#but it's not really with the goal of ever producing something finished | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alphabetboyluvr · 10 months

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back to you | knj

REQUEST | @btsgotjams27

VIBES | angst

SOUNDTRACK | back to you - alexander stewart

HOLLY'S NOTE | tense jaw namjoon gets me feeling a certain type of way so thank youuuu for requesting this!! no warnings - references to shagging cos ofc and approx (1) questionable reference to Saint Augustine lmao. also joonie is 25 in this!! don't shout at me!! i know he's not 25 irl!!

WORD COUNT | 2.5k

Namjoon watches the metronome on his desk tick... tick... tick..., ignoring the glare of the monitor screens in front of him.

There are two. One's open on the definition of a word that's been lodged in his frontal lobe for months, now, and the other is crammed full to the brim with dark grey producing software that he's sick of seeing. The windows open encase remnants of love songs that he can't seem to finish.

It's not for a lack of trying. Just impossible, he thinks.

They're an amalgamation of a love he never thought he'd lose, and the hopes of a future basking in it; notes of adoration dedicated to a devotion he didn't realise was quite so delicate, until his clumsy hands got a hold of it.

Mementoes for memories he can't bring himself to relive, they sit; solemn, unchanged. It's been like this for months. They're artefacts, now. Relics. Souvenirs. Trophies of a conquest he never entirely won; a bygone era in which his hair was lighter and the sun shone more frequently. Eventually, they'll be laid to rest in the paper waste icon down in the far corner of his screen.

No good. Not fit for use. Discarded before they've reached full maturity.

"Maturity," he mimics the screen with great contempt. He's 25. Brain's developed. Science says so.

And yet the loss he's mourning is all thanks to his perceived 'maturity,' or lack thereof.

It's not like you're dead, or anything dramatic like that. He knows he's being irrational. Knows his immaturity is shining through as he wallows in self-pity, four empty takeout cups of coffee waiting to be thrown away on the edge of his desk. He only leaves the studio to shower.

Doesn't even really sleep much these days. Has grown a little stubble; wonders if maybe that would make you think he was more mature. More grown-up. He sneers a little as he jots down a lyric idea; something about fine wine, how it ages, and how it was ironic you preferred cheap-as-shit soju instead of the bottles in his cooler.

In fact, when he really thinks about it, Namjoon thinks you were fucking mad to cite 'maturity' as a reason for you to break up.

He's old before his time; grew up quickly cause he didn't have a choice. Took it as an insult when you said 'we're at different stages in our lives.' Knows damn well he'd have stood on any stage with you. Fuck Wembley, fuck Jamsil, fuck SoFi. Fuck 'em all if they meant he couldn't have you.

But Namjoon would never give it up. You knew this at the time, and truthfully, so did he.

You would have never asked him to - but you can't dictate your life around him, and his plans, and his obligations. You've desires and goals of your own. Five years his senior, the impending pressures of your friends settling down - celebrating milestone anniversaries, moving back to your hometown to raise their families after their wild twenties spent in the big cities - was getting to you. It felt like you were lagging behind.

Whether either of you liked it or not, your relationship was a huge factor in that. You couldn't even tell your friends you were dating him. It's not like you ever wanted a huge legacy, but the erasure of your history together hurt.

A year of your life has been lost to a relationship that you can never speak of. There's an NDA. And even if there wasn't, you've too much respect for him to ever go against his wishes, or put him in a situation that could implode everything he's worked so tirelessly for.

So yeah, maybe you were out of line when you said he was immature, but no adult woman wants to live her life in hiding.

Nor does he - but he thinks the fact he that makes the conscious choice to live his life so privately is mature. Thinks if you were ever to call him, he'd block you. Show you what immature really looks like.

But you never do, so he never will.

Instead, he just scoffs again. "Immature," he mutters, shaking his head as he slouches into his desk chair. It spins ever so gently, Namjoon too irritated to stop it - but then he's facing the sofa and he's right back where he started.

See, Namjoon has been thinking a lot about you lately. It's time to submit his mixtape to the company; time for them to approve it for release. Trouble is, he hasn't been able to work on it since you left.

You've been in California for eight months. Since last August. Eight fucking months, and he hasn't touched a single thing, because it's all tainted with you. Stained. Ruined.

It's your favourite classical symphony sampled beneath the opening track; your lyrical suggestion in the bridge of his third track; your name he wordplays into obscurity on his fifth track. No one would ever be able to decipher it. It's just for him.

A little bit of you preserved forevermore; from a time when you were still his.

Kind of like the folder his mouse is hovering over.

It's password protected. Called 'drafts'. Looks inconspicuous. Just another plain folder icon. Nothing interesting. At least, it looks that way.

He can't bring himself to get rid of it - and yet the tick... tick... tick... of his metronome becomes the click-click-click of his mouse as he follows the electronic pathway back to you.

Namjoon enters the password. Knows he shouldn't. Knows he should also change the password, because typing in your birthday is fucking painful at this point.

There are six files in the folder. Voice notes. Audio files marked with dates and time stamps of last summer.

Above anything, he knows he shouldn't press play.

But he's 'immature'. Of course he'll do what he shouldn't - or at least that's how the voice in his head taunts him as he presses down on the play icon.

"Is it going?" Your voice echoes into the room. You giggle. Namjoon hears himself confirm that it is. He can picture it now. Remembers the shirt of his you'd been wearing after he'd snuck you into the company building. Knows exactly which part of his studio sofa you'd been on. "Okay, okay. Cool. What do you want me to do?"

"Just speak."

His voice sounds tender. Far softer than it does these days. He thinks he's grown since back then. Thinks he's matured. Thinks maybe if you'd have met him now, instead of then, perhaps it would have lasted.

"About what?" You had said with a laugh, and Namjoon finds himself burying his head in his hands at his desk.

"Anything. Everything. Your mind fascinates me, gorgeous."

"You're the one with genius-level, IQ," you had fondly teased him. "No one more fascinating than you. Did you really have to wear those sweats, though? You know they turn my mind to jelly."

"I can take them off, if it'll help."

"Keep them on," your voice had lowered. In the studio, Namjoon groans into his hands. Knows what's coming next. "Wanna see how much of a mess I make when I ride your-"

His nimble fingers race to the space bar, pausing the audio clip. Has listened to it enough times to know exactly what happens afterwards.

It's not like he needs the recording to remember. He remembers it all.

Remembers the semi he'd had at the time, and how the way you'd looked at him had him growing to full stiffness. Remembers the way you'd carried on talking nonsense when you were straddled across his thigh; and the way the conversation had dissolved into you being incredibly vocal about exactly what you wanted him to do with you. To you. For you.

And so it had become a goal: he'd been after the perfect moan to hide deep within the layers of his closing track. Would record you every now and again in the midst of a fuck. Would tell you how good you sound, how much he wants the world to hear you. Would say shit like 'you've got a voice that'll ruin lives, gorgeous,' or something about Augustine, and how he'd have never converted to celibacy if he'd have met you. Would whine along with you, and thank the lucky stars his apartment spanned over two floors - his poor neighbours probably would have complained, otherwise.

He puffs out his cheeks and sighs. Tilts his head back against the top of his chair, and lets his hand fall to his crotch. He palms it slightly; firm from the thoughts of your clammy body sticking to his, and the musky scent that he wished he could have bottled up for times like these.

"Get a grip," he berates himself, and spins back to the desk. He needs to get his feelings out. Speak them into existence. Admit that he misses you, and that he's been a bit of a mess since you've been gone. His mental block isn't going away anytime soon, so he may as well try a little honesty in its place.

He opens up the software for the mic that he keeps on his desk for rough recordings, and clicks on the red circle. Kind of feels kind of like a stop sign to him.

"Stop what?" he questions into the void. "Thinking about her? Avoiding her favourite coffee shop, even though it was mine too? Wasting all this fucking space in my brain like it's a storage unit for memories of her? I don't want them. I don't need them. Why can't I let them go? Why is she still in my head? And why am I scared of the day she won't be?"

He rambles and he rambles. Cries not once but four times. Goes on and on about why you're the fucking worst, and then he spirals into how much he loves the way you laugh, and how he's never felt anything better than your arms wrapped around his waist. Gushes about how committed you are to your work, and how much he's in awe of the way you prioritise yourself. Is proud when he mentions your achievements; is pissed off when he mentions the little quirks of yours he didn't love.

They're lies, of course. He loved everything you did - but it makes him feel better to feign hatred.

Makes him feel like it was his choice. Like he's the one who left.

He's pulled from his thoughts when his phone begins to ring. It's on loud, so he lets it ring for a bit. Knows it could sound good on the recording. He reaches over for his phone and rubs his spare hand over his face to psyche himself up.

It's probably just Yoongi, he thinks, like it normally is, wondering if he's at the office building. He doesn't check the caller ID - just answers it and automatically switches to speakerphone.

"Wassup?" He says into the receiver, far chirpier than he was during his rant. He's still a little dry, but he's performing now. Pretending like everything is fine.

There's a moment of silence. Namjoon's eyes flick to his phone screen. Checks the caller ID. Blood runs cold.

And then, there's a 'hey.'

Namjoon is the silent one, now. Doesn't know what to fucking say - and thankfully, you hate empty spaces in conversations.

So you fill it.

"I quit my job," you tell him.

Why you think he would care is beyond him.

But the last he knew, you loved your job. Something feels... uneasy within him. He remains silent. Lets you speak.

"There's a red-eye flight that leaves in four hours. LA to Seoul. I know it's..." You cut yourself off, struggling to find the right words to say. "Look, I know it's been eight months, and I know it's been rough. I thought I could do this whole 'life' thing without you, Nam, but... Fuck. I don't think I can. I... I think maybe I was the one who needed to mature. I know I put you through hell, but if I get on that flight, will you be there at the other end?"

It's a simple question, really - yes or no - yet it feels so much heavier than that. Feels like commitment. Feels like something he isn't ready for. Feels like something you rescinded your right to a long fucking time ago.

And so Namjoon laughs. It's cold. Is guaranteed to make you cry. He doesn't care.

"No."

The call ends, his finger forcefully tapping on the red button of his phone. He knows it'll hurt. Thinks 'good'. Reckons you deserve it.

But then he's scrambling; dialling your number back, holding his phone to ear, stomach in his throat, heart in tatters, swallowing back tears that threaten to fall on his part.

Being a cunt was much less satisfying than he thought it would be. In fact, if anything, it makes him feel even fucking worse.

All he wants is to see you. It's the only thing he wants.

You take a while to answer. He was right. It did make you cry. Mainly because you know you do deserve it.

There's no 'hello' when you answer. You say sorry, instead. "It was out of line for me to ask."

"Yeah," he says. "Kinda was."

"I just... I had to know. Eight months is a long time, isn't it? It's really fucking long."

Namjoon pauses. Bites down on his lip as it shakes. Sighs. "The flight... when does it land?"

"Nine-thirty."

"A.M.?"

"Yes."

"Into Incheon?"

"Uh-huh."

He can hear the tears you're fighting. Wonders if you can hear his.

"Get the flight," he finally says. "I'll meet you there."

"Wait... are you sur-"

He doesn't let you finish. He's had eight months of fucking torture without you. Eight months to think about all the things he wishes he could have done differently, eight months to play scenarios in his head. Eight months.

He can't go through it again. Can't be without you. It's too fucking hard.

"Get your ass on that flight," he says, stern in his tone.

"It's one-way," you warn him.

And even though you can't see him, you know there's a dimple in his cheek. Know he's smiling. Know it feels like a weight has lifted from his chest, because it feels that way for you, too.

"It better fucking be."

#namjoon fanfic #namjoon angst #namjoon ff #bangtan ff #bts fanfic #bts ff #byholly #so grrrrr @ tagging still !!

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nanowrimo · 11 months

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Five Ways NaNoWriMo Turned Me into a Writer at Fifty-One

No matter your age, NaNoWriMo has something to offer for you. For participant, Dorothy Wong, Camp NaNoWriMo gave her the chance to finish a novel! Read below to learn about her experience and what she gained during her writing journey. The year I turned forty, I took a twelve month leave from my job. With no work commitments, I thought I would finally write my novel. While I ended up with a blog full of chatty travel posts and fantastic memories, I didn’t write my book, not even a rough outline. Anytime I tried, I found myself distracted and overwhelmed. If I couldn’t write during that sabbatical year, I told myself, I was never going to write anything. And for almost a decade, I didn’t.

Then a friend posted on Facebook that she was attempting a month-long writing challenge called NaNoWriMo. My first thought was, “Why would anyone voluntarily sign up for that?”. I couldn’t imagine putting myself under that time pressure to produce an actual novel.

Turns out, NaNoWriMo was exactly what I needed to break through my self-imposed barriers to writing. During Camp NaNoWriMo April 2021 I went from never writing at all to writing an average of 1500 words per day and creating a flawed, but completed, 50,000 word manuscript. I was ecstatic. Not only did I finish a novel, I thoroughly enjoyed the process.

Here are the top five ways NaNoWriMo turned me into an enthusiastic writer at fifty-one:

1. Community: There’s nothing quite like being part of a group effort, where everyone is cheering you on to complete your 50,000 words. NaNoWriMo is dedicated to creating safe and diverse spaces, including providing online and in-person opportunities to meet fellow writers. As an older writer, I worried about keeping up when the participant age range skewed much younger. To my relief I found a community through the BIPOC online meet-ups that connected me to others like me, many with established careers and extensive life experience, who wanted to write. Finding a community of writers will give you the support you didn’t know you needed.

2. Timed Sprints: During my first online writing sprint, to my absolute shock, I churned out 600 words in 15 minutes. Being in the company of others who are all doing the same thing (known as “body doubling”) really worked for my brain. Scientific studies show that doing a task in tandem with others increases productivity. If you’ve never tried timed writing sprints, they can be a game-changer.

3. Word Count Tracker: NaNoWriMo’s online word count tracker sent an instant dopamine hit to my brain every time I updated my progress.

4. Word Count Goal: While writing an entire novel can be daunting, reaching 50,000 words felt doable. Broken down to 1500 a day, I worked in short bursts throughout the day, finding time around my job and caring for my family, to get that word count in. When I reached my goal each day, I felt incredibly motivated to keep going. Even if I didn’t reach the goal, getting some words down every day kept my inspiration burning.

5. Limits are Freeing: NaNoWriMo’s time-bounded word count freed me from the “what if it’s not any good” voice in my head. If I wanted to write, I had to sit down and write, no excuses, and I had to keep moving the story forward, as there was no time to go back and edit. By accepting that I would be writing a crappy first draft, I gave up perfection and embraced the challenge.

NaNoWriMo made me finally believe that I could write a novel. If you’ve spent a lifetime trying to get started on your novel, I encourage you to give NaNoWriMo a try!

Dorothy Wong lives with her family on beautiful Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada where she works as a lawyer by day and writes mysteries by night. She joined NaNoWriMo in 2021 and has been happily writing ever since. Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash Interested in the writing events Dorothy talked about? Feel free to check out our upcoming events for Writers of Color Virtual Meetups or Virtual Write-Ins! Writers of Color are also invited to check out the forum group.

#nanowrimo #camp nanowrimo #nanowrimo experience #inspiration #older writers #writers of color #by nano guest #dorothy wong

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dyinglikenarcissus · 2 years

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Another One

Grey!Alpha!Steve Rogers x omega!black female reader

Look. My muse has been working overtime lately. Every time I finish something, I think of some new smutty situation to put Steve in.

Warning: 18+ only! Like seriously! This one is not for babies. You have been adequately warned and you are responsible for the content you consume. Smut, dub/non con, forced procreation, breeding kink, nursing kink, cum inflation, A/B/O themes, gym setting, a cute little teddy that I want a man to untie from my body too, alright these are no longer warnings 😂

Please don’t copy or repost my work, thanks! Plagiarism is rude

Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated ☺️

3k words

Master List

“Up.”

You glare up at your mate as he demands one more rep from you.

“Up!” He repeats more forcefully. “I know you have it in you, luna. One more. You got this.”

He stands above you at the ready to help you if your arms show any sign of giving out. But he’s not going to help with this one. He wants one more good one and if you think you can rerack on your own, he’s going to ask for another.

You let out a load groan as you press the barbell from your chest one last time and lower it slowly back down. You almost scream as you lift it again.

“Good job, moon! Hell yeah!” Steve grins as he helps you rerack seeing your arms shake beyond control. You whine softly as you drop your arms to your sides.

You hate arm day.

Steve offer you a hand to help you sit up before adding more plates to the bar for his set. You couldn’t deny it, he’d done everything in his power to get you back to pre baby weight. You were stronger than you ever were before. Of course the stretch marks will never leave you, a sign that you brought a brand new life into this world, and the loose skin is an issue for time but you hit your weight loss goal last week and you weren’t looking back.

It did help that you had the most amazing alpha at your side through all of it.

You watch as his one size too small shirt stretches across his broad chest and and enormous arms as he easily stacks plates onto the bar.

“Alright, up, pretty moon.” You sigh at the nickname and the prospect of standing but let him pick you up and place you on your feet anyway. The two of you met on the night of a full moon and it just stuck.

“Spot me?”

You laugh at the idea. He’s got like 300lbs on this thing but you humor him anyway. He doesn’t really need your help, he just likes to look at your boobs while you stand over him.

“You got this, baby,” you smile, holding out your hands as if you’ll catch the bar if it fumbles. A small coo from the other side of the room catches your attention as your baby wakes from his nap.

“He’s probably hungry,” Steve grunts. You hum an affirmative and go to cradle your first baby.

He looks just like your mate. Blue eyes with flecks of green, light hair, strong nose. He got your dark skin and tight curls though. He’s perfect. You wonder back over to your mate bouncing the child softly in your arms.

“You see how strong your daddy is? One day, you’ll be as big and strong as him and you’ll beat him at arm wrestling.” Steve lets out a strained laugh making you smile. You sit on an empty bench and nurse him bringing some relief to your filling breasts.

“I know that face; you need to pump,” Steve states so sure of himself that he doesn’t even look at you for confirmation as he racks his bar easily and sits up to watch you.

“I just did before we came down,” you sigh.

“It’s good. I was worried you wouldn’t be able to produce enough. I guess they’re catching up,” he chuckles gesturing to his own pecks. “Want me to go get it?”

“No, hopefully he drinks enough,” you sigh, switching nipples to give the other some relief.

“If he doesn’t, I’ll take the rest,” Steve winks grabbing some dumbbells for rows.

You bite your bottom lip at the comment, attempting to press down the heat flushing your cheeks.

Your boobs grew two cup sizes during your pregnancy and Steve loved it. He massaged them, sucked them, bit them, loved them at least once a day. But despite all the stimulation, your milk still came in late. It was there. It was painful as hell but it was as blocked up as the interstate at rush hour.

You had to give your baby formula for his first week but soon enough it started flowing and it had yet to slow down.

It was like your son and mate had some kind of bond. Steve wanted a taste and your baby was all too happy to share. You roll your eyes as he soon falls back asleep in your arms leaving your tits aching.

Steve is on you the second you put him back down in his play pin.

He has your sports bra up over your breast and your back pressed against the wall as he sucks at your nipple. You let out a low whine and wrap your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. You need this. You need him.

“Please, Stevie,” you whimper. His rough fingers pinch your neglected nipple pulling a moan from your lips. “Please, please, please,” you chant.

“I know, luna. I know,” he mutters switching breast, tweaking your now empty one and quickly draining the other. You gasp when his free fingers press against your slit through your shorts. “This need attention, too, moon girl?”

“Yes, please,” you whisper. He easily tugs down your spandex shorts and drops to his knees in front of you.

You were the only one he’d get on his knees for.

He sucks at the wet patch forming at the junction of your thighs through your panties. He always claims that you taste better after working up a sweat. More pheromones probably but he goes feral after a good workout.

It helped burn calories.

He lifts you from behind your thighs, keeping your cunt pressed to his mouth as he carries you to the bench he just vacated.

He lays you across the bench before tugging your panties down and tossing them away. He is being oddly tame.

Which makes you think he’s up to something…

But when he wraps his lips around your clit, your mind goes completely blank. He sucks roughly as you arch into him attempting to get more. His tongue flicks your sensitive bud in such rapid succession that you start to wonder if he’ll ever get tired. There’s a knot deep in your belly that tightens with every flick and you know you won’t last for as long as he’s willing to go. Pleas and whimpers fall from your lips but Steve just ignores you, keeping his steady pace.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. He doesn’t need your coaching with this either.

He spreads your legs a little further as you reach that high, humping against his face, chasing your end until-

“Uhuh uhuh huhuhhhng!” You moan as the knot snaps in two leaving you shivering and your hips rolling as you ride out the pleasure.

But Steve doesn’t stop.

It gets to to point where it’s uncomfortable and tight and raw and it almost hurts before-

“Aghh!” You cry squirting all over your mate’s face.

That’s when he stops. That’s when you finally flutter your eyes open to see him looming over you. Face soaked with your juices and a predatory smirk on his lips.

But he doesn’t pull out his throbbing cock and make you feel him for days?

He only swipes a bit of liquid off of his face with a finger before sucking it off. “Delicious,” he sighs and grabs a towel to dry himself. “Let me know when you’re ready to finish that set,” he bids grabbing his dumbbells once more for flies.

Leaving laying across the bench still wanting and unfilled. You suddenly want to be stuffed with him, dripping for days, wasted off of his cock. But he just goes back to his workout, completely ignoring those feeling that must be working their way through your bond.

He gives you a quick glance and a smirk so you know he feels something.

He is definitely up to something.

He continues this pattern of behavior for the next two weeks. Even on the weekend, when the two of you have all the time in the world to fuck like rabbits, he’d eat you out or finger you off or let you ride his thick thighs but he’d never fill you the way you needed.

“Baby,” you call as you walk into the bedroom after a shower in just a blush pink teddy. Steve is lounging across the bed with his sketch book in hand working on his latest masterpiece. “Have you been feeling a little off today? I think there was something wrong with dinner. I’ll talk to the chef tomorrow.”

“There wasn’t anything wrong with dinner. Youre fine. You’re just going into heat.”

What? “I’m on the pill,” you scoff, shaking your head at your mate.

He lifts an amused brow at you before shifting closer to his bedside table. “You mean these pills?” He holds up the little case of daily suppressants and birth control you’ve been taking since you gave birth but this one looked like a brand new unused pack. “What you’ve been taking are multivitamins.”

“What? Steven, what did you do?” You hiss crossing your arms over your chest. You could’ve gotten pregnant after all this time? Months spent healing from your c-section and in the gym trying to get your body back and he was just-

“Hey. Calm down,” Steve commands seeing the distress on your face and getting up to console you. He wraps his big arms around your shoulders and you’re instantly relaxed though you shouldn’t be. Has his scent gotten heavier? “I switched out your pills last month because I want another baby.”

“But why?” You cry attempting to push away from him.

He doesn’t let go.

“You are gorgeous, my little moon goddess.” His fingers undo the bow at the center of your chest holding your sleeping garment together. “Every man’s dream. The perfect little house wife. And you’ve worked so hard to look this perfect. But you look even better when you’re full of me. Round with my baby. A statement so everyone knows you’re mine.”

You pout, pressing your forehead to his chest. “We could have talked about this,” you insist trying to keep your wits about you as his musk settles over you. Spicy and fresh like woodsmoke in the rain. You could get lost in it.

Lost in him.

“Talk? I don’t need to talk to you about this. Haven’t I given you everything you’ve ever wanted? This big house? That fancy electric car? Vacations to five star resorts? Dinners at Michelin star restaurants? I shouldn’t have to ask you for another baby. I shouldn’t have to ask you for anything. You owe it to me.”

Well, when he puts it that way…

You know it’s the hormones talking but his words are true; you’ve never wanted for anything since becoming his mate.

What’s one more baby?

You attempt to tug away from him one last time and this time he lets you go, reluctantly giving you a choice.

But you know there isn’t really one.

Not when his scent is that heady and stifling. He’s close to rut and you’ve just become his favorite prey and you so want to be eaten.

You let go of the tight reign you have on your body and its like a flood of slick coats your thighs just at being in such close proximity of your mate’s strong presence.

You sit on the bed and scoot your body up to the head board all the while keeping contact with those ocean blue eyes. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he watches you, lust blowing out his pupils with every breath. You lean back across the pillows he was just propped against and spread your legs showing your lack of underwear and what his on coming rut is doing to you.

“Good girl,” Steve growls. His grin is feral as he climbs on the bed after you.

His lips meet yours in a clash, slotting together like they were made for each other. One of his hands hold up his bulk while the other grips your waist possessively, massaging the junction of your hips with his thumb.

“Do I need to get you warmed up or are you ready to be bred?” Steve rasps against your jaw as his kisses trail down to you neck.

“Breed me, please, Stevie!”

“Have you missed being full of me, luna? Full of your alpha?”

“Yes! Please! Fill me! Stretch me!” You beg as his clothed cock presses against your slit, teasing you. He continues to rub against you. Your slick and his precum smearing across his boxer creating a wet patch in the fabric. You can practically feel him through the cloth. It’s big head starting to breach your core despite its restraints.

Just a little more…

Then the cloth is gone and he sliding into you with one harsh thrust. You cry out at his roughness but he gently rocks his dick inside you, letting you adjust to his girth. He shushes you softly and runs a big hand over your hair to calm you. “You’re alright. It’s just me. Just your Stevie. Your alpha.”

“Alpha,” you pant.

“Yeah, my little omega moon?”

“Please, fuck another baby into me.”

“Whatever you want,” Steve promises and pulls all the way out just to thrust back into you. Over and over he thrusts so roughly you scream but you need him to be harder. Faster.

Your nails claw at his back while he rides you mercilessly.

He finally reaches under you and tugs your back up so you arch just enough to brush that spot that makes you weep.

You sob into his neck. All of your senses are already on fire as it is. He knows you can’t last through much more of this.

Your sighing grunts reach a high crescendo as you cum flooding around him. All the previous clawing for him gone. Now you want him as far away as possible because you know he’s nowhere near done.

“Don’t you dare push me away,” Steve growls knowing you’ll be far more sensitive now.

“It hurts, alpha!” You whine, tears streaking down into your braids.

“You want a baby, don’t you? Now turn over so I can fuck a knot into you.” He spanks the side of your ass making you yelp but you turn over quickly to avoid his wrath.

“So beautiful,” he sighs, running a hand down your spine, warming the already heated skin with his touch. “Absolutely perfect for me.” You whimper and wiggle your hips at his words, waiting for him to spear you. Steve grips your hips, massaging deep into your muscle tissue once more before pressing into you. You arch your back at the feeling but he gently coaxes you into rounding; his big hands splaying across your belly to make sure you feel him deep inside of you.

“Stay just like this,” Steve instructs and you think you nod. All of your senses are firing like crazy so you can’t be sure.

Then he starts thrusting. And it’s the most intense thing you’ve felt in a long time. Being on suppressants for so long stopped your heat and sex just wasn’t the same unless you both wanted tear each other apart. But now, with your mate’s dick so far into you you could almost taste it, you felt so complete it hurt.

“That’s it, luna. Let go,” Steve mutters as he pounds into you. The way getting a little tighter with each stroke as your walls contract with pleasure. “So tight for me.” You whine into the pillows, completely surrounded by your mate’s scent and his body you just want to let go but your body keeps fighting off that second orgasm.

You want it so bad.

“Please, alpha! More!” You cry.

Steve practically snarls as he rips your from buried position in the bed to press your back against his chest. His huge bicep wraps across your shoulders holding you in place as he fucks into you.

“Didn’t think you could take anymore,” he chuckles in your ear. All you can do is moan dumbly as he takes what he needs from you. “Fuck,” he growls as he drags himself against your walls. “You’re so close, luna. Cum for me. I just need a little more. Please, I’m so fucking close.” His begging sets you off. He needs you. He needs this from you. You choke on a sob as you cum for him once more. “That’s it, moon! Good fucking girl!” He barks and chasing his high, pressing you back down into the bed with a hand at the center of your back as he ruts into you. Soon he floods your core, pressing deep into you so none of it can escape leaving it trapped inside you. You whine as he stuffs you, your belly aching from his trapped essence as he continues to fill you.

“Fuck,” Steve groans and you feel his knot press against your already tight entrance only to pop once it’s firmly inside of you. You whimper at how full you feel, cradling your bloated stomach with one hand while attempting to claw away from your mate with the other.

“Mmmm you’re not going anywhere,” Steve hums giving a sharp tug to the knot and making you gasp. “Come here, my little moon.” He falls on to his side and pulls you against him. “Try to get comfortable.” Comfortable was the exact opposite of anything you were feeling right now but you huffed and dropped to your side next to your mate. His big hand rests on you belly making you groan at how tight you feel. “I think you have room for a little more.”

“No! Please! Ste-“ you’re cut off by a gasp as he presses his hand against your lower belly causing a little more friction inside of you as he thrust the little bit that he can. All you can feel is his tip pressing right into that spot and all you can see are stars.

It’s all too much.

Far too much!

You get close to the snap of an orgasm before your eyes flutter shut.

They snap open again at the sound of a distant cry.

The room is completely dark around you. The covers pulled comfortably over your body as you’re snuggled into your mate’s pillow.

You feel so full. Everything aches. You yawn and attempt to turn over but find yourself helplessly tangled in your mate. Steve’s legs are slotted between yours, his arms wrapped around your chest as he holds you to him. His knot has got down but his cock is still warm inside of your body, keeping all that cum in place while he sleeps. You attempt to move once more before giving up.

“Stevie,” you call. “Steve!”

He hums softly before pulling you a little tighter to him.

“The baby-“

“I’ll get him,” Steve groans before stretching with a yawn. That big, hard body leaving yours cold with its absence. “Want me to get him a bottle?”

“No. Bring him here, please,” you sigh, your breasts as full as your stomach. You take a deep breath and sit up with a soft groan.

Did he sleep at all?

You stare down at your bloated stomach, almost as round as you were at four months. You run a hand over it tentatively. So tender.

“You’re already glowing.” You hear the smile in Steve’s voice as he returns with your son, holding him against his chest like the precious treasure he is while he wails.

You just smile and hold out your arms. Your little boy starts suckling almost instantly as Steve leaves the room again.

A little girl would be nice. Someone to dress up and play princess with. But giving your son a brother also sounded ideal. You sigh and run your fingers gently through his curly locks.

Your mate soon returned with a plate of fruit and cheese and crackers. He even wrapped up pieces of meat up to look like flowers.

“Since when did you make charcuterie boards?” You laugh.

“Since I asked the chef to leave one last night,” he smirks and feeds you a strawberry.

Always up to something.

“So you’ve had this planned for a while?”

“Maybe,” Steve replies cryptically making you smile.

“All you had to do was ask.”

“You know I prefer to take,” Steve grins holding up a cherry for you. He can take all he wants. “Eat. You need to keep up your strength. I’m not done with you.”

Dividers by the wonderful firefly of course we all know I just wanted to write something moon themed after seeing them

Master List

#alpha Steve Rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x black female reader #alpha steve Rogers x black female reader #alpha!steve Rogers x omega!reader #alpha steve roger x omega reader #Steve Rogers x black!female!reader #steve rogers x black!reader #alright I’m done with these tags #if people can’t find it this website is just fucked #dark steve rogers #grey steve Rogers

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bloomdigital · 2 months

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MJ Tumblr Takeover

Hey there tumblies, it's me, ya boi!

I’m MJ (he/him), a queer, overcaffeinated, perpetually exhausted, chronically online, cat- and TTRPG-obsessed, BL-loving, shameless weeb, memelord (wannabe), raging anti-capitalist chaotic word goblin and aspiring cryptid, and I AM TAKING OVER THE LONGSTORY TUMBLR! (At least for a bit.)

Born: 08/09 Height: 182 cm Blood Type: [redacted] Type: Tsundere

I’ve been working on LongStory (on and off) since 2015, but I actually started as a fan! Once upon a time I blogged about queer nerd stuff for Xtra, Canada’s longtime LGBTQ+ publication, and I stumbled on the first episode of this adorable little romantic visual novel through Twitter (RIP). I was absolutely charmed, an instant fan, this gorgeous little game that let me relive the trials and tribulations of grade school life but in a more queer and trans friendly world. It was exactly the kind of game I wanted when I was growing up in a VERY small town in the Canadian Maritimes. So when they did a call for writers I think I was physically vibrating from excitement putting together my resume and sample scene—I actually remember exactly where I was, it was one of those weird, stars-aligned, stranger than fiction moments, but that’s a story for another time!

When I joined the team, we were basically a few writers, the producer/CEO and the programmer sitting around in a room figuring stuff out. I VERY ENTHUSIASTICALLY wrote a single VERY LONG episode which—instead of making me cut it down—the project leads generously cut in two and became Episode 4: Drama and Episode 5: Make Up, and I’ve been working with the company as a writer and narrative designer since then!

LongStory’s the first game project I ever got to work on, it’s near and dear to my heart, so when I got asked to join the team on a follow-up I was once again vibrating with excitement. The company is no longer a few people sitting around in a room, it’s basically doubled to a dozen actual employees and then a bunch of part-time contributors like me, and we’re working on not one, not two, but three—okay, one of them is in very early development, but still—games, with more coming down the line! It’s like we’re a real game company or something?!

YOU MAY HAVE HEARD WE’RE DOING A KICKSTARTER! We’re taking preorders through a crowdfunding campaign to finish development on seven shiny new episodes. We would ABSOLUTELY love if you supported the campaign, with just under two weeks and little over half way to our goal we really want to make it happen!

But, long story short (har har har), we wanted to make sure you know that there is a free Steam demo that you can very much play if you haven’t already! The team, including our narrative lead and I, put so much love into this demo which, let’s be honest, is the first full episode of LongStory 2. If you play it and like it, let us know what you think! In the meantime, I’m going to be here writing about what it’s like to work on LongStory, maybe take a look at some fun new additions to LS2, share some of our favourite fanart, answer some asks… talk about the music I’m listening to… uh… share cat pictures… SO YEAH! I hope to hear from some of you over the next couple of weeks! Otherwise I’ll just be here… you know, doing my thang?

Before I go… I’m just gonna leave this here…

youtube

#longstory #longstory 2 #gamedev #queer #lgbtq #visual novel #dating sim #indie

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thatguy03 · 1 year

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Becoming Peter - Male tf

Jack had been struggling to land a part in anything significant lately. He scraped by on the pay from commercials and low budget shows, but he wanted something that could get his name out there. It seemed like perfect timing when he received an email from his agency that they had a role for him in an upcoming live adaptation of a popular animated series. It was the perfect opportunity to finally rise to the celebrity status hed always wanted. The only catch being that his agency couldnt disclose many details of the role yet, only that he had to gain weight for it. That was no problem for jack, hed get to pig out for a few months and then lose the weight after filming finished. He needed this.

The agency gave Jack a dietitian to help him gain the weight quick enough for the role, and he definitely didnt mind the diet he was put on. It was full of calorie rich foods at all time of the day, courtesy of the money provided by his agency. Also with some weird protein shakes provided by the producers of the show. Jack took a 'before' picture the day he started the diet along with his weight of 150 pounds, thinking it would be fun to track his progress.

It didnt take long for his diet to begin to show, he had been bloated basically constantly since he started the diet. Everytime his bloat seemed to die down, he was stuffing more food in his face. The diet was clearly working because within days Jack noticed a layer of pudge covering his ever bloated stomach. It was a weird sensation as he had always been really skinny, now he had some fat that he could actually grab onto. This was nothing compared to what was to come though. It seemed everyday when he would take a show he would notice a noticeable amount of fat had accumulated on his stomach. Within only a week his stomach had rounded out, and he started to notice fat build up on his chest, making his once flat pecs look swollen. A few weeks later his body had significantly changed from when he started the diet. He had a beer belly reminiscent of dads in their 40s and pair of man boobs that showed through any shirt he wore. Friends and family showed concern of his rapid growth but he reassured it was just for the role and he was still healthy. He did often think about how fast he was growing, but reassured himself that people he knew had gained weight this fast before. Besides he had more confidence than ever, because with all the fat gained in his stomach, fat and muscle had built on his previously tiny arms and legs. He finally had arms comparable in size to the guys his age that worked out, despite most of it being fat. One day before his shower, he decided to check his weight to update his agency of his progress. He stepped on the scale and recorded '200 pounds' not realizing how much heavier he was than he expected. He took a progress picture in some new shorts he had bought, as most of his clothes already didnt fit. He sent the photo and weight to his agency, only realizing now how ridiculous it was that he gained 50 pounds in just over a month.

His days went on normal for the next few weeks, doing nothing but eating a ton and drinking shakes. Though he had noticed lately he was a lot hungrier than he usually is. At first it was difficult to reach his calorie goal each day, but it became slowly easier and easier. Soon he started eating more than his calorie goal, he convinced himself that it was just so he could hit the weight need for the role faster, but the truth was that he was just hungry between his massive meals. He had stopped going out basically at all now, just relying on order food and groceries online using the credit card provided by the producers. He stayed at home either eating sleeping of playing video games, as a result he never needed new clothes for his growing body and spent all his time in the only pair of shorts that fit him. Due to his increased eating habits, his body continued to grow significantly over the next month. His gut had grown large and round, blocking his view of his feet. He was now larger than most men he knew, even outgrowing the impressive guts of the fat old men he knew, men who had long since let themselves go. His moobs began to sag and lay on his gut, and his nipples grew large and swollen. His back formed many rolls of fat and he now had love handles that spilled over his shorts. Shorts that could barely contain his ever growing ass and thick thighs, despite being by far his biggest pair of shorts. Proud of his progress he decided he would update his agency. He stepped on the scale, having to hold his gut in to even see the scale. It read '250 pounds', he had gained a shocking 50 pounds in just a month again. He stood sideways and snapped a picture, surprised at how prominent the S curve caused by his protruding gut and ass had become.

It had been a couple months since the last update, and Jack still has no idea what this role is nor does he know how fat he needs to get. It was not like he was gaining weight for the role anyway, at this point the gaining was a part of his lifestyle. Something that would most definitely stick after shooting had concluded. He had basically stopped drinking anything but the protein shakes provided by the producers. He always had a container of them sent to his door regardless of how fast he was going through them. He is basically constantly eating, whether it be giant fast food meals or snacking any moment he isnt eating fast food. He is basically unrecognizable from the man he was only a few months ago. No one he knew would recognize him now, not like he was seeing anyone anyway. His face now hides under a thick layer of fat, with rolls covering his neck and giving him a very obvious double chin. It must have been all the unhealthy eating, but he began to look much older than he was, looking well into his 30s despite being in his early 20s. The rest of his body wasnt much more recognizable than his face was. His gut protruded out much further than it had last update, so far that it started ton sag over the waist of his shorts. It became difficult just to get in and out of the shower, he even started to shower with the curtain open because he couldnt fully fit inside anymore. His moobs swelled even further, as they sagged under his flabby arms. His love handled spilled over his waist, making door frames a tight squeeze. The only piece of clothing that remotely fit him now was his pair of red shorts, but saying they fit was a stretch to say the least. Jack stood staring at himself in the mirror, all embarrassment of what he had become had long been smothered under a new man that took pride in his girth. He figured he had grown enough to send his agency another picture. Some part of him hoped that the agency have him the same answer they always had, that he needed to be bigger. He stepped on the scale, it was basically impossible for him to the number that showed up, but he had gone above 350 pounds. Somehow his brain seemed to brush off the fact that it shouldnt have been possible to gain that much weight that fast, but the thought never crossed his mind. He stood in the mirror and snapped a photo before sending it to his agency.

The next couple of months moved by fast. He had finally gotten an update from his agency, he would be playing Peter Griffin in the new live action adaptation of family guy. Weirdly enough the email ended with "Welcome to the team, Peter." Why would they call him Peter? His name was... it was... no that's right he is Peter. His diet still consisted of massive portions of greasy food and a ton of beer, but it always had, right? It was weird that his shorts seemed to shrink every day as he has been the same size for as long as he could remember. The hair everywhere on his body but his head fell out, leaving him smooth. His double chin seemed to grow until it touched his chest and his face was enveloped with a soft layer of fat. His gut outgrew the size of a massive beach ball, making it basically impossible to reach his dick, though it's not like much of it was still visible under his thick fat pad. His moobs seemed to flatten under their own weight, still resting on his belly. Many rolls formed on his back that lead all the way down to his over stretched shorts that were holding on for dear life. Hopefully they'll have clothes his size on set. His entire body looked like it was melting due to the sheer weight of his fat weighing him down. He stepped on his scale for the first time in a while, excited to see that he was too heavy for the scale. It just kinda glitched out when he stepped on it. He felt this was the perfect time to send in one final update to his agency as he had never felt more like himself, and he was just playing himself after all.

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thisliminalspacedaydreams · 4 months

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A Reflection on Quality vs. Quantity in Writing (as per some witnessed Tiktok and other posts)

I’m back again with a long post about quality vs word count quantity.

I think I’ve touched on this before and only recently realized what that may have come across as.

I think I’d like to clarify—just to make sure I was understood and not misinterpreted the first time around.

I’ve had the chance through Tiktok and Tumblr to meet a lot of fanfiction writers or aspiring writers. A version of what I’ve heard of, too many times, is some version of I will never be able to write a story, because I can’t write long ones. This fear of not being able to meet a certain word count often prevents the story from being written at all.

I don’t think word count should be a barrier to starting a story.

I don’t think anyone who’s ever started a long fic has ever thought to themselves, I’m going to write however many thousand words. No one who embarks on a story typically sets out with a specific word count in mind.

It happens, because it’s how the story’s meant to happen, and because that’s what the brain wants, what the characters need for their development.

A compelling story doesn't need to be long. Nor does it have to be short. It simply needs to resonate with its audience, and this can happen regardless of length, because we’re all looking for different things in fandom.

What I am trying to say really is for the writers who aren’t able to, or feel like they will never be able to either finish their stories or write anything bigger than a oneshot, or a small novel-length story: You don’t have to.

What I am trying to say is, people who write long fanfictions are able to take the same characters and explore dozens of emotions, adventures, issues, relationships within one story. Conversely, others can produce multiple shorter works, each focusing on a specific theme.

In the end, we are all doing the same thing, just going about it differently.

The way we think, the way we each explore our own inner turmoil also presents itself differently based on our past, our ability to focus, and what we want from the story we’re writing.

Amélie Nothomb has written 32+ short stories/small novels. Each one is dedicated to a specific genre, a specific topic. That’s where she thrives. And people read her stories. George R. R. Martin, renowned for a single series that interweaves countless topics across the characters' journeys. And people read his stories.

I could go into details about each author but just step into a library or a bookstore and you’ll have every single possible word count for a novel/anthology/series/whatever. They all found their little space on the bookshelves, and they all deserve to be there, and there is not one work that deserves it more than another.

AO3 is a bookshelf.

We are all human, we can’t all work the same way, and long works shouldn’t intimidate you out of writing at all.

This is what I want to say.

If you have something to say, you should write it. Doesn’t matter if it fits in 1K or less. Doesn’t matter if it fits in 900K or more. It’s going to resonate with someone.

No one sets off to resonate with thousands. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't, but you can’t work through your turmoil hoping to resonate with people; you must do it because you want to solve it within yourself first. The resonance is a by-product. It cannot be the end goal, only the happy happenstance.

I hope this helps.

If you want to write, write.

If you start something and stop because half-way through, you’ve decided that actually, you’ve worked through it, then isn’t it enough?

You don't owe anyone your writing, just as no one owes you their readership, praise, or positive feedback. These are all wonderful by-products of your work resonating with others, if you're ever so lucky, but it cannot be what you write for.

AO3 is a bookshelf like Mary Poppins’ bag. Ever-extending. There is space for every length, every type, every genre, every fandom, everythingeverythingeverything.

The only thing it doesn’t have space for, is hate.

#fanficwriter #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #I saw a tiktok from someone else and it bothered me #and I realized it was because I think I've said something too similar once #but I really didn't mean it in a negative way #and sometimes conveying ideas are hard #but i did my best #anyway I hope this doesn' t offend anyone #it's just #i think fandom is transforming #and writers are intimated #and I don't think writing should be an intimidating endeavour #it should feel like release #like catharsis #like joy

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maddymoreau · 4 months

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Fallout New Vegas Live-Blog Part 3

I went to REPCOON Headquarters and got to meet a bunch of ADORABLE robots!! One even gave me a tour of their museum! However when I reached the third floor there was a problem . . .

My Luck Stat wasn't high enough to pass. After looking online I found a solution! First I got an implant from Dr. Usanagi at the New Vegas Medical Clinic (and many more afterwards).

However I was still one Luck Stat short. The only way to increase it was by wearing sexy lingerie 💀 with that I could guess the password which was Ice Cream.

This game is so ridiculous I love it.

I finally downloaded the all of the DLCS! They came with a lot of cool outfits! One of them being an Armored Vault 13 Jumpsuit which I'm very 👀 curious to learn more about.

From there I met Cannibal Johnson (who has only eaten one fiend's heart). He discussed his past and when he mentioned the name Sergeant Dornan I REMEMBERED SOMETHING I HAD COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN!!!!!

YYYEEEAAAARRRRSSSS ago I watched someone play the first Fallout game. During that time ABDKL;GFKLANF;DSN I GOT OBSESSED WITH SERGEANT DORNAN AND EVEN SELFSHIPPED WITH HIM!!!

(〃^_^)ゞ Back then I used to make charts to help me keep track of my goals and I made custom ones featuring Sergeant Dornan!! I tried to make it match the game and even rewrote his iconic dialogue to fit goal.

When I remembered this I IMMEDIATELY PAUSED MY GAME, DUG THROUGH MY CLOSET AND FOUND THEM!!!!

There's WAY more but yeah (⸝⸝⸝⚆_⚆⸝⸝⸝)♡ would 100% still smooch him. He's my favorite first Fallout character.

I discovered Vault 19 with the Ex Powder Ganger members inside. I'm going to kill them and the rest of the Powder Gangers later. I wanted to do the Why Can't We Be Friends? Quest but unfortunately I don't think my Explosion Skill will ever be high enough.

At Mojave Outpost I helped NCR member Ranger Ghost with the Quest Keep Your Eyes on the Prize and along with Ranger Jackson with the Quest Can You Find it in Your Heart?

I'm trying to do the basic NCR Quests before becoming their enemy.

I went to Nellis Air Force Base and THE EXPLOSIONS ON THE WAY WERE TERRIFYING!!!! No way I would've been able to get there without a tutorial.

I like to imagine that on the way Nellis Air Force Base the loud explosions scared Lily but once inside she'd have SO MUCH fun getting to spend time with children her grandkid's ages!!

I did a bunch of side Quests for the Boomers inside like finding a missing Teddy bear named Mr. Cuddles. Along with helping Jack and Janet get together. Currently the Boomers Idolize me and once my Repair Skill is high enough I'm going to fix their solar array.

I handed over some snow globes to Jane (Mr. House's robot lover). It's weird she doesn't say goodbye and is just silent.

I saw these interesting corpses.

٩( ᐛ )و Turns out they're made by the Khans!

Also I met Papa Khans and got him to help against Ceaser!!!

It was really easy since I've never attacked any of the Fiends. I've been waiting until I have no choice.

ALSO I'M SO GLAD I SAVED A BUNCH OF STEALTH BOYS!!! Without them there's NO WAY I could've reached Melissa. The Death Claws are TERRIFYING and always one shot me (X _ X).

Yes Man's reaction was SO FUNNY!!!!

Not gonna lie . . . I might go back and kill them all to make Yes Man happy. akdjf;lakvd;nl.

HE SAYS YAY WHEN YOU DO IT!!!!

It would also make sense for her to second guess her decision after speaking with Yes Man. Especially after seeing how the drugs the Khans produce affect the people when fighting the Fiends.

Also I helped Jerry the Punk leave the Khans to join the Followers of the Apocalypse. Speaking of them a member named Emily Ortal asked me to help figure out how Mr. House's has lived so long.

Not sure if I want to do that though.

Finished taking ALL the pictures for Michael Angelo. During that time I explored the Sunset Sarsaparilla Headquarters. Met a robot named Fetus. So far I only have 17 of the Sunset Sarsaparilla Stars.

Since my LockPick Skill was finally high enough I went to explore The Hidden Valley Bunker ONLY TO DISCOVERED THE BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL?!?!!

The fucking Brotherhood of Steel stripped me naked and put a dog collar on me I’m killing them all.

(|||ᇂ_ᇂ) I'm not prepared to deal with them yet so I save scummed. I returned to an older file and continued leveling up/exploring.

During that I was at Mojave Drive-in when I noticed a crashed satellite projecting onto the theater's screen AND WHAT IS HAPPENING??!!?!

I GOT EXPERIMENTED ON??!?!!! THEY TOOK MY BRAIN?!?!?!?! THEY TOOK MY SPINE?!?!?!?! THEY TOOK MY FUCKING HEART?!!?!?!!??!?!

THEY DID SOMETHING TO ME TO THE POINT I CAN’T EVEN GET ANGRY?!?!?!! Some fellow named Mobius has my brain!?!?!? GIVE IT BACK?!?!!?!?

DR. DALA KEEPS CALLING ME HER TEDDY BEAR!!??

Part 1 and 2 Below:

Part One:

https://www.tumblr.com/maddymoreau/738944610851864576/i-spent-a-majority-of-my-time-exploring-the-top?source=share

Part Two: https://www.tumblr.com/maddymoreau/739188768511229952/finally-leaving-the-strip-i-worked-on-a-quest?

#A lot of this was actually done out of order from how I wrote it.#Since I had to do multiple Quests at once or go Grind since certain Skills weren't high enough to progress.#So going back to an older save file and killing the Khans before reporting to Yes Man would be extremely easy.#So I'm probably going to go kill the Khans and then go deal with whatever is happening at the drive in.#Laying it out like this made it easier for me to keep track of everything LOL.#Fallout New Vegas Spoiler #MadisonPlaysFalloutNewVegas #Long Text #Long Post

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crystalelemental · 5 months

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Oh good. After writing up seven paragraphs, my computer did that thing where the screen goes completely black, and wouldn't come back until I hard shut it down, so there goes all that work.

Anyway, finished Little Goody Two Shoes. Spoiler thoughts below.

This is the worst good game I've played maybe ever.

It is a minor miracle I came away from this game with a positive impression overall. I think the general vibe gets me. It's engaging to play through once, but I don't think I'll ever do so again.

The main issue is gameplay itself. This game fucking sucks to play. The puzzles get wildly obtuse around Tuesday, with things like hints being given only after you've beaten them, puzzles completely lacking any indication of what you're supposed to be doing and expecting you to brute force it with guesswork, and some areas just being impossible unless you're popping healing items constantly because fuck dude, I don't know how to move through this maze without getting either myself or Apfel stabbed. I actually don't think I can. It is ridiculous.

A major issue was just money, and this is entirely my own fault. Resources got a shitzillion dollars compared to what you make, and with Muffy over here extorting me for fucking soup, I can't keep up with anything. Part of that is my own fault for trying to keep up with both Rozenmarine and Lebkuchen's story routes simultaneously, limiting me to one job a day. I'll own it, probably should've just picked one. I didn't expect resources to get that bad. What's worse is, once I did stop focusing on both and picked one? It never got better. I never ended a day with money on hand. It was all gone to have something to eat, or to have some healing items, or to restore sanity on the notes quest. Which, related, do not do the notes quest while also trying to do two routes. You cannot keep up with this. Maybe it would be less devastating if I could afford more pretzels. I doubt it, though!

Character-wise, as mentioned, I tried to keep up with Rozenmarine and Lebkuchen. Freya...never really did anything. I'd talk to her, but you make a decision day 1 between her and Leb, and Freya exuded nothing of interest, while Leb had that kinda "viewed as the nice girl and knows it, but has a deep frustration with the whole thing" that endeared me very quickly. So when it came down to her or Rozenmarine, who is a quirky weirdo I kinda like but felt a bit too much in on the whole fate thing, I went Leb. So I got Leb's good and bad end, the "fuck up the gifts" end, as well as the notes ending. I will note quickly that I very much like Elise as a protagonist. She's very fun. I have almost nothing to say about the townsfolk.

Notes ending is weird. It's very abrupt and...well okay, the ending specifically answers nothing. The notes themselves answer a good bit, while still not fully answering much. What I do know is that Ozzy's an archdemon who granted Halle's wish for a child, that the witch had nothing to do with it, but the witch of the forest is pissed about the demon taking up residence. This ending is basically identical to the "fuck up the gifts" ending. Regardless of which you get, the witch just shows up and takes your body, implying that her goal was to resurrect as you, in order to accomplish the one thing she could never do: bear life. Basically, she wanted to live as a woman who can give birth, apparently. I'm not 100% sure if this was always a goal, because she says she tried to learn how to produce life, or if this is specifically just spite over the archdemon creating life and her being like fuck off I can do that too you're not special. I kind of assume Rozenmarine's ending would make it a little clearer, since she seems to be the likely Lore Route.

As for Leb's...the main thing is, I'm stunned it was so black and white. Like, there is no gray area. If you go through with your wish, Leb is killed, you become rich but isolated and miserable all your life and the demon eats your second kid you have when you have twins. If you back down, everything is so good that you and Leb travel the world happily, then come back, settle down, and make the town better than ever. It's...kinda weird, actually. Like, a big thing I think is interesting is how the game's structure does make you feel for Elise's status in the town, based on how hard it is to get good ranks on the minigames and how little money you get for how much effort goes in. It sells the idea that she's under-appreciated here and that yeah, of course she'd want to get out and live a life of ease. But I had expected the ending tradeoff to be a bit more...nuanced, I guess? Like, the choice to be that going through with the wish would indeed provide the luxurious wealth and comfort at the cost of loneliness and living with what you did, while not going through with it means you have a mundane life of constant toil, but at least there's love. It wasn't expecting this to go so "deals with the devil are strictly bad and hard work pays off." My point being, the refusal ending feels too clean. Like that's basically ideal. There's no struggle to that ending and no real point to have done anything else if you're looking for a happy life. Maybe that's the point?

I don't really know what my final takeaway is, because even now as I write this, I am still annoyed. This has shifted now to annoyance at my computer, but it started because I did the bad ending where you sacrifice them last, and I feel like it's absolute bullshit the doors shuffle without warning or pause, and that one piece of ceiling fell on me, slapped me into a corner where I was trapped and just had to wait to die. What I'm trying to say is that the gameplay is exceedingly frustrating. And that it kinda warps my perception of the game overall. Because I think if some of these puzzles were less obnoxious? Excellent. Really enjoyed myself. But so many situations are hit by me being outright infuriated about some of these solutions. I think if you have a good tolerance for this kind of thing, game's excellent. If you're like me, honestly just use this guide. I gave up at the snake domain and just looked this up, I wasn't in the mood. Though it won't save you with Dick Crow's Witching Hour Fuckfest Act 2. That's just pure misery.

#little goody two shoes

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the-blind-geisha · 4 months

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Onward to 2024

I know I have a few days till the year ends but meh. I'll write it now!

This year was far more productive for me after the prior year tried to take me out several times. While my new found health issue which may or may not persist left me in a state to constantly produce stuff in worry I'd never get the chance, it was still nice to look at the WIPs I got done.

Having finished The Demon King of the Desert was my main goal. I was so happy to have it finished, and be it on AO3 or Wattpad, I am glad it was loved as it was. ♥ While I would love to go back, revise, and pimp it out to be something far more explored in some areas, I plan to wait a moment before doing so. The original ending was something a bit different and the beginning was so rushed because I only hoped it would be 10 chapters. But, well, things run away from me.

The characters are still very much alive in my heart, and who knows—maybe I'll do the in-between idea of what Demiurge and Gerdu were up to during their absences (as well as do a ref sheet of Gerdu).

I do want to work more on my Patreon. I wanted to work on one for years, and now I have reasons to work there behind the scenes.

While all my mature things will remain there, the rest will gradually become public. I do have some comics I want to work on, that'll begin there and slowly drift to public spaces in due time. ♥

The King of Boos as well as a few other scenes I'd love to turn into comics from my King Boo / Reader story will be there. Sadly, as it stands, the first one won't be released till I am done with You're the Inspiration. Just because of how the two coincide with one another a bit. But it will eventually!

Because of my desire to dive into my childhood once more, I will be working on a few things with Violetta, my new Mario OC, and maybe make a self-insert OC in general since I want to do something with Rosalina too. She's my queen, sorry. ;^;

In general, I want to get some comic-ing done. I love comics, even if they take me forever to do at times. I figure Patreon will be my go to!

I also have some monster stories (and ref sheets for some of my boys, gals, and in betweens) in the works. I just have a massive to-do list that's bigger than my backside, so stuff will come out as needed!

I will do my best to try and work on using my artist tablet more over my mouse. While I want to continue using my mouse just so a broken tablet can't stop me from ever doing digital art, I do want to try and feel comfortable using an artist tablet all the same. ♥

2023 really opened up a lot of ideas for me. I redid my reference sheets too, which I am glad I didn't get far in those, or I would have screamed at the many I'd have to redo. But I plan on redoing the old ones and moving to a better future with them.

Oreana and Ignatius' story will continue at some point as will another story I may put into comic format if I can draw creatures better again. ♥ It's an old idea inspired by a fanfic of epic craziness that I still have a fondness for that was done in my pre-net days when I was a kid.

Anywho! Hoping for a brighter, just as productive, new year! Stay safe, everyone, and thank you all for your support!

#i looked at oreo and iggy's story on AO3 #and was shocked people were subbing to it #whoops. sorry. i keep forgetting to go back!#i will return to it soon #and my demi/oc story will still be worked on #just gotta motivate myself!#much love my dears #mod talks

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fantasyinallforms · 4 months

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It's an end-of-the-year recap!!!! And what a year it has been! Thank you, @fellowshipofthefics, for putting together this wonderful recap list! Thank you from the bottom of my heart to all the people who have supported me on my writing journey this past year. The Bagginshield fandom has been a haven filled with some of the kindest and most talented people I have had the pleasure of getting to know.

I look forward to another year with all of you.

Let's begin!

~~~~

What is something new you tried with your writing this year?

This was my first year as a fic writer, so everything was something new! I was really focused on building the "voice" of my writing, and I think I did that.

Did you participate in any fandom events?

Oh yes. I did the Thorin Spring Forge (TSF), Kinktober, and The Hobbit: An Unexpected Collaboration (THAUC). I also did about half a dozen drabble events and fotfics monthly events.

What's been your favorite project to work on?

There were not many, but I think for me my favorite was the TSF event. It was a big chance to produce my first ever long-format fic, and the reception it got was more than I could have imagined. You Should Be Safe With Me now sits as my highest kudo's fic.

What was the hardest project to work on?

Sparks & Gardens, for sure. The story is one I'm in love with, but bringing it to life in a way that does it justice can be a struggle sometimes. A struggle I enjoy, oddly enough.

Did you start any projects?

Too many.

Did you finish any projects?

I did! Happy Accidents is a completed Modern AU trilogy.

How many WIPS do you have now?

Four (two posted to AO3)

Share your favorite scene/line!

In chapter three of You Should Be Safe With Me, Thorin busts into Bard's house because he thinks harm is befalling Bilbo. I love how gentle and soft Thorin is when helping Bilbo in that scene.

Share your favorite story title!

I'm very fond of Not Yours To Touch. It took me forever to name that fic!

What does your writing system look like? (i.e. brainstorming, writing, editing - how do you do it?)

Usually, it starts with a scene I like or a general concept. Then, I daydream about it a little and determine if it's a one-shot idea or a long-format idea. One shot, I start writing and see where the idea takes me. Long format I start jotting down ideas in bullet form until I have a really rough outline. Then, I flesh that out until I have a plot. When I have a series of events in order, I want them to happen with maybe a few vague details I start writing. I pause and reread/ rough edit after every chapter and check that my continuity is still good. When it's all done, I ignore it for a few days and re-read it again, then edit. Then it's off to my lovely beta reader, who edits and tells me if something doesn't make sense. Once I get that stamp of approval, I post.

What's the best atmosphere for you to write?

Left alone and quiet

Any particular snacks or drinks while writing?

I'm a beverage girly. I have water, coffee, and some fruit near me at all times. I don't normally snack and write. Most of the time, if I'm writing, I've forgotten to eat.

Do you form playlists/soundtracks for your stories? Or even just for your "writing time"?

Playlist, not really. As I said above, I prefer absolute silence when I write. I do have Pinterest boards for all my WIP's, however.

What advice would you give to a new writer?

You're going to have to be bad at it before you become good at it. So be bad at it and enjoy the process.

What are some goals you have for 2024?

Finish Sparks and Gardens. Finish reputation be damned, and if I'm really lucky, debut my Biker Gang AU. But really just to have fun.

Last but not least, General stats

Words posted to AO3 this year: 191,187

Fics posted to AO3: 22 (all but one was Bagginshield)

Current active WIP's: 2

I can't wait to see what 2024 brings, and I couldn't have done this without you.

#the hobbit #bagginshield #fic writing #end of year review

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m0ther-of-p3arl · 7 months

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can't start the fire without a spark

(robert aeor high au p14)

masterpost

ROB AEOR JUMPSCARE!!! probs two more chapters after this, we are drawing to a CLOSE!!! big big chapter today, lots of things happening we're jumping allllll around pov-wise :D very very fun to write i hope you like!! ohhh and also with the addition of this chapter, rob aeor is now 60,000 words in its entirety!! pretty cooool :D

Karissa watches from the upstairs window as the same white camper van pulls up outside her house, screeching to a stop under the streetlight. It’s finished making its rounds, and she can almost see from here the essences of the people pushed into the back, bound and gagged and drugged. She smiles, fake and manufactured yet still slightly psychotic, nails drumming against her thigh as she pulls on her heels and heads out the door, eyes searching for signs of life.

or, shit is Going Down. buckle in, buttercups, because we are going for a RIDE.

(6949 words)

Karissa Major stands, poised and perfect, posture impeccable as she gazes out from her balcony. The chill of very early morning digs silkily into her skin, her very bones, and a smile stretches across her face at the knowledge that everything she’s worked for could come crashing down at any moment. It’s a manic thing, desperate and rough around the edges, nothing like the polished facsimile of human emotion she displays around others.

If this goes wrong, if any mistakes are made- her game is ruined, her life’s work is all for naught. Her eyes watch nervously (or, as close to nervous as Karissa Major can be) as an inconspicuous white camper van passes through the street. This is the final moment, and if anything deviates even slightly from her plan-

But it can’t, it won’t, and Karissa knows it won’t- she’s crafted everything obsessively, meticulously- all the details gone over with her crew at least twenty times, the plan burned into all their skulls. There’s almost no way any of them could forget it now, especially considering the consequences she has laid out if someone deviates from the plan. Karissa almost can’t wait for the day she’s strapped to the chair, wires attached to her brain, her manipulative siren magic the sole thing keeping the game going.

Third Life.

It’s Karissa’s dream to have that much power, it’s been her goal ever since she was very young- ever since she watched the life drain out of a woodmouse as she crushed its windpipe with her foot. Since Karissa’s childhood years, she’s had an idea, a spark in the back of her mind that- until recently- she simply hasn’t had the time to pursue. But her cult is really coming together, it’s gained a fair amount of members recently- and with all the funds now pouring in, Karissa finally has the money to begin developing the technology that would let her great imagination become a reality.

The technology that allows a siren’s power to be amplified by ten thousand and broadcast across many multiple people through a chip in their brain, strong enough to even wipe their memories and convince them so thoroughly that the world she’s put them in is the only one they’ve ever known. She has all the rules laid out for her game, all the plans- she’s spent countless sleepless nights developing them, deciding what combination would produce the most carnage and emotion from which she can feed.

Because Karissa’s new tech, though insanely high-quality and as perfect as she can get it, is not a perpetual energy machine. It needs something to feed it, something to keep it active and working. And what she’s found, through extensive study, is that the best way to power the mind-control mechanism is the consumption of the negative emotions of those being controlled.

Therefore, Karissa has decided that it has to be death, the game she will have the teenagers she preyed upon play. She has the perfect plot of land, close enough to her compound that the people within will be susceptible to her control, but not too close that the players will be able to see it outside the borders.

Of course, there won’t actually be any borders- that would be silly. Karissa will simply make the players believe that there are, and they will be physically incapable of crossing a certain point. It’s genius, this thing she’s concocted, and if it goes well, she can try and arrange one every couple of months for her and the other Watchers’ entertainment.

However, despite Third Life being a death game, the people inside won’t actually die. That would be ridiculous, completely unneeded carnage- and the loss of good players for later games. Well, wait- that’s a false statement. The players of the game will die, but they’ll be brought back to life. Just like the person with the flamethrower who Karissa had hunted through the woods so many years earlier.

She has been the prototype throughout all of this, she’s been the test subject, Karissa’s little guinea pig kept in a cage. Zombie, Their name is. Or, that’s what Karissa has named her, obviously. Their real name was something along the lines of- Cora? Cleo?

Karissa thinks it was probably Cleo.

But she’s Zombie now, they have been ever since they joined up at sixteen- a vulnerable young person, lost and alone. Of course, she was the perfect specimen- as is the typical coming-of-age ritual of traditional gorgon families, when she turned sixteen, she was banished from the home for a year to learn of life in the real world. Afterwards, it’s the custom that the child can either return home to learn the traditional ways or continue life in the outside world.

Zombie had found safety with the Watchers- but when they’d wanted to leave, to go back to their traditional gorgon roots, to return to their family…

Well, Karissa couldn’t let that happen, now could she?

And so she hunted down the teen in the woods and murdered her. They were brought back to life, of course. It’s been many years, and Zombie’s been broken and stitched back together thrice as many times since. She is, obviously, going to be one of the players in Karissa’s new game. It’s just fitting, isn’t it, that they take part in the experiment of a lifetime after they’ve helped oh so much with it.

Karissa’s thoughts eventually lead back to where she’s still stood on the balcony, outlined in stark black against the early morning sky. She shakes her head, laughing slightly under her breath, and turns with a swish of fabric, treading back inside on two-inch stiletto heels.

Her ride will be here soon, and it’s time to get ready for the time of her life.

Scott never did get back to Jimmy’s house.

They’re on him before he can think twice, figures in white hazmat suits descending upon him from trees and rooftops all around him, roughly grabbing and throwing him into the back of camper van. He doesn’t even have time to be confused before thick, rough rope wraps around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the wall. An oily wad of fabric is stuffed into his mouth, a strip of duct tape pressed over his mouth before he can scream.

And now he’s sitting here, half-conscious of others being piled in beside him, an arm or two pressing up against him, feet touching his. A red sweater, a black headband and green shirt, a boy covered in scars- defining features jumping out at him in bright flashes before they descend back into the numbing murk that surrounds him now.

It’s so hazy here, previously well-defined images turning to nothing but colors and shapes now through the fog in his mind. The sky is so dark here, and the ground is gray, fuzzy. Where’s the grass? Where’s Jimmy?

With his limited ability of thought, Scott sluggishly thinks that it must be the shock that’s rendered him so helpless, though a sharper part of him in the back of his mind wonders if maybe he’s been drugged somehow. The rag in his mouth does have a strange taste to it beyond the oil, a sweetness he can’t quite place. Scott’s not quite sure how much time passes from one thought to the next, each realization taking eons of time to nail down.

That’s why he doesn’t quite catalogue the tapping on his shoulder until someone’s head slams roughly into his bone, and Scott starts, eyes widening. If he wasn’t gagged, he would have yelped in surprise. He turns his head, and even fighting as hard as he can through the drug-induced blurriness, he’s only able to make out two bright yellow wings, bound alongside him. A shoulder presses into his own, and Scott’s almost certain he can hear someone crying as his eyes drip shut yet again. It’s too much work to keep them open, it would be so much simpler to just drift in and out of consciousness, the figure with yellow wings the only thing keeping him grounded to reality.

He wonders, in the back of this camper van from hell, if somehow it’s an angel.

Jimmy is frantic, his heart beating out of control, head throbbing insanely and his mouth filled with a disgustingly smooth texture- maybe cloth of some sort? He’s not really sure- it’s been a blur most of the time he’s been in the van. The drug (he’s sure he’s been drugged in some way) doesn’t seem to have affected him as strongly as everyone else. Maybe it’s something with him being an avian- the other avian here, a parrot, is looking around in the same frantic way that he is, and their eyes meet across the camper.

His eyes are filled with tears, waffle-colored hair swinging back and forth as he shakes his head vehemently, and Jimmy’s chest fills with an aching sadness. He’s sure he’s seen this boy at school, he’s fairly certain his name’s Grian. A traditional avian name, not like his own of Jimmy. Of course, it won’t be Grian’s true name- that’s a closely guarded secret, as well as one known instinctively.

Jimmy makes a vow that if he ever gets out of the hands of his captors, he’ll tell Scott his own true name- Solidarity. He’s been meaning to for a while, of course- but it’s hard to get up the courage, to gift someone with something of that capacity. The level of trust it takes to tell someone, especially a non-avian, your secret name- well, needless to say it’s almost unfathomable.

He’s not quite sure how long he sits in the truck, watching with bated breath as the van stops every few minutes, another figure bound and gagged thrown in with them- but none further that Jimmy recognizes. They all seem to be in the same drugged stupor, staring straight ahead with half-lidded eyes and offering no resistance to their white-suited captors. Again, he and Grian seem to be the only ones aware of the true weight and direness of their current situation.

Jimmy doesn’t really take note of anyone else in the van- sure, he’ll notice a detail here and there, but mostly he watches Grian and the gentle tears that slip down his face. All he can glean from the other avian’s slumped posture is an air of absolute hopelessness, one that threatens to spill over onto Jimmy and leech all the life from his soul as well.

Suddenly, Grian goes rigid, seemingly honing in on something Jimmy can’t quite see. His head shaking becomes even more vehement, and though the gag is never removed from his mouth, Grian’s voice cascades over him.

His tone is desperate and broken, his words streaming in a parade of syllables, a different tongue that makes no sense to Jimmy. Grian’s voice only switches back into something Jimmy’s familiar with when another captive is thrown into the van, a tall elf with scars carpeting almost every inch of his skin. Grian’s borderline begging, and as hard as Jimmy strains not to hear the words, they’re too sharp in his ear and he can’t push them away.

NO! Please, no, you promised, you PROMISED- you said that if I came, you wouldn’t take him, you said he would be SAFE! Please, I’ll do anything, anything, just let him go- I can’t let him go through this, I can’t, you have to understand, please! You promised me, you promised me- Scar, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, Scar- no, no no no, let him go, LET HIM GO-

One of the people in white suits punches Grian hard in the skull, seemingly fed up with his tortured screams. Grian’s head pitches forward, his eyes dulling to their normal beady black and voice tapering out pathetically as he falls unconscious.

Jimmy’s shaken- and not just because of the disembodied voice that everyone in the van could apparently hear. He’s mostly just confused about that. No, the thing that disturbs him most is the genuine fear coating Grian’s words, the desperate begging for them not to take the other boy- Scar, Jimmy remembers- and to leave him be.

That does not bode well for whatever’s going to happen to them all, and Jimmy shivers involuntarily, closing his eyes. He doesn’t open them again for several minutes until he feels the truck stop once more, the doors swinging wide and the white-suited people shoving in a new figure, right beside him.

Jimmy catches a glimpse of cyan out of the corner of his eye, and he just knows.

Scott’s here.

He looks the same as the rest of them, glazed-over eyes, seemingly undistressed. Jimmy has to get his attention. He needs to. But he’s bound, and Scott’s in no fit state to respond to the muffled grunts that happen to be the only sound Jimmy can make. He huffs, annoyed, and pushes his head back against the wall, fighting back an onslaught of tears.

Jimmy’s just a curious little bird.

It’s been. SO LONG. Since he heard her voice, since he heard those words. But here they are, loud as anything, biting and taking and angry- no, worse than that, almost dismissive. Jimmy nearly wilts under the pressure like a wildflower when summer comes, he nearly lets it get to him, the situation he’s in. No one can blame him if he does, after all- any normal person would have broken a thousand times over by now.

But as Jimmy hears the words again, instead of hopelessness, all they spark is anger. A deep, simmering rage, unlike anything he’s ever felt before, burns through his veins like a monsoon flood. Who are these people to kidnap him, his boyfriend, and so many more presumably innocent people? Why would he even allow himself to be tied up like this, rendered so vulnerable that anything could happen to him?

Jim’s anger goes deeper than even that. He’s always balked in the face of authority, whether it be Patty, the only mother he’s ever known, or these hooded figures who stole him away in the dead of night. Jimmy has never had a shred of rebellion inside him, he’s never even entertained the possibility of doing anything other than what the present person in charge wishes him to do.

It’s one of his biggest shortcomings as a person, he realizes- and even though it’s too late to do anything to change the predicament he’s in, there is a small act of uprising that he can commit. He and Scott are bound closely enough- so close, in fact, that their bodies are pressed together, the feathers on Jimmy’s wings resting gently on Scott’s back. Obviously, Jim can’t move his arms or legs- or wings. All his limbs are out of commission, really.

But the one thing they neglected to bind was his neck, and by extension, his head.

Jimmy headbuts Scott in the shoulder as hard as he can without arousing the suspicion of the guards, which is admittedly pretty lightly. He does it again, and again, and again, but no response is received for Jimmy’s efforts and Scott stares straight ahead, eyes blank of any thought or emotion- blank of any of the things that make him quintessentially Scott. The canary almost gives up, tears of frustration and hopelessness springing to his eyes.

He headbuts Scott once more, one final time, not giving a shit about what the guards will think this time. He puts all his strength into the motion, and slowly, miraculously, Scott turns towards him.

But it’s all for naught, because when their eyes meet, Scott looks just as zombified as ever. Jimmy doesn’t even think he recognizes him.

Scott’s head drops down, back into place, and Jimmy cries.

The van moves through the night, and finally hopeless, Jimmy cries.

Martyn doesn’t know where he is.

He has no idea what’s happened to him, has no idea what anyone could ever want with him- he’s just a good-for-nothing twenty-year-old pufferfish seafolk who’s spent most of his life doing- well, doing absolutely nothing, if he’s honest.

And now, he’s been kidnapped.

Martyn Littlewood, ultimate disappointment to his parents and everyone else in his measly little life, has been kidnapped.

It still doesn’t really sink in, the absolute danger he’s sure he must be in. He just feels numb, brain muted and fuzzy. He knows that he’s tied up, he’s aware that he’s in the back of a vehicle of some sort, and he knows that there are other prisoners here with him. But that’s it. Try as he might, the drugs that must be on the rag that has been stuffed into his mouth have absolutely ruined his brain, normally sharp thoughts nothing more than clumsy, cankered fumbling.

It’s really quite frustrating.

Especially because all Martyn has got going for him, the only thing that’s saved him from being the ultimate loser, is his mind. Though, one has to understand that he’s not smart, per se- he’s not good at math or writing essays or any of the things that make someone excel in school or get a good job or create the next big instant messaging app or whatever. Nah, Martyn’s just clever.

Clever and really funny.

He wonders vaguely if his current situation has anything to do with that thing he’d signed up for last month, a flier on some lamp post somewhere advertising something called “Third Life” that was promising twenty thousand dollars to whoever participated. Martyn was the very first person to sign, to etch his name on the crisp lines- because for that kind of money, what wouldn’t he do? Even if he had no idea what this thing was (there had been no information given, not a single word that could’ve helped him to identify even remotely what this thing he’d just signed up for was.)

When he’d come back to the spot a week later, mainly just to check if there had been any updates or whatever, the paper was filled with signatures, cramming into every nook and cranny, not a singular unfilled spot on the paper. Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money, after all. Most folks like him would kill for that kinda cash, and he’s been struggling enough recently that he’s not surprised in the slightest others have been as well.

Martyn wonders, if this is truly what Third Life is, if he’ll get his money at all.

Martyn wonders, marveling at the words that flit quickly in and out of his slogging brain, if it’ll even be worth it.

But it’s still and cold outside, no plausible or even remotely possible threats in sight. Karissa puffs a short sigh of relief out her lips, heels clacking along the cobbled path as she makes her way towards the van. It’s shining, gleaming brightly in the puddle of light cast down from the fluorescent street lamp, a stylized purple symbol painted on the side- a rectangle, cut off before two corners diagonal to each other, small individual squares taking up the place where the corners would have been.

If there had been any doubt before that she’d somehow mistaken the vehicle, it’s erased now as the symbol of the Watchers glares back at her from the side of her van. Her smile only grows.

Karissa swings open the door of the van and climbs into the shotgun seat, flashing a simpering smile at Zombie- who, at the current moment, is driving the car. Zombie shoots a quick, light glare back at her, and Karissa laughs, high-pitched and ringing, even in her own ears.

“Now, now, Zombie,” she admonishes, glancing back to where her other thirteen contestants (excluding Zombie, of course) are tied and drugged, white-suited cult members looking after them, “remember what happens when you don’t show the proper respect.”

Zombie flinches, and Karissa feels a jolt of twisted pride that she’s managed to make this person break so easily that they’re terrified by any mere allusion to possible punishment. She’s just disappointed that her son has gone and been so strong-willed; he would’ve been the perfect experiment- more so than he already is, of course.

It’s interesting, truly, to realize how the boy’s siren and gorgon traits have come out differently in combination with each other. Karissa wonders, was she to try the experiment again, have another kid- Karissa wonders if the results would be similar, or vastly different. She’s too old to bear a child by now, however, and there are some things that even one such as she will not force upon a person who does not want it.

“Zombie, stay en route to the compound. I’m going to go check in on the prisoners- make certain that Grian’s not having second thoughts about his task.” Zombie nods tersely, and Karissa pats their head condescendingly as she stands, moving smoothly through the vehicle until she’s standing aloof in the bare back compartment.

Thirteen different young adults, all drugged and tied and gagged, the perfect hamsters to run around Karissa’s proverbial maze. She smiles, a genuine expression for once, even if one of perverse satisfaction and power. Moving among her captives, Karissa takes in their appearances, the familiar yet unfamiliar face of one in particular catching her gaze. Karissa cocks her head to the side, confused, and sticks her hand roughly under their chin to tilt their head up so she can get a better look at them.

But instead of the drugged blankness she’s been expecting, Karissa is met with a glare full of pure venom. She startles, dropping their head in surprise, and scrutinizes the person further, eyes squinting as she stares them down. Straw-blond hair, golden canary wings… and the faint but unmistakable smell of rapport magic.

Ah. So unless she’s been poorly informed, this must be Jimmy.

Just as she’d instructed the guards a half-hour prior, Scott is hog-tied up right next to his lover, his snakes as limp and drooping as the rest of his limbs. But Jimmy seems alert, almost… aware. Karissa ruffles her eyebrows, flecks of dried foundation flaking off at the wrinkle. This shouldn’t be happening. But, no matter- if he’s awake, she might as well let him speak. The gag won’t do anything now, given how remote the area they’re traveling through is. Plus, it was only really needed for the administering of the drug.

Ripping the duct tape off his mouth, no consideration for the pain that might come afterwards, Karissa watches as he ejects the sopping wad of fabric out of his mouth and onto the floor, spitting out the last residue of the drug that had been soaked into the cloth with a look on his face that can only be known as disgust.

“Hello, Jimmy. My name is Karissa Major, and we are the Watchers. Welcome,” she spreads her arms, gesturing around the interior of the decrepit van, “to your new life.”

Two simple words spring from the young boy’s mouth, face contorted in a solid mask of hatred. Karissa’s eyes widen in delight. Oh, yes, he will be perfect.

Is that someone’s voice Scott can hear, through the daze of his own mind? It sounds like Jimmy. Scott wishes it was.

Everything’s better with Jimmy by his side.

“Fuck you,” Jimmy spits, lips curling up in a sneer. “You’re Scott’s mom, aren’t you? Why would you do this to me? To us? To your own son? What in all the world is wrong with you?!”

Jimmy hates the way that Karissa’s smile widens, as if he’s simply egging her on, playing into her little mind games and tricks. She doesn’t speak, just stands above and watches him as if he’s some haphazard experiment and she’s a twisted scientist waiting for results. So he screams it again, spit flying unbidden from his mouth, eyes squinted and angry, the rage building beneath him as he pulls at his bindings, tries to get as close to her face as he can.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” he bellows, voice breaking in half. He pretends not to notice how, next to him, Scott stirs lightly, eyes blinking slightly open to stare at Jimmy blurily.

Karissa stares down at him, nothing even slightly akin to pity on her face.

“I noticed you seemed interested in Grian,” Karissa states, a cold hand covering Jimmy’s mouth when he tries to speak. “Are you wondering if maybe he could be a friend, a little ally for you in all this? A fellow avian to share your sorrows?”

Jimmy feels his eyes betraying him, drifting to gaze upon Grian’s unconscious form. He had been hoping that, he’s never met another tropical avian before. He’s been naively wondering, in the back of his skull if maybe, once they get out of here, he and Grian could go out for coffee, maybe hang out together sometime. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird.

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’s correct. Karissa raises her eyebrows, as if impressed. It just makes the anger bubbling in Jimmy’s stomach increase tenfold, hatred marring his usually smooth face. Karissa keeps talking.

“Because you see, Jimmy dear- and I can tell you this because soon enough, you won’t remember anything at all and much less this conversation- Grian is not on your side. He’s on ours. He won’t have his memories, per se. I’m not stupid enough for that. He’d just throw everything away for that Scar boy.” Her head gestures to the elf slumped in the corner, and Jimmy realizes that must be Scar. A fitting name, really, when one notices the amount of long since healed over injuries covering his body.

“But, nonetheless, Grian is on our side. My side. He’ll follow our orders, keep things interesting so I can keep power. Think of it as a bit of a hazing ritual. If he succeeds, he gets to join the Watchers. If not…” Karissa lets the threat hang in midair, before presuming a cheery tone and finishing her sentence as if she was describing going to the fridge to grab a snack. “Well, if not, then we just do it all over again, don’t we?”

Jimmy feels his blood run cold. “What are you talking about? Take my memories? Grian is- he’ll be keeping what interesting? And what do you mean, do it all over again?”

Karissa hums gently, swiping a thumb over her perfectly manicured nails. “The game, darling. What you’re here for.”

“I didn’t- I’m not signed up for this, I know my rights, let me go.”

“Jimmy, dear! You really think you could do anything, even if you somehow manage to escape? You really are a misguided child, aren’t you. No, darling. We’re high in the Boatem Mountains by now, in an area so remote and unheard of that you’d never even be able to find out where we are, much less send for help. So, don’t worry your little head about escaping- because I’m afraid, at least for the moment, that you’re stuck with me.”

Jimmy feels all the air go out of him, replaced by a deep confusion. “How are we that far out of the city already?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, darling. But I’m afraid that a magician never spills her secrets.” Karissa’s eyes are dark and cold, not a speck of humanity left within the cyan irises. Hard lines form around her mouth, and she sneers.

Jimmy has a sinking feeling that she’s telling the truth.

He’s not getting out of here anytime soon.

Karissa is surprised that Jimmy has so much fight in him. She’s watched him from afar, of course (she’s done the same with all her contestants), and he’s always seemed almost too soft, someone who can be hurt and broken easy as that. But then she’d come to the back of the van, and Jimmy had practically screamed in her face. It was an extreme whiplash from the kind of person Karissa had been expecting, but she can adapt.

It is, after all, the thing she’s best at. So she stuffs Jimmy’s gag back into his mouth once she bores of him and returns to the front of the van, not even bothering to buckle her seatbelt. “Zombie, drive quicker,” Karissa orders, arms crossed and staring straight ahead. For once, there’s not a trace of a smile, real or fake, painted across her all-too-perfect face.

“We’re already going twice the speed limit, ma’am,” Zombie replies, not even looking at her, hands clenched too tightly around the steering wheel. “I’d actually advise slowing down- if we speed up any more, we’ll get pulled over and rest assured they will find the people in the back, and even your siren magic won’t be able to convince them that it’s a normal thing to have thirteen drugged teenagers in the back of your van.”

Karissa huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Do what you want. Just don’t get me caught, or I swear to god I’m tearing out all your stitches at the next possible opportunity.”

Predictably, Zombie flinches, memories of an enraged side of Karissa that only they see probably streaming through their mind. “I don’t doubt it, ma’am. I will try to the utmost of my ability not to get us caught.”

“Good girl,” Karissa purrs, reclining like a queen in her chair, “this is all going so well, I simply cannot wait for the games to begin.”

Zombie nods, eyes still straight on the road, and Karissa can see their throat bob as they do so, can feel the nervous tension bathing the air in a wash of sickly greens.

“Are you excited?” she asks, more as a form of sadistic manipulation than anything else. Zombie, of course, of course, isn’t excited. It’s a death game, she’ll lose all her memories, and worst of all, she’ll have to kill people. But if she says as much, she knows Karissa won’t hesitate to rip her throat out (and then stitch it back up, of course. It’s been done before.)

“Yes, ma’am, very excited.” Zombie spares a glance to the back of the van, something like guilt flashing across their face, so briefly that none but Karissa (master of manipulation) would have caught it.

“You’re lying to me,” she slithers back, voice smooth as honey yet twice as sharp. “Zombie, don’t you know what happens when you lie to Karissa? It doesn’t end well, does it.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Zombie says quickly, eyes darting nervously to Karissa’s enraged face. “Please don’t hurt me.” The plea in her tone is pitiful, voice withering away until it’s next to nothing, miniscule and timid.

Karissa scoffs, a hand reaching up to stroke Zombie’s sallow cheek. “You’re like a daughter to me, Zombie. Every child does bad things sometimes, and I think at heart, you’re still a child. You’ll always be a child to me. But remember, if you like to me like that ever again…”

She leaves the threat hanging in midair as her hand drifts down from Zombie’s face, their eyes turned resolutely back to the road, teeth clenched sharply. Karissa almost laughs, because it’s just all too easy, isn’t it. It’s just so simple to take advantage of this lost person, lightly masked threats all she needs to get Zombie in line. Honestly, she’s growing bored of it- bored of the complacency. She misses the days when Zombie would fight.

Maybe that’s part of the reason Karissa created the game, she muses, as she stares ahead at the sky lighting up with dawn beyond the trees. Zombie became boring- so Karissa created an environment so hostile that none could hope to survive. Even if somehow, all her players decide to be peace-loving idiots (and they won’t, Grian will make certain of that) then they’ll die by natural causes eventually- and probably sooner rather than later, one of them will feel the red haze clawing at their mind, begging them to turn on the others. And they will.

When that point is finally reached, Karissa will feel power. She will feel it beyond anything anyone else has ever known. She relishes in the thought, smile snaking sadistically behind her facade. In the corners of her vision, Zombie flinches.

Their hands grip the wheel of the car, the feeling of teeth grating together inside their mouth the only thing keeping them sane. Why are you doing this?

Zombie- or is it Cleo? Cleo Zombie? Zombie Cleo? They’re not sure anymore. But they like Cleo better, so they decide to stick with it. Her other self is not falling for this orchestrated distraction, however, this thought of property and names- the question springs back up, unbidden, and Cleo flinches at the sound of their harsh words inside her skull.

I said, why are you doing this?

Cleo’s knuckles are white now, white with the exertion of keeping her hands on the wheel when all she wants to do, all her other self wants her to do, is jump out of this van and never stop running. They decide to refer to their other self as Zombie, because they do have two names, and best to make use of both of them.

Zombie scoffs, and Cleo doesn’t even realize that their body had made the sound until Karissa’s smile appears in their peripheral vision, teeth too sharp and flawlessly white to be natural. Cleo flinches back, muttering stuttered apologies as Zombie hums disapprovingly inside their mind, head shaking sadly back and forth.

There used to be more of them, used to be more than just Zombie and Cleo. But their time at the cult, before they tried to leave under the thinly veiled excuse of getting back to their family, had taken a toll on all of them. When she’d come clean about the others in her mind, others who had sprung up when their father died, or when they were in an awful car crash. Sometimes, she’d even get a new person just from being super interested in something.

But Karissa had told them, hand on their shoulder and venom in her words, that they weren’t real, that Cleo was wrong- and one by one by one, all the people had drifted away. They’re still there- Cleo can be sure of that, and Zombie even more so- but they’ve all hidden themselves away, away from the pain and misery and everything else.

Zombie is the only one who’s stayed. And Cleo is forever grateful for them, because they make everything so much easier with their snarky quips and comments at Karissa, they make everything so much more bearable than if it had just been Cleo on her own.

Oy, little sheep, I appreciate the sentiment and all, but keep your eyes on the fucking road! Jesus Christ!

Cleo shakes herself, blinking the thoughts out of her eyes and out of her mind. Zombie reclines angrily in the back of their mind, and Cleo can feel that it’s still not happy that she’s agreed to this.

It’s not like she had any choice- Cleo hadn’t had any more choice than the people tied and drugged in the back of the van. Or at least, that is what they tell themself, frantically fabricating a panicked reasoning for why she’s doing this.

Cleo doesn’t want to get hurt again, and she doesn’t want Zombie to leave them. She doesn’t want Zombie to be forced out of their mind by Karissa’s prying talons, and they will do whatever it takes to keep their only friend safe with them.

Cleo exhales, calming the shaking of her hands. They’re okay. They’re fine. Cleo just needs to play the game, and then she can figure out a way to escape. They just need to be a part of the game, and then they can leave.

She tell herself this even when she knows she’s lying.

It’s the only way Zombie and her could ever keep going.

Scott feels the truck pull to a stop. He hears doors sliding open, and feels his body being lifted underneath him. The air is crisp and clear on his face, and he blinks as the tape is ripped off his mouth, his gag removed.

Immediately, his mind clears, and all the pieces click into place. He looks around frantically, eyes darting this way and that. He’s been slung over the shoulder of one of the white-suited cult members (because of course it’s Mother’s cult that’s kidnapping him, obviously that had been their plan from the start, and Scott curses himself for not realizing it sooner.)

He sees some of the people he’d half-noticed earlier, but his eyes flick over them quickly, not seeing what he’s looking for until the last person is carried out of the van, bright yellow feathers bound tightly to his back, eyes immediately meeting Scott’s, large and scared and pleading.

Joel is also here, Scott notices sadly, he’s been tied to the roof of the truck (as he’s much too big to fit inside). He’s being wrangled by at least ten employees, his eyes ablaze with anger, tail raised up protectively.

“Get off of me,” Scott hears him yell, “this is not what I signed up for, get off of me-”

He finally notices Scott, and his eyebrows raise in surprise. “S-scott? What are you doing here? And Jimmy? What’s going on-”

Before Joel can finish his sentence, the white suits jump on him, subduing him with a shot of something viscous and liquid-clear directly into the soft spot of the celestial’s neck. He howls, and drops to the floor, the last emotion on his face a potent hatred before he passes out.

Jimmy’s eyes lock to Scott’s again, fear apparent on his face. He must have no idea what’s going on, Scott realizes, and he feels such intense pain in his chest for his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” Scott whispers, guilt raking through his body like a hurricane of doubt. “This isn’t what I thought would happen.”Jimmy just shakes his head slowly, his gaze wrenched from Scott’s as he’s carried roughly inside the building. The sky shakes, and the world shakes, and everything comes crashing down because they got Jimmy. And, not for the first time, Scott doesn’t know what to do.

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