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sanctus-ingenium · 3 months

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I’m really inspired by your world building and the creatures you use. I’m trying to kickstart my own world using Celtic, Norse and Scottish myths (it also involves werewolves because they’re cool)

But I’m stumped and a bit overwhelmed. How’d you start your project and what were huge sources of inspiration for you as you worked on The Black Horse?

hi there!!! this will probably get wordy i have a lot of thoughts on this but here's how i built up my inver setting

i had the characters first, and the werewolf establishment was basically the first thing invented about the world. I wrote a decent amount about the characters in the pre-1st draft slush pile just getting a handle on their voices, their history together, etc. the first slush draft was in painstaking chronological order telling of their lives from birth to like age 40 - it wasn't pretty to read but it meant I knew what big moments formed their worldview, their relationships with others, things like that. and then i got to pick and choose which ones would feature in the actual 1st draft, and which i would leave unsaid, in flashback form, or only in the form of vague allusions. the plot and world events changed significantly as i wrote the actual 1st draft so this ended up only being useful for backstory stuff and not book plots, but it was still good to have.

There was an important moment of a character being kidnapped into a faery realm, which is what started me off thinking about fairies in general. they weren't originally a part of this world - it was an undefined space before just for the characters to exist in, because i was (and still am) more interested in the characters than the worldbuilding. but i still like for there to be SOMETHING there in the background, and it gives a lot of opportunities to inform characterisation, so i started to make my setting. I picked the Púca as a pivotal being & major inspiration source to include because of its relatively large presence in the fringes of my childhood in stories told by my older relatives and i like the unusual aspects about it as well, how it has been both heroic and malevolent in different stories. you have to remember i grew up in this culture too, i knew a lot already, and that's what got me thinking of alternate Earth history - as in, the setting of Inver as alternate history, not wholly original fantasy set in a fantasy land.

So then I had to think about the implications of that, and here is where I think a lot of authors adapting extant mythology fall short. A world where faeries/mythological monsters/gods based in real cultures exist and people interact with them is indistinguishable from our own. We already live in a world where people interact with faeries in their own way; I've heard many older relatives recount stories of being trapped in their fields by faeries, how you can only escape by taking off your jumper and putting it back on inside out. There was no question as to whether they believed this was a concrete, meaningful interaction with a supernatural being. We have a motorway that was diverted while it was being built because the builders didn't want to risk cutting down a hawthorn tree. There is a deep stigma against harming hawthorns. Now, tell me how things would be any different if faeries were real irl? ftr I do not believe in the supernatural whatsoever, not even a little bit, but it is impossible to deny that I live in a world deeply shaped by it - I need only look out the window at the stands of whitethorn around my house to know that. because the main expression of that supernatural element is in how the people of that culture react.

you cannot, you cannot pick and choose only the monsters from a legend and leave behind the people who made & propagated that legend. you're only taking a single thread from a rich tapestry. I'm not arguing that other cultures should be untouchable, far from it, I'm just saying that to truly appreciate it, you need context for everything you adapt. you gotta know what you're writing about

in that sense, the people are more important to building Inver than the faeries. a citizen of Inver not immediately affected by the main plotline would likely never see or interact with magic in their lifetime, but their society is still shaped by it. so is mine (though that's more on the catholic church than anything else)

So now that I'd had that realisation, I decided to dump a lot of the traditional fantasy tropes I'd been working with. Think basic fantasy setting stuff, pop culture "The Fae" tropes, even the terminology of 'Fae' at all - that is not something I've ever heard the older generation in my life call them. It's just 'fairies' to them (although I did shift the spelling to match the Yeats poem because I could not handle writing characters making accusations of being A Fairy and have it not come across as a unintentionally homophobic accusation lmao). I did some research; mostly on JSTOR, using my institutional access, because my own university is mostly science and didn't have a big library of anthropological texts. I read An Táin Bó Culainge which is honestly one of the greatest stories of all time PLEASE READ IT if you are at all interested in Irish myth. It is a fantastic story and extremely comedic as well (a canon mmmf foursome lol). In terms of academic sources specific to the Púca, I have a drive folder of pdfs I will share with anyone if they ask.

I decided I was not going to include anything from what people actually think of as pre-christian Irish mythology - no fianna [rangers notwithstanding], no Ulster cycle, no Tuatha Dé, no Irish gods. All the things I include are post-colonial aside from the notion of the Otherworld in general. This decision wasn't necessarily accurate to what might have happened in this alternate history (given that christianity still has no real foothold in Inver) but it is a colonised society after all. It's why I got slightly steamed once when someone filed my Púca art into their irish deities/irish polytheism tag (I have my own issues with iripols/gaelpols for the same reason I dislike people taking myths out cultural context and in this case contemporary cultural context), because the Púca is in fact a postcolonial being - it comes from the UK, and likely the mainland as well

One of the last things I did before starting on my 2nd draft, which is what turned into Said the Black Horse, was decide to always capitalise the word 'Púca'. Because what really clicked from doing my research and remembering what I'd heard as a child was that the Púca is a specific character. Not a species, not a class of monster. A character, one guy. And you'll find this everywhere - the obvious example is the Minotaur being one specific guy, the son of Minos, not just 'a minotaur'. One very funny consequence of speciesifying mythological characters is dnd ppl saying their character is A Firbolg (fir bolg is plural!!). Fantasy bestiary books like Dragonology or Spiderwick Chronicles have done some amount of damage to how people relate to myths and legendary creatures, and I am not immune as someone who loves speculative biology, but in Inver I decided to cut all of that out.

Next once I got that out of the way I had to think about tone, atmosphere, and intended results. I didn't achieve my holy grail of a very atmospheric, undefined, and uncertain story that provides no answers, due to limitations in my own abilities, but I tried. I have given less than 1 second of thought to how magic or faery biology in Inver works because that is not conducive to the atmosphere of a fairytale. Many of these source myths and legends are really about the fear of the unknown. They are rationalisations to explain away something unknown, some mystery of life, and you cannot explain the unexplainable and expect it to carry the same punch as the original myths that you are drawn to adapt. That's also why I try to never actually give facts about fairies, but instead I talk about what people think of them. The word 'considered' does some insanely heavy lifting in that linked post lmao. Is any of what I wrote true with regards to the Red King?? It is for the people who believe it.

I'm saying all of this because these are all points I had to think about before writing that 2nd draft, but also because I think they're worth considering for your own story as well. I'll admit I invented my werewolves from scratch, they have no mythological basis, because they pre-date the faery stuff and also I wanted them to fill a very specific role and appear a little more concrete than the other supernatural elements. It is what it is; I wanted a werewolf element that didn't match myths and legends (and honestly was partially inspired by me rolling my eyes about those posts going around moaning and whining about 'the doggification of werewolves missing the point of werewolf stories'. I thought, well, there's more than one story you can tell with a werewolf - it isn't always 'i fear the beast within', sometimes it's something else! sometimes it's daddy issues! it's okay to make something new)

ok i think that's all i have to say.. modern Inver is a bit different, that worldbuilding is largely the same but with a big dose of actual ecology because the main characters are rangers and in Inver in 2017, rangers mostly do environmental monitoring. and that's a whole different sort of worldbuilding lol

good luck with your story!!

#me about to write literally anything: this will probably get wordy #mvf #setting: inver

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ellesliterarycorner · 2 years

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Writing Scenes Out of Order

Gonna be honest with y'all, I have never ever written a story completely in order. I am actually incapable of doing that. Even though I write the most detailed outlines known to man before I even think about writing, I still can’t write the scenes in order. I swear by this because I sincerely believe that writing scenes out of order increases my productivity which I’ll talk about later. Even if you haven’t done this before, I recommend everyone try it at least once, so without further ado, here are a few reasons that you should write your stories out of order.

You Can Write The Ending First

When you write your scenes in order, generally that means that you’re going to write the ending last. In my experience, the ending is one of the most important things in your story, so I recommend that even if you write everything else in order, always write the ending first. Writing the ending first always gives you a light at the end of the tunnel. It gives you a destination to eventually reach. Even when you feel like your story is going absolutely nowhere, it allows you to go back and see what you want the ending to look like from the beginning which should help your motivation and hopefully lessen that pesky writer’s block!

Oh, Those Continuity Issues

Continuity issues are the absolute worst. I can never seem to remember the way that I described stuff at the end of the book when I’m writing everything back at the beginning. One thing that does get frustrating about writing scenes out of order, is keeping up with continuity like what season it is, what characters have already met, and even who is alive and dead at certain points. Writing scenes in order eliminates these issues because you are writing everything in the order that it happens. I would most definitely recommend keeping an outline or at least a sheet of notes when you’re writing scenes out of order, so that you can keep yourself organized and lessen the continuity issues that you have to go back and fix in later drafts!

You Can Follow Your Inspiration

I plot every scene out extensively, but if I do have an idea for a scene, I immediately write it down and worry about where it fits into the story later. For me, this increases my motivation because at least I'm writing something even if it wasn't in my original outline. Every story has scenes that aren't the most interesting, and as writers, those can be the hardest scenes to write. Especially if you write all of the interesting scenes first, you won't have anything to look forward to when you're struggling through the more transitional parts of the story. This is just my opinion, but whenever I write in chronological order, my motivation goes down a lot. I like writing whatever scenes I want to write instead of writing what comes next in the story. Knowing that I can write whatever scene I want to next makes me super excited about writing

Sprinkle In That Foreshadowing

Y’all know how much I love me some well done foreshadowing. It’s simply one of the best things about reading and writing. But, writing foreshadowing can be really complicated if you aren’t sure how the story ends or even how the foreshadowing will fit into the story later. Because I normally write the ending scenes first, when I finally get around to writing the beginning scenes, I can easily sprinkle in little bits of foreshadowing or allusions to later scenes. It also helps me not overly foreshadow anything because I can go to the end and make sure I'm not doing too much.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writersofinstagram #writerscorner #writing #writing tips #writing things #writing tip #writing advice #writing resources #writing resoure #writing refernece #writing references

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sirfrogsworth · 7 months

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Last week was crazy.

I honestly can't believe all of it happened in the span of a week. Well, I guess it was more like 10 days. But it was another... Alot.

It all started when I got my disability denial letter. I couldn't wait until I got into the house so I opened the envelope as I walked back from the mailbox. Once I saw the bad part I had an instant panic attack in my driveway.

I ran inside...

Okay, that isn't true.

I walked very quickly inside...

Nope, still not true.

Okay, I walked at my personal top speed which is probably still slow for most people... but the point I'm trying to make is that I was attempting to hurry despite only saving myself about 3 seconds of travel time.

But the hurrying made me feel better, okay?

Out of breath from my geriatric-style powerwalking, I called my lawyer's office immediately. And... he is on vacation. Won't be back until the next Thursday. I spent the entire weekend going through every panic state a body can feel. I go from angry to depressed to anxious to panicked to angry (again) to scared to more scared to extra more scared. Visions of homelessness danced in my head.

I can't sleep for over a day because my brain won't shut off. Finally my body gives out and I fall asleep on the couch watching random YouTube videos. But falling asleep on the couch is bad because I'm not hooked up to my CPAP machine. Then I finally do hook up my CPAP and my damned mask breaks. Thankfully it has happened before and I have a cool hot glue and duct tape solution. But it is hard to manage hot glue and tape when you haven't slept in days and your eyes will barely stay open. So a few burned fingers later, I am sleeping comfortably in my janky duct tape-laden CPAP mask.

Monday rolls around and I decide to go into problem solving mode. Problem solving is my superpower, so I was going to lean into that in an effort to reduce my anxiety. The denial letter said they had no records from before I was 22, so I put on my detective hat and began the hunt to prove I was sick before 2004. My aunt helped me dig through my mom's document drawer. I distinctly remember an essay I wrote to the disability people back when I first got sick. It was part of the paperwork they had me submit. It was a first hand account of my symptoms back in 2001. It also had an essay from my dad talking about how sick I was. I felt like if I could find that, the records surrounding it would all be related and from the same time period.

We go through the entire drawer and only find a few things that might be helpful. Then I realized my mom had a *second* drawer full of documents and my aunt was blocking it. So we start going through that and find a folder labeled "Ben's Disability Stuff." I would have never kept any of that stuff but my mom kept *everything* and it was all in chronological order.

She is still looking out for me.

And she may have kept me from being homeless.

We find the essay and records of my ECT treatments and the names of doctors and all kinds of evidence of my medical woes before 2004. And even if they won't accept it as direct evidence, I can use these documents to show doctors I was their patient. And my primary care doctor said he would be willing to talk to those past doctors to help me convince them to write a letter on my behalf. All they really have to say is they treated me for severe depression and fatigue. And because my mom kept a list of my prescriptions and my ECT treatments, I'm hoping that will be enough to convince them even if they don't remember treating me.

Wednesday I had my monthly checkup. And I got to peek at my main doctor's records from before 2004. It's all handwritten notes and a little hard to read (bad doctor handwriting is the most accurate stereotype in existence). But it clearly says I had depression and was undergoing ECT treatments. It even mentions one of the doctors I want to write me a letter. It's not a lot, but it is first hand, direct medical evidence from that time period. I think it will be very compelling to whoever reviews my case.

I also talked to the nurses/assistants in the office about copying my entire chart, and I thought we were on the same page, but as you will see later... we were not on the same page.

I exit the building and remember how far away I had parked. And once again I forgot to use my cane—even though I keep a spare in the car. The main lot was full and the disabled parking was occupied, so I had to park in the secondary lot. My legs were holding up so far, but it was already a lot of walking for me. Very slow walking.

His office is in the same complex as the hospital. Which is my next stop. It's the same hospital that I have been going to all of my life. And the hospital where both of my parents died.

But I need vintage medical records and that is where they keep them.

Or so I thought.

I drive from the medical office parking lot to the hospital parking lot and only the spots farthest away are empty. And because of goddamn global warming, it is 90 fucking degrees in late September. I park, lock my car, grab my man purse, and start hoofing it to the hospital entrance. I'm so nervous about getting these records that I forgot my damn cane again.

My thoughts are basically, "What if they only keep 7 years of records like everyone else? What if the records from Christian Northwest aren't kept with the records from Christian Northeast? (Christian NW doesn't exist anymore.) What if they won't send them to my lawyer? What if it costs a thousand bucks? What if, what if, what if..."

I get to the front desk and ask the lady where the records department is. She gives me directions that my brain is only capable of half paying attention to. Then I realized I left the records release form from my lawyer in the car. So I walk another half mile in the heat to my car without my cane. And initially, my thought was, "Well, at least I can grab my cane once I get the form." But by the time I got to my car my thought was, "AHHHHHHHHH THAT WAS A LONG FUCKING WALK. KILL ME!"

And so I forgot my cane.

Again.

I get back to the lobby and wave at the lady who gave me directions. I pretend like I remembered and confidently walk in the direction I recall her pointing to. I found the elevator. Thankfully this particular elevator only goes two places. Which seems like a waste of an elevator, but... whatever. I get off on the second floor and am met with a big sign with all the departments and little arrows next to them.

(I'm sure you knew what I was talking about but I'm trying to break up this wall of text with images because I am a professional blogger person.)

I see "Medical Records" and a leftward arrow. I used my keen detective skills to surmise I should probably veer left.

I find myself at the beginning of the world's longest hallway.

Without my cane.

And it is flooded with sterile florescent light and the walls are adorned with the world's most inoffensive art.

Here is a painting of a plant. Here is a painting of a bird. Here is a painting of a bird sitting on a plant. Wait, is that a... WATERFALL??

Suddenly Indiana Jones' voice shouts in my thoughts...

So, if you had to guess, do you think the records department was...

A.) near the beginning of the hallway? B.) in the middle of the hallway? C.) beyond the world's longest hallway in the world's second longest hallway?

As I enter the world's second longest hallway, I notice the art is repeating itself. I've seen that bird sitting on a plant before. I worried I was going in circles, but it turns out they probably just bought the inoffensive art in bulk and weren't concerned about repeats. I get about halfway down the second longest hallway and see a big sign sticking out... "MEDICAL RECORDS."

Note to God: The real world needs a fast travel mode.

I was a big sweaty mess and my legs were like jello. I lumber through the door and find a young woman scrolling through her phone and probably wishing she was anywhere else. She was behind a huge partition with a plexiglass divider—probably still there from COVID days.

I mean, it's still COVID days. But no one is acting like it so I am just pretending it is all over like everyone else seems to.

She notices an out-of-breath Hagrid towering over her and apathetically inquires, "Can I help you?"

I hold up a finger as I try to gain my composure and figure out exactly what I want to say. I usually rehearse this kind of thing beforehand but with all of the anxious thoughts spiraling through my brain, I totally forgot to do that.

"I need to ask questions about records." "What kind of questions?" "Well, how long are the records?" "I'm sorry?" "What year do they start?" "What year do you need?"

I'm suddenly realizing why I rehearse these things. So I take a moment and breathe deeply. I form the proper question in my mind.

"How far back do you keep medical records?" "30 years."

I shoot my hands up like I just scored a touchdown and say, "OH THANK GOD."

She is very confused.

"30 years, oh my god. 30 years just saved my life."

She is still very confused.

"And do you have records from Christian Northwest?" "Yes, we have everything from all Christian hospitals."

I try to give her a brief explanation of my situation and she cuts me off. "Fill out this form."

I look at the clipboard and it is a release form.

Do you remember way back when I walked an extra mile to and from the car to get a release form that my lawyer prepared? Well, turns out they have their own version of that and I walked all that way for nothing.

I finish the form and hand it to the bored, indifferent front desk lady. She tells me someone will be out in a moment. So I sit in the uncomfortable waiting chairs and try to rest a bit. A much tinier young woman walks to the front desk partition thingie and calls out my name. But due to her diminutive stature, she is completely obscured by a pillar and I have no idea where the voice is coming from. We do this little awkward dance on either side of the pillar, attempting to see each other, and finally we both end up on the same side. She starts looking over my form and seemed a little annoyed that I left a section blank. I wasn't sure what kind of records I needed and there was no box that said "everything everywhere all at once."

What I really wanted was any document with my name on it from the beginning of time.

But I was worried about asking for too much labor from this person so I started negotiating for some reason.

I was like, "Well, like, I really need like anything you have from before like 2004. And then maybe, like, some general records after 2004. Like, the pre-2004 records are super important. But, like, I also need to show I was sick all my adult life. So if there are like, summary records? Or, like, something?"

I couldn't stop saying like. I was turning into a Kardashian. Again, some rehearsal was probably warranted.

"I just don't want to be a burden and make you dig up all of my records. I mostly need my ECT records from 2001."

"What is ECT?"

"Shock therapy. It's for depression. I just need to show I was really sick before the age of 22."

"And who is this guy on the form?"

*ramble mode engaged*

"Oh, that is my disability attorney. You see, I'm trying to get a special kind of disability, but I need to prove I was sick before the age of 22. So anything like that before 2004 would be very helpful. But like, if you have less detailed records after 2004 that is good too. Because I may need to prove I've been sick my entire adult life."

*continued rambling until I notice she stopped paying attention*

She did not need to know all of this. And I was not answering the questions she needed answered. I was nervous and babbling and oversharing and I couldn't snap out of it. And I was really concerned if I asked for too much, she was going to be upset. But then she told me all of the records were in a warehouse and she would not actually be finding them for me. She just places an "order" for them. So this weird negotiation thing I was doing to keep her from being annoyed at me was pointless.

And I also realized... this is super important.

I yell at myself, "Ask for everything, stupid! Quit trying to get halfassed records because you're worried about inconveniencing someone."

Finally I just say, "I want every medical record you have from before I was 22 until now."

And she was like, "Sure."

Well... that was easy.

I thanked the tiny lady and the bored lady and exited back into the second longest hallway. My adrenaline was surging. I kept yelling, "30 YEARS!!" in my brain. I had to tell someone this amazing news. I had to tell them right that second or I might burst. So I grab my phone from my man purse and dial Katrina.

The thing is, I only call Katrina when something really bad happens. People don't make phone calls anymore. People text! So when she picked up the phone she answered with a very worried tone. As if somehow a third parent of mine died or something.

"THIRTY YEARS!!!!" "WHAT IS HAPPENING??" "They keep records for 30 years!" "OHHHHHHHHHH!!! That's amazing!"

She probably didn't hop for joy in real life, but in my mind I like to pretend she did. I start explaining everything that just happened and how they most likely have my ECT records and then I realize I am in the middle of the world's second longest hallway and I don't remember which direction leads back to the world's longest hallway. And because I am having unusual and extraordinarily good luck, a medical worker was walking by right at that moment.

"Which way back to the elevator?" "This way!" "Oh great! Thank you!" "Or that way. There are two elevators."

There is that normal luck I recognize.

I can feel the universe realigning itself. But that is okay, because...

THIRTY YEARS, BABY!

I talk to Katrina as I traverse the two longest hallways. Thankfully I was going in the correct direction and found the proper elevator. After a nice chat about various things including problematic 80s movies, we hung up and I decided to treat myself to a hospital cafeteria chicken quesadilla. They are surprisingly delicious and I ate them every single day while my dad was in hospice. Those quesadillas were a single bright spot during one of the hardest times of my life.

So I walk up to the grillmaster and look at the menu.

"Wait, where is the quesadilla?" "We stopped making those two weeks ago."

Universal realignment completed. Luck has returned to its original state.

A male nurse in front of me commiserated. "Yeah, man. I miss them too."

I walked back out to my car both happy and depressed. An odd combination of conflicted feelings. But my day was not over yet. I needed vaccines and groceries. Naturally, I went to the grocery store with the CVS. I got my dad his last booster there, so I was confident they could take care of me. I grab a shopping cart and pick up a few things on the way to the pharmacy. I get in line at the little vaccine check-in spot. The woman in front of me is getting her booster as well. Otherwise, the pharmacy is empty and the three employees are just scrolling through their phones.

After the previous booster seeker was taken care of, I tell the woman I need a booster and a flu vaccine.

"I can give the flu shot now and set an appointment for the booster." "You never required an appointment before." "We just started a few weeks ago." "Can I make an appointment for, like, now?" "No, sorry." "Do you have the booster in stock?" "Yes." "Do you have someone here qualified to give the booster?" "Yes." "Do you have any other appointments right now?" "No."

I tried very hard to keep my composure and remain polite.

"I am disabled. It is very hard for me to get out of the house. Returning another day would be very difficult. Can you please make an exception?"

"I can get you in tomorrow."

I probably should have asked for a manager at this point. But I had no energy for confrontation. She started preparing for me to get the flu shot, but I told her I was going somewhere else. My happy news was quickly being soured by weird rules that made no sense.

But I did see a cool robot.

I got my groceries and loaded them into my car. Some were frozen items so I made sure to turn the A/C on full blast. I called another pharmacy. It was the one run by the Jamaican family who came out to the house to give my parents boosters during the height of COVID. I asked if they could do walk-in vaccinations without an appointment. And in that beautiful accent, they replied, "Sure, come on by. We'll take care of you."

Their shop is in Ferguson. Which I'm sure the news has convinced people is a constant warzone or something. But the main street, West Florrisant, is actually really neat in spots. A lot of small businesses catering to the Black community. There was a soul food place and an African hair braiding place and a Taco Bell. Okay, it wasn't all Black-themed shops, but the pharmacy was directly next to the "Wumzy African Attire" tailoring shop that was combined with the party planning store.

And in the back was an African beauty supply depot.

Three shops in one! Just a very efficient use of space.

And looking through the window of the tailoring shop was like a feast of colors for the eyes. I don't know how they get fabric so bright and colorful. Really beautiful patterns too. I tried not to look like a creep while staring inside so I just walked reeeeeally slow toward the pharmacy entrance.

I just wish people knew that side of Ferguson. It's a beautiful community that was really dragged through the mud by the national media.

I digress.

I walked into the pharmacy and it was long and skinny. They had a few shelves with over-the-counter health products. But the main area was pretty empty. I guess they want to make sure they can accommodate long lines without people having to wait outside. But their working area seemed really cramped. There were some awards on the wall and news articles. Apparently, they are very involved with vaccinating the local refugee community. Something you won't see at pointless appointment-having CVS. I just felt like I was in the right place even if my frozen items were thawing and my legs were buckling from constantly forgetting my cane in the car.

The shop was run by the pharmacist and matriarch. Her son took my information. He looked about 18 and was a bit shy—but very kind and helpful. He directed me to this little partition they set up for vaccinations and they had a liquor bottle full of hand sanitizer. The label had a big "DO NOT DRINK" warning. I found a picture of the exact one on Google.

I washed my hands and rolled up my sleeve. The pharmacist greeted me with my shots prepared. Some people have a sort of magic touch when it comes to giving shots. I'm not sure if it is a special technique or just lots of experience, but aside from a little pressure, I didn't even feel the needles going in. And my arm was only mildly sore despite the double shots.

I really wanted to thank her for sending someone to vaccinate my parents when no one else would. But I was really tired and chickened out. So I just thanked her and drove home.

I unloaded my groceries and collapsed on the couch. I could barely move at that point. Everything hurt.

But... 30 years.

I was feeling good the next day despite everything. My body hurt, but my brain was contented from my success. But there was more to do and everything was trending downhill. I called those doctors mentioned in my personal medical records. I knew it was a long shot, but I asked if they kept records from 2001. They did not. However, I thought the psychiatrist who did my ECT was dead. And it turns out he is just old-as-heck and still practicing. So even though he doesn't have records and probably doesn't remember me, I am hopeful he will write me a letter.

My other psychiatrist from back then is also still practicing. No records there either.

So far my phone anxiety wasn't getting the better of me. But I still had more calls to make and I could feel my brain starting to get melty.

My pocket knife doesn't open correctly and I couldn't get anyone to email me back from SpyderCo. So I called their office in Colorado and tried to get someone to talk to me. I got bounced to three different people and finally a guy told me that model is just hard to open. So that was pointless.

Melt. Melt. Melt.

And finally, I had to call the dreaded CPAP supply place.

It did not go well. At all.

You can read more about it at that link, but the short version is I got angrily sighed at for asking reasonable questions about what the hell "chart notes" are. And the lady refused to answer those questions for no reason I can fathom. She eventually brought me to tears and got angry at me for doing so. And it turned out the call was pointless as well.

Oh, and my lawyer was sick. Remember him? Vacation guy? Who skipped town at the exact moment I got my disability denial letter? Yeah, I had been waiting for 7 grueling, anxiety-filled days to speak with him and he gets sick the day he returns.

Brain is melty goo.

Hey, Universe! I think you are overcorrecting with that luck realignment. I appreciate the 30 years of records thing, but can you let me enjoy it a little?

Friday arrives and I still have calls to make. The CPAP lady really messed up my brain and so just dialing the numbers was freaking me out. But I decided to start with the worst first. I called the CPAP lady and she finally had her precious "chart notes" and put my order through. She was cheerful and helpful and I was confused but thankful.

I thought maybe things were looking up in my phone call adventures.

My next call was to my primary care doctor's office.

One thing you need to know about my doctor is he is a bit of a... hot mess. A very smart, capable doctor. He knows his stuff. I suspect he has an eidetic memory due to his instant recall of medication names and doses and things that happened 8 years ago and detailed descriptions of medical conditions he only heard about in school 40 years ago. Aside from that, he is kind and compassionate and he has my back no matter what.

But he is technologically stuck in the 80s. His personal life is a roller coaster of drama. He once hired his girlfriend of 2 months to work at the office and his regular staff secretly whispered "She's so awful" behind his back. (They broke up soon after.) He is disorganized and constantly running late. And he takes on tons of frustrating patients because they have nowhere else to go. I admire him for treating so many poor elderly folks without any family to take care of them, but you can tell it is extremely challenging at times and a lot of that labor is delegated to his staff.

His office manager is probably the only person on the planet who can tolerate him being a hot mess.

Unfortunately, she is also a hot mess in completely different ways.

She tries to speedrun through everything. It's probably because she has a million things to do and is trying to fit 12 hours of work into an 8 hour workday. I try to be sympathetic and understanding of that. But one of her methods for speeding things along is attempting to use her psychic powers. You will start telling her what you need and she will do this thing where she cuts you off and tries to predict said need.

"I need a prescription for..." "Your thyroid meds are due, right? I'll send it over to the pharmacy." "...insulin. But I have a question about..." "So thyroid and insulin? No problem. I'll send it over." "...increasing my dosage." "Wait, what's yer question, hon?" "Was it 50 units..." "No, it's says 100. Okay? I'll send it over. Take care." "...twice per day or 100 units once in the morning?"

Often her predictions are so bad that it actually takes a lot more time to correct her than it would if she had just let you finish speaking. And this is especially problematic for me because I rehearse everything I need to say and she constantly interrupts and so I have to end up improvising new things to say that I never accounted for. And I'm already anxious and not thinking clearly so I do a poor job of explaining my needs and it just ends up in disaster.

So I have a complicated situation. I need my entire written chart copied and sent to my lawyer. I know it is a lot of work for the office staff. They probably have to copy several hundred pages. But this is probably the most important evidence in my disability case. And my lawyer has already volunteered to pay the several hundred dollars it will cost. It's worth it because if my case goes well, I could get years of back pay.

I call and get the young woman whom I really like on his staff. She is very quiet and unassuming but secretly the star of the office. Like a ninja of competence. If you really need something done properly without mistakes, she is the best one to go to. But her job does not include handling the records, so she transfers me to the office nurse. The office nurse does not process new information well. You often have to explain things several times. And if she gives up trying to understand, she hands you off to the office manager.

The Final Boss, if you will. I was really hoping I could avoid that.

"Okay, so my lawyer needs all of my written records..."

"He needs to fax a form saying what he needs, okay honey?"

"He already faxed a release form asking for records and I brought in a new copy yesterday with all of his mailing information..."

"He didn't fax anything. He needs to tell us what he needs. I'm not seeing any form. Just tell him to call me."

"He is out sick today and he already faxed the form and I brought a second one just in case. I signed it and dated it and I watched Competence Ninja put it in my chart. It asks for everything..."

"Okay, I see it here. This doesn't look right. He needs to tell us what he needs us to send him."

"It says in the letter, 'to release any medical information, including medical records, written letters, treatment reports, testing results, or similar information.' Should it say something different?"

"I've been doing this 20 years and I've never seen anything like this. He needs to be more specific. I ain't sending him all that, hon."

"So, this is for my disability case. I already talked to the nurse about this. And I know it is a lot, but the doctor's records are the only direct evidence that I've been sick since 2001."

"So you just need something from 2001? Okay, the lawyer needs to fax something saying that."

"I need the entire handwritten chart copied and sent to the lawyer. We need a full record of my illness because..."

"This is ridiculous. You're lawyer is fucking lazy. I've never seen anything like this. And I'm worried he is not going to represent your interests."

"This is not a normal disability claim. If you'd allow me to explain I think you'd understand why I need..."

"Disability should already have all this. We shouldn't need to send this. This is fucking ridiculous and you need a new lawyer. You're going to lose your case with his lazy ass."

"This isn't normal disability. I need to prove that I've been sick for a long time and..."

"This is going to cost a fortune, you know? We charge 50 cents per page. You're going to be out hundreds of dollars."

"Okay, but I will be out thousands of dollars if I don't get this copied."

"Fuck it. I am going to copy this ONCE. No more after this. UNDERSTOOD?"

And... she hung up on me.

My heart was beating out of my chest with panic and my eyes were blurry with tears. And in that moment, I thought I had done something wrong. My doctor gave me his personal mobile number so I call him up with tears apparent in my voice. I explain what just happened and that I was really sorry and that I didn't mean to upset her. He told me she is "just like that sometimes" and I shouldn't take it to heart. They have a very serious deadline for something due that day and she was very upset and I was collateral damage. I asked him to apologize for me and he said there was no need. He said we'd work it all out on Monday when this deadline wasn't stressing everyone out.

It wasn't until I calmed down a bit that I realized I did absolutely nothing wrong. That she was just being a big jerk and taking her other problems out on me. And I was probably the one deserving of an apology. I also remembered this is not the first time she has blown up at me. She was the one who tried to make me get a ventilator instead of a proper CPAP machine years ago. She said, "My mom has one and it works fine." And I was like, "So if I travel I'm supposed to take 12 pounds of medical equipment instead of a 1 pound device that fits neatly into a backpack?"

I get why my doctor made excuses for her. She works very hard and puts up with him. He'd never be able to find anyone that would last a week doing that job. And I have a feeling he probably defended me after I called. I played what he said back in my brain and noticed a frustrated tone. Despite what he said, it seems clear he was pissed.

I can make amends and figure things out with her. That isn't an issue. But I am worried that between her and CPAP lady, all of the progress I've made trying to reduce my telephobia was erased. I really was getting better calling people. I used to need Katrina hanging out on Skype while I called anyone as moral support. And while it still helps, I've gotten a lot better at calling strangers on my own. But now, I'm not so sure.

I might ask if there is an office email address I can use from now on. If I can write out what I need there is no way to get interrupted. I can be clear and detailed and use my writing skills to communicate way better than my phone skills.

I don't know.

It was just a crappy way to end a stressful, exhausting week.

But it wasn't the end!

Friday evening my sick lawyer finally called. I had rehearsed all kinds of things I wanted to say to him. But it turns out, all of my emails already did most of the talking—proof that I write a great email. He was really impressed with all of my detective work. And he said if those records pan out, he is very optimistic about my case going forward. He also said that he was expecting a denial. And it was probably good that we got that out of the way quickly. And now we get to mount more of a defense, which is what lawyers are good at. We talked for about 20 minutes and came up with a battle plan. He explained the process going forward. But he mentioned one thing that worried me.

This could take a while.

A lot longer than I was expecting.

I explained that I currently have a runway until about June 2024. That's when the mortgage money runs out. However, my brother should be willing to release my inheritance in March. I hope. I have a hard time trusting anything my brother says anymore. But if he does, then I should have another year of mortgage payments. But I am definitely going to have a Plan B just in case my brother finds a new way to disrespect my father's wishes.

The lawyer said there is a quick thing and a long thing. The quick thing has a low chance of success. But it is worth trying. The long thing is a hearing with a Social Security lawyer. He said a lot of these lawyers are miserable and don't want to be there and don't really care. Which is a good thing because they'll just be like, "Fine, whatever." But it can take a long time to get a hearing due to backlogs.

So, as long as I can gather all the evidence and the hospital records have my ECT stuff, I think there is room for hope. A little hope. After years of chronic illness I know hope is sometimes dangerous. So I allot a tiny bit of hope to keep me going forward, but not enough hope to leave me devastated if things go tits up.

So... umm... I think that is the end of this novel of a post. I feel bad that I don't have a big climax or twist or cliffhanger. Should I add a big CGI dragon fight?

Even though a more down-to-earth kung fu fight with my brother would be a more satisfying conclusion?

Or I could pull an M. Night Shyamalan and reveal that I've been dead for quite some time.

This post is getting really long.

Why are you still reading this?

I am thankful that you are. I just needed to get all of that out. I hope I wrote it in a compelling way and you weren't bored.

I love you all.

#long post #i see dead frogpeople

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moumouton4 · 9 months

Note

Can you do a Akatsuki a/o and Akatsuki orochimaru and the s/o is a dom in front of the Akatsuki but in the bed.. holy crap orochimaru is such a dom!!!

Holy Crap He Is Such A Dom || Orochimaru x fem!reader

A/n : Hello dearest ! And as always currently I'm going to say, finally. Because it's been a while you requested so here it is ! I hope you'll like it 😍 The chronology of Akatsuki members' arrivals is not respected

A/n 2 : Yeah I liked your request so much it's the title in the fic ( it's like 0,01% of the fic was yours you'll see why lmao 😂 )

With also Itachi, Hidan and Kakuzu ( mention of Sasori )

Warnings : Dom Orochimaru, penetrative sex, spank, hair puling, biting, marking, form of breeding, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 1233

You've never been the type to get walked on. No kindness was shown to your targets or enemies. You were fierce

Even within the Akatsuki, everyone knew that when you said something once, you didn't like to repeat yourself

Certainly there were moments of laughter and cordiality with some. Long conversations about your motivations, but when it came to the serious stuff, nobody argued with you. Nor tried to control you

You'd been paired up with Kakuzu before Hidan arrived, and well, that hadn't really worked out too well. He is the one to lose his temper pretty quickly, no matter what the situation, and if he had the bad idea of telling you to be quiet - even politely - you'd go off at the drop of a hat

"Erm, I don't think so. Since when do you give me orders ?"

"Not now Y/n. Don't start pissing me off" he growled

"Shut your mouth yourself, it'll give you some rest"

Finally Pain - Nagato - had to separate you and find you a new partner because he didn't want your useless bickering to ruin his plans

After barely 4 months with Akatsuki, everyone had realized that you were dominant kind of woman

"Damn this girl's got some spice" was one of the first things Hidan said when he saw you

"At least she doesn't let herself be pushed around" Itachi tried to calm him down, sensing that the newcomer was about to say something inappropriate

Even Sasori knew that telling you he didn't like to wait was pointless, because you were your own master. And that no matter what he did, you wouldn't budge

Then he arrived and everything changed... well, everything changed behind closed doors

When you heard that Orochimaru was going to join the Akatsuki, it didn't make you neither hot nor cold. You weren't going to change your personality. This was who you were, period

On the other hand, when he arrived, he wasn't disappointed by your assertive personality.

A smirk often appeared on his face when you raised your voice or put your opinion above others

For example, when you were a bit annoyed and wanted something done quickly, he'd say "I'll take care of it right away, Darling" in a silky voice

"Don't you dare calling me that" you'd grumble

"Of course I'd never" he'd say still smirking ( I don't know why I'm having thoughts about Loki Laufeyson lmao )

And that's actually one of those common banter than you both ended up kissing hungrily each other's mouth as if it was your last meal

Hopefully there was nobody around because it was violent. In the sense that you kept bumping into each other ( imagine the 1st sex scene between Buffy and Spike, but without the house collapsing )

Finally you arrived in your room. In the blink of an eye, the two started undressing. Gradually revealing the source of each other's desire

And then your moment took a turn. Damn no ! Not only this moment. Maybe even your personality

You moved past him, placing your hand on his chest and trying to push him down onto the bed

In this kind of situation, you were used to laying your partner down before riding him / her / them - cowgirl supremacy - and you thought it was going to happen like that too. But it didn't

"What are you trying to do, Darling ?" he cooed

You thought he hadn't understood what you were trying to do, "Lie down so I can ri-" but he cut you off

"Oh no I don't think so" and with that he grabbed your arm and pinned you on your stomach on your bed. You could feel his hard cock throbbing against your ass

"What the-" you were a little puzzled and a little annoyed. You were supposed to be on top it's always been like that

"Shhh Pet" he said, speaking the word loud and clear, as if giving you another status "I let you boss me around enough out there. But now it's my turn to steer the ship"

You tried to contradict him, but he spanked your ass hard, making you squeak. Your thighs clenched instinctively. Okay maybe if he was going to be like this all along you should give him some credit. It didn't feel that bad too

You let yourself lie down without resistance. He flashed a big smile behind you "Good girl" he mused

He then grabbed his cock and you felt him rub the tip against your wet folds, making you moan softly "And you're so eager, aren't you ? I bet you secretly like being submitted"

That wasn't really true, but with him it wasn't like with anyone else

He didn't give you time to reply as he suddenly entered you with a hard thrust "Mmmh that's it. You're taking me like a good one"

He didn't really give you much time to adjust to his size. he was way to horny for that - next time surely he would

But you didn't really care. Your face was scarlet. He was right... you rather liked being dominated by him. Not being in control for once. The thrill of the surprise, yes, it was orgasmic.

You felt him pounding inside your tight warmth relentlessly. his hand gripping a handful of your hair while the other was firmly holding your hip. yes tomorrow the spot would surely be bruised

Then his mouth descended towards you. He nipped at your shoulder and neck. He was clearly marking you. There wasn't any going back now. And you secretly wished that was what those bites meant

"Would you mind if I marked you with my release ?" he asked breathlessly. He was a gentleman after all

You didn't answer, you were such a moaning mess. No thoughts in your brain only Orochimaru's harsh thrusts

He pulled your hair a little more roughly making your back arch "Would you ?" he didn't even bother repeating the question - and holy crap he Orochimaru such a dom ( and here I placed it 😂 )

"Y-yes yes ! Please come inside me !"

Your desperate plea made him growl in your ear, sending shivers down your spine "Consider it done then" and with that he picked up his pace. You body pushed flush and almost forcefully against your mattress

The room filled with obscene noises of bodies colliding. When he felt the coil in his stomach burst he pressed his hips forward into your as he spilled his seed inside you. His body, spent, fell on top of yours as he spoke “It’s done. You’re mine now” he then gave a kiss where he has been biting you before closing his eyes

On your side you couldn’t breathe any heavier, you’ve never had such a strong orgasm in… never. Slowly your body relaxed as you let yourself get comfortable on your bed. You could feel his length slowly softening inside of you

You were a bit shocked that you actually like being manhandled - snake handled lmao - but you couldn’t help but be excited for what was to come on your next session

And a if he knew exactly was you were thinking he said on a satisfied tone “And that’s only the beginning”

You were even more excited now… and red too

Taglist : @foxxymunson , @cl0vr, @ilovemanypeople , @glossy1pearl

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navstuffs · 1 year

Text

Leon Kennedy

ONE-SHOTS:

SMUT:

two weeks (SMUT)

“give me two weeks, you won’t recognize her.”

5 stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (SMUT) (F!Reader)

Leon Kennedy is on his way to pick you up in 5 minutes.

Project L.S.K (SLIGHT DUBCON/SMUT)

After Spain, the U.S. government decides Leon Kennedy is too precious to be wasted, so they start a project with you as the leader. (aka the fanfic where you have to collect semen from Leon)

BratTamer!Leon with SpoiledRichGN!Reader

FLUFF:

Blind Date

Luis arranges a blind date for you.

Wonderful Surprise.

After a horrible day at work, you find a surprise at your job’s doorstep.

Leon protects gn!reader with his body

Secret Admirer

It is fall, and Leon Kennedy has a secret admirer.

DO IT FOR HIM

Leon catches a particular item on your stuff.

Sunbeams

Heart to-go

You hate coffee. Of course, with your luck, you end up falling in love with a cute blushing barista.

A convenient misunderstanding

Leon thinks you are in love with someone else.

GN!Reader takes Leon on (finally) a dinner date

"Who did this to you?" + Fluff

Leon's Guilty Pleasure

You shouldn’t have seen him like this, but now you and Leon have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

ANGST:

Emptiness (MAJOR ANGST, PLEASE READ MY WARNINGS CAREFULLY!), Russian translated version by @sonelik

You are dead, and Leon wonders why he is still alive.

Creep (MAJOR ANGST)

“You are so fucking special. I wish I was special”’; because sometimes love isn’t enough.

A moment forever ago

In an elevator, a moment forever ago, Leon might have found the love of his life. But it was over forever ago.

HEADCANONS:

leon adopting a dog

threesome between leon kennedy x f!reader x ezio auditore (SMUT)

MISCELLANEOUS:

what would truly happen in emptiness (MAJOR ANGST)

How would Leon Kennedy and Carlos Oliveira react to a GN!Reader who gets lazy/tired while on top (SMUT)

You make Carlos go feral and speak brazilian portuguese/Carlos teaches you brazilian portuguese/ Leon speaks Italian while in bed (SMUT)

Leon + GN!Reader who doesn’t want to have sex (but can’t express it)

Fun times at the beach (SMUT)

A terrible encounter

An encounter with someone from your past brings your feelings over the edge.

Tiktok Prank

MULTI-CHAPTER:

RookieCop!Leon x BustyF!Reader (SMUT starts on 2nd part) - Traffic stop, Nude painting class

Your sports bra malfunctions during a traffic stop with a shy rookie cop. You continue meeting him in unusual circumstances.

sade trilogy (succubusf!reader/SMUT) - no ordinary love

Leon falls in love with you, a succubus. This series won't follow a chronological order.

babygirl series - calling leon babygirl, saving your babygirl, taking your babygirl to the barbie movie opening

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy

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magicalrocketships · 8 months

Note

hi! are you planning to write more of de-aged max bc he is just so cute it’s giving me a heart attack. saw a tiktok the other day w photos of baby max and all i could think about was this verse!!!!! ahhh lysm

Thank you!!! Here is a little bit more, in honour of grown up Max's adventures with colouring in.

(Hopefully this link shows the stuff I’ve already posted in chronological order. But anyway, this bit follows directly on from this part.)

It has been five full days since a seven year old Max showed up at Daniel's door in too-big clothes and holding out a little card with Daniel's name carefully printed on it in grown up Max's blocky handwriting. Baby Max shows no signs of going big again. He follows Daniel around his apartment, looks at his flag book, and plays with the Jimmy or Sassy cats — no further narrowing down of cat identity has occurred, due to Daniel having little to no interest in identifying cat penises, and grown up Max's complete fucking inability to put his fucking cat names on a fucking collar, or, indeed, to have informed Daniel of his Go Small plans at any point in the past three fucking years, but that's fine, Daniel is fine with this responsibility. Max has wet the bed every night and Daniel is just having to cross his fingers that he's not making everything worse by each and every decision he makes.

Anyway: if grown up Max doesn't show up again extremely soon, Daniel's going to have to bite the bullet and call Christian and tell him Max isn't going to be able to race. Max will hate that when he's back, if Daniel brakes too soon and makes the call, and more than that, it's going to turn baby Max into a Thing, and if there's one thing Daniel has learned in the last five days, it's that Max one hundred percent does not want to be a thing of any kind.

So, it's time for Emergency Measures. Maybe what will kickstart baby Max back into adulthood in time for his next race will be a race track, and go-karting. Daniel takes advantage of Max being distracted by his coloured pencils in the living room to google nearby karting tracks, and sends the nearest one a message to see if he could book out the whole track for a private session. The answer comes back with an immediate yes, which is probably in some part due to the figure Daniel had dropped in his message about how much he's willing to pay for the privilege.

He leans against the doorframe into the living room. Max is concentrating very closely on his colouring book, his coloured pencils all out on the coffee table. A little something in Daniel's chest shifts a bit.

"Maxy-Max," Daniel says, half way through his email response to the karting track. "Would you like to go karting tomorrow?"

There is a pause. "No, thank you, Daniel." Max does not look up from his colouring book, nor does he stop colouring.

Daniel also pauses. Max's little fingers hold onto his pencil tighter. He's pressing down hard on the picture.

"Okay," Daniel says. "Would you like to go another day, if we don't go tomorrow?"

"No, thank you, Daniel," Max says again. He still doesn't look up. His pencil might tear through the paper soon.

Daniel's been reading up on Going Small. Well, googling randomly when he can't sleep. Most people tend to think about Going Small as a way of connecting with your kid self, like… remembering who you once were in case maybe you wanted to stop being such a cunt or that you always wanted to sew clothes or build bridges and maybe your hedge fund job isn't as fulfilling as you maybe thought it was. Some people say it's as much for the people around you as it is about you, but whatever. Daniel had had a great fucking time in the pit lane six years ago, he remembers that much, although the detail has always been fuzzy. Like it happened a very long time ago. But there's another school of thought, one about the kids that don't age back up after a day or a couple of days, the kids who maybe lost a part of their childhood the first time around. Daniel's never met anyone who stayed small longer than a couple of days though, and it's so rare that the theory could be complete bollocks, and no one would ever know anyway. You can't battle data against the universe, it's not like race strategy. There's no science to it.

Max continues not to look at him. He's colouring the same line over and over again.

Daniel closes his email app, and slips his phone into his pocket. "Can I come and colour with you?"

Max nods, but doesn't look up. His fingertips are white around his pencil. He's used it down to the nub so that it's almost too blunt to colour with.

Daniel tries to sit down on Max's right side, but Max shakes his head and makes him come and sit on his left. Daniel positions himself cross-legged by the coffee table and it becomes clear just why Max wanted him this side when, a moment later, Max's little hand slips into Daniel's bigger one. Daniel does not now have a hand to colour with, but maybe it doesn't matter, because Max is colouring with enough concentration for the two of them, a big picture of a train with a cat sitting in the window next to the driver. He's being very careful. He still doesn't look up.

One of the Jimmy or Sassys wanders over to curl up by Max's little Pikachu-socked foot. The other one, the one who doesn't like being petted as much and prefers to watch you in a creepy and furry way while you're doing perfectly normal things sitting on the toilet or in the shower, perches on top of Daniel's shelves and stares at them.

Max's grip on his pencil loosens a little. Daniel leans over and kisses the top of his head. "You're very good at colouring," he tells Max. "We can cut out ones you've finished and put them up on the wall, if you'd like."

Max looks at him then, his eyes big and wide. "My pictures?"

"Your pictures," Daniel agrees. He reaches for the Pikachu pencil sharpener in the middle of the table. "Can I sharpen your pencil for you?"

Max dutifully hands him his blue pencil. His eyes are still shining, even though Daniel's had to stop holding his hand so that he can sharpen it for him. When he hands it back, all sharp, Max tucks his hand into Daniel's again.

"You've done some good colouring in of this train," Daniel says. "Have you been on a train, Maxy-Max?"

Max shakes his head.

"Would you like to go on one?"

Max's eyes widen. "A train?"

"Yeah," Daniel nods. "If you'd like, we can go and find a train to go on tomorrow. If you want to. We can take Pikachu."

"But not the Jimmy or Sassys," Max says, frowning. "They would not like the train and they might get lost."

"No," Daniel agrees. "The Jimmy or Sassy cats can stay here."

"There is a cat in my train picture but it is not our cats."

"No," Daniel says. "So, should we go on a train tomorrow?"

"Yes, please, Daniel," Max says, in satisfaction.

Daniel watches him colour even as he's avoiding texting Christian to let him know Max has gone small and isn't getting big again. He follows up on his avoidance by ordering a night light for Max's bedroom and one for the bathroom, in case his little boy is frightened of the dark and is too scared to say. He pays extra for same-day delivery.

He'll call Christian later, when Max is in bed. Instead, he googles train stations, and train timetables, and puts together a plan for the morning.

Max keeps his hand tucked into Daniel's, carries on colouring, and doesn't let go.

Thank you so much to Zoe @flawlessassholes for giving this a pre-post read through, and for consistently being interested in all baby Max lore!

#my fic #de-aged maxiel #baby max #fic that I wrote

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jeanbie · 9 days

Text

WORDLESS #5 ★ masterlist.

pairing: levi x reader

genre: sugar daddy & contract killer au | warnings: implied violence, establishing feelings, mentions/references to john wick & the continental | wc: 6.8k

note: who expected me to actually finish this? (answer: no one) i'm so glad that i got to finish "wordless" and put these two losers in a place they deserve to be in! this chapter is the finale and also almost entirely from levi's pov, and this one flows in a chronological order :)

★ ch1. ch2. ch3. ch4. ch5

⏤ Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Levi over the edge if he hears them again. But maybe he's ready now.

(41) Giving them space when they express wanting to have some time alone.

It’s been a hot second since Levi saw you — and it’s killing him more than he’d care to admit.

Since the blow up in the shower over girls he wasn’t fucking in the first place, Levi hasn’t heard from you, and he hasn’t made much of an effort to reach out either.

Why did he even lie? There was no benefit from telling you he was seeing other girls; the only reason he said that so often was to manage the healthy boundaries between you, to remind you not to get too close, to remind himself that being with you is a risk.

Not that pushing you away has made his life any easier. On the contrary, he thinks it’s made everything worse.

It is almost dehumanising to admit it to himself, but he misses you. Since your rather unconventional first meet — which was a far cry from any ‘meet cute’ that normal situationships had — Levi has been telling himself that the circumstances surrounding you being in his life were unique at best, and that you weren’t permanent.

But now, he lives his life around a ghost of your body, making room for you in his home, making time out of his schedule, making arrangements to keep you happy.

Okay. Maybe it’s a little bit too late to acknowledge the feelings he has for you. Levi knows they’re there — he’s not an idiot. But making those feelings real is something he just can’t afford to do. Not yet. Not while there’s too much going on in his life.

Still, he stares longingly at the door every night when he staggers back home, as if hoping you might take him by surprise and crawl back into his arms. Not that you do, at least not for a while; not until Levi grows fed up of waiting and finds you first.

But for now, he’ll grant you he space that you need, the space you deserve. And in the meantime, he’ll try and make peace with the waging war in his head.

(42) Holding their hand while walking, even if there isn’t a crowd.

“This is nice.”

The neighbourhood Levi now lives in is much smaller than the last one. It pales in comparison to the condo it took forever to finally move out of, but having consistent security breaches just for a tiring view of the river didn’t feel worth it for Levi anymore. It made no difference to him if the apartment he all but owns for you is much farther away — you’re barely ever there, anyway.

Since putting his angst to rest, and since making it known to you that you’re quite literally the only woman he likes enough to keep buying houses for and invite over, things have been calm between you.

There’s still a strange unspoken thing, the remains of an agreement made out of convenience so long ago, to feed both the lust and pride Levi wanted and the safety you craved; but in general, Levi acknowledges that what he has with you right now feels like the closest thing he’s had to a partner in a long, long time.

Levi looks over at you, feeling your hand tighten in his as you cross a cute little park covered in flowery bushes and beds of tulips.

“I’m glad my neighbourhood has your stamp of approval,” he replies, tightening his fingers around yours before pulling up slightly to stuff your joined hands into his pocket. Though it’s spring now, there’s still a bite in the air, a chill that Levi is determined to shelter you from.

“Technically,” you start, and Levi can predict, like a robot, what you’ll say next, and mouths the words as they fall from your lips, “it’s mine, too.” Your eyes turn piercing as you scowl at him, “Hey! Don’t…predictive text me.”

“Then stop being so predictable.”

“I think we spend too much time together,” you mutter, looking back at the flowerbed you’re currently passing by.

Levi scoffs to himself and playfully scratches a nail against the hand lodged in his pocket.

“Then go away,” he says. No chance, is what runs through his head, and the coy smile you flash him is as equally predictable as the word he knows you’ll say next, starting with n and ending in o.

(43) Holding shopping bags that are too heavy for them.

Ever since Levi figured out how to share locations, he’s become obsessed with watching you move around on the map on his phone. Numerous times, he’s slipped up on spending hours watching your little circle move, sometimes not even moving at all.

If you had any complaints, he hasn’t heard them, though he very much doubts that you’ll complain in the future now that his stalking has worked out in your favour.

You might have initially thought that bumping into Levi outside the supermarket was a rather delightful coincidence — that was until he moved across the city, and has no real business in your area unless it concerns you.

“Perfect timing,” you say once you see him crossing the small car park in your direction. He has half a mind to pretend he hasn’t seen you and keep walking, but watching you struggle with your shopping is painful enough.

He grunts, reaching for the bag that is squeezing the blood from your fingers. “Don’t get proud about it.”

Sniggering, you happily let Levi grab the overweight bags and fall into an even step beside him.

“Why do you have so much stuff?” Levi huffs. To be fair, the bags aren’t that heavy, but he can’t see any reason for you to have bought so much considering you live at his house more often than you do your own. “You gonna share this shit?”

“If you want,” you reply. “You paid for it.”

His tongue clicks. Levi hasn’t paid you a penny since he last felt guilty about the fact he rarely paid you, despite that being the very foundation of your relationship in the first place, but even with what he paid you and hasn’t since that point, he knows your bank account is more than comfortable. Paying for all of this has barely made a dent, but that’s what the money’s there for.

He makes his way to his car pulled up outside the car park turning in a layby and struggles in his pocket for his keys.

“I live five minutes away,” you remind him, steps slowing.

“No, you just said you’d share it, so we're going to mine.”

With a sigh, you’re left with no other choice but to follow him to his car. “You know, the romance of you carrying my bags is lost now you’ve only walked it to the car.”

Before he pops open the boot of the car, he turns to you and sneers, “You want me to walk back and let you do it yourself?”

There’s no argument to be had. You get into the car.

(44) Standing between them and a busy road.

Habits. Levi hates to keep track of how many he’s developed since you entered his life almost two years ago. Time has gone by so quickly since the day he first met you, in the worst way possible, but since then, he’s transformed into a whole new person, a whole new paranoid man who overthinks everything because there’s no other option.

His habits as of late include worrying about you whenever you’re not around — whenever he’s at work, he’ll think of you. Whenever he’s in a different city or country, Levi will obsessively worry over what you might be doing, who might be on your trail, scenting your every move while you’re vulnerable. Another habit includes feeling like an overbearing parent even when he’s in the same five mile radius, but at least he’s self aware of it.

If you’ve noticed Levi becoming more clingy, less like who he swore he’d never change from, you haven’t mentioned it yet. Perhaps a small mercy to save him the mortifying task of admitting that he has feelings stored away for you.

Today, Levi has fallen victim to his habits of worry and has walked himself all the way to your university just to walk you all the way back home. His home, not yours. In a sense, your home, too. In an unspoken way.

Levi stands waiting for you in the overhang, gaze trained on the thick grey sky until he hears your class file out of the building in a chatter. Sasha is who he sees first, followed by another one of your friends he’s never met but has seen on Instagram once or twice, and then he sees you, looking thankfully in good spirits, and all too beautiful for your own good.

When you see him standing with his hands in his pockets, he allows himself the pleasure of pride when you break away from your friends just to join him, the smile on your face so genuine and radiant that he has to scoff in amusement.

“Hey, you,” you call, falling into his arms.

“Hey, yourself.”

“I didn’t know you were coming today,” you confess, pulling away to stare curiously at his withdrawn expression. Levi is already twisting an arm around your waist to walk you down the step and across the lawn. “I told Sasha I’d go to her café and wait for her shift to end. Didn’t you have that thing today?”

“What thing?” he mutters.

“The thing with Erwin. And some deadbeat called George, or something.”

“How many Korean men do you know named George?” Levi deadpans, though his arm does tighten around you in caution. “You shouldn’t even know about that. How do you even know?”

The busy road widens into view as you leave the closed campus. Levi’s pretty much counting the days before you graduate and never have to come here again, and the time is passing strangely slow in that department. It feels like it’s been ages since you enrolled, and he wants nothing more than for you to leave and become the greatest journalist in the world — or whatever it is you even want to do when you’re done.

As you walk, you lean into Levi’s side, furthering the distance between yourself and the road bustling with cars and buses. He frowns.

One of your habits since the accident on the bridge with your family had been to avoid busy roads, as if convinced something might happen again. You’ve told him numerous times that it’s irrational, but Levi doesn’t think so. It’s a very normal thing to feel afraid of everything, even when those things are a little on the unrealistic side.

Naturally, it results in Levi sliding his arm from around your waist and replacing it with his other one, positioning himself between you and the chaotic lines of commuting cars going home.

His heart flips when you smile at him for it, linking your arm around his while moving your waist out of his grip. Levi tries not to let it get to his head how much you trust him, how much he cares for you. But by the minute, he’s losing the will to keep it hidden.

(45) Rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb.

Back to habits, there are some that Levi has that he’s not particularly as proud of. But, as expected, you’re as good as it gets, and any habit he thinks he might have gotten away with hiding, somehow you pick up on it.

Levi flicks through a blueprint laying flat over his kitchen table, his hands nervously drumming the edge of the tabletop as he tries to memorise the elaborate labyrinth of a building he’ll be breaking into later to find his next hit. Usually, Levi has you at his home before and just after taking a job, just to eliminate the threat of you being hurt as a punishment.

He wishes that the company gave you unrestricted entry and protection without him being there to clear it, but in order for that privilege, Levi needed to address you as his partner, which just felt like an even larger target on your head. So, he settles for his home, though the worry does not cease.

This building is riddled with passageways and vaults, basement levels with so many access points that studying them feels intense. One wrong recollection could come at the cost of his life, and at the minute, his life has increased in value. Things are finally going right for him, it would be a shame to have it all taken away from him again.

A text from Erwin sounds next to him, and Levi all but glances at the screen to see what’s happening. All assistance available should he need it — he almost sighs with relief at the words.

In the past, Levi had thought he could never work in cohorts with other hitmen, but becoming partners with Erwin and his henchmen has been working in his favour.

Still, it doesn’t hurt to learn the layout off by heart. So, Levi pours himself over the blueprints and maps, memorising every detail, becoming so engrossed in it that he barely even hears you letting yourself inside of his apartment.

Your shoes hit the wall with a noise that makes him suddenly aware of your arrival, and he glances up to see you peeking into the kitchen, eyes scanning the room for any unfortunate signs of Elio before you approach him.

He notices the street market bag and inhales the smell of spice before looking back at the maps. “Hope you’re gonna share that.”

“Of course,” you reply, offended he even thought you might not. You place the container of tteokbokki on the table before sliding around to his side, eyes glued to the rolls of paper. “Where’s this?”

“Less you know, the better,” he mutters, leaning his head into your mouth as you kiss his jaw.

For a while, you say nothing, letting Levi memorise what he needs to while you assess the prints for yourself. Eventually, you shift your hand over his and squeeze, making him glance at you sideways.

You’re looking at him already, though you can’t see his eyes from the way he’s hunched over. Spotting Levi’s signs of anxiety must be incredibly easy, because somehow you’ve caught on, and begin to rub the back of his hand with your thumb, nose pressed into his bicep.

“Come eat,” you suggest quietly, after a while of basking in the silence with him.

He grunts, a typical Levi sound, and nudges you away. Though, you only shuffle to the drawer to fetch two forks — forks! He scoffs, rolling his shoulders as he rounds the table to take one from your fingers.

“Easier to stab with a fork,” you offer as an explanation.

“If my mother was here to see me eating tteokbokki with a fork, she’d lose her goddamn mind.”

“Well…” You start, trailing off after a moment. You’ve got nothing to say; he’s won the argument just by bringing Kuchel up, and both of you know it.

Scowling, you stab another wedge of tteok and chew it furiously, meanwhile Levi smirks to himself, victorious.

(46) Giving them a back massage when they flop on the couch or bed.

“I need to retire. I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“No way. How old are you now, like, twenty eight?”

“…I’m thirty.”

“Best looking thirty year old I’ve ever seen. Roll over, I’ll massage your back, if you want?”

If he ever refuses a massage from you, he’s an idiot.

Levi rolls over ungraciously, hitting the mattress on his stomach with a low groan. He rolls his shoulders, the bones cracking comically loud, and as you shuffle up to straddle his back, he groans again.

“Oh fuck off, I’m not heavy.”

Levi sniggers into the pillow, though as soon as your hands start to work their magic, he moans, the pleasure instantaneous.

“Make a house back there, if you want. Just don’t stop.”

(47) Staying up half the night to finish a game with them.

“I can’t do it if you’re not here, Levi. You need to get over here.”

“Do you not see that I’m trying?”

“You’re terrible at this game.”

Levi scoffs. He wouldn’t be so terrible if he actually knew how to play properly. His character begins to run in circles without him even asking him to, and Levi growls angrily.

“Fucks sake, this bitch is pissing me off.” Then, he wrangles the controller from your hands as you protest and says, “You be him instead.”

“But I don’t want to be Cody.”

“Me neither.”

As soon as you start moving little Cody around, Levi peers in scrutiny at the controller in your hand and how it so suddenly has stopped drifting on its own. There’s a circular dent in your inner cheek where your tongue is, and Levi scowls in your direction.

“You were sabotaging me,” he accuses, eyes focused back on May as she stumbles around uncoordinatedly.

“I think you’re just really bad,” you reply. Cody is moving fine, and finally, the mechanism moves and the story can progress. Hm.

Levi’s eyes bore into yours as you shift to face him, elbows snug in the blanket bundled around you both. Levi has been laying low for around two weeks now — he’s surprised with just how much he likes not having to work. Though, there have been a few times whilst playing this infuriating game where Levi has wished to be anywhere else.

“You’re good at a lot of things,” you tell him sincerely, “but just not games. And that’s okay. You tried.”

“I’m good at games,” he replies, offended.

You raise your eyebrows, “Like what?”

“Your animal living game.”

“Animal Crossing?”

“Sure, that too.”

All Levi has ever done on Animal Crossing is make a character and proceed to hit everybody with his fishing net, not to mention dig holes around your front door so you can’t get out. Still, you say nothing — the look of disbelief speaks volumes to Levi and he rolls his eyes, turning back to May as she wanders off to the side of the screen and falls off.

Okay. He’s bad at games. That he’ll admit. But you like it, and by the time he’s gotten the hang of the controls, it’s already four in the morning.

(48) Getting them a coffee just the way they like it.

Remember those habits?

“You remembered!”

If not just to see your smile, Levi likes to bring you one of the expensive bags of coffee from Erwin’s studio. You could quite easily buy the bags yourself, but there’s no thrill in ordering something and having it arrive in due time, not like there is in making Levi steal three at a time as he leaves a meeting or training session.

Levi sets the bags with a loud thud by the coffee machine and hums.

“And you got me a drink!”

Yes. He has also become a barista and familiarised himself with the exact way you like to drink your coffee. The takeout cup he also borrowed from Erwin is placed down by your laptop as you relentlessly type away at an assignment at Levi’s kitchen table, and he presses a kiss to your temple and mutters under his breath.

“Thanks, babe,” you say, already sipping at the steamy contents.

“It’s hot,” he points out. “You’ll only cry when you singe all your taste-buds off.”

“I will not—” You slurp, then hiss, “Ow!”

“I warned you.”

(49) Buying them a special treat when you go out shopping.

You know what? No. Levi has given up on pretending like he doesn’t enjoy you being in his grill all day, every day, which is the reasoning for why he ends up in an expensive jewellery store with Erwin one day after a long haul of inspecting an upcoming raid location.

In all honesty, Levi wants to put his work to rest once the raid is all over. It will be their riskiest ploy to date, and quite frankly, Levi’s tired. He’s been killing people for years, cutting at the humanity he has left, and back in the day he would have been very comfortable with being a monster, killing until he was killed.

But now he had you. Now, Levi had someone to care about, so deeply and so passionately that it often left him feeling sick.

“That’s called love, Levi,” is what Erwin had said when Levi chose the rare option of opening up when he tried to explain why he wanted to retire early.

“Love,” he scoffed. But then Erwin had said something profoundly wholesome, leaving Levi with a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You’re not unloveable just because you loved nothing for so long. I know it took you awhile to get back to where you are now, but just because love went wrong once before doesn’t mean it has to again. Besides, almost two years of your bullshit and that woman is still there — I don’t think you need to be worried about her pulling away from you once you tell her how you feel.”

Which roughly translated to: Buy her something nice and quash until you can’t any longer.

Once Levi gets home, he hears you giggling at something and finds you with a book over your face, your legs kicking as you squeal like a goblin. His face twists and he asks, “That book got jokes in it, or something?”

You peer around the spine and look at him. “They kissed. They. Kissed!”

“Who kissed?” Levi makes his way to the couch and takes a seat where you were just lying down. The cushions are warm — you’ve been here a while, and the thought makes him smile.

“Evangeline and Jacks. It’s all so perfect. I didn't like most of the book, but what matters is that they kissed,” you tell him, a little too excited. You plant your feet in Levi’s lap. “I love love, Levi. It is the greatest. I love books. Men written by women!”

“Why are you giggling over other men in my own house?”

“I giggle over you when you’re not around, too.”

He hums once from the back of his throat, watching as you mark the page with your bookmark and close the book before crawling into his lap and curling into his arms. He welcomes you instinctively, the blocky shape of the ring he bought in his pocket.

After smooching your lips for a long fifteen minutes, Levi pulls away and reaches for the box. “Got something for you.”

“Ooh, show me!”

He produces the little box and hands it to you, but when your eyes round and you hesitate in taking it, he worries.

“I’m not proposing,” he says quickly.

“Thank god. I was about to be very upset,” you sigh dramatically, finally taking the ring box. “Most unromantic proposal ever.”

“The fact you think I’d be that lousy with a proposal is actually really offensive.”

The genuine grumble in his voice puts a flutter in your stomach, though soon after, it simmers into a cool pit of shock when you flip open the box and see the most delicate, gorgeous ring that you’ve ever seen in your life, not counting ones you ogle in shopfronts.

Cautiously, you lift your head to peer at Levi’s expression. It’s not a proposal — he’s just told you so, and considering you’re not even his girlfriend in official terms yet, it seems unlikely that anything like that will be happening soon. But it has to be more than just an offhanded purchase, and you’re determined to figure out.

Levi’s eyes tremble as he looks between you and the ring. “Is it ugly?”

You immediately shake your head, “Of course not!”

“Put it on, then,” he urges. The steady beat of his heart stutters out of tempo. Suddenly, he feels quite nervous as he watches you take out the ring and study its appearance up close. “Need help?”

“Yeah, it’s so hard, I can’t figure out how to put it on. Needs instructions.”

Levi tuts and gently takes the ring from between your fingers, grabbing your ring finger whilst trying to look as casual as possible. Somehow, he manages to slide the ring on without making a fool of himself, but when he looks back at your face and sees gemstones of your own lining your waterline, he frowns.

“I’m not gonna sit here and give a speech,” he starts. By now, you know him better than that. He’s never opened up about his feelings to you, at least not without feeling regretful of it the morning after, and you nod simply, eyes catching the glint of the diamond. “But you know why I’ve bought it. I don’t need to tell you what you already know.”

And he doesn’t. Somehow, despite Levi being tremendously unromantic, having no manners, and in general being a terrible companion, you at least know that he cares. And with his upcoming job creeping up on you both, it doesn’t require an above-average intelligence to work out why this ring came when it did, what it means if things go south, what it means regardless.

“I know,” you tell him. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

Instead of saying anything, Levi curls you tighter in his arms and presses a kiss to your forehead, closing his eyes when you snuggle your face into his collar and relax.

His mind has been made, his plans set. As soon as the job is over, he doesn’t want to look back. Only forward, with the woman who has made him feel alive again.

(50) Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath.

Something is wrong. Something is horribly wrong, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

It has been days since Levi told you he’d touched down in New York, working out some stuff in the very famous Continental until he was set to join Erwin on whatever mission they had planned and prepared for. Levi hadn’t told you the details this time because the risks were too high, and now, it feels like a major setback.

New York is on fire, and Levi barely kept his life getting out of the Silver Sword compound. An entire mob wiped out by two guys with no backup — it was practically unprecedented, unseen or unheard of since John Wick was knocking around.

The Continental had done everything right in the aftermath, including keeping Levi in their small infirmary for days whilst tending to his excessive wounds. Fuck, he had been so reckless, so vengeful, so stupid. It had almost cost him his life ensuring that no leads followed him and Erwin back to Seoul, and although he had succeeded in destroying every last bit of incriminating evidence, the risks had been too great.

When Levi finally gets discharged from the infirmary, it is almost eleven in the evening, and New York has finally calmed down and settled in for the night. Erwin greets Levi in the lobby, a frown on his face, holding a destroyed black bundle of phone parts that bear a striking resemblance to Levi’s missing device. He swears.

Levi hasn’t heard from you since he got here. Since the last risky job he took in Gwangju last year, you’ve never been lax while he’s been away; he can almost imagine your fear, your paranoia, and before he can even hear Erwin’s well wishes, Levi’s crossing the lobby for the customer payphone and dialing in your number.

The line rings twice before someone picks up.

“Baby?” Levi asks, after three attempts of saying your name and no coherent response. He cranes his head around the curly wire and glares at the clerk, though she looks less than pleased being interrupted by Levi, “Is this a global line?”

“Obviously, sir. It’s a telephone.”

“I fucking know it’s a telephone, but if it’s global, then why the hell isn’t it working?”

The girl gives him grief about his manners and Levi is forced to give up on calling you, slamming down the phone angrily and feeling his body growing hotter and hotter with worry.

He knows you're fine, in his house with the big cat you hate to love, but he knows you. He knows how you operate, how you worry, how you love him too much.

“Look, we’ll catch the first flight we can,” Erwin assures him as soon as Levi has caught his breath and taken a seat on one of the black leather sofas. His hands are shaking violently. “She’s fine. I promise.”

“I know she’s fine,” Levi grumbles.

“Then get a hold of yourself,” sighs Erwin, his frown low and face tired. “There’s nothing you can do but wait. I’ve got people waiting on me, as well, you know.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Dogs miss their owners just as much as girlfriends miss their boyfriends,” Erwin protests, because that’s all he has back home these days.

There had been a time where you had offered to set him up with your friend, Sasha, who deserved to be with a man who could handle her energy but also make her feel safe after her last terrible relationship, but Erwin is basically married to his work, and had got a dog despite Sasha being deathly allergic.

Still, Levi’s not heartless enough to know that Erwin isn’t missed by his dog, and probably other people in his life. And he’s right, there’s nothing he can do about the connection problems. All he can do is reign in his worries and wait.

The earliest flight they can find is the next morning, and Levi spends every second up to that point and up until he pulls up outside of his house in a complete state of panic. Would you be there? Did you leave, thinking he’d never come back?

Levi abandons his bag and leaves it in the backseat as he sprints from the car up the stairs, past his front door, and into his house. He kicks off his shoes once he’s in, the door hitting the wall with a booming slam.

He hears what he thinks might be scuffles, potentially even Elio’s claws, and right as Levi calls out your name, he sees you round the corner with a blotchy red face and feels his arms stretching out for you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” You slam into his chest, almost taking him to the floor, and encircle your arms around his neck so hard that the breath knocks out of his lungs. Still, he isn’t even annoyed; he squeezes you so tightly, tighter than he’s ever hugged anyone before, and shoves his face into your neck, inhaling the smell, feeling the way your body felt in memories while he was away.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a whisper, his features tugged in displeasure as you whimper into him, no doubt crying over his shirt. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“I thought you were dead!” you blurt, “I even cried on Elio’s back because I thought you had died! What’s the point in having a phone if you never pick it up or charge it?” You snatch yourself from his arms and gently beat against his chest with your fist. “I’m so pissed off at you!”

“I’m sorry that my phone got crushed,” he says, affronted that you would even think he’d ignore your calls on purpose. “I was in a hospital bed for three days! And then the bitchy receptionist got smart with me about their shitty phone, and I called but the line cut out. Sounded like a goddamn robot, I couldn’t hear a word you were saying.”

Your jaw drops, “That was you? I thought you’d died and some enemy gang guy was trying to call me to kill me!” Levi has to laugh at the look of worry on your face. He hasn’t been cared for in this way in a long time. Never been loved to this volume. “I unplugged the landline, I was so scared! Jesus Christ, Levi!” Then, like you never left, you rush back into his arms and let out a shaky cry.

“You did the right thing,” he tells you. Unplugging the landline was the silliest thing he could have ever thought of, but then he realises that you’re still here, and that you made peace with Elio just because you thought he had died.

Levi strokes the back of your head and shushes you, feeling your heartbeat hammering furiously against his chest. His is most likely the same, though he’s not so eager to acknowledge his own feelings.

After a while of standing there, and after Levi’s stroked behind Elio’s ears when he prowls towards them and rubs his head on Levi’s trousers, Levi looks back at you softly and takes everything in.

He has missed you more than anything, grieved the missing piece of his soul that is shaped like you. And, while he’s at it, yes! Fucking hell! He loves you!

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you tell him, and Levi kisses you, his hands cradling your face. The kiss is firm, desperate, though he has no intention of walking you backwards towards the bedroom like he normally does after a job.

Instead, he pulls you in for a hug again.

“I missed you,” he mutters. “So fucking much.”

“Me too.”

He says with his mouth pressed into your head, “I’m done with this shit. I’m not taking any more jobs.”

You twist out of his arms, eyebrows raised. “Really? Why? You love your job.”

“I hate my job,” Levi confesses. “I have too much to lose. I just wanna live my life. And make it all count for something.”

For a moment, you stand there, looking at his face so intently that he almost feels uncomfortable. But then, as a smile spreads over your face, Levi feels like he can finally breathe again, finally feel like himself.

“Alright. If that’s what you want, babe, then let’s do that.”

And we can do it together.

(51) Getting adjusted.

Levi forgot what it was like to be normal.

He now wakes up at whatever time he wants to, feeling next to him for the lump in the bed where you sleep. Once he knows you’re still there (because despite being retired, he doesn’t think the habit of making sure you’re safe will ever go away), Levi wakes up and starts his day.

Coffee for one becomes coffee for two. Levi never has to eat breakfast on his own, never sits alone on the sofa or sits in silence at the kitchen table. Levi has lost half of his sink counter space to your belongings, lost half of his wardrobe to your own clothes. There are so many shoes by his front door that it looks like a storefront.

Elio has a mother, in a strange, estranged, visitation-hours-only kind of way. Levi has made room for you in his life and you fit perfectly, so perfectly that he barely remembers what it ever felt like to live alone.

The shower is always filled with two people. Levi finds your things all over the house in the most bizarre places. He has candles on every coffee table, pictures in frames, finds your cardigans hanging over every chair. But he loves it. He loves it so much. He can’t imagine ever not having it, having you, having this life.

(52) Finally saying the words.

“This is my first time using this thing.”

“What?” you gasp as Levi comes to sit next to you on the balcony.

Elio yawns inside, sleeping on the couch. It is partly his fault that Levi’s out here in the first place, though the thought of being tucked beside you on the outdoor couch in a blanket, watching the sun sink behind the skyline, is thankfully rather appealing, and he voices no complaints.

Levi takes a swig of his whiskey and abandons the cup on the table, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. It’s not exactly cold tonight, but he knows you too well, and knows that within an hour, you’ll be dithering next to him.

“Imagine having a balcony and never using it.”

“I’m using it now,” Levi huffs, pinching your neck. You squeal, “Fuck off, it didn’t hurt.”

You’ve been officially living in Levi’s home for two months now, although sometimes it feels like you’ve always been here. Still, despite you making yourself very much at home on the inside, neither of you have once come out to sit on the balcony, to bask in the lovely sun as it settles for the night, not until today.

“When’s Erwin coming?”

“Bout an hour or so,” Levi says in a low drawl, his head tilted back and hand massaging the side of your head. It had been your idea to invite a bunch of people over to your house — the house you now shared — and frightfully, Levi hadn’t opposed. It would be nice to share the wealth of simply being alive with people he now had the patience to care about.

You shuffle to look at him, and Levi picks up his head at the sound of you moving. Like always, Levi thinks you look beautiful, but since he’s made you his girlfriend, it has felt like every time he looks at you, he can’t breathe properly.

“I’m excited. This is our first time hosting a party together,” you grin, while Levi thumbs your ear and smiles. “Do you think Elio will eat Erwin’s dog?”

“No. Elio’s moved back onto a pescatarian diet, so I think Erwin’s mutt will be safe.”

“Good. I bought him a bone, do you think he’ll like it?”

“He’s a dog. Yes, I expect, why are you asking me this?” Levi asks, eyebrows scrunched, though he pulls you close to where his mouth is and kisses you straight on the lips. “Stop stressing.”

“I can’t help it. I’m nervous! It’s all so serious! What if nobody likes our house?”

He shrugs. “I don’t give a shit who does or doesn’t like our house. It’s ours.”

“Hnnngh. And I want you to have a good time!” you whine. “You deserve a bit of fun in your life.”

“My life is always fun now that you’re my girlfriend.”

He’s instantly won himself brownie points by saying that.

“Just tell me if it gets too much,” you mutter, lips on his, mouths together. “Okay?”

Levi hums. “Yeah.” Then, after he’s kissed you three more times and felt his heart shake, he nudges his nose against yours and says, “I love you, y’know that, right?”

You pause, eyes rounding wide as you take in the sight of him. Levi has never said those words before, not explicitly. But now is as good a time as any, right?

Levi has spent far too much of his life withdrawing from his emotions, hiding away from what matters most out of a fear of caring too much. In the past, he had cared too much and lost it all. You were never supposed to be something he cared about, but when it had happened, it happened so fast he hadn’t had the time to make sense of it all.

But now, now that he’s been through it all with you, ticked every box imaginable, become comfortable being vulnerable again, Levi thinks he’s finally ready to accept the love he deserves and dole it out to those who mean the most to him.

Your mouth moves against his, though he can’t understand the words coming out. He laughs, confused, and somehow manages to pull away and ask, “What’re you even saying?”

All for you to blubber out in a laugh, “I’ve been waiting for ages for you to say that!”

His heart bursts, chest soars. “You could have said it first.”

“I’ve said it before,” you protest, “in actions.”

He scoffs, “So have I.”

And he has, you really can’t deny it.

“Say it again, won’t you?” you ask sweetly, kissing the corner of his mouth, and Levi sighs, like asking that of him is simply too much.

“I love you. You make me very happy.” Levi groans when you cackle and squish the breath out of him with a hug, but this time, he sniggers too. Why waste the moment on pretending to be indifferent when he’s actually the happiest he’s ever been?

Levi Ackerman can finally say that he feels good. He feels safe, he feels content, he feels comfortable — and most of all, he feels loved. And in love. And totally at peace in the world with the person who makes him the happiest.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi #aot levi #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #levi smut #levi ackerman smut #jeanbie

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bunnieswithknives · 1 year

Text

TWO OF US AU MASTERPOST

Finally got around to making a masterpost! I tried to keep it to the relevant stuff because I’ve posted a lot for this AU, but If you still want to see everything then you can search the whole tag here.

Also feel free to join the Discord: https://discord.gg/hkCKGQrDtK

Plot relevant stuff roughly chronological in order:

Two of us AU (Video) [bonus]

You don’t remember what she looks like? (Video)

David tries to convince Red murder is OK, [pt2]

Hey, that’s not how stairs work!

Low power, what's with your eyes?

Interview

Argument (Video)

New Invention (Video), stupid stupid

Memory problems

Clayhill Killer

David feels bad for murder

Full of electricity

Kills you to death

Worms (Video) [Bonus]

Post Cannon:

Long long time ago (Video)

Puppet David, Headache, little guy

Home sweet home, New clothes, Roller-skating

Ratburger?, Sons a worm

Puppet Antics:

IDEAS (Cannon episode)

Hug me (Video) [Bonus]

He died but he’s OK, [2], [3], [4], [5]

Family road trip!

Bonding

Brain friends, Prank , Siblings

uncreative Brendon

Workplace relations,

call that human trafficking

History lesson, cobbles and rhymes!

Beach day

Yum!

Warren fucking dies, Shrignold gives a pep talk

Homophobic butterfly, terrible advice

swear words, Duck rambles

Lesley BITES, Toothbrushes

puppet crossover

Upstairs

Some things never change

Pre-Cannon:

Ventriloquism

car accident, oh no!, Trauma

Punk David

Socializing

Family

They’ve been gone a long time

References, Worldbuilding, and Misc:

Magic system, Reanimation, Consequences for my actions!???

Roy and Lesley, Alive Roy and Lesley

David ref, Red ref, Duck [Color ref], More duck

Teachers, alive teachers

Big boys and bigger boys, Brain friends, pallet swapped, Recolors

Perfect Case In Point (Video)

Reanimator poster

Red’s family

Hostage AU, Dress up, Home is where the heart is

Red but he’s an angry ghost AU

Spider David AU, Spider lore, monster, Mother of puppets, mind control , Puppet Rowan, Ochyro

#dhmis #dhmis au #don't hug me i'm scared #two of us AU #masterpost #I might organize this better later #but its hopefully coherent enough for now

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shuttershocky · 3 months

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Apologies for asking a wuestion related to your work, but do you have any recommendations for learning to write game scripts?

Let me preface this by saying I am nowhere near the likes of an AAA game writer and such, this is just from my own gut.

Learn to write barks and learn to write tutorials.

All the usual stuff like "you have to read a lot to write well" and "Read your writing out loud because it's definitely going to be different from how it reads in your head" still apply, but when you write for video games specifically you are going to have tasks other mediums don't. For example, you will have to write a guy saying "grenade out!" 15 different times, and you got to vary it up so the player doesn't get bored, while trying to inject whatever personality you can into a 5 word line so everyone throwing grenades doesn't blend together.

This can be especially difficult when you have to write dialogue where a character isn't speaking as a character, but as a puppet for the gamedevs to give you instructions, hints, tutorials, whatever. It is annoying as shit to write and to hear (and probably to act), but you gotta do it, and your job as a writer is to make it as natural sounding as possible because one of your players is inevitably going to get stuck somewhere and it's better for them to hear a clue from an ally in-game than from a tutorial pop-up saying Square key goes into the square hole, dumbass.

These challenges can be harder than they look, especially when you are often given little to go on (consider yourself lucky if you get detailed character profiles, video recordings about what exactly an in-game puzzle looks like, etc), so do your best.

____

One last thing and this is very important, if you're a writer brought on to make the script from the very beginning, please for the love of god, include who is actually speaking in a line and arrange this by in-game levels or chapters or whatever. I'm not saying this because of the infamous incident where Elder Scrolls VAs were given their lines in alphabetical order, I'm saying this because I've been given scripts that were just a single excel sheet with lines from the game's beginning to the end, with no detail on who is speaking what line nor where in the game it's happening nor what the context even is. And yes, sometimes they weren't even in chronological order.

if you write such a script, know that it makes editing impossible, it makes localization impossible, and even if you're the guy that wrote the whole thing you WILL forget your own details with a large enough script so it makes fixing it yourself impossible. Save everyone and yourself the trouble; write it in a format that's actually readable.

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daughter-of-sapph0 · 10 months

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the reason this website works while others fail is because the main dash is in reverse chronological order and only shows posts by people you choose to follow.

algorithms never work. a computer will never know what someone wants to see more than the actual person. it might give you some content that people can turn off their brains and consume for a few hours. but tumblr doesn't have "content". it doesn't have family friendly short form tiktok videos for people to scroll through for hours. it doesn't have arguments about petty internet drama where people tell each other to kill themselves for disagreeing like twitter does. like, sure those things can exist on tumblr but they aren't the main point of tumblr.

tumblr isn't content. it's conversations and art and writing and music and pictures and movies and experiences and people's lives being shared with their close friends. the reason this website works is because of the fact that their is no algorithm.

algorithms do not work for a website like tumblr. I only want to see the posts and reblogs from people I follow. the people I follow share similar interests to me and share and create posts that I know I will enjoy. even if there's a blog that posts one thing I really like, if the rest of their blog is stuff I have no interest in, I won't follow them.

staff says that the current model unfairly rewards popular blogs.

first of all, rewards them with what? clogged notification? that hardly seems like a positive, and I should know.

secondly, so what? no one cares if anyone is popular or not. follower counts aren't public. blogs don't get popular. certain posts get popular.

also thirdly, their solution to the "popular blogs" issue is to introduce an algorithm which will either:

just promote the posts of blogs with lots of followers, therefore making the "problem" they're trying to fix bigger

recommend posts from smaller blogs who do not want the attention and will end up getting "ew why am I seeing this garbage" on their personal vent posts

completely ruin the whole reason people follow tags and tag their posts in the first place and will end up thinking that non-fandom posts that aren't tagged from fandom blogs should be shown to people in that whole fandom (see point 2)

show posts to people who have no interest in them, such as showing posts about photography to people who only use tumblr to talk about video games, or vice versa

will end up promoting posts by fascists and terfs that staff still will not ban

the whole idea of an algorithm is a fucking stupid idea to implement on tumblr, and I hope that all the executives who decided to push for the idea get fired.

@staff @wip @changes @support this as a warning. no one on tumblr wants an algorithm. you can check the notes on your recent post, and it's all unanimous. people will leave this site en mass if you implement it.

you will not gain more users with an algorithm. anyone who would ever use tumblr has already jumped ship from twitter and reddit and tiktok. all those websites are currently failing because of poor executive decisions, and trying to make tumblr like them will be a death sentence. the only reason people join tumblr is because it isn't like every single social media website.

if new users wanted something similar to twitter, they'd join one of the dozens of twitter clones that will be shut down in a few weeks, like threads or bluesky or whatever the fuck they're called. people don't come here because they want twitter. people come here because they want tumblr. and an algorithm will fundamentally change and ruin what tumblr is

you will not gain users from an algorithm. but you will certainly lose them. it is a terrible decision that no one will like.

#dostxt

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yanderederee · 1 year

Text

MangaMayhem

MiniMemories

March14th, 2004

:before…› here! › next! › …

For the next four months, Baji Keisuke has found himself in many frustrating situations.

Chronologically; once Ryusei caught hook of Baji’s interest in you, he was over the moon. He thought it was hilarious.

The Baji Keisuke: The mad dog of Toman, 1st Division Attack fleet Captain…

… turning into a tame lapdog under your scowl.

Chifuyu enabled this, especially when you agreed to tutor him as well. You were encouraging, putting together the most detailed of study packets together. How you made flash cards with cute doodles on some of them for hints or reminders.

… had you not already been spoken for, he would have fell in love on day one.

However, Chifuyu, above anything else, was Baji’s right hand man. Chifuyu would never intentionally disrespect him like that.

—unless—

Your reputation took a bit of a dip anytime you were seen around school with them, so Baji became more strict of his friends’ boundaries. He couldn’t have your name getting out to a rival gang somewhere. He couldn’t risk you finding out his underground reputation.

That’s the part that always confused Baji.

Baji was confident in who he was. He would chew anyone out for daring to say any different.

Yet the thought of you seeing him in toman garb,

his fists red and angry,

the face of bloodlust taking his features to terrifying heights,

the things he prided himself in!

He felt scared.

Baji didn’t have the emotional maturity to really explain the reason for this reaction.

He just really wanted you to like him, even if it meant hiding who he really was, becoming soft, if only for a few minutes.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

“Come on Baji, you can be honest with me!” Chifuyu mused loudly, still pulling manga out from the box he dragged up two floors of apartment stairs.

“You’re a dumbass.” Baji spat at the blonde, releasing Peke J from his hold once he was finally brushed through. Having an outdoor cat means taking care of their coat more often than usual.

Not like Sango, who was stuck being a indoor ball of energy. He was more surprised that his mom was so easy to convince after mentioning how he’d come across the injured cat.

No, Sango’s coat was fluffy and was inconvenient for his black wardrobe. But instead of blaming Sango, he simply bought a pack of lint rollers which were in every room of the apartment now.

“I don’t mean that honest,” Chifuyu snapped his fingers to get Baji’s attention back. “Just read the damn mangas!” He ordered with a confident grin. “Anything that’s confusing you, I’m sure you can find a solution among these babies!”

Finally looking at what brightly colored manga was being shoved in his hand, Baji instinctively threw the novel full speed into Chifuyu’s forehead.

“What the hell?!” Chifuyu screamed, covering his nose with whiny protest. “What the hell is right! Don’t give me that crap! You know I ain’t interested in that kinda stuff!” Baji scowled his friend, face red.

It took him a few minutes to calm down, but after some gourmet peiyan yakisoba, and a few bribes later, Baji finally agreed to read the first three manga volumes. Chifuyu could be very convincing, after all.

Shojo manga were never really his thing. The fighting was too mellow and no one had the balls to actually say what they meant.

He thought it was so Lame.

But Chifuyu knows what kind of person Keisuke Baji was. He was kind and protective, misleadingly rude at times, but gentle when it mattered. Chifuyu did his research, and picked a select few golden titles amongst his collection.

The perspective of the titles he so gingerly picked were from the male gaze, and their thought process when falling in love with the female lead.

So lame.

Baji wanted to be bored, if only to spite his over dramatic underclassman. But fate be damned, when he actually sat through it, he became invested.

He accidentally finished first volume in twenty minutes. How the hell could it leave off on a cliff hanger though? Keisuke wanted to chalk it up to shitty writing but when he reached for the second volume it kicked in.

“No way! You read that way too fast! Com’on!” Chifuyu roared, accusing his friend of not actually reading it.

Baji lazily read through it a second time, taking in the words and considering things that made him feel the same way. It was so lame to waste so much time trying to relate to a dumbass who can’t even talk to some chick.

Yet there he was, middle of a page when a pang echoed in his chest.

The plot Chifuyu had picked follows a Male Lead who was born with a scary face, making it so no one would get close to him; who then meets a girl from the neighboring school. She is kind, and only sees him for his kind heart, helping him learn what it means to feel romantic love.

(“The Fragrant Flower Blooms with Dignity”!! Please read !!!!! )

… And in this particular scene, the female lead gently admits ‘that was actually really cool!’ when he had scared off the group of guys who tried to attack the girl.

Do girls think being scary is cool?

Baji glared at Chifuyu, who was excitedly waiting for his reactions. “This is bullshit,” he rolled his eyes.

“No way! The hell you saying that for?!” The blond retorted.

“I didn’t want to say it but honestly Baji…” Chifuyu shook his head. “…you’re the real dumbass.”

You are here… › next! › …

#FragileDearest #tokyo revengers #baji keisuke #tokyo revengers x reader #baji #tokyo rev #tokyo rev x y/n #baji x reader #tokyorev chifuyu #matsuno chifuyu #chifuyu x reader #tokyo revengers chifuyu #tokyo revengers ryusei #ryusei satou #letter from keisuke baji #a letter from baji

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atopfourthwall · 2 months

Note

So, I've been whittling away at this personal project for awhile now and I have a question for you: I've been organizing bit by bit every episode of Atop the Fourth Wall in Chronological Order - that is, the order in which the comics/movies you review were originally published, not the publication dates of your videos. The only exception are things like "Top 15 worst heroes becoming villains" which are set in the time the videos were originally published. The videos giving me pause are the Comic Book Quickies - I can't decide if they should be organized by the publication date of the most recent short comic used in the episode, or by the publication date of the Comic Book Quickies episode itself. What's your opinion?

I'd actually go by the earliest comic featured if you were going to go by any date of the published comics within. Otherwise given their nature as stuff going around to different times, publication date of the video would probably make more sense. Still, good luck with the project! Sounds fun!

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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 6 months

Text

Fit for a King - WIP - "Let me patch you up"

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König and FMC just came back from a mission that went well, but FMC got hurt as they were trying to help one of the other operators. (random chapter in the König x FMC fanfiction, not chronological)

CW: bullet wound, some medical stuff, NSFW, explicit scenes 18+, slight tension & angst

a/n: I just keep writing, we'll see what will come out of it (this got way more angsty than I anticipated it to be)

(NSFW - explicit sex scenes - later in the chapter)

Medic ward:

"Are you sure, you're okay?" I can hear the worry in his voice, even if he seems to try and hold back. "Yes, I already said it thrice. ‘T’is but a scratch." I smile up at him hesitatingly, ignoring the pulsating pain in my thigh. The Monty Python quote is lost on him anyways. His brows are furrowed as he's looking down at me. He doesn't believe me. I sigh when he suddenly whips his head to the side.

"Doktor*, can I patch her up?" Before I can protest, Doc already put the first aid case in his hand. "Knock yourself out, as long as you do it somewhere else, Colonel." He looks at him like a father who has a child with bad temper tantrums on his hands, but König – as always – is oblivious to that. "Thanks, Herr Doktor*.", he says with a pep in his tone. Then he picks me up and carries me out the medic ward. "König, I can walk. The others are gonna see…", I protest, weakly, but I do protest. "Shut it, Mauserl**.", he throws back at me, clipped. "You should have never been there." I sulk a bit, but I know he’s right. "Should have, would have. How do you say? Hätte hätte Fahrradkette***?", I say between clenched teeth. My wound is still seeping blood into the fabric of my pants and now on König's shirt.

He carries me with ease in just one hand, with the other still holding the case. His long legs make huge strides down the hall, heading to the dorms, but as we pass my room, I get that he’s carrying me to his. “König…” He doesn’t look at me, just shakes his head. “Don’t.” I know him well enough already, that I can sense the distress emanating off him. Making it hard for him to say what he’s really feeling. He opens up the door to his room. I mean, it’s smart, we’ll be alone here, but it might also raise suspicions if the team gets wind of it. He sets me down on his bed and turns on the bedside lamp. “Hold still.”, he says and gets all the stuff out to dress my wound. Before I even see what he’s doing, he’s already cut my pants off. “What are you doing?!”, I scream at him. “That’s how you do this. Stop fretting.” His Austrian accent is as strong as ever. I don’t listen to what he’s saying, everything being too much. “You didn’t need to cut it off, we could’ve just-“ I move again, I can’t even sit-

“STAY STILL.”, he shouts and his hands grip me, gripping my waist, almost reaching around, as he pushes me down on the bed. I still because he never – NEVER – shouted at me like that before. My mouth stands open, I look up at him. He sighs, deep and desperate, and I hear his voice wavering as he puts his forehead against mine and says: “Please… just let me patch you up.” I feel his hood falling against my face and his warm and comforting smell cuts through the stench of blood and sweat. “Okay”, I breathe. His hand caresses over my cheek as he nods. “Gut****” He sits back on his knees and the room is immersed in silence.

He takes the disinfectant and cleans the area around the wound of the graze shot. The small noises and our intermingled breaths are all I hear. I feel his hands on my naked legs and the pulse in my wound quickens. “It didn’t stop bleeding.”, I whisper as I don’t want to disturb the quiet we’ve sunk into. “Hmm.”, is all he says before he presses a bandage against it. The bloods seeps through again and stains his fingers even more. “I’m gonna have to give you stitches, Liebes*****.”, he murmurs. I nod and he gets the needle and thread ready. “You have to stay still, okay?”, he orders me. “Hold onto me.” I grab his arm, the one not stitching me up, and as the needle sinks into my skin, I gasp dragging my nails into his muscles. “Yes, you’re doing so well for me.”, he whispers as he caresses my other thigh, preparing for the next stitch. I press my lips together, not to make any sounds. When he’s done, he puts a bandage over it to secure the stitched-up wound.

König sighs like there’s a huge weight falling off him and he meets my eyes again. The raw emotions in them scare me a bit. “Are you okay?”, I ask him as I put my hand on his cheek. He doesn’t answer my question but pulls me to the edge of the bed. “I need to be inside you. Please.” His hands trail up my inner thigh until he reaches my panties. The surprise hits me as he leans forward, his hood brushes over my skin and then I feel his lips on my neck. Soft kisses trail up to my ear and need settles in, low in my belly. “I need to feel you.”, he whispers, his hot breath skitting over the wet patches of his open-mouthed kisses, as he carefully pulls down my undies. He holds me close to him which gives me the opportunity to undo his belt. He nibbles at my neck and sucks on the sensitive spot, right below my ear, as I take out his dick and position him at my wetness. He doesn’t hesitate one bit, pushing into me slowly. A soft moan falls from my lips as I stretch around him. “Fuck.”, he mutters, burying himself in me. He’s still holding me close, not moving at all for a few seconds. I grip his sides, letting my nails sink into his back, as I adjust to his size and wonder if I’ll ever get used to it.

All the other times it had been fast. Passionate. Entangled limbs and hard thrusts until my legs gave out and I couldn’t move anymore. The other kind of human battering ram, if you catch my drift, because König fucks just like he fights. Putting the ‘insertion’ and the ‘specialist’ into ‘insertion specialist’. I was used to him jerking me on his cock how he liked it and me just taking it like a good girl, that I was completely… at a loss for words. Seeing him kneel before me, buried deep inside me, fucking me with lazy, languid strokes, while his hands are caressing my back, stroking over my sides softly. This is different. Slow, tender. Almost lovingly.

“You feel so good.”, he tells me. “But…” I halt. “But what?” – “I want to kiss you.”, he whispers. Okay, so this is definitely different from all the hasty stolen moments we had together so far. Even when he ate me out, he didn’t remove his cover, so I actually never saw his face before, except for his eyes. “We can do that.” I swallow down my nerves. “Should I lift your… mask?”, I ask him. He nods and my shaky hands reach for the hem of the hood, slowly pulling up, stopping right over his mouth. I look down, seeing the curve of his lips beneath the fabric as he leans forward. My hand cups his right cheek and I feel his stubble against my fingertips when he kisses me for the first time. His lips press against mine. Soft, so soft, in contrast to his big burly figure. He breaks away for just a moment, his eyes searching mine. König sees something in them that seems to satisfy him and he leans down again. I answer his kiss as a moan slips over my lips, giving him the chance to deepen it.

When his tongue moves against mine, he starts to push into me again. Tingles erupt all over my body and even if it’s not hard and fast like I’d normally prefer, the way he’s holding me, kissing me, fucking me is building up my arousal with every languid roll of his hips. I don’t think I had somebody ever do me like this before and I feel a pang of… some kind of emotion in my chest that I’d rather not dwell on right now. I push it away and concentrate on König again.

I want to feel him close, closer, my other hand, currently not on his face, is trailing up his back, feeling his warm body beneath my fingertips. He pulls me flush against him, picking up a little bit in tempo. Our movements are getting needier and I grind against him, not breaking the kiss, so he swallows up all my sounds and sighs. “Please, Liebes*****.”, he whispers against my lips. “Come for me.” His fingers trail down, finding my clit, stroking at the same pace, repeating his plea. The flood of arousal washes over me as he fills me up again and I can’t hold back the soft scream that escapes me as I come around his dick. I feel him tremble beneath me, coming inside me as the waves of my orgasm subside. All I hear are our intertwined heavy breaths as I still try to grasp what just really happened.

König pulls back, kissing me one more time, then the hood falls back down again. He puts his dick away and buckles his belt before he raises his hand one more time. His thumbs caresses over my cheek, I can feel his fingers on the side of my face. “For a second today, I was afraid that I lost you.” His voice is a whisper, almost soundless. His words hit me, like a punch to the stomach, I didn’t expect him to say anything about it, to feel this way. Before I can answer, he gets up and for the first time I register that he is still fully clothed, stains of blood all over his shirt, mine and the enemies. His tattooed forearms and hands are bloody. We didn’t even wash off the remnants of the fight before we fucked. The tender moments form a stark contrast against the blood and violence. The 6’10’’ killing machine standing in front of me whose hands can rip enemies apart, but I only know the pleasure they give me, how they caress me, how they patched me up today,

“Where are you going?”, I ask him as I look up at him. He looks down on the floor and I can see him shutting down a bit. “I just wanna get some workout done.”, he says finally. “You can stay here, get some rest.” With long strides he’s at the door. “I’m gonna be back… soon. Okay, Mauserl**?” I nod as light from the hallway streams into the room, then the door closes, he’s gone and I’m alone in his bed. I lie down, ignoring the wet sensation between my legs of our combined fluids. I grab the covers and pull them over me. The soft light still illuminates the room and I bask in König’s smell, the blanket and the warm glow giving me the comfort that the man himself couldn’t right now.

Translations: *Herr Doktor: 'Mister doctor', polite salutation for a doctor in german **Mauserl: more austrian version of small mouse ***Hätte hätte, Fahrradkette: a silly german way to say 'what happened, happened, can't do nothing about it now' ****gut: 'good' *****Liebes: 'my love'

#könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig x fmc #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut

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