey. I live for being perfect and soft 🎀 I would feel so privileged to see your softer side, especially after the mess I had created. A small whimper of your name would leave my lips as you picked me up, “Mama..” 🥺 The embarrassment heavy in my heart and stained tights as I cling to you. Grasping desperately at you for you to fix it and make it all better. Hiding behind my hands while you change me, only coming out after you’ve pinky sworn that I’ll always be your little prima ballerina. Tears still rolling down from my eyes as you reassure me with your kind words. Goosebumps littering my skin from the chill in the air and at the soft touch felt between my thighs. A soft moan leaving my parted lips before shivering in front of you and looking away. I’d ask you for your reassurance many times at the prospect of being a better ballerina in pull ups. Finding your logic sound once you’ve explained how I’ll be able to practice nonstop for you. My head dropping at the reminder of what just occurred followed by quick nodding. Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth as you redress me asking you if you thought I looked okay. If I am still fit to be a ballerina and perform for you. I’d let out a sigh of relief, my eyes shining with gratitude as I thanked you for cleaning up my stage ⭐️🥹 Having to adjust to the bulk between my legs is catching me off guard more and more until I slip up in a turn, loosing my balance and falling to the stage beneath me. 🩰

And once you do fall to the stage and begin to blubber out tears I'll come and pick you up and place you back unto starting position. Wipe away your tears and tell you to try again. If you mess up too often though we'll make you a new routine filled with beginner steps fit for toddler just learning to dance. Those should at the very least be doable shouldn't they? Going from prima ballerina to little beginner bumblebee. Though you'll always be my prima in spirit won't you?

[razorblade180]

Unforeseen gift

Mona:You know traveler I’m quite surprised. This is our first Windblume together and yet there’s been no romantic gesture. Not that I’m complaining. At first I thought you didn’t celebrate it but it’s hard not to notice Amber’s flowers in her hair.

Aether:….

Mona:What?

Aether:You’ve been busy writing for your column, haven’t you?

Mona:I have, yes.

Aether:So that means you’ve probably been going back and forth between sleeping at home, and observing the stars. *smiles* Mona, when’s the last time you checked your mail?

Mona:….*runs off*

The astrologist rummages through a pile of mail until she finds a one with blue lamp grass attached.

“Happy Windblume! I know you’re probably busy but that’s fine. Check the Teapot when you get the time.”

Mona:….

[Teapot]

Mona:I’m sorry!!! *hugging him*

Aether:It’s fine.

Mona:Now it’s not! This is beautiful and I didn’t even notice it!

She looked at a decent sized pond behind her home that reflected the sky beautifully as well as had lamp grass in the shape of her symbol; perfectly lighting the area.

Mona:This is worse than when I nearly forgot about Fischl’s invitation! Aether! What do you want for Windblume!? I actually have mora to spend. My wallet is your wallet!

Aether:Please continue to keep your money. That’s a miracle I’m not interrupting.

Mona:I can pay for dinner at least. There must be something.

Aether:Can I wear your hat?

Mona:My hat? Sure, but you could’ve requested that anyti-

Aether:I’d like to wear it later on tonight; after we have dinner and get back to your place.

Mona:…*red* That’s perfectly doable.

Aether:Awesome! *kisses cheek* see you tonight! *runs off*

Mona:…

Nilou:*walks out house* Oh hey, you’re back.

Mona:Hello Nilou. Ummm I’m planning on being here tonight.

Nilou:Yeah I Aether leave and watched him build the pond. I even helped. *smiles* I’ll stay out late tonight.

Mona:Did you help plan this!?

Nilou:*walks back inside*

Mona:Why is always the wholesome looking people?

#genshin impact #mona magistus #gi aether #aether x mona #gi nilou