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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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Same as it ever was 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can't catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: Hope yall like this one!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Everyone knows to keep their head down when Mr. Hansen walks through the department. As often as he already has a gripe in his belly, he is just as likely to be looking for a victim to accost. You keep your head down as you sense him trawling the bullpen, his figure a speck at the corner of your eye.

You keep an ear pricked, call it paranoia, but you've witnessed the sort of suffering he can rain down on the unexpecting. You browse the spreadsheet, carefully inputting numbers cell by cell. You withhold a sigh, not wanting to give away any clue of your existence.

"Kendra," he leans on the blonde's desk, his other hand on his hip, "pretty name…"

She thanks him. The new girl is always his favourite novelty. It's these moments that make you even more thankful for the obscurity that comes with age. And more disgusted by the unchanging behaviour of creepy men.

"There's this conference next month, good experience for a temp," he offers, "what about it, sweetheart?"

If it was any other man, you might clear your throat to let him know you can hear him. To remind him of professionalism. Too dangerous. You feel a twinge of pain at letting the twentysomething flounder against his undeniable proposal.

"Far away so… we'd have to fly out," he continues and you shift in your chair unthinkingly. You can't help it, you've been there, you've had to smile and fawn, to pretend your skin isn't crawling. "...pack something pretty."

Your elbow hits your pen and it rolls off the edge of your desk. You wheel back to grab and dare a peek over at Mr. Hansen in his predatory posturing. His eyes are drawn to you and he squints as he rolls his tongue behind his lower lip. Shit.

You sit up quickly, repressing a groan at the pang in your lower back, and roll up to your desk. You cradle your face, hiding behind your hand as you scroll and pretend to be enraptured by your screen. You doubt you're enough to distract him from the beautiful blonde.

"They got room service up in Gaines," he continues, "think about it."

He taps two fingers on her desk as he pushes off. You expect him to strut back to his office but continues his walk of the floor. You shrink down and curl your shoulders, looking at your cold coffee in desperation. A good excuse to get away from your desk but you can already hear him rebuking you for getting up just for another cup.

You click to the next sheet in the file as he nears. You stiffen as he comes behind you, holding your breath as you wait for him to pass. You feel him pause and hear the subtle scuff of his sole. You nearly jump as he puts his hands on your shoulders.

He leans in, his overpriced cologne tickling at the migraine in the back of your brain. You select a cell and pull up a report for comparison. He watches you work without a word, hands firmly on your cardigan.

He shoves away suddenly and claps his hand as he twists on his heel.

"Alright team, back to work," he demands as if the whole floor must be rapt by his presence, "no fucking around."

You let out a breath of relief. You glance over at Kendra as she gives a cringe at his back. You want to commiserate but you'd hate to make her feel more awkward.

You wait until you're certain Hansen is in his office and take your half-finished coffee to the kitchen. You rinse it out and dry it before placing it on the tray of the machine. You put a pod in and select the size, standing back with crossed arms to watch it brew.

You hear someone behind you but don't look over. The shadow approaches the fridge and pulls it open, taking out a container seemingly at random. You turn your head and blanch at Mr. Hansen as he cracks the communal carton of milk meant for coffee and drinks directly from it. You try not to show your disgust.

"Morning," he swipes the back of his hand across his mustache, "want some?"

He offers the carton as you grab your mug and shake your head, "no, thank you, sir."

"On a diet? Keeping the dairy low?" He wonders before taking another gulp then looks at the label. "Ugh, who the fuck ordered skim?"

You muster an awkward smile. You've never been good at office politics, you don't pander, you just mind your business and so your work. A good day is when no one bothers you.

He puts the carton back without closing it. You retreat slowly, realising he's between you and the door. You try to sidle past as he reaches into the fridge again. He steps back, nearly into your path and examines the tupperware. You stop short as you recognise the worn teal lid; it's your leftovers from the night before, your name clearly labelled on the top.

"Huh," he peels back the lid and smells the chili, "smells delish…" he dips his fingers to your shock and sucks it off shamelessly, "hell of a cook." He says, a tinge of red in his mustache.

"Uh, thanks, I should–"

"You should?" He arches a brow, "you should… keep your nose out of my conversations and focus on your own work, right?"

"I don't know what you mean–"

"I saw you. Squirming like a caterpillar," he snaps the lid back into place and tosses the whole container on the bin beside the fridge, "look, I know at your age, there’s not much excitement but it doesn't mean you needa eavesdrop on matters that don't concern you."

"I didn't–"

"I get it, you're jealous, your ass blew up after the kids and your husband hasn't looked at you in years–"

"Sir," you say affronted but more stung by the accuracy, "please, I wasn't–"

"Oh, yes, you weren't listening because you have a deadline," he steps closer and wraps his hand around your mug. He wiggles it free of your grasp and you let him, "I moved the budget review to tomorrow morning so…" he pauses and swigs the coffee while snapping his fingers with his other hand, "snap, snap on those expense reports."

You stand, stunned and shamed. He spins nonchalantly and strides out, still sipping your fresh coffee. You let your head fall back and groan. Not only are you out the extra caffeine boost but you have to call the babysitter.

🗄️

You don't mourn your lunch as you likely wouldn't have the time to eat. You spend it outside, below the awning of the building as rain pours over the edge. You have your phone in hand and a needling in your skull. This sort of weather always gives you a headache.

On the fifth try, Pete picks up and you swallow a sigh, "hey," you say abruptly, checking your watch.

"Hey, what's up? I had to leave a meeting," he hisses low, out of breath.

"I'm sorry, I just need to know what time you're expecting to be home. The sitter can only stay until seven but I have to stay late–"

"Late? Honey, you know I can't guarantee I'll be there. I'm working my ass off tryna get this thing off the ground. Grinding–"

"I know, I know, but we could use the overtime and… I don't really have a choice."

"Can't you do tomorrow?"

"Pete, it's one night–"

"One night? It's a call I'm not making–"

"Please," you beg, "we need the money, you know we do."

He puffs and blows a raspberry, "shoulda told that sitter to stick around…" he grumbles.

"We can't even afford to pay her for the extra," you mutter.

"I fucking know–"

"Don't swear at me," you warn, "if you hadn't bought that damn corvette–"

"Not doing this again. I'll be home at seven. Happy?"

You roll your eyes, "yeah," you lie. Happy, no, that's not something you feel anymore.

"Pete," a female voice purrs and he hushes them.

"Got it, Anita," he clears his throat, "tell them I'm on my way back."

"Sorry to keep you," you chew your lip, "I'll let you go."

"Sure," he scoffs.

"See ya tonight," you soften your tone, "love ya."

Click. The call ends and you're left dangling. You pull your phone away and look at the screen. No point in using up the last of your break, you might as well just go back to your desk.

🗄️

Your vision glosses as you stare at the messily painted portrait of a house and tree. The sitter sent a picture of Simone's latest artwork and tugs on your impatience to get out of there. You wish you could be there to pick up your kids and hear all about their day.

Most times you spend the hours after work cooking, cleaning, and trying to rein them in. You're not fun like Emma, their sitter, you're always the voice of reason, the strict ruler of discipline. You send back a heart and black the screen.

Another person packs up for the day, once more tightening the chain that attaches you to your desk. You lean forward, your head pulsing as the brim of your vision blurs. The advil did nothing against your migraine.

You hold your forehead as you squint at the numbers. This is going to take forever. Pushing a budget meeting up one week surely is a personal attack. You need to work on your poker face, you can't do this again. You're too old and tired.

You yawn and fight to keep your eyes open. Maybe Pete can do bath time. You almost snort at that. Right, and hippos are bright pink and friendly.

You shake your head and lean back, trying to stretch out the kinks. You hear the elevator. Eventually you'll get there.

You look around, realising the desolation of your predicament. Not too many people left, at least not those without offices. You roll each ankle, arches achy just from your low heels.

Your phone buzzes and you ignore it. It's six-thirty. You let it go to voicemail and save your file for good measure.

You think of having another coffee but that will only make your head throb and your night sleepless. Well, more than usual.

Your cell starts to jitter again. You're agitated as you snatch it up. It's 7:03. Emma's number greets you in blaring white digits. Dammit, you already know what's going on.

You answer, saving again as you wheel the chair back and reach into the drawer to fish out your purse. You keep the phone to your ear as you say 'hi' and struggle to get your jacket on. Pete!

"Hi, um, I'm still waiting for someone to show up–"

"I'm so sorry, Em," you shut off the monitor without bothering to boot down, "Pete said he'd be there. I'm on my way now."

You step around your chair, nearly tripping over it and push it in behind you. You rush across the office in a clomping gait, half-running as you weigh coming in at 4am and convincing security to let you up early. You continue to apologise to Emma as you promise to be home as soon as you can.

You hang up and dial Pete. As you near the elevator, his voicemail plays and you sneer, hitting end and dialing out again. You poke the down button several times and wait for an answer.

"Pick up!" You growl to no one.

"All done for the night?" A lilting taunt brings you around to face Mr. Hansen as he runs a small comb through his mustache, "you work fast."

"Mr. Hansen, I… I have an emergency–"

"Ah, so you're not done," he tuts, "I figured you'd be used to working fast. I'm sure the old man only last about five seconds, huh?"

"Sir," you bite back your offence, "my kids–"

"Aw, mommy's running late for supper. Let me guess, the dead beat can't even boil water."

You want to shriek. Can this man not shut up? This day just won't end and it's really all his fault. You're welling up and about to explode.

"Please," you utter.

"Oh, come on, you got exactly what you wanted, didn't you? Kids, a husband, the whole nine yards," he tucks the comb into his front pocket, "didn't anyone ever tell you they stop fucking you once you pop at a couple watermelons?"

You gulp. What is happening? Your throat tightens up and your eyes glaze. It shouldn't bother you, he's a gross old pervert but what are you? A bitter and sad old woman.

"You're not going to cry, are you? A strong working lady like yourself? Nah, you can hold it in, for the kids. You got a daughter don't ya, you wouldn't want her to see you break–"

You take a step towards him and stop yourself, palm itching to smack him. You raise your chin and bat your lashes.

"I'll finish the reports at home. I need to go take care of me kids," you fight to keep your voice steady.

"That's the thing about you moms, always the martyr, always looking for special treatment cause you let a guy drop a load indoors," he sneers, "and you're just gonna raise a couple of brats to go off and live the same boring lives."

"Stop," you croak.

"If you're gonna cry, just do it," he goads, "huh, maybe it's menopause kicking in early? All that stress–"

"Good night, Mr. Hansen," you say curtly and face the elevator just as the doors slide apart, "I'll have the numbers done. I promise."

"Oh, I know you will," he snickers, "but you still owe me. For being such an understanding boss, you know?"

You turn around and grimace in confusion. Owe him? He winks and smirks back, "say hi to the kiddos for me."

The doors shut and you close your eyes, hanging your head in defeat. You're going to be up all night, less than ready for the review and certainly unprepared for Mr. Hansen. You can only hope by then he finds a new target.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #pete brenner #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner #lloyd hansen x reader #pete brenner x reader #the gray man #pain hustlers #au #boss au #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic

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typingcorgi · 1 year

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unexpected (part i of a two-part series)

rating: e (minors, please shoo. you will be blocked) word count: 1.7k+ pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: pre-outbreak timeline, canon divergent timeline, hint of vague age difference (if he's 36 I'm thinking like the reader is 5-10 years younger but honestly insert whatever age you want), tipsy sex, fingering, creampie, protected p in v sex (yay for responsible joel), praise kink makes brain go brrr, porn with plot, quasi-public sex, soft-ish!joel, no use of y/n story summary: a one-night stand with a handsome stranger doesn't go as planned. chapter summary: you and joel meet at a bar and fuck in the bathroom. author's notes: no apocalypse, yay! this is part one of a multi-part series. excited to get this new ball rolling. this is just going to be a fun romp away from the mushroom zombies, okay? have fun getting yours ;) and as always, please feel free to reblog or leave a comment! your feedback is so very appreciated.

“I don’t normally do this.”

You admit it through a panting breath, during the one rare moments in which this perfect stranger isn’t capturing your lips against his. In a languid motion, he turns the lock of the door behind your head, ensuring your stolen moment won’t be sorely interrupted.

You’re not so drunk that you don’t remember his name: Joel. Of course, he hadn’t shared his daughter’s name, but just hearing that he had one to take care of at home—and she seemed reasonably responsible, attesting to her father’s clear grip on parenthood—caused something to stir beneath your navel.

“That makes two of us,” he rumbles against the shell of your ear. His fingers press against the flesh of your hips, and he adjusts his stance so that one of his feet stands between either of yours. He hitches up his knee against the locked door, encouraging you to ride it if you want to.

And holy fuck, you want to.

You’d met the guy at the bar a couple of hours ago. He’d been moving past you and nearly spilled your drink right out of your hand. He apologized profusely and chalked it up to not having been thrown into Austin nightlife in a while, but then he also mentioned he got nervous around pretty women, and you were sort of a goner.

You didn’t want to show your hand so readily, though. “Uh-huh,” you nodded, arching a brow. “How many girls have you tried that line on tonight?”

“None,” he shouted over the thrumming guitar of some country band playing over the bar speakers. “Just you. I’ve been out of the game for so long, I figured I’d try my luck. How’d I do?”

He was grinning, the smile beneath an unkept and patchy beard wide and almost cheeky, meeting the edges of his tired eyes. You couldn’t fight him on his charm, but you’d challenge him on being a good conversationalist.

He bought you your next drink. He told you his name: Joel, and that damn knucklehead over there that I came with is named Tommy. Joel explained his situation: his brother tricked him into enjoying a rare guys’ night out. He worked like a dog all damn week, and the week before that, and the one before that, too. And even though his preferred Saturday nights comprised of passing out to late-night Simpsons reruns, his daughter had been babysitting a neighbor’s kid before heading off to a sleepover with her friends. It seemed as though a night out had fallen into his lap, and he wouldn’t have heard the end of it from Tommy had he passed on such a perfect opportunity.

You people watch together, guessing what conversations were shared between the obvious first-daters or commiserating coworkers. You’d started out the night as one of them: two of your friends from work joined you for dinner and drinks, but once they’d realized your attention was occupied elsewhere, they gracefully whispered their goodbyes into your ear as they headed out for the evening.

“Who’re they?” Joel asked over the edge of his Corona bottle.

“My colleagues,” you said. “Friends. We got dinner next door earlier tonight at that little Italian place.”

Joel hummed as he took a swig of his beer. “Yeah, and what is it the three of you do? You supermodels or somethin’?”

You tried not to giggle at the obvious line. “No, we’re teachers. I teach English. High school.”

Joel gave an appreciative whistle. “God bless you,” he commented, shaking his head. “Never had the patience for kids to deal with them in mass numbers. Thank god mine is a good one, otherwise, I’d be in real trouble.”

It wasn’t one singular moment that called on you to beckon Joel into the single ladies' bathroom at twelve-thirty in the morning, but instead a compilation of smaller ones. It was the way he caught eye contact with you once or twice when he thought you weren’t looking. It was the way his flirting caught you off guard, because he didn’t strike you as a player, a serial dater, but fuck, he was good at keeping your attention. It was the way he continued to ask you about your career, and if you liked it, and what you liked about it. It was the way he asked you what you did for fun, and if you ever got your thrill from kissing older guys in crowded bars. It was the way he kissed you when you said you didn’t.

“Come with me,” you cooed into his ear, tugging the shirt collar of his plaid button-down. He was helpless.

And now you’re here, beneath the dim lighting of this bar’s bathroom. Joel’s tongue sweeps against yours as you ride his thigh. You revel in the friction of your panties against your clit, the path of his free hand, sliding up the hem of your dress before kneading the meat of your ass. He moans against your lips, removing them from yours if only to catch his breath and praise you for being such a goddamn good girl.

He calls you that and you nearly melt. He calls you that and you wonder where in the hell he learned game like that, if what he says is true; he’s been out of the game for quite some time.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he drawls. The hand massaging your ass now slides toward your front, slipping beneath your underwear. Two thick fingers tease your entrance, and while you’d normally feel a little pathetic for getting so wet for a perfect stranger so damn fast, Joel doesn’t seem to mind at all. He groans as he slips one finger in, curling and releasing it against your walls while your hips begin to buck in time with his motions.

Joel chuckles darkly at your obvious enthusiasm. “That’s right. You like that? You like ridin’ my hand underneath this pretty dress?”

You groan a yes as slips a second finger into you, and you’re damn near ready to come, but as you feel your upward crest begin to settle beneath your skin, Joel retreats.

“Wh—what are you doing?” You ask, chasing his kiss while your hand finds his wrist. “No, you need to keep going, keep go—”

“Greedy,” Joel hums, the smile on his face one of unbridled satisfaction. “Yeah, I will, but unfortunately for us, we don’t exactly have the luxury of time.”

You notice him palm the back pocket of his raw denim, pulling out a worn leather wallet. And from there, you want to laugh at him for still being the sort of man that carries condoms around in his wallet, as if sex could happen at any of life’s junctures, but instead, you silently thank god that he has one, because you don’t, and holy fucking shit, you need him to fill you up right now.

The drinks you’ve had in his presence give you an unusual sort of confidence. You normally wouldn’t be the type of woman to ask a guy to fuck you in a public bathroom, nor are you the type to get your fingers on his belt buckle and help him slide his jeans down his legs. You aren’t the type to hold onto the edge of the bathroom sink while the guy at the bar fucks you from behind, filling you up to near pain, causing tears to form along the corners of your eyes.

“Holy—holy shit, Joel,” you pant. “You’re s—so, so fucking—”

“Take it,” Joel grunts, his pace punishing, sweat forming along his furrowed brow. “I wanna see the way you look when you’re freshly fucked.”

You gasp, careful not to give away your delicate position to anyone who might be waiting outside the locked door (although the music is so damn loud, you’re fairly confident they’d be none the wiser).

He collects your hair in a gentle fist, planting a kiss against the hot skin of your neck. Your fingertips are bone-white from their grip on the edge of the sink, and Joel continues to fuck into you, steady and sure with every thrust that he makes to the hilt.

Your vision damn near blurs when your walls clench. It’s enough of a signal for Joel to move a little faster, bring you to your climax sooner because he can’t get enough of your body, and he can’t fathom you leaving this little space without you singing his name.

“J—Joel,” you stammer. “I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” he interrupts you, and you know it through the nearly pained tone that falls from his lips. His fingers on your hips draw tight, pressing each digit into your flesh as he groans into the back of your shoulder, meeting his own edge.

And then, in the midst of the comedown, in between his heavy breaths beneath his broad chest, Joel retreats from his goddamn spectacular space inside of you. Joel retreats, and turns you around, and kisses you.

“Fuck, that was hot,” he admits, clammy forehead pressed along yours. “I don’t—I don’t mean to presume or anythin’ like that, but—could I see you again? Another night?”

You’re shocked.

You’re fucking shocked.

This had all of the makings of a one-night stand: two strangers drunkenly crossing paths on a busy Saturday night, they meet, they flirt, they fuck, they go home. Why the hell would Joel want to see you again? Sex, obviously. Sure. But couldn’t he do this again with another nameless woman, another pretty face he meets in a different bar on Main Street?

Your surprise must be evident because Joel quickly backpedals. “Forget it,” he says, suddenly sheepish. “Was a risk, I know. This was probably just a one-off for you, too, I get it. I just—”

You’d interrupt him with words, but kissing him is so much hotter.

“You’re thinking too much,” you whisper with a sincere smile. It’s only then you give yourself a minute to straighten yourself up, pulling your panties back over your hipbones and turning to unzip the tote bag you’d discarded onto the tile floor earlier.

Of course you come prepared. Of course you have a pen. You grab a paper towel from the stack resting at the edge of the counter, scribbling your phone number in crisp purple ink.

“Call me the next time you’re looking for a night out,” you say, offering up the napkin to him. And holy fucking shit, you feel so fucking cool, because this doesn’t happen in real life. Women like you don’t meet hot strangers in dimly lit bars and let them fuck you in the bathroom.

Except, now you do. Joel’s smile is awkward and shy when you kiss him on the cheek right before you leave.

#this is a little slow start but it willll pick up ;) stick with it babes #heheheehe #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #no y/n

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aqours · 6 months

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anyways if i'm going this deep in lemme share this teen mom Ashley fic idea i had i'd love feedback on the idea

this is completely unrelated to my other idea regarding this this is an entirely different can of worms i'm putting this under a readmore just bc it's a bit long and also filled with dead doves so only open and eat it at your own discretion

so basically the idea goes like this- when they were teenagers (her 14 and him 16) Andrew and Ashley got into some kind of big fight (still working on it) most likely due to him having a girlfriend in hs at the time. during this period, in an effort to make a point and piss him off, Ashley gets a boyfriend of her own (who just so happens to have messy black hair and green eyes wow what a coincidence) who was in a class with Andrew. some incident happens where Ashley "accidentally" leaves her phone with explicit texts on view (but also tis like the 90s so maybe i'll redo that) and Andrew talked with his classmate and then uh there was another second missing person, and after an intense argument Ashley and Andrew "slept in the same bed" and anyways a month later Ashley announces she's pregnant casually at the dinner table putting the pregnancy test she put right on it.

"Huh. Not the reaction I was hoping for."

"Forgive me for not being particularly fucking thrilled at the idea of being a grandmother at 32, Ashley."

"You know, if my kid has a kid at 15 and their kid ALSO has a kid at 15 you could be a great-great-grandma at only 75."

"Please shut the fuck up, Ashley."

and Andrew is in complete denial it is. it's been 6 years and every single person except Julia refuses to believe it isn't. at one point when Alexis "Alex" Graves is a baby she makes a comment she has her father's (green) eyes with a wink and grin at Andrew. during the Burial Route when Mrs. Graves is trying to plead with Andrew she finally says "... If you won't do it for yourself, do it for your ------------------" and it's like his brain physically blocks out any insinuation with he's the father with white noise. so he's been living as the kid's uncle officially and has no idea how to act around this kid most of the time.

Ashley is not a good mom by any means and has had CPS called on her more than once but incompetence won't remove the child entirely and she does like. actually love this kid but her obsession with Andrew is clearly more important to her, the fact this kid keeps him tethered to her even if he won't admit, and also because she spoils the kid however she can to try to prove she's a better mother just because her daughter is happier than she was, when learning Alex hit another kid to get their candy she was outright like fuck YEAH if you want something take it!!! girlboss gatekeep gaslight to this four year old and Andrew at least tried to teach the kid right from wrong in response. during her first birthday Mrs. Graves asked Ashley if she was gonna do anything and Ashley didn't see a point the kid is 1 they won't remember the birthday there's nothing they'd want and she doesn't seem to process the point of a birthday for a baby isn't about toys and fun but to celebrate their life. when Ashley suggests they can get by on mugging people Alex says she can pose as a homeless sad kid and for the first time in a while at her Ashley lights up and says THAT'S why you're mama's favorite <3333

babies don't make everything better the co-dependent toxic satanic demonic summoning cannibal incest game's plot now also includes a 6 year old that has also eaten people now with two of the most awful parents imaginable around her and if anything Ashley might get colder once her mom is dead because now there's no way

thoughts? i really want to write this but i'd love feedback

#the coffin of andy and leyley #andy and leyley #andrew graves #ashley graves #gravecest #coffincest #ashley x andrew #i have. no idea how to tag this otherwise lmao #dead dove do not eat #there #starposts #long post

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idontknowreallywhy · 2 months

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Practical Suggestions for supporting people with RSD in the workplace

Am reposting my response to this excellent post because of course tumblr never shows reblogs in the tags view… and I’d really like as many thoughts as possible!

RSD and the Workplace

Been searching for things to help explain this to my new boss without it sounding like “I am a sensitive little flower please don’t ever criticise me.”

It’s tricky… the last thing I want is for people to withhold professional feedback because that just feeds into the fear that “I’m getting it all wrong but they are too polite to tell me.”

But at the same time I need to explain why sometimes I may overreact… why a minor issue might be the end of the world for a while and why I will fixate heavily on correcting a mistake (or, more frequently obsess an unhealthy amount over perfecting something just in case there is a mistake that I have missed because that would trigger aforementioned end of world).

Anyone else have any experience in this area? I can’t find many resources from an occupational health perspective and I have a meeting with HR soon to discuss putting something in place. The last slide talks about understand and acknowledging but how does the supportive environment look?

My ideas so far

- it’s not that we don’t want feedback! It just needs to be done in a way that doesn’t prompt the SHOCK chemical reaction in my nervous system. Perceived negativity arriving out of the blue is like being jumped out on from the shadows by a knife-wielding maniac in a clown mask. Receiving feedback in a predictable and expected way is more like approaching an angry dog (having put on protective clothing and made a plan for how to deal with each of the two or three things it might do)

- If you want to discuss something with me please explain exactly what it’s about in the request. “Can we chat later?” will result in every moment of the time between the request and the actual chat being consumed by me overanalysing my every action of the last 12 months and not actually doing any work in the interim. If I know what it’s about I won’t be as highly reactive when the revelation comes (and I will be more able to focus on what you are actually saying as my brain won’t still be lingering on ALL the other non-issues I have tormented myself about in the intervening time).

- Maybe a regular catch up time for informal feedback would work? Don’t wait for issues to get bad before raising them?

- Please be aware that my initial defensive response isn’t a rejection of the feedback, or stubbornness. I might splurge a list of reasons you are wrong or I might shut down and need to take a while to process it. Either way I will eventually come around and take the constructive bit on board.

- One of the silliest things about RSD is that even neutral feedback can feel highly negative at times. (Sort of like how we all accept dropping from “Kind regards” to “regards” is the ultimate professional burn, even though the it’s not written “with deep antipathy” it reads it!!) This is particularly the case with emails actually. I’m not saying fill your emails with smiley faces but if requesting a change of task / focus / adjustment to something or just giving the next instruction, it’s worth knowing that slipping in the slightest acknowledgement of previous work being satisfactory, even a complement or a brief “thank you for doing the previous thing, I’ll look at it later” changes the entire tone and tells the primitive brain that “this is a positive interaction, dial down the fight or flight”

- Finally - FOMO is a thing. But the fear is that you are not included because THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU / YOU ARE NOT TRUSTED OR VALUED rather than concern at missing out on a pleasurable thing. An easy way to deal is to check with your staff whether they want copying in on things or not - some may find constant emails about things they don’t need to engage with overwhelming. Others may see other team members being included and worry about why they are not and what should they know and what if they miss something that causes them to make a Mistake later?) This was a big deal for me as old boss was very kindly trying to avoid overloading me but I spent months assuming she valued everyone else’s opinion over mine.

Obviously I need to condense these a little to make them HR friendly. But.. what else? Can tumblr RSDers (or anyone who works with them) chip in any more practical suggestions?

#rsd #adhd rsd #rejection sensitive dysphoria #autism #autism rsd #neurodivergence #neurodivergent #neurodiversity

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literaryuppsala · 2 years

Text

You kept me like a secret (But I kept you like an oath)

Title: All too well (10 min version) Taylor’s Version by Taylor Swift.

Pairing: Ivar x Reader (fem)

Summary: You and Ivar had a secret relationship.

Words: 3997

Warnings: Here we go again fellas, into the unknown beautiful world of erotica, an ocean of pining in anticipation and sexual tension, two idiots (probably) in love, smut (p in v), unprotected cause it’s 825AC (if you’re living in 2022, buy a condom you moron), there’s oral (f receiving), there’s face riding and ab riding too, dirty talk (sort of), subby!Ivar (he’s a warning too). And I guess that’s all, either way proceed with caution.

A/N: Won’t repeat the other notes, just know I deleted my other account (stylinsonliving) and all my works will be reposted here, any doubt send me an ask. My asks are always open, feedback is always welcome and my mistakes are always mine.

Filth below the cut, enjoy ♥:

***

Queen Aslaug was known for her abilities to throw memorable feasts. The stories of these celebrations crossed the borders of Kattegat and flew around all Norway; she was the gods’ favorite, known to be the one Queen who never displeased any of them, honoring their names and sacrificing for their own sake.

So, when Ragnar and Lagertha came back victorious from another raid in the kingdom of Frankia, the Queen did what she was expected to do: a feast to honor the gods and thank them for that victory, a celebration of gratitude because her lovers and children came back to her unharmed.

The night was just starting when all of the people of Kattegat gathered around inside the great hall and as the blazing flames danced around casting abstract shadows on the walls, you walked through the tables filling their cups with good mead, giving the remaining survivors your best, empathetic smile, because you knew they had lost so much and you unconsciously wanted to give them comfort.

For the first time in months the eight main chairs in the hall were all occupied. Queen Aslaug was glowing, smiling through her eyes while Queen Lagertha whispered something unintelligible into the shell of her ear. King Ragnar chatted excitedly with his men, laughing out loud at some of their terrible jokes. Their sons were there too, sitting side by side and surrounded by girls, the Ragnarssons were all smiles. The young princes; Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ivar; had all the attention they wanted and basked in their fame, using to their own advantage when It came to having a warm body to warm up their beds.

“Hey, thrall-” A familiar voice cut through the fog of thoughts in your brains, catching your attention immediately and making your eyes wander back to the thrones, back to where the voice came. “Fill my cup.” He ordered raising his cup, looking at you with a smug smile plastered on his face.

Ivar was the youngest of the Ragnarssons, the most difficult one, or so they said. His dark blue irises locked with yours after he gave you his order, a cocked eyebrow showed his impatience to you having your body shivering in response.

“Yes, my prince.” You mouthed, slowly approaching the throne with your head down.

It wasn’t unknown for you how your body seemed to be drawn to Ivar’s like a moth to a flame and you knew that the closer you got, the dangerous it got, but, just like the moth that died in the fire, you couldn’t get away from his grip, nor even wanted to.

You kept your gaze down as you filled his cup, avoiding eye contact even If every fiber in your skin ached under his stare, you just didn’t want to lose any more of your control over your own body, not in front of everyone in Kattegat.

“I am sure she has a name, brother.” Hvitserk growled, looking at you, his features showing his true concern with your feelings, even though he, himself, probably did not know your name either.

“And I am sure it’s a stupid, thrall name.” He mocked taking a sip from his cup and then cleaning his lips with the back of his hand. “But we can always find a new, more fun, nickname for her.”

“Ivar…” Ubbe growled, using his dark, deep tone to warn his little brother.

You moved away shyly and went back to your previous activity: serving ale to the other men around the great hall, only this time you had their full attention on you. Once Ivar picked someone to harass, the poor soul wouldn’t have peace ‘til the end of the night, and that night he decided to choose you. His beautiful, dark blue irises crossed the great hall following your every move almost like he didn’t want to lose sight of you.

“Little bird.” He yelled after a while. “Her voice is so soft, almost like a little peep from a tiny bird.”

“Stop tormenting the poor girl, Ivar.” Ubbe said, this time his tone was more stern.

“You keep having soft spots for the servants, brother. That’s why you ended up fooled by one.” He teased, taking the cup to his lips one more time, his gaze discreetly back on you again.

The discussion started, the ragnarssons could never share a table without diving into an argument that would never lead them anywhere. At that point, their fights became a type of entertainment to everyone in Kattegat, really.

Ivar’s smart mouth would always have the final blow, too good at spilling poison against his brothers, using their weakness against themselves, truly getting under their skin to the point they would just stand up and leave. It wasn’t different that night, eventually all of them left, but the youngest Lothbrok stayed, a cocky smile on his lips after he ‘won’ another fight against his brothers.

But you knew better. Under that hard cover, behind that cocky smile, you knew the real him. A secret you guarded with your own life, meaning: If you ever let that spread, you would be a dead woman. Either way the danger of the situation seemed to only increase your excitement, you were never scared.

As the great hall started to get empty, your heart started to hammer against your rib cage so loud you feared it could be heard by the drunk men remaining at the tables. But you kept cleaning, grooming, everything to ease your mind.

“Little bird.” Ivar finally called you, making you stop and look at him. “Leave it and go wait for me in my chambers.”

You only nodded, the other thralls looking at each other as you left the wet cloth you had on your hands on one of the wooden tables and walked towards Ivar’s bedroom.

The rumors about Ivar’s ‘problem with women’ spreaded around very fast just like a wildfire in a forest. So they didn’t quite understand what could possibly happen between the two of you behind those walls. But you? You were never the type of woman who believed in rumors anyway.

You sat on his bed and waited patiently until you could hear his crutches on the floor, a smirk creeping on your face immediately. Ivar pushed the door open, his eyes finding yours as he carefully entered, closing the door behind him, making sure that would stay locked.

“What took you so long, my prince?” You asked carefully.

“The fact that I'm a cripple?” He cocked an eyebrow, an angry look on his face as he stared at you sternly, uselessly trying to intimidate you.

“That’s not how you answer me, is it?” You crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“Shut up and help me with my crutches.” He growled as he walked towards the bed and sat by your side.

“No.” You answered quickly as you got up. “If you wanna act like a big boy, you can take them by yourself.” You walked towards the door, but before you could open you heard his voice, a whisper this time.

“Please.”

“Someone remembered his manners.” You stopped on your tracks and turned, walking back towards him. As you stood still in front of Ivar, he looked up at you, leaning into your touch when your hands met the side of his beautiful face. “How do you say it?”

“Please, my queen, can you help me with my crutches?” He repeated softly. His eyes had a sparkling blue saved for these moments only, saved for you only.

“Do you think you deserve my help after what you’ve done earlier at the great hall?” You asked sternly.

“I- I had to.” He stuttered. “Sigurd…”

“I am not interested in your stupid fights with your brothers, my prince.” You kneeled in front of him, taking your place between his legs. Your hands quickly grabbed at his thighs. “You know the rules.”

“But…” You raised your hand and he stopped talking, his eyes widened a bit when you started to untie the straps that tied his crutches to his legs.

“I am a good queen. I want my people to be as happy and healthy as possible.” You started to carefully move the crutches away. “But when they need to learn a lesson, I must be prepared to teach them, right?”

One tiny whimper slipped through Ivar’s lips when the crutches were finally out, the pain would make him start screaming to anyone else, but not at you, never at you. He bit his lower lip, his cheeks getting flushed as soon as you started to untie his pants. It didn’t matter how many times you’ve done this, he would always feel embarrassed under your scrutiny.

Your gaze followed the movements of your hands when you started to slide his pants down his legs, Ivar lifted his hips just enough to help you, his cock still flaccid between his thighs. He gulped when you got up and started to do the same with his tunic.

“I am sorry.” He whispered under his breath.

“Yes, my prince, I know. And I’m going to let you show me how sorry you are.”

You made him raise his arms so you could take his tunic off, leaving him completely bare to you. His hands quickly found their way to your hips, but you slapped them away and, with a small nod, you silently told Ivar to hop up on the bed, until he leaned his head on the pillows. Without taking off your dress, you climbed into bed too, slowly crawling until you sat on your calves right next to him.

“Won’t you…” He started, looking at your body still dressed, nervously squirming, self conscious about his own vulnerability, his naked body and his exposed legs.

“Not yet…” You caressed his face, hand slipping down his chest ‘til his muscled abs that twitched under your palm. “My poor prince, are you nervous?”

“You’re still dressed.” He grunted.

“You’re not hard yet, why do you want me naked then?”

He growled. “I wanna see you.”

“What a needy little prince.” You mouthed, leaning down until your lips met with his. He responded instantly, clashing his mouth against yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth. You quickly moved away just to watch him chasing your kiss with parted lips and a broken moan. He cried and whined at the loss of your warm mouth.

“Please, please…” Ivar begged looking at you.

“What do you want, little prince?” You teased, fingers dangerously close to his cock head.

“Do something. Touch me.” He moaned, his eyes following the movements on your arm, lips parting at the sight of your forefinger tracing the one popped vein on the side of his cock, from the head to the base. His head fell back on the pillows, he moaned long and loud. “I’ll never know how you do It.” He murmured.

You smiled, your chest filling with pride knowing you were the only one to ever see him that way. His cock started to stiff as you slowly dragged your finger up and down. You grabbed at his balls and his hips bucked up, another broken moan slipping through his now kiss swollen lips, you started to massage them, laying down beside him as your free hand found the crown of his head, lips touching his already sweaty temple.

You kissed his cheek as you started to stroke Ivar’s cock, your other hand caressing his hair. Dragged your lips down his face ‘til his jaw, then his ear lobe where you sucked harshly. He started to drip between your fingers making your palm slide more easily. His mouth hung open as he freely moaned, eyes wide shut, hips bucking up against your hand.

“Kiss me, please.” He begged again, turning his head so he could claim your lips, and you let him. A needy, already drunk on desire, kiss. Wet and messy, just the way he liked.

When you felt his cock twitch on your hand, you knew he reached the edge, so you stopped everything. He looked at you in shock.

“Why did you stop?” He whispered/yelled at you.

“No cumming for you yet, my prince.” You answered softly and he whined, laying his head back down on the pillows.

His eyes followed when you brought the hand that once stroked him next to your lips, with a smirk you gave it a long lick, feeling his taste on your taste buds and moaning at the salty flavor. You hummed in satisfaction, Ivar’s little whimpers sending tiny shocks all over your body, wetness starting to pool between your legs.

Deep blue irises looked eagerly at you, silently begging for the kind of relief only you could provide. You almost gave in, almost. Changing your position, you straddled his hips, his cock nested between your naked pussy lips as you started to grind down, spreading your slick all over his length.

“I’m going to take what I need from you and you're going to wait until I’m completely satisfied. Only then you’ll cum.” You ordered as you stopped all movements, making him whine again as he nodded.

The look he gave you was one of pure reverence, he worshiped you like no one ever did and you knew you had that big, grumpy puppy wrapped around your fingers. He would say yes to anything you’d ask, so you bit your lower lip thinking about a little dream of yours. Riding his abs.

Every time you saw him training or every time you gave him a nice, hot bath, you got a little too caught up by the way his abs twitched. Crawling everywhere since he was a kid, Ivar got his torso and arms so muscular it was impossible not to drool over it. You sighed as you moved up a bit until your bare pussy was pressed against his torso, his hands landed on your hips and pressed you down. Slowly, you started to grind over the firm muscles underneath you, your clit dragging deliciously over the rough skin.

“Oh… That feels so good.” You whined, eyes closed and head thrown back.

You covered Ivar’s hands with yours, moving your hips a little faster. The feeling was torturously good but nothing could compare to the small sounds slipping through Ivar’s lips. As you opened your eyes you met with your prince hooded look, the familiar sparkling blue, adoring you like you were Freyja herself.

“Gods you’re so beautiful.” He whispered, making you smirk.

“Feel how wet you made me, prince Ivar.” You huffed, knowing exactly what to say to make him forget all the mean whispers he was forced to hear every time he was out. “You’re gonna make me cum, my prince, and you barely touched me.” You moaned, your hips speeding up.

“Please, my queen, cum on me.” He whined, eyes trained on your hips still covered by your dress.

“You wanna watch It?” You asked breathlessly and he nodded eagerly.

It didn’t take long for you to finally take off your gown and throw it somewhere in that bedroom. Your body now on full display for his eyes, his hands slowly going up your tummy ‘til he touched your breasts. Kneading at the flesh as your hard nipples poked his palm. You shivered as you re-started your grinding on his hard ridges of muscle, quickly finding the right pace.

Ivar’s hands slid down your sides until he grabbed your hips again, pressing his digits on your skin in a way you knew you’d have marks the next day, not that you cared. Little shockwaves of pleasure climbed your spine and you closed your eyes, resting your hands on his chest for balance and your tits started bouncing in front of his hungry gaze.

It was messy. Messy and wet and filthy. Ivar’s hands kept caressing your skin from your hips, to the bottom of your back, to the sides of your ass and your lower abdomen, lower lip stuck in between his teeth as he watched in awe the way your pussy slid easily through his abs.

Tiny little moans escaped through your lips as you were chasing desperately your own high, pleasure building in your tummy so quickly from how perfect his body felt under you, the coil forming on your lower abdomen, long mewls slipping through your lips uncontrollably until that knot snapped inside you, an insanely powerful orgasm hitting you like a storm.

You missed the way his eyes blown with lust as your pussy soaked his chest even more, too fucked out to open your own eyes. Your legs were shaking and your hips still spasmed over him while you tried to come down.

“Look at that.” Ivar mewled, thumb quickly finding the space between his body and your pussy, touching your abused, swollen clit and making you squirm away over sensitivity. Your hand quickly met the side of his face on a hard slap.

“Didn’t say you could touch me there.” You warned a very horny Ivar. “Clean up this mess and I’ll think about letting you fuck me.”

You didn’t have to say it twice, without further notice he lifted your hips and sat you on his face. You gulped at the suddenness, but didn’t take long for that man to drag you over the edge one more time on his tongue, eating you out like his life depended on it. You had to hold on the wall for balance as you kept grinding on his mouth, feeling as he tongue fucked you hard.

Ivar groaned at your desperate sounds, his tongue leaving your tight walls to sloppy lick your juices until his lips wrapped up and sucked on your swollen clit. He lapped side to side between your pussy, biting softly once or twice and diving his tongue back inside you. You were gushing all over his face, the wet sounds coming from your core were filling up the whole room, but as he wrapped his hands on your thighs he didn’t seem to bother.

“Ivar…” You managed to moan gripping at his hair with one of your hands, forehead against the wall, eyes fluttering shut as you felt another orgasm start to build inside you again. “Ivar!” You moaned, the second orgasm hitting faster than the first, making you soak the prince’s mouth the same way you did on his chest.

Your whole body was trembling, your thighs were twitching and your hips moved softly as you rode down your high. When he felt you come down a bit, he lifted you up again, his face wet with your slick as he put you down his body, over his painfully hard cock.

“Please.” He begged again, bucking his hips up, his cock head teasing your entrance. “Please, please, p- oh…”

You took him in easily, both of you groaning at the feeling, your body opening up to accommodate his thickness, the stretch always difficult, even after all that time.

“Gods…” He mewled, hands firm on your waist making you circle your hips on his lap, his cock trapped inside your walls.

“F-feels so good.” You stuttered, barely more than a whisper. Ivar looked up at you, as he shot into a sitting position, his wet chest pressing against your breasts as you circled your hips feeling his cock twitch inside you. Your arms hugging his neck tightly, hands grabbing at his braids while his mouth found your neck, his low moan rumbled against your skin.

“Your cunt is already squeezing me so hard…” He mewled, hands on your waist making you start to bounce up and down on his cock. “Want to make you cum again.” He begged.

“So good for me, my prince.” You murmured against his lips, moaning breathlessly as his cock hit your cervix.

“Can you feel me deep in you, my queen?” He asked, one of his hands now on your lower abdomen. “Right here.”

“I can, can feel you there.” You answered, your arms holding his neck as you kept bouncing, lips brushing each other as you moved.

This time should be about satisfying Ivar, about finally letting him cum, but as his cock buried inside you, filling you up to the brim, you couldn’t avoid the pleasure, your swollen, abused pussy didn’t seem to bother keeping you so wet you could feel him slide easily as you bounced. His hands finally grabbed your ass and helped you bounce faster, turning you into a blubbering, moaning mess.

“Can I- Can I cum, my queen? Oh… Can I cum inside you, please?” He begged, his rapid breathing hitting your flushed cheeks.

“Trying to breed me prince Ivar?” You teased with a smirk. “You wanna fuck your babies in my belly?”

“Yes, please.” He cried, eyes rolling into the back of his head, head thrown back.

“Wanna fill me up, my prince?” You kept going, voice getting high pitched with the proximity of another orgasm for you too.

“Please!” He moaned out loud again.

“Go ahead. Give me a child, Ivar.”

You whimpered, feeling him stiff inside you and right after, with a loud groan, spilled hotspurs of cum into you. Your body shuddered as you followed, cuming with a long moan. Ivar hid his face on the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your skin. You hugged him tightly, caressing his hair, his neck and his back, tracing his tattoos with the tip of your fingers.

You stayed like this for a few minutes, once you recovered a little control of your body you tried to move away from his grip, knowing he didn’t want you there after you fuck, he barely could look you in the eyes after letting you dominate him this way, but before you could make any move, his arms wrapped around your waist keeping you in place.

“Did you mean it?” He asked breathlessly.

“What?” You asked with a frown, confused.

“You really want my child?” His voice was a whisper, a barely there whisper. You widened your eyes and looked at him.

“You really want a thrall to bear you a child?” You asked back. “I have no right to dream this big, prince Ivar.”

His eyes were sparkling again, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“But do you want it? Even if it’s possible that the kid is born a cripple like me?” He insisted and you held his face between your hands.

“I’d be honored to bring a child as strong and brave as you are, Ivar.”

“I’m not talking about honor, I’m talking about love.” He started. “Would you love him? Would you love a cripple child, from a cripple father?”

“How couldn’t I?” You answered softly and he looked at you in confusion. “I already love you, my prince.”

That was the first time you ever said that out loud, and then It was true, tangible, you couldn’t no longer pretend It was just about sex.

“Be my wife then.” He asked all of a sudden. “Be my wife, bear me a child, I can not let you be taken away from me. You’re mine, be mine.”

“I’m no princess, Ivar.” You tried to sound more confident than you really were.

“Of course you’re not, I could never marry a princess.” He smiled finally, putting your hair behind your ear. “You’re a queen, my queen.”

You kissed him eagerly, dragging your arms through his shoulders, hugging him tightly. Your bodies were sweaty and fucked out but feeling so close to him still felt incredibly good.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He murmured against your lips.

His cock finally slid out of you, his seed running down your pussy, but Ivar quickly took his hand to cover and keep It inside you.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure my child is conceived.”

“You know we have time, right?”

“Yeah. And i’m going to love fucking you until then.”

***

#ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar smut #ivar x reader #ivar imagine #ivar fanfic #ivar oneshot #ivar x you #ivar x reader smut #ivar x you smut #vikings smut #vikings fic #vikings imagine #18+ only #ivar x fem reader

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tales-from-nocturnaliss · 10 months

Text

One thing about me: I like community. I like to make people feel at home and welcome, moreso if they make me feel the same.

About two years ago, the husband and I started a guild on Mobile Legends: Adventure. Gained little traction in english, so we decided to switch over to french and go recruit in those channels.

Nowadays, we're a thriving community of 50 people with very rarely an open spot. I befriended a few of these people and generally just enjoy watching them having fun (I'm guild leader, fyi).

Yesterday, I was chatting with one of our two Swiss players who asked a lot of questions about my writing. Not gonna lie: it made me feel sooooo good that she asked. I do crave attention (don't we all?). And with my plans to get some stuff ready to self-publish, I figured I'd talk about the first story I intend to release.

I narrowed the theme down to: Vampire guy struggles with trauma and ends up encountering a creature more dangerous than himself that ends up playing with his head.

Her response was, basically: that's different, usually Vampires are shown as supreme beings, so it's cool that this one'd get manipulated.

I had to take a mental double take on that. Because: I'm so used to my world that, for me, this sort of situation is like... normal. Vampires are apex predators to be sure, but there's still more dangerous things than them lurking about, and this guy happens to meet such a being (with reason). It never struck me that this story could be interesting just because it shows Vampires in a different light. I guess I can no longer tell if something is 'cool' or 'different' because, well, my nose has been stuck in Aeyuu for so long that it sometimes even affects my perception of RL normal (for example, blue is warm, red is cold, yes my brain sometimes thinks these colours are inverted irl in terms of temperature).

All this to say that it made me happy to hear her thoughts, happy in a way that goes beyond excitement. It's a wide, calm sort of happiness, mingled with hope, mingled with premature contentment that reading my stories might make other people happy (even if the themes tend to be dark and tragic XD). This is the feeling I've been hanging onto lately, to try and get past the utter anxiety and dread of self-pubbing something and it 1. getting hated 2. getting ignored.

In that line of thought, I've finally reached out to an editor (on PillowFort) and gotten the first reactions to this story yesterday. A lot of it is pertinent. It sure as hell drove my anxiety through the roof since, y'know, there was criticism in there... but I'm also glad to finally be taking yet another step forward. And I'm liking their style, be it a bit too brutal for me in places, but then they do see things that I've either overlooked, ignored, or that need a tad better wording to make the meaning/reason clear.

Additionally: today, I find I have 7 more followers on here. Which... wait, just, wow? How? And I check my notificiations and see: oh yeah, I reached out in a nice, encouraging, honestly-me way to people. Not gonna lie: much as that is my personality, I'm also still autistic, chronically tired, and some days I don't have the spoons to socialize, let alone to like people. But when the energy allows, I enjoy just going to the quiet places and leaving a friendly message. Creating a sense of: you belong with the community, too.

This said, I do have plans to 1. write a real writeblr intro sometime, 2. make feedback asks available. With my potential/likely editor not being a pro but someone like me who is self-taught and picks up instinctively on issues, I feel like this is something I want (and am allowed!) to give out in turn.

Creating community, y'know? And the world I want to see, which is a world where people are nice to each other, help each other out, but also get to have boundaries and see them respected without a 'no' turning into an argument or anything. Utopic to be sure, but what's wrong with having ideals?

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inaris-mage-of-storms · 1 year

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(tl;dr - if you've ever read something I wrote and enjoyed it even a little? I love you.)

I turned 33 today, and I'm thinking about dreams.

When I was in first grade, our teacher gave us an assignment to write a story and we would use cereal boxes to make a little book out of it. And something clicked in my little six-year-old brain - you mean you can just make books?? Anyone can just write down a story? I was already devouring every book I could get my hands on, and from the moment I realized I could be an active part of the storytelling I adored so much, I wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote.

I wrote in my free time. I wrote in my school journals. I discovered fanfiction, and I wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote. And I dreamed. I crafted new characters and wove new worlds and dreamed about being a published author. It wasn't my only dream - I cycled through teacher barrel racer book editor psychologist programmer historian one by one - but it was my most constant and most persistent dream. I had doubts about every desire but that one. As long as I could write, I would be okay.

My entire life has been one survival situation after another. There were external monsters and internal monsters and every birthday came as a surprise. One by one, every dream I had fell by the wayside. Whether it was about a career that didn't involve a cash register or about living somewhere I could make feel like home or about who I wanted to be inside, they all got smaller and smaller until they dropped away entirely. I was so. fucking. tired. But I wrote. And as long as I could write, I would be okay.

And then somewhere, that stopped too.

I tried. Sometimes I sat up and sifted through the ashes of my dreams for the words I loved so much. Sometimes I even managed to get one down, and then another, and wondered if that was the glow of an ember I saw. I picked it up and tried to breathe life into it and it crumbled away again in my hands. And again, and again.

In the fall of 2021, I dropped out of college for the third time, one final course short of my degree. Another dream dead, and I was almost surprised that it wasn't a surprise this time. I got a job that lasted all of two weeks. I lost my cat, my best friend of 15 years I'd raised since the day she was born. My wife and I depleted our savings again on bills and groceries; a decade of living apart and still nothing to show for it. I was so. fucking. tired.

I didn't write. Hadn't written for a long time. What was the point?

But I still read, even if infrequently, because a love for stories is woven into my soul as strongly as my grandmother's eyes and my mother's cheekbones are woven into my DNA. And I still wrote stories in my head, little flickers of ideas that glowed even as I feared touching them lest they crumble again.

And then one night, one of those stories glowed a little stronger than the others, and I thought...why not? It was late, and I didn't want to get out my laptop, and it wasn't a Yu Yu Hakusho fic so I couldn't ask for feedback in the only discord I spent any real time in, and I thought...why not?

So in 2022 I took the words from my head and put them on Tumblr, and went to sleep. I didn't expect any response, really, maybe a couple of likes from the few, new, MCYT mutuals I had at the time if I was lucky. It didn't matter, because it was just another stubborn ember that I picked up just long enough to move it aside so I could sleep, and surely it would be dead by morning.

It got those couple of likes. And then a couple more. And then some more. And it got reblogs. It got tags.

(tag credits, in order: mochiwrites / sleepygaming / totallynotpuri / boatemmyboatem / actuallymothman / girltimeswithscar / mags-the-bug / crazypercheron)

It was 700 barely-spellchecked words I posted on a whim, and people liked it. Authors whose works I read and thought "I wish I could write that well" liked it. I personally didn't think it was very good, but it was good enough, and I had more ideas, so...I wrote. And wrote, and wrote, and wrote.

Somewhere in the last 15 months, I found my dream again.

Somewhere in the last 15 months, I started believing your words.

I can still see all the cracks and flaws and rough edges in everything I write. But I can see the good things in it now, too. Because, well, if you didn't like it at least a little bit, you'd have just scrolled on past, right? And I can improve what needs improving. I can write fanfiction to hone my craft and find a community, and maybe even pick up original writing again. I can write. And if I can write? I'll be okay.

Everyone who's left a comment, a tag, even just a like or a kudos - you've helped breathe life into that little ember I thought was long dead. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I love you. <3

#i don't expect anyone to actually read this it's REALLY long #like i took long enough to write it that it's no longer my birthday long #i'm just having a lot of feelings tonight #also if you're still here from that first scarian fic i promise i haven't abandoned it #i will go back to inflicting emotional devastation on scar and grian just as soon as I'm done tormenting jimmy #file: storm has thoughts

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sysciety · 1 year

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[cont. of this] ('factives are more than cc introjects')

It's because it's not trendy or marketable to say you have an introject of someone who abused you, or even someone who might be your friend who's a great person but doesn't happen to be popular. This has devolved into complaining more about tiktok/twitter but it feels like people won't talk about the downsides or the non "quirky" sides of a disorder unless it's done in some quippy or marketable way. (Not that they necessarily should do that either but it does unintentionally create a skew)

Saying "oh I felt dissociated on my way to x" doesn't make good content. "Here's a day in my life with a cdd" and it's me sitting at a desk doesn't make good content. There's nothing wrong with wanting to go "here's what a switch looks like" but I think it's still to some extent catering to an algorithm based on shock value as opposed to serving an educational purpose, especially when something like that is meant to be the highlight of a video (this is about tiktok again bc due to formats system-youtube does this in a much better way).

Saying you have a guy in your brain vs saying "I literally become x char from y media" will evoke two different responses from the average viewer even if to the system in question these could be two coexisting alters. But the latter is more shock inducing. On a reactionary algorithm that's what becomes popular and so other people follow suit, resulting in media introjects becoming more talked about, and eventually becoming the norm. Subsequently it also becomes a whole lot easier for people to target, creating a discourse feedback loop.

(i.e it's easier to fakeclaim fictives/make discourse around them)

Tumblr a) has an older userbase, b) is notorious for having no algorithm, c) doesn't have a character limit so discourse can be discussions instead of statements and d) isn't considered profitable/popular and I think that's why it's exempt from like, 90% of this

Remember when this post was about factives? How did we get here.

I think the general view of CDDs stems from the content portraying systems. It's like the inverse of "everyone with did is a murderer." The old (pre-2010s) perception/blanket statement to the general public was this, even if jokingly. Now it gets seen as the roleplaying disorder because of the sheer volume of content that's about having fictives and sources and source calls without enough understanding of the full picture.

(The murderer one's still there too tbh now there's just a second stereotype)

No one should be forced to talk about whether or not they endured something so traumatic it permanently changed their brain structure. I don't think everyone necessarily should, either. And I don't think just because someone never shows the negative sides of a disorder doesn't mean they don't have it. This isn't anyone's fault just a product of how to get views quick. The takeaway shouldn't be that media introjects are bad for the community at large. I don't believe that at all (still wanna get to the bottom of the rise of introject heavy systems, but that's for another post). This is just a general issue I have with turning every aspect of life into something consumable. When I say marketable/content I don't mean the person filming is trying to sell anything it's more like the persona presented online type of thing.

I know it probably only feels tangentially related but it's related enough for me to talk about. I don't know if there's anything here that can really be solved but at least to me it feels like a big part of the issue

#syscourse #syscourse rant #long post #(sorry)#sorry for being the introject discourse guy I think I'm getting it out of my system #pun not intended #this got a bit incoherent I can clarify if needed #tldr we live in a society (social media sucks sometimes)#rb ok

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mcalhenwrites · 10 months

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Full time writing career goals ;)

So there are some things I'm getting in order! I have two questions, if anyone here reading my work doesn't mind answering them: 1. Despite the plot holes, should I keep posting Stargazers' Hill to AO3? I have no plans to rewrite it, and the character interactions are meaningful - Ambrose and Thaddeus, Ambrose and Evelyn, CORA IS IN IT HELLO - so maybe people still want to read it! 2. I found out there's a site like patreon that allows nsfw (subscribestar adult) and I'm tempted to look into making tiers there. It even has a free tier! I don't write exclusively erotica or draw too much kinky stuff, but I do sometimes and would like to be able to include it. I won't be able to open it until I move (which won't be for some months) and sort my banking and address out, but is there any interest in that? Again, there is a free tier, which I'm excited about. If so, I'll have to sort out what I want to share there. More on this later, really, but it would be nice to have patrons! I'll also have to update my ko-fi when the time comes, too, but I do post public entries when I remember. :') I have made an official deadline for finishing my editing of Geckos, Automata (which was supposed to be published months ago, but Seasons consumed my brain instead), and I'll publish it soon after that! A reminder that no one is obligated to financially support me, times are tough, but it'd be awesome if you like my writing and want to see more of it, since being able to make a living on it means more time for it/less time focused on a job. (If I can even get one of those. sigh.) I'm also getting back into art, so I'll be able to draw more OCs. I have little desk space atm, but I do have a tablet, so when I move, maybe I can also extend that practice to digital! Until then, I just sketch/doodle/whatever on paper, and it's not an art pursuit, it's mainly a side dish to the writing, essentially? Same with crochet! Oh, and I miiiight be publishing a book of crochet patterns down the road, but that will require a ton of work and formatting, since photos will be required. I no longer crochet those items, so maybe they can be of use to someone else...! (Like my tortoise and sea turtle patterns and such.) If you have feedback/thoughts/answers to my questions, feel free to comment on this post, reblog it with a response, or even send an ask if that's more comfortable! Oh, and I meant to add that if you're someone who is here bc you read Seasons and liked it, you will still see the chapters on AO3 and that's not something I plan to profit from. I miiight share art on places like ko-fi and whatnot that are from it, but the main story will be up on AO3 to read. In case that concerned anyone/brought about any fears. It's something I just wanted to share with y'all for free.

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c0ffinshit · 2 years

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May Loving You Be The Death of Me (Ernst Toller x Reader) Part One

Part Two

A/N: hi yall, i’ve been asked by like one person to link my threads for support and/or feedback on my work so here

word count: 1,022

warnings: fleabag core, romantic tension, mention of a past relationships

The day came to a close when you started walking to the local church near your apartment, First Reformed. You had told my roommate to watch over your cat. Your cat is your life, so you didn’t trust her to watch your precious cat. Sure, you didn’t consider yourself religious, but you needed to see him, Reverend Toller. Walking to the rhyme of your heart. Your feet finally walked those dreaded painted steps. You let out a deep sigh as you pulled open the door to the church. Churches always freaked you out as a child, and even as an adult, they still gave you the chills. The tall white walls with the pews in perfect order didn’t seem right. Your eyes look for any people to ask where the Reverend might be. Out of the corner of your eye, you finally see him walking in from a side door.

“Reverend!” you called after him.

No response as he walked right past you and down the aisle. You followed him out of the main church and outside his apartment-like home.

“As much as you want to, you can’t hide from me forever!” you shouted, standing in front of the closed door.

God, I probably sounded like a crazed killer shouting that to his window in the door. Sorry, God, for using your name in vain, sir.

The Reverend had been avoiding you since who knows when. Both of you weren’t best friends, never dated, nothing like that. And yet, he was avoiding you like you were a walking sin. You can’t remember when it started, nor could you tell when it would end. Actually, it was that time you went to church with your family once during Easter before they died. Very church every Sunday and Wednesday, kind of people. You and him talked a bit after, boring questions and such.

‘Where are you from?’ ‘Oh, I’m from here.’ ‘Lived here your whole life?’ ‘Yup.’ ‘First time at mass?’ ‘First time in a long time.’ ‘Interesting, you should come by more.’ ‘No, thank you, Reverend. I don’t see myself as religious, though most of my family is.’ ‘It would be nice to see you more, is all.’

Maybe you should’ve seen it as a sign. He didn’t seem interested in you. Then again, you’re terrible at flirting. Seeing it and responding is something your brain can’t process properly. It’s just not something that runs in your family’s blood. Back to the present: you sat down on his front step and placed your face in your hands.

“You know he doesn’t like you,” a voice says to you.

You look up, and it's Dexter, one of those friends that kept coming back.

“I’m very aware, Dex,” you replied.

Dexter was a human piece of shit. You and him became friends that same Easter I took my parents to mass. You hated him then, and you still hate him now.

“He thinks of you as the human embodiment of lust,” Dexter said, sitting down next to you.

“What’s the source, genius?” you asked jokily.

“My source is that I made it the fuck up,” he replies with a hearty laugh.

He always tried to get you to laugh at any of his jokes. Which, knowing how he is, never worked. Having Dexter in your ear telling you about your constant love failings with Ernst and many others started to bug you, and you had to get out.

“Dexter, I have to go,” you said, finally getting up from the steps.

“Aw, gone so soon?” he said, frowning.

I laugh hollowly, He’s a dipshit.

Walking away was the easiest part since all you had to do was get around the corner, and you could go anywhere you wanted. You turned the corner and walked back into the church, sitting in the far-back pew. Nothing about what you were doing seemed right, but people do dumb shit for love all the time, right? The church’s doors open, and you try your hardest not to look behind you. Someone sits beside you.

“I know I can’t hide from you forever, but I was hoping to do it for a little while before I talked with you again,” they place a hand on your thigh.

Of course, it was Reverend Toller.

“But why ignore and avoid me like I’m a middle school crush?” you asked, your face remaining forward.

Ernst stayed quiet for a moment.

“Listen,” you started, “I get it, people love you, and people hardly know anything about me–”

“I wouldn’t say that’s the main reason I avoid,” he said, “Let’s just say you have… a certain reputation around here,”

You shake your head, trying to suspend your disbelief. Apparently, no one in Abundant Life, which must be an enormous church company or something, liked you due to some bad press you got in your late thirties. It was so long ago that you hardly remember. You had a few theories, but none of them stuck.

“Figured you can’t be seen with me or your career goes down the shitter,” you said, finally looking at the Reverend.

He didn’t return it, only nodding to your statement.

“Would you want to go out sometime? Maybe I’ll come by with coffee, a candle-lit dinner at my place?” you asked, your eyes returning to the pews in front of you.

The cold wind outside blew as Ernst moved closer to you.

“I wouldn’t mind a dinner with you,” he whispered in your ear.

His voice sent chills running up your spine.

“Does tomorrow work for you?” you whispered back.

Ernst’s eyes soften, and he nods his head.

After four years, you finally had a date that you were excited about.

“Then it's a date,” you said softly.

You lean into Reverend Toller for a second before finally getting up and walking to the doors, pausing for a second.

“Have a good night, Ernst,” you said, opening the door and walking back into the freezing cold air.

#first reformed #ernst toller x reader #ernst toller #ethan hawke x reader #ethan hawke #The Grabber #the grabber x reader

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snickerdoodlles · 8 months

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✨What's a fic you've posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

(prev) hmm, maybe Hair-Trigger? like, it got a good response, i'm very grateful to everyone who's read it ❤❤❤ i don't mean in a 'im looking for more hits' sort of way, i just really love Porsche & Kim as a duo and spin them around in my head like a shiny rock all the time. this mostly manifests in me spamming tortoise with Kim & Porsche snippets and thoughts that never seem to flesh out into proper fics, so Hair-Trigger has a special spot in my heart because it's my one finished Porsche & Kim fic and I want everyone to look at Porsche being extremely fond of Kim and Kim feeling all sorts of things about how fond Porsche seems to be of him (surely???? this is a trick????? he is so nice and smiley????????? a mystery)

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

i like them all!! i genuinely enjoy all "types" of comments for different reasons, it feels weird to rank them against each other. so long as the comment is excited to engage with me/gush over idiot nerds together, i'm excited to answer and chat with them (although, i am. very behind on my inbox rn. hjghjg im sorry friends, i promise i will respond even tho it might be v late 😂💦)

💘Is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?

I've actually been rewriting a *checks date* 5.5 yr old yoi WIP (*winces*) for a while now. very slow as my attention gets drawn away, but i love epistolary fic and there's a funny satisfaction without pressure to re-writing it.

but the story rewrite that actually has been sitting on my head for...forever really, is my ft story Jinxed. i was very new to fandom/writing fic when i first posted it, and at the time i'd just posted what i wrote and then went "...wait, how the fuck do you write a multi-chapter story???" and i really psyched myself out of posting more for it.

however, it's always like...sat in the back of my head, even after the fandom bullshit and when ft went to shit. because i just...don't like soulmate/soulmark AUs. 😅 the reasons behind my dislike for the trope are uh...kinda long and extensive actually, so i'll save that for a different post if anyone cares enough to ask, but the premise in this story of two girls with mismatched timers who fall in love and choose each other anyways is one i'm extremely drawn to. and i'm still like, figuring out how to write long stories, and i'm never going to write again for ft, so whenever i look over the old story drafts and notes, i'm actually thinking about it as an original story. not one i've started and maybe i'll stumble into a fandom that i want to apply this premise to, but...after i figure out long-form stories, i really want to swing by this one again, if simply to have it stop haunting my brain every few months.

(rest under the cut because i am rambly lol)

🌈is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

hmm Silver for Truth is the obvious one since i whined about it taking a yr+ to write, but i think everyone understands when i say Tawan is an annoying ass bitch to write.

i'm actually going to cheat and say the freezer!Kim WIP i'm writing with @majestictortoise. there's a few different POVs in this story and one of them is Porsche's POV, and there is something about Porsche's POV specifically that i find very hard to capture. even when i know what i want from his arc and character struggles, post-canon Porsche carries around some conflicting beliefs and mindsets that i find really tricky to write, plus he's also a guy of action who's been forced to a standstill and i want to capture that trapped feeling without making it obnoxious. he's just tricky to me in a way that other characters aren't. (i actually ran into this issue with Hair-Trigger too, except it wasn't so hard because that's a fic about him Doing A Thing He Wants To Do, which is why i was able to write it within the timeframe i did. oh Porsche, ilu, why do u stick in my head so. orz)

🦋what are you most insecure about when you post a fic?

everything? idk, my reaction after i post a fic is to either Stare At My Inbox or desperately try to distract myself from the fact that i Posted A Fic, which really go to show how secure i feel about my writing 😂 i try very hard not to let a fic's reception get to me when i post because i've been down that road and it's really bad for me. all fic i post is fic for me, but i haven't hit the carefree attitude of "idc what you think, its for me first and foremost" yet.

🌻what makes you want to give up on writing? what makes you keep going?

there's nothing that makes me want to give up on writing specifically. i wail and cry when stuff isn't flowing right, but like. so i had an irl thing run me over like a truck april/may of this year and it's bullshit kept spilling out through june and july too, so i had like no time or energy to write or even spend much time on fandom stuff for four months, and i went absolutely bananas. i need to do something creative to feel good, and writing is my favorite of those.

posting...posting is a different story 😂 weirdly if im chasing the high of posting a fic/the high of comments on fic, i dont like to post as much. the hill in my head is too much to get around, so that ig.

🌿how does creating make you feel?

*points up*

also prev

🍉in what ways has writing helped you process trauma and/or navigate through your own life?

...this is such a weird question lmao (not u, the person who made the question list should have deleted this). i've always found writing as a good way of examining my internal biases and preconceptions i might not have otherwise had opportunity to find and reflect upon so clearly, and i'm going to leave it at that.

🎈describe your style as a writer; is it fixed? does it change?

fuck if i know what my writing style is 😂

🎀give yourself a compliment about your own writing

*curls up in more shy* hmm, i really like reading my own stories. like, i always have cyclic periods of "oh god this is garbage what the fuck was i thinking" feelings for each of my fics, but i know now that feeling is brief and it'll be gone soon enough and it will stay gone longer than it comes. the person who reads my stories the most is me, and the fact that i want to go back to read them again is really important to me.

🎉how often do you celebrate completing & posting a work? how often do you give yourself the credit/validation that you seek from others when you post? (if you don't, you should!)

i don't think i linger so much on the actual posting of the fic, but i return to my fics a lot and i've also started paying more attention to how much i post. i'm trying to find a balance between acknowledging that i posted stories vs "oh god, im not posting ENOUGH," but back at the turn of this year, i was really bummed that i didn't get as much posted during december as i had set out to do, specifically because i felt like 2021 had been a really strong year and i'd let myself down not finishing as many fics in 2022. then i actually checked my AO3 stats for 2021 to 2022, and realized i'd posted 4x as much in 2022 than i had in 2021. over 100k words altogether even!

i think i'm getting off topic, but between rereading my own stuff pretty frequently and trying to get a better grasp on how much i've actually posted vs what's in my head, i think i celebrate pretty often? idk 😂

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

characters!!! everything's built around the characters. i love worldbuilding, making up worlds is a lot of fun, but i worldbuild through the lens of "what am i interested in?" (which starts with characters) and "how does this affect x?" (because if it doesn't matter to/affect the character, it shouldn't be a priority to me). similarly, plots exist for me to put Specific Guys Into Situations. a plot can be objectively interesting, but i'm not going to stick to it if i don't care about the people going thru it, my brain just doesn't focus like that.

the actual writing of the story is lowest priority on my list. there's a lot of writing types i don't like, but i can muscle thru a lot in the name of a good cast or plot. similarly, i don't give a flying fuck how pretty or polished a writer thinks their sentences are, if the actual story is boring or OOC, i am not reading it. or i am reading it and bitching extensively in friends DMs, which is worse. 😂

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

honestly, hard for me to answer because i'm actively trying not to think about what sort of response i do get. i guess one that still amuses me quite a bit is the response to my fic Shining Dishonesty (howls moving castle AU for haikyuu!!). i love this story to bits and i really love the comments i have on it, but it's weird/funny to me because it's my most recommended and mentioned fic on twitter, but it's one of my lowest in terms of kudos & comments. idk what's up with that 😂

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

*big shrug emoji* nothing that comes to mind???

maybe Silver for Truth, just a little bit???? everyone got the message of "get fucked Tawan" but there was also a little more pity for Tawan than i'd expected. like, not really, because Tawan's annoying, but i don't know that everyone quite caught Khun's trap for Tawan in it. Tawan could've completely turned things around for Vegas and ruined Kinn's lie by confessing his own failures/betrayals and accepting the consequences, except Tawan puts himself before all others, even someone he claims to love.

🕯️was there a fic that was really hard on you to write, or took you to a place you didn't think it would take you?

honestly? i don't remember the specific writing issues once something is done. even for something that takes me a while to write. usually my writing hang-ups are related to irl stressors. Pitch It was an extremely hard fic for me to write, but that was because it had a deadline attached to it while i was also trying to come up with money for a new car after my previous one was totaled 😂 and while i approach all stories with a vague plot in mind, it's purposefully vague so i can adapt to where's best for the story to go. that's the part i look forward to the most when writing lol.

💥find your least kudos'd fic - say something wonderful about it.

lol i don't even have to sort my stories to know which one is my least number of hits/kudos. it's by dawn's early light, which i wrote for the bnha myths zine, and it is literally one of my favorite fics i've ever written. there's some stuff i would've done differently now, but i liked it when i finished it, i liked even thru that fucking project's mess, and i liked it enough to post it after the project was finished, and that is probably the highest praises i can give that particular fic.

(this response probably doesn't make much sense to anyone who hasn't participated in a zine before and i'm not going to burden you with context if you haven't, but like. trust me. that's saying a lot 😂)

🍭why did you start writing?

to make a dick joke. i haven't changed.

💎why is writing important to you?

it's just fun. i really like doing it and i really like connecting with people over it/through it.

🪄what is your post-writing/sharing aftercare? How do you take care of yourself or celebrate yourself when you've finished a fic?

i re-read the story about a bajillion times in that first week. you'd think i'd be sick of it by the time it's posted, but the satisfaction of having finished something changes the way i read it and i just bask in that.

📡why is writing and sharing your writing important for fandom?

another terrible question in this otherwise nice questions list.

i like it, so i do it, and i'm lucky enough to have made friends through it.

🎙️which one of your fics would you like someone to make a pod-fic of?

i'm excited if anyone wants to make a podfic of my work and i give general permission for it, but it's not something i seek out specifically. i have very bad ears, it just doesn't really cross my mind.

🤲what do YOU get out of writing?

*points up however many questions ago* it's very fulfilling for me and i like it a lot. i'm lucky enough to have also made connections to others by way of writing, but first and foremost is i enjoy the actual act of it.

💋when you leave comments on a fic, do you want to hear back from the writer?

maybe? idk, i leave comments because i like to leave comments. i like hearing back, but its not like im leaving a comment looking for that. wrong mindset for this question, u know?

☯️how do you think engaging with each other through tumblr, twitter, comments, kudos, creates healthy fandom experiences? How do you deal with that if you're not a social person/experience social anxiety?

*sighs* this fucking questionnaire maker lmao.

responding to fics is fun for everyone. it's a great way to make new friends if that's the fandom experience you're hoping for (same goes for responding to edits, art, etc). if you're anxious to start talking to people or leaving comments or whatever, take the babysteps you need to try to push and expand your comfort zone. and be gentle on yourself -- there's no "right" way to interact with fandom, and you don't have to be perfect at what you want to do right away either.

but if that's not the way you want to interact with fandom, you don't have to. there's nothing wrong with "lurking" and frankly i care about my stuff being enjoyed (even if i never hear about it!), not the ~proper~ way to be in fandom or whatever. furthermore, my healthy fandom experience is regulating and maintaining my own reactions to the reception (or lack of) i get when i post so that it stays fulfilling for me, and that's how i create my healthy fandom experience.

🧿what steps do you take to not take things personally if a fic doesn't do well, or if your writing/posting/sharing experience isn't going how you'd like it to?

mostly i look inwards to see what exactly im dissatisfied with and examine why. there's plenty of stuff that i wish had a bigger reception, but i focus on things that i can control (what im happy with in a story, what i enjoyed about the process, talking about it more in my own blog space so people can choose to engage or ignore, etc) and push myself to that framework of mind. the worst thing you can do is focus on things you can't control, especially something as random and fickle as other people's reactions or a post/story hitting the trend wave just right.

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

timeloop AU!! (prev)

timeloop AU will be 3 chapters + an epilogue. first chapter is Kim POV, the second one is Big POV, and third is Chay POV. Kim is the first one trapped in the timeloop. Big joins him later. Chay never does.

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

in my fic Single Star Review, Khun goes to university and then starts seeking extra therapy help. i am Extremely excited for this one, but one of my favorite-favorite parts of it is Khun dismissively says "it's not like i can call Kim and gossip about boys" and Flop (the therapist, no that's not actually his name) asks Khun "why not" and Khun stares through a wall for a solid three minutes realizing hey, he CAN call Kim to talk about boys actually.

-later that night-

Khun: Kim! Kimmy-Kim my littlest kin! forget your other plans, tonight we are painting our nails and gossiping about BOYS

Kim: what the fuck

Khun: my therapist thinks i should try talking to you about stuff

Kim: THERAPIST?!

Khun: THAT'S NOT THE IMPORTANT PART HOW DO I HANDLE HAVING A CRUSH

(Kim is, ofc, over the moon and extremely excited when his brain catches up with his ears, even though he's a total little brother about it.)

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Red Line fic is the first installment of a 4-fic series (tortoise is laughing at me for thinking it'd stop with 1). mostly because it immediately dived into one of my favorite variations for how Chay kills Korn.

Korn's death is not a fix-it.

#idk if u meant for me to answer ALL but i had to >:)#<333333

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honey-beann · 1 year

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I'm so in love with ur Ruiner, Ruination fic omg ヽ(o´3`o)ﾉ i love how you actually put a case inside so it felt like i was solving the case with him... love when i have to actually use my brain sometimes. And gwyneth girly noooo.. rlly love how the way she asked reader abt connor before the thing happened :-(. sorry if this sounds like a Canvas discussion post I just rlly rlly love ur fic hahaha.

Also love the aesthetic posts u reblogged :3

Omg thank you so much for all of your kind words, and no worries about this sounding like a canvas discussion post lol, it totally doesn't!

Also, I'm super glad to hear you enjoyed the case-based chapters of the series so far! I definitely spent a decent chunk of time planning that whole thing out (I'm more of an illogical thinker than I am a logical/sensical one, so trust me, my brain was in sport mode trying to think up an interesting case that would make sense lmao) , so it makes me really happy to hear that it felt like the two of you were actually solving the case together like I intended :)

I also am super surprised at how many people liked the little detail about Gwyneth mentioning Connor! I was worried it would come across as a random, so it really makes me happy to know that I was able to properly convey the idea that he was a hero to her the same way that human revolutionists are heroes to those they help revolutionize!

And thank you for appreciating the aesthetic reblogs :) I try to collect the things that inspire me and have them in queue so people can see some of the ideas, factors, and imagery that may drive the stories I write forward in the future! I thought it would be a cool way to show people what might be coming up fic wise without writing out a bunch of posts about ideas, excerpts, etc.

Anyways, this is a long ass response, so I'm sorry for the word vomit, but I really appreciate you taking the time to let me know all of your thoughts! It really made my day when I read all of your kind words, and I just wanted to acknowledge how amazing it is when writers get feedback like this.

People like you are what keep us writers writing even when we don't get a ton of engagement, so thank you for helping keep the inspiration and drive alive! <3

#not fic related #asks #thank you!

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atmymercy · 1 year

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Feedback for giveaway reading:

When I got the free reading from you couple of weeks back asking for guidance on where my efforts are lagging, you gave me an excellent reading and told me to explore further. I had been sort of putting this 'exploring further' on the back burner coz I know whenever I had tried it in the past I get the same responses which I'm unable to implement in my real life. And then that makes me even more miserable coz I'm not able to make the easiest of changes that someone suggests me. For the past few days I had been feeling very despondent and feeling like in this lifetime the deck is just stacked up against me somehow, and maybe I should just give up and accept that, this is it. This is it, and just learn to live like it is. Nothing worse and nothing better will come along. This just is.

Winning your takeaway was like my alarm going off early morning on a weekday! I rarely if ever win anything, so needless to say I was shocked for a second when I saw my blog tagged. But I guess just as Universe gave me the nudge to ask you that question the other day, similar Universe did want me to explore this further even when I had put it off! Destiny!

I'm so SO thankful to you sweet Tea. Thank you for being so thoughtful, caring, gentle and straight to the point with the reading! You did not beat around the bush, neither did you blame me for procastinating the things I know should've been doing, but you simply helped me see a new perspective to make my life so much better. Thank you for being so understanding 🙏. You know in your reading you mentioned at one point, "I heard even on your birthday", and I was like whoa!! Coz it's true, it's every single day, a birthday or a new year or a celebration doesn't make any difference. But the advice you've offered me is so grounding and practical, this is exactly what I had been looking for! And even more importantly, it's something that I can actually do!! Sometimes people really don't realise how debilitating anxiety can be and how much it screws your brain and your capacity to perform even the most mundane daily tasks. Thank you being the beacon of light and showing me just how I can start to rewire my brain! This is exactly what I needed to get started and stay motivated and to not give myself such a hard time.

Really want to thank you from the bottom of my heart 💖🙏. Thank you so much for this opportunity and thank you so much for your kind and inspiring words 💞. I will definitely start implementing these changes in my attitude and behaviour towards myself right from today! Thank you for making me finally understand how to go about my situation and helping me understand the positive changes I can make for myself 💓

I genuinely wish you nothing but lots and lots of success and happiness which you so very much deserve. May all the good you do for others multiply infinitely on you. 🙌💝

hello c!

omg, honey! you spoil me so! look at this feedback! omg! it's so long! you're so sweet and i can't wait to start reading this! two secs! lol

haha! omg! is it bad that i'm a little happy that you put it on the back burner so you could work through this with me, honey? let's be honest! it was always meant to be! lol and you know i don't mind helping you out! i'm so glad i could be the person you turn to when it comes to a matter so close to the heart like this, honey! thank you! it really does mean a lot that you trust me and turn to me. i honestly can't even explain the trust you put in me and i hope i'm able to return it and maybe even with a little extra healing because honestly, it's my thing. i do that and i'm happy to do that for you, honey! it's moments like this with friends like you that show me we're on the right path! aww thank you again!

and that the universe would have you win! like you know it's meant to be! you can just feel it! lol

oh god! honey! you are just making me cry! i'm so glad you thought my reading was so helpful! and honestly i really did just want to jump right into the issue because there's no reason why this should continue on for a second longer when you don't want it and if i can help with that! eeee! omg! yes! i will! and me? thoughtful? caring? gentle? understanding? thank you so so so much, honey! omg! i strive to be all those things every single day and that you recognize that makes me feel so seen and appreciated! thank you! mahsi! it means so much to me!

i'm so glad, honey! i understand how dark that hole can seem! and like endless too, right? but i want you to know that's an illusion and you can do this! re-wire that brain and show that brain who is the real boss and it's you! no more giving yourself a hard time, okay? promise me?

i'm so grateful, honey! it means more than i can say that you wish such sweet blessings on me and i hope the same for you, honey! i can't wait to see more of your journey and i expect a wedding invitation when the time comes! lolol

i'm keeping this forever!!!

love & light!

-tea

#tea tarot reading feedback #nonsenseblogsblog

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