#so now his monologue is sitting in a google doc

[doyawalker]

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind#10

chapter 9.

contains smoking and a lot of emotions lol

I am currently studying for upcoming exams and I am also working on my bachelor's thesis so updates will be a bit slower now <3

again, thank you all for your love for this series. This chapter will finally spice things up a bit :)

masterlist

previous chapter

taglist: @namjooning-94, @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad, @parkinglot-nights , @y2kcy3brz

__

‘Cause Honestly, You’re Dead To Me

But that was the problem with the truth. The truth wasn’t always easy but oftentimes more complicated. And lies were often not made undone by simply saying ‘I’m sorry’. But what else was there to say? 

The next few days felt weird to you. You spent Saturday and Sunday at home, Saturday to recover from your raging hangover from the party, and Sunday because you felt unwell. Not physically but rather mentally. Your mind was haunted once again by the memories of Jungkook, but not only of those from two years ago this time. You felt it for sure. The way his facade had begun to break, his confident demeanor revealing something underneath that didn’t seem to be so ignorant. But every time you sat down and thought about it, you forced yourself out of spiraling immediately, not willing to accept the fact that he was keeping you up at night again. You tried to remind yourself that this was the exact way it had started back then as well; the attention, the seemed honesty, the emotions. And you had fallen for it back then and you refused to fall for it again. Still, when Tuesday came around and you sat in your seat in the lecture hall, waiting for the professor to start the class and Jungkook let himself fall next to you on the bench, you felt your heart’s pace quicken. But he proved himself to be as disappointing as always. He didn’t mention a word about the party, not a word about the exchange they had, and he sure as hell didn’t let his emotions slip again. No, he acted his usual casual self, making jokes you didn’t laugh about, annoying you about copying your notes, and asking again when the two of you would meet for the group project. And his nonchalant acting annoyed the shit out of you. This was so typical for him that you almost were upset about how you thought he would act differently this time. About hoping that he could maybe change. That he would ever change. But why would he? Hadn’t you given him the impression that he could just act however he wanted and still would get your attention? Hadn’t you given him the satisfaction of gaining access to your life again? Was it your fault again? 

The anger sparked in the pit of your stomach on Tuesday and by Thursday it had developed into a wildfire. And on Friday you finally snapped.

He had convinced you to meet in the library on Friday to start your outline for the presentation. You had met there at seven in the evening and it was currently almost nine. You were still working on the second point of your outline because Jungkook kept on talking about this music project he was working on on the side with Yoongi and Hoseok and quite frankly you didn’t give a fuck. All you cared about was that you were tired, that you couldn’t believe you were stuck with him for the rest of the semester, and that he was not taking this seriously at all, for fucks sake.

“Can we please focus back on this?”, you interrupted him, your voice so harsh that a few people sitting around you turned their heads in your direction. You had your head in between your hands, looking up at him and when your eyes met he furrowed his brows together.

“Are you okay? Do you need a break?”, he asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah, a fucking break from you.”

He grinned, not taking you seriously and it was infuriating.

Pinching the skin between your brows, you sighed in frustration, your eyes wandering back to the laptop screen in front of you, the almost empty Google Doc basically laughing at you. 

At least he finally stopped his monologue, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“What’s wrong?”, he asked.

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. The audacity of him. 

“Nothing.”, you answered, your lips pressed together in a straight line. “Can we just finish this?”. 

He eyed you silently, tilting his head to the side. “You wanna go smoke?”

A sigh escaped your lips. Of course, you couldn’t just finish this.

“Sure.”, you said, the thought of a cigarette easing your mind sounding too good to reject. You used to smoke with him all the time back then. Now you didn’t usually. But you could fucking use one right now.

You stepped outside, still not thanking him for opening the door for you. The sun had already set and the air was chilly, but you weren’t freezing. Maybe it was the annoyance still bubbling in your stomach or maybe it was the warmth his body was radiating, who knew?

He handed you a cig and as you lit it up and took the first drag, the smoke filling your lungs in a familiar way, you felt yourself relax a bit for the first time this evening.

You felt his eyes on you but you chose to ignore it. You didn’t want to talk to him. There was no use in small talk after all.

Your eyes wandered across your campus, seeing a few students walking around, talking, listening to music, or smoking as well. The semester was going by fast, you noticed. 

“Do you wanna tell me now what’s wrong?”

His voice broke the silence, finally forcing your eyes to meet his.

He blew the smoke of his cigarette out into the air, tapping the ashes onto the ground carelessly. 

“Why do you keep asking these dumb questions?”, you sighed, taking the cigarette back between your lips. 

He pulled his brows together. “Why do you keep avoiding my questions?”

“Because you know the answers to them. You just want to hear me say it.”

He chuckled to himself.

“I’m not that cruel.”

“Yes, you are.”

You took another drag, the smoke lingering in the air in front of you. You had never talked with him so openly until now. But there was something about it now, after the club and all the unsaid things. Why play games?

“Is it because of the club?”, he finally asked, leaning his body against one of the walls surrounding the entrance door. 

You looked back up at him, an unreadable expression on his face. He had already finished his cigarette.

“Yes, Jungkook. This is because of the club.”, you answered, your voice a bit louder than you wanted it to be. “Idiot.” “I wanted to talk to you but Tae had to play the big macho guy, didn’t he?”

“You had plenty of time to talk to me this week.”

He scratched his nose, buying himself some time. 

“If you wanna talk, then talk.” 

And that comment was what made you snap. Because you had enough of his audacity, of his arrogance, of his nonchalant ways. You didn’t care about being too open or too emotional anymore, you hated the fact that he just came back into your life like that, without any consequences of his actions from back then. You hated how much he affected you still, how he was so obviously playing with your feelings again because he wasn’t being fucking honest about why the hell he was doing all of this, to begin with. Why bother you? Why make a group with you? Why?

And so you turned your body around to him fully, the hand with the cigarette shaking slightly, maybe due to the nicotine or due to the anger rising up in you, whatever. 

He looked at you with his stoic facade, his arms crossed in front of his chest. But when you started to talk his eyes began to widen.

“For fucks sake, Jungkook. I don’t want to talk to you. YOU are the one that wants to talk. YOU are the one that began to pester me all day around. YOU are the one that keeps on bothering me. YOU are the one that for whatever reason can’t accept a fucking ‘No’ as an answer because I made it clear from the start that I don’t want anything to do with you. Why would I? Maybe you’re gonna keep on trying to make me believe that you don’t remember what happened back then but I know that you know and if you know then you know why I don’t want to spend time with you. And I hate that you are just trying to make me forget about that, do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get over this fucking shit?!”

You came closer to him with every word until you had to tilt your head back to look up at him, your finger drilling itself into his chest, the anger radiating in your chest, almost making you feel dizzy. He simply watched you, his jaw clenched together.

“And then you keep on doing some fucked up shit like in the club, searching for my attention, and then afterward you just keep on acting like everything is normal and fine, do you have any idea how fucking infuriating that is?! You messed with my head back then and now you’re trying to do it again and I am so fucking tired of your fucking bullshit, so you either gonna tell me right now what the fuck is going on with you or you’ll leave me the fuck alone, because I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Your breath had quickened, your heart beating in your chest so loud, that you almost couldn’t hear your own voice. 

The words had come out of you without thinking much and now they were hanging in the air between you, your body so close to his that his perfume was occupying all your senses. 

He didn’t say anything.

His eyes were burning themselves into you, a dark shadow cast over them.

A second went by.

Then another.

And then he finally moved.

“I’m sorry.” 

You could hear him mutter the words under his breath before he surged forward. His hand found your jaw, tilting your head to the side slightly before his lips crashed against yours with a force that almost made you take a step backward.

The world came to a halt. 

Your mind came to a halt. 

Your thoughts stopped processing what was happening for a moment, as you felt his lips move against yours.

He had never kissed you. Never before. Because that was something people in relationships do. And you never were in a relationship with him. 

But now here he was. Kissing you in the dark, his eyes closed, his fingers gripping your jaw gently.

And it wasn’t until you felt his tongue slightly brushing over your bottom lip, that the world finally kept on turning. But your mind stayed blank. 

And so you let yourself fall, caving into him, letting two-year younger you take over. Because they were in bliss right now.

Your arms wrapped around his neck effortlessly as he pulled you even closer, your lips parting for him and he sighed silently. His body was burning against yours, your chest pressed against his, his hands now wandering up to cup your head, burying themselves into your hair. 

His lips felt like heaven against yours and as he kept on moving against you, the heat began to travel down your body into the pit of your stomach. A feeling you never had with him before. All the sex had been fueled by desperation, not lust. This was new. Something you never knew you could feel around him.

But before you could realize the meaning of that, the sound of his phone ringing made you almost jump back from him, breaking away from his contact, and getting some distance between the two of you.

And as he cursed silently, grabbing his phone from his pocket to mute it, the reality of what just happened crashed onto you with such a force that it almost knocked the air out of your lungs.

You stared at him, as panic filled your system, your thoughts beginning to spin in a rapid manner. What the fuck? Self-doubt mixed itself with desire, making you feel nauseous and when he looked back at you, his face distorted with an apologetic look, you had to flee. You couldn’t stay. How could you? You had just let him kiss you. Out of all the people on this planet. How could you ever forgive yourself?

And so you ran. You pushed past him quickly, pushing open the door and leaving him standing outside in the dark. You heard him yell after you but you didn’t turn around.

It had all started with a bet. A simple bet that maybe sounded stupid to someone from outside, but it was a trend going around in his friend group. Five-dollar bets, just to keep it fun. It had been Hoseok’s idea. But maybe one shouldn’t bet on other people’s feelings. Because as he looked after you, knowing that he couldn’t follow you because you would probably kill him, it didn’t feel like he bet on your feelings but rather on his own. 

__

#bts ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #bts fic rec #jungkook #jungkook fic #out of sight out of mind

[smooth-boob]

⭐ !!!

Fanfic Writers: Director's Cut Game

Thank you for sending this, and once again I am literally so sorry, but this is just going to be a long diary entry about The Bustle in a House, a Bridgerton fic I wrote, particularly the epilogue. My inner monologue is loud, and normally it's just me in here! Apart from being unhinged in tags, I don't post a lot of personal things on here, but I have something to say!

I feel like I talk about The Bustle in a House a lot on here, and in terms of hits/kudos/statistics, it's not one of my most popular fics (I mean, it's not shippy and it's aggressively sad, so I get it lol), but it was really a breakthrough story for me! Link at the bottom for shameless self promo, woo.

It's funny, looking at my google docs now, I guess it only took me six weeks to write, but it was literally all I thought about for those six weeks. I was scratching at the walls of my enclosure writing this thing. Apart from a couple Bridgerton one-shots and a quickly abandoned fic, I hadn't written almost anything on my own in such a long time. It was also emotionally charged and gritty and I was so impatient to get the story out but I needed to get it out the way that felt right.

Beyond that, I struggle(d) to write complete stories that aren't just scenes stitched to each other. Honestly, Bustle is still like that, but it all stitches together very nicely if I do say so myself. Still, I had been agonizing a little bit over the fact that I didn't know how the fic was going to end. I couldn't keep writing it forever...I mean, I guess I could, because it's really not that long, and there's actually more of it in my drafts, but I was trying to tell a very particular story and also have I mentioned that I am impatient? But the story didn't have an end because it's an origin story about unhealed trauma, so what was I going to do with that?

So, at least to give myself a bookend to the real story, I wrote the epilogue. I wrote it in a thirty-minute fit of inspiration one evening while tipsy on red wine, sitting at a desk in my parents' house where I'd been living for about three years because y'know, pandemic, and I was feeling trapped and burnt out and indecisive and afraid, etc. and if you read it, you might see me staring at you through Anthony, wink wink. (Quick caveat that, unlike Anthony, living with my parents was an overall loving experience at that point in my life!)

Anyway, in true Hemingway spirit, I wrote drunk, and when I went to edit sober, I was delighted that it didn't need much help. I obsessed over details, like changing scotch to whisky and then to brandy (it's sweeter, and he's so young). This is not to say that the epilogue is perfect; it's not, but it is what it needed to be.

It is a love poem of a kind for a character that hit me hard. It's a short prose poem about grief and loneliness and the 'wrong' ways to heal and it's about thinking you're at the acceptance stage of grief but really it's just depression. It's about losing parts of yourself and coming of age into something that doesn't feel right but feels inevitable, and so you stop fighting and just get on with it. It's about the before, and Anthony not knowing that he has an after and eventually, yes, years later eventually, he's going to be okay. More than okay, he's going to be happy.

(And he only has a year until Doing The Voices, and I let him be happy for at least a few nights in that! He doesn't know that he's doing the right things when taking care of his family. Not always, but more than he knows he is.)

As for me, I moved out of my parents' house and into my own newly purchased 'bachelor lodgings' (so to speak) about a month after I posted the last chapter, and I'm writing more than I have in years! Baby steps! Adult steps!

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk/therapy session. Probably no one should ask me anything else for a while lmao, who knows what will happen!

Read The Bustle in a House on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47126467

Or if you don't feel like being sad, read Doing The Voices instead: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47976274

#.braindump #i have written you...an opera...

[takearisk-xo]

hi Hannah! what's your writing process like? do you use tools like scrivener or just documents or notebooks? love you ♥️

i’ve tried a few online resources: scrivener, miro, pro writing aid, etc. but nothing organizes my thoughts quite like physically writing things out with paper and pen. if i need to storyboard (write out plots points so i can move them around) i typically use sticky notes and my bedroom wall. i outline in a 5x7 journal, keep it my purse so i have it with me at all times, and take all my notes/thoughts/scene ideas down in that if i can. then i open google docs and try to do a detailed outline in the chapter doc. once the detailed outline is done though, i have to sit on it and stew over it and try to get a feel for each scene individually. what is the tone of the scenes, the dialogue, the internal monologue? what’s the point of the interaction? what do harry and ginny learn?

once i answer those questions then i feel equipped to start the actual process of writing. my first draft is typically really rough. mostly action and dialogue. the second draft is where i add in emotions and narration. third draft is making it sound good in my head with pacing and flow.

then i try to sleep on it, which doesn’t always happen, but it definitely makes the next step easier/better when i do. once i feel it’s *finished* i read it through out loud (sometimes in my own terrible british accent) and i post the chap! usually within five minutes of posting i find sixteen typos and seven dialogue edits. so final edits come after it’s live 🤣

that’s a very linear explanation but there’s lots of going back and forth. usually between draft one and outlining. if something isnt working, and i can usually tell pretty early, then i set it free and go back to brainstorming. other, rarer times, (like with chap 13 and now again with 16) i’ve made it all the way to draft three before i realize the pacing is totally wrong. and that’s a punch to the gut, when i’ve put all that time and effort into a chapter that ultimately needs to be scrapped. but i do feel confident enough that when i scrap a chapter, it’s for the best and i can make it much much better on the second attempt.

that’s it! that’s me in a nutshell. a messy journaler who thinks reading the chap in a british accent will hide my phrasing and spelling enough to not immediately give me away as an american attempting to write celtic mythology

#thanks for the question!! #anon #answered

[drunktuesdays]

hi Lea! i love your blog and your fics! i got into wrestling rpf bc of you lol do u have any advice for someone who struggles with their vocabulary when writing fic? I like to think I read a lot but my fics feel very dry

This is SUCH a nice ask, thank you for sending it!!!!!

i think all of us struggle sometimes with thinking our writing is too dry. especially in opening scenes where you're trying really hard to orient your reader in that particular story's space, time, and universe, it's really really easy to focus on the function of the scene and drop style. i've DEFINITELY done it and had to go back and moisten it all up.

i think honestly the best thing you can do is read other people's stuff. read in fandoms you're not in. read anything you find interesting. make notes when you find a phrase that tickles your fancy. don't steal the entire sentence wholesale obviously, but when you like a turn of phrase, remember it. keep a google doc with odds and ends that you enjoy. halfhardtorock had a now-deleted fic where they had derek fingering stiles, and used the phrase "stiles cats into it." objectively insane, you don't really see anyone using cats as a verb like that, but it's so evocative, you can picture exactly what they mean. and i've remembered it for like ten years. and someday i'm gonna be writing the perfect scene for me to use cat as a verb in that way, and it's gonna be glorious. i won't steal the sentence obviously. literally please don't plagiarize anyone, but just appreciate great word choices!!! notice when other people are doing cool things, and take note of what you like about it! discuss it with your friends! i think it makes me a stronger and more thoughtful writer every time i finish a story and then immediately open a (PRIVATE) dm to a friend to dissect everything i liked and everything i would have done different in a work.

the other most valuable piece of advice i think i can pass on is actually a little mortifying, it's like, okay am i going to rec chuck palahniuk right now? unfortunately yes....i can't get the site with the original essay to load so i'm just going to link a tumblr post with it. I don't think it's necessary to actually go through the exercise of BANNING yourself from thought verbs, but it IS really helpful to start picking it out when you realize you're doing too many. i tend not to REALLY love doing a lot of inner monologue, and frankly i'm not that good at it, so it's really helpful for me personally to sit there and say to myself, okay what do i want to convey here and how do i convey it without just saying "dustin thought jim looked hot." it's a good exercise to police yourself about it sometimes, especially if you are worried things are coming out dry. ESPECIALLY check for the thesis statement paragraphs he talks about. that's one of the easiest things you can check and eliminate, because once you start noticing it, you realize how little you need it.

#as always when i talk about my theories of writing and what i think it should look like #i do it with the humility of knowing that this is just what i like and what i think #and i am just a very simple moron #and that a very good writer can break any of these guidelines easily and with ease and i'd probably enjoy it #and if you like writing a different way please enjoy yourself #i am not the cops

[bread-bird-writes]

oh my god I just realized you’re THAT bread_bird. it’s an honor!! anyway for the ask game: 2, 3, 4, 11, 15 (Seeing Ghosts), 27, 30, 32, 44?

AAAA HI I CAN’T FOLLOW PEOPLE IN A SIDE BLOG 😭😭😭 FREAKIN STOKED ABT THIS THO YOU’RE SO COOL

I have never done one of these so here goes:

2. Usually, one day is a writing day and one day is a reading day. Writing’s all-consuming for me, so I probably end up writing more than I read, but I’ve cleared entire tags before by pure accident.

3. Gosh, any fic that I really like or emotionally effects me really pushes me into that mood. Things will spur me into action and remind me that, hey! Maybe I should be writing! Fic in generally really gets me, y’know?

4. FUCK- HEY WAIT- I have a favorite fic/few fics picked out for every single fandom I’ve ever written for, and then some. It’s INSANELY difficult to pick for some fandoms, mostly Sonic and Danganronpa, so here’s a couple that are my undisputed favorites from the fandoms they’re from! ‘Untouchable’ by pollutedstar, ‘Amaranthus’ by Archadian_Skies, and ‘All’s Fair in Love and War’ by AEpixie7.

11. Very rarely do I put actual thought into them. I’ll plunk a line from the middle of the story into the title box and call it a day, unless I previously had some sort of wild, insane moment of clarity and had a good idea for a title.

15. AW THAT’S SO NICE- my personal favorite is actually my least read fic, The Corn and His Deer. It’s based off of an eight-minute clip from The October Monologues done by the Faceless Old Woman in Welcome to Night Vale, and I wrote the whole thing on one plane ride. I had to type in the character tag manually. I adore it, that one was all for me.

27. I like to try! I’ll tag stuff, of course, and in my longer works, I really do need to get better about marking which chapters are upsetting or sexual. I mark the sexual ones well, but sometimes I forget that something I was completely neutral about when I wrote it could upset someone. Certain stuff ALWAYS gets tagged, though, as long as I remember I put it in there. People are always welcome to ask me to tag something or to point out that I forgot a wanting, and I’ll definitely fix it!

30. I’d like to let you know that I started working on this at way too early of an hour where I am, and for this bullet, I just put down ‘No! Ratio!’ I have a couple fics I could do this for, but this is the one I know will be finished soon-ish. So. Anyway. Here’s the bit!

Calmly, carefully, Stone got back into the car, drove to the nearby lake, and hurled his phone into it as hard as he possibly could.

He stopped. Waited. Realized that it was both waterproof and essential, unique tech, tech that was now sitting at the bottom of Green Hills’ most possible lake. It could wash up onshore at any time.

Thirty minutes later, he dragged himself out of the lake, phone in hand, and climbed back into the car. By two in the morning, Stone finally collapsed into bed, still soaked and reeking of lake water. (Some stuff cut for plot reasons don’t worry about it)

Two hours after that, his alarm went off. He really needed to make better choices on his sleeping habits, he decided, or at least the habits that included jumping into a lake and having to rush a shower before he resumed his old life for the first time in 250 days.

32. I promise you that I tried; it led to me staring blankly at my AO3 page for twenty minutes. So! In exchange, I can tell you my three favorite (posted) scenes I’ve written even though that changes with the wind, which would be the hypothermia scene from Total Apathy, the epilogue from Proximal Development, and the scene of Mondo and Taka watching trial 3 in Everybody Wants to Rule the World.

44. Okay, so I’m American, right? That’s probably pretty obvious, I’ve written a marching band AU, for god’s sake, but why is Google docs so insistent on keeping me in my lane? Sometimes, British English has better spellings. When I write a word like ‘traveling’ and spell it with the British spelling, two L’s, who cares? Why is that any of their business? Grey is clearly the superior spelling between grey and gray! Those convey two different things! I’ll spell ‘color’ like ‘colourgh’ for all I care! Language is fake and we made it up for notes! Also, Times New Roman sure is a font, so is Arial, but I think everybody deserves to have a fun little font to write in, even if it’s effectively the same as those, specifically to have a favorite font. It adds character.

#asks #when birds speak #fanfic #this was so fun to actually be able to answer

[aromanticbuck]

Fanfiction asks: 1, 7, 17, 27, 37, 47, 57, 67, 77 :) Made up fic title for 67: hit the ground running <3

1. Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

about 75% of the time, I'm actively at work when I come up with something (you know this you get the texts) so when that's the case, I'll spend at least part of my shift thinking things out and getting an idea partially fleshed out. It means I usually have a direction to move in by the time I sit down at home and actually get to writing!

7. Post a snippet from a wip.

“No deal. Phones are expensive now. What if I bring you coffee every morning for a month once I settle back into work? Good coffee. Not the burnt stuff from the break room. Let me spend some money on you.”

“I’ve been telling you this for years - I don’t want your money.”

17. Do you have a writing routine?

yes and no? sometimes I'll literally just open google docs and write at work, and sometimes I can still write 2k words in a day that way. other days I need to be settled on the couch with my tea and my specific playlist and no interruptions. it depends on the fic and on the day.

27. What area of writing do you feel strongest in?

internal thoughts and monologues and just... the inner workings of the blorbo. I like getting into characters' heads and figuring out where they're coming from on something and understanding them in that way.

37. What fic has been the hardest for you to write?

Kidnapped has been a struggle lately for no reason? I think that's the hardest for me right now. I'm metaphorically stabbing Mouse in the leg with a fork to try to get him to cooperate (it's not working)

47. Is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of?

uh... not really? not that I can think of, at least.

57. How conscious are you about including symbolism or foreshadowing in your fics?

I'm holding up Phone Call and doing it right now.

67. If a fic was titled [hit the ground running], what would this story be about/how would you write it?

the way I had an idea for this as soon as I saw the notification for it on my break. it would be a Mouse fic because *gestures to myself* but like... as a teenager? right after he realizes he's gay. he panics and packs a bag and sneaks out when he knows his parents are too busy to notice (Gregory III is probably "working late" and Thelma is drunk on expensive wine pouting about her life), and just... runs. this is literally the set up to the travel blogger AU I thought up a while ago I realize that now but in my defense Mouse runs away from his problems a lot

77. Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?

I get to project my issues onto a character and ignore reality for a little while. this is my therapy until I can afford real therapy.

[ fanfiction writing asks ]

#answered #kit tag #kitthekazoo #alex says things

[moonknightly]

Hi!! I was so honoured that my little ask got you opening google docs, hope it's okay that I'm back to gush about your writing some more!!!

"It sticks out to him because he’s seen undernourished children die from a common cold because their little bodies just couldn’t handle it." This detail is so genius to me. Like you did such a great job providing medical details about why someone who had been kidnapped and abused for that long would be in a very weakened and vulnerable state, but this part also tied it into Santi's past in a way that elevated everything even more!! The pacing, the characterisation, the heartbreak and pain of it all is just so, so moving. Doesn't matter how many times I reread it, this part always makes me so emotional.

"He hates having her out of his sight, he hates thinking about the possibility of her opening her eyes and he’s not standing right there" I WILL NEVER BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS SENTENCE. One detail about the story that I absolutely adoooore is how after he missed her for so long, he didn't immediately start touching her, that it was actually very difficult for him to get himself to a point where he felt like he could (and the detail about the nurses slowly getting him acclimated to touching her again? MY HEART) but with sentences like this you show how much he still cares and it makes the internal conflicts he is having so rich. If it hasn't been clear already I am obsessed with everything you write but this series has such a special place in my heart.

OH OH OH ALSO the conversation where she says that she doesn't want to keep him from the life he built without her and he says there was no life without her.... I think about that bit CONSTANTLY. Like I can imagine her internal monologue, how she must wonder if he found someone else, if he feels the same way about her still, the total uncertainty of what her life will look like now bc overnight everything she had was ripped from her. And it is so heartbreaking to think about the fact that she doesn't know Santi's inner monologue, bc even if you're married and you know someone really well, that doubt and insecurity of whether you still have a place in someone's life can haunt you. To have Santi in a single sentence basically throw that doubt out the window???? I don't want to work I want to religiously reread every word of this story and cry over how much I love it

currently crying in the middle of a volkswagen dealership while i wait for service to give me my car back wtf i

i mean it when i say this, i've literally had no interest in writing recently because i've felt like no one enjoys my shit anymore but your asks have brought back my inspiration and desire and ugh ugh ugh i've literally been sitting here editing and you keep me holding on bc spoiler, one day i might try to turn it into an original piece...hehehe

i'm so glad that there are so many different parts to this story that stick out for you, i always find it so interesting to see!! for me, one thing i constantly think about are months seven through ten like why did i do this to myself ugh ugh ugh

[mars-writes-1999]

Penumbra Podcast fan Theory

I have a theory about how this season is going to end and where the Junoverse is headed. None of this is certain, it’s all just theory. This isn’t about Nureyev’s debts though, I have genuinely no idea what’s going on with that boi but he worries me lots. I love him, and can’t figure him out. This is about the other class X radical. 

SPOILERS FOR JUNO STEEL AND WHAT LIES BEYOND PART 2

tl;dr  Jet saw Nureyev/Ransom fly away with the Ruby 7. The Ruby 7 sent the distress signal. The Ruby 7 is a sentient ai. The Ruby 7 is the other class X radical.

1. Jet saw Nureyev/Ransom fly away with the Ruby 7.

There was a line from Jet that stuck out to me right away in What Lies Beyond part 2. At the very beginning of his interrogation jet says "I do not think. I know. There is nothing on this ship that they want." He also later says "There is nothing on this ship that they want. That is final". I do put more stock in the first than the second quote because by the second one he is playing along with Juno's plan and intentionally being angry. I have looked through the scripts and I don't think we're ever told where Jet is being held (lmk if I'm wrong) but for my theory to work he is somewhere with a window and/or he saw things before being put in a "cell" at all.

Jet is a straightforward guy and went into that interrogation with a plan. He had time to think about what he wanted to say to Juno and what he said was "I do not think. I know." I take this to mean she really does know. He knows that Ransom, who dark matters is looking for, is not on the ship. He knows that the Ruby 7, who he believes dark matters is looking for (I'll get to this later), is not on the ship. 

While my Ruby 7 theory is a bit more of a long shot, I REALLY think Jet saw Ransom escape. He says in no uncertain terms that he KNOWS that there isn’t anything that Dark Matters is looking for. Even if we make an assumption that Jet thinks they’re only looking for one 

2. The Ruby 7 sent the distress signal

So I’ve thought this might be true since my second listen through the episode. It was a bit of a wild guess at first, but the more I think about it the more I buckle down on it. It lines up in a lot of ways where nothing else I can think of does. This whole argument does assume that Sasha and Dark Matters didn’t just fabricate the distress signal, but given her distaste for agent G (god rest her soul), I think the signal was real. 

When trying to decide who could have sent the signal we can immediately rule out literally every person in the carte blanche family. Buddy and Juno do a good job of explaining to us why each one of them couldn’t be it. 

Buddy was dying (plus we have the added bonus of her monologue and knowing what she was doing)

Juno, Vespa, and Ransom were in sight of each other and in the way of EMP waves

Rita’s comms were knocked out by the EMP waves

Jet was fixing the Ruby 7 and was right next to the EMP waves. He was also pretty busy trying to keep buddy from allowing herself to be killed

All of these things considered, we can also just assume that no one on this ship would rat them out. The only possible defection is Ransom, but despite not knowing what his motives are, I don’t think he ratted them out to Dark Matters. 

The only thing with the sentience to call out would be the Ruby (I’ll provide evidence for its sentience in a moment). I don’t know why it would reach out to Dark Matters specifically, but maybe it was just reaching out to anyone with a distress call. I don’t know how space distress calls work, but Sasha did need to specify that the call didn’t come from the Carte Blanche which means vehicles may have the power to send out a distress call. 

We know from Sasha and Juno’s conversation that the distress call was sent out 4 times in 2 hours. In the episode we see 3 major EMP blasts: The one between episodes, the one when Vespa and Ransom start arguing and Buddy can’t communicate, and the one Buddy barely avoids by getting into the safe room. It isn’t unreasonable to presume there was a 4th EMP wave that occurred after Buddy was safe and sound but before the entire team made it back safely. 4 distress signals for 4 emp waves. If the Ruby 7 is the one sending these, then this math makes sense.

In The Heart of it all Part 2 Jet says to Buddy “Even an EMP so direct couldn’t deactivate its computer mind for a moment - though it is still bitter about its engines.” This means the Ruby may have been scared about its engines dying and therefore it sent out a distress signal. 

None of this is provable at this point, but I also haven’t found any evidence to the contrary. If nothing following this is true, I still think this may be true. 

3. The Ruby 7 is a sentient AI

It is at this point that I would like to acknowledge that I am using it/its as pronouns for the Ruby 7. This is how the car has been referred to in the show up until this point and so it is how I will be referring to it from here on out. If any of this pans out and the Ruby 7 uses different pronouns or signifiers in future episodes I will refer to it differently. 

Before I give the reasons I think the Ruby 7 itself is sentient, I want to talk about why I think it’s plausible that Kevin and Sophie would take the story in this direction. The reason is pretty simple, they’ve told us they’d be willing to. Here is a clip of Kevin and Sophie in the Season 1 Q&A. 

 [audio file]

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1cOXj3ybVkszLdt8U8BiRrVW3Cy7O_oGl/view?usp=sharing

[google doc transcript of audio file]

https://docs.google.com/document/d/16EP7CP6Wxic3q7-QhPce1dinan5A0ACNDdxZ4DfaEtA/edit?usp=sharing 

So not only does this clip make it clear that Kevin has wanted robots in some form from the start, it shows that Sophie is open to the idea. We also hear them talk about how big of a deal it would be to introduce elements like this into the story. I would consider all of this setup as treating the concept of AI with the respect and time it deserves. We also know how much Kevin loves the Ruby 7 so making the car a main character would absolutely be within the realm of possibilities. The Ruby 7 is arguably the 7th member of their crew with or without sentience. 

Now to discuss the proof of the sentience of the Ruby 7. There’s a lot of evidence for this. The car has always been sassy and had a personality, but there are several moments that point to more than this. 

In the very beginning of part 1 of Tools of Rust, we see Jet directly mull over the sentience of the Ruby 7. 

The Ruby 7’s many background calculations make it more like a horse. It can be controlled, but only insofar as it wants to be controlled. (HE SHAKES HIS HEAD AND SNORTS, DISMISSING HIMSELF) “Wants to.” This car can make you believe in ghosts, too — a spirit in the machine. But the Ruby 7, whatever the force of its calculations, cannot want and cannot think; it can only behave like it does. ~from Tools of Rust Script released to 10$ Patreon supporters

This gives some of the base backgrounds into how Jet thinks about the car he is closest to. In this episode he refers to the ruby as “a wild horse, I must break it in.” The catalyst for this episode occurs while Jet is breaking down the tractor shield generator because when driving the Ruby 7 “Manuevers have not responded as they should.” There are of course reasons for these things that are not sentience. Jet himself does not think the car is sentient at the beginning of this episode. We also know that his view of the car is changing throughout his arc of this season. In its most recent appearance, we see the Ruby at its most sentient. Two distinct moments come to mind in regards to this. 

First, in part one as they are discussing their plan after Rita deploys the Book: 

JET:  We will be on our own — even the Ruby 7 will temporarily shut down. RUBY 7: (PETTY/ANNOYED BEEPS) BUDDY: … Come again? JET: The Ruby insists that it will not shut down. It is incorrect. RUBY 7: (REALLY ANNOYED BEEPS) JET: The Ruby says that I should not tell it what it can and cannot do. VESPA: Really built some sass into that thing, huh? NUREYEV: Is it just me, or… have responses like this become more common from our mysterious vehicle? VESPA: I swear its voice changed, too. BUDDY: Then we’ll allow the car its moody teenage years, I think; after all this is over I’ll buy it an industrial supply of eyeliner and posters of sad young men. ~ From The Heart of it All part 1 script released to 10$ Patreon supporters

Here several characters are remarking upon the increasing sentience of the Ruby 7. In part 2 of this episode, we see further evidence that the crew, especially Jet, has noticed changes in the Ruby which make it seem more and more sentient. 

BUDDY: Singing and theoretical mathematics? Is there anything that car can't do? JET: Increasingly I worry that there is not. Even an EMP so direct couldn’t deactivate its computer mind for a moment — though it is still bitter about its engines. (HE ACTUALLY IS WORRIED ABOUT WHAT THE HELL THE RUBY 7 IS, BUT NOW ISN’T THE TIME FOR THAT) But in this moment I am far more worried by.... ~ From Heart of it All part 2 script for 10$ Patreon Supporters

Here it is clear that not only does Jet sound concerned about the Ruby 7, but Kevin’s direction shows that Jet is genuinely unsure of the Ruby. Not just that he doesn’t know what the Ruby 7 is doing, but that he doesn’t know what the Ruby 7 is. 

Now that I’ve shown all of the evidence I have I’m going to extrapolate some of this to draw a line from this evidence to my theory in part 1. 

Jet knows something is up with the Ruby 7. He has seen Nureyev leave the carte blanche in the Ruby 7 and therefore knows the car is not on the ship. As the delivery notes say “now isn’t the time for that”. What does Jet have while in his “cell” but time? He spends part of his imprisonment sitting and thinking about the Ruby 7. He knows that Dark Matters could have easily found the cure mother prime so he assumes there is something else they are looking for. He realizes that his car is sentient. He realizes that they are looking for 2 main things, Ransom and the Ruby 7. He saw both of these leave. He says "I do not think. I know. There is nothing on this ship that they want."

For this to work, the Ruby 7 needs to be classified as a Class X radical, this is a tall order, but I think the Ruby 7 meets the criteria. 

 4. The Ruby 7 is the other class X radical

1st of all, look at that green car? That car is SO rad. 

Jokes aside, there are 2 main criteria I’m using to determine that the Ruby 7 could be the class X radical Dark Matters is looking for. First, is it literally possible that this is what Dark Matters is looking for? Does it fit any descriptors Director Wire gives us during her interview with Juno? Second, does it fit the definition of a class X radical? 

In answer to the first question, we consider what Dark Matters is searching for. We know that they know it’s class X, but not much else. In fact, Sasha suggests that Juno may know more than her about the radical because he’s been living with it. This gives the impression that they might not really know what they’re looking for. My theory here is they know that they are looking for a sentient robot, but they don’t know it’s a car. This explains why they know what they need to about its threats but not much else. It may also explain why some of the agents were looking in drawers. If they were not looking for Nureyev (cause like Buddy said, they should know he’s not inches tall) then perhaps they were looking for a sentient robot. Unless I’m misremembering something, I think this is all we really get in terms of information on what the second radical is. Sasha doesn’t give Juno much information despite giving him everything she can about the cure mother prime.

In answer to the second question, we look toward the definition Sasha gives Juno for a radical: “any person or object with the potential to cause significant change to civilized human life as we know it”. AI with sentience fits this definition. Even if you don’t think it does, the piece from the season 1 Q&A shows that Sophie thinks it does. They talk about the care that would need to be in place in order to introduce robots, ai, or aliens. Care is needed because any one of these three things would drastically change the galaxy as they know it. 

 I don’t really have any clever way to end this other than saying all of this could be wrong. I could be completely off and there are probably other explanations for everything I’ve described, but I actually feel pretty confident on this. It started off as a random thought and the more I’ve sat on it the more evidence I’ve collected. Whether this comes to fruition or not I hope you enjoyed reading my theory! 

CC: 

@thepenumbrapodcast 

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #the penumbra spoilers #penumbra podcast #juno steel #junoverse #sophie takagi kaner #kevin vibert #jet siquliak #buddy aurinko #sasha wire #director w #dark matters #penumbra fan theory #ruby 7 #the car is the key #jet and his car #fan theory #tpp juno #tpp season 3 #tpp jet #tpp buddy #essay

[meow-bebe]

Pairing: Moon Taeil x reader Genre: fluff, high school au, best friends to lovers Word count: 1.1k Warnings: swearing A/n: psst @neonun-au​ this ones for you! youve been complaining about a lack of taeil content so heres a little something to keep you from having to reread your own work for the next few days heh. oh and google docs was bugging out and i had to write this whole thing on my phone so its unedited oops

[Taeil: Meet me at the playground in fifteen minutes?]

[You: Dude it’ll be dark soon]

[Taeil: Yeah i know and im sorry]

[Taeil: Please come before i change my mind]

[You: Well at least now i have an excuse to use the super cool lights on my bike wheels]

Your tone is harsher than the meaning behind it, and you’re sure Taeil knows that. He’s your oldest friend, after all.

You’ve been through so much with him. You met him the first day of school, and you clicked immediately. He had been with you through so many things, all your years of school, the time you broke your arm in seventh grade, your first major breakup. And on top of all that, he was the first person you ever truly loved. Not that he knew that of course.

He would do anything for you, and you would do anything for him. Which is probably why you found yourself leaving the house as the sun sinks below the treeline with what could barely even be classified as an excuse left for your mom.

The sky is still light, giving the trees that certain look of darkness that they only can achieve at a very certain time. It’s your favorite time of day, and as you turn your bike onto the path through the woods that connects to the other side of your neighborhood you find that you don’t actually mind that Taeil dragged you out here. The sky is beautiful, sporting the colorful oranges and purples of sunset, and though it’s surprisingly cool for the end of July the weather is perfect.

The wind caresses your face and whistles slightly through your wheels as you pedal quickly to the elementary school. Biking has never been your favorite means of transportation, but it was easy and cheap and if you went farther than over to Taeil’s house you could always get someone to drive you. Usually there would be a lot more complaining involved, but tonight you feel a strange peace amongst the trees despite your heaving breaths.

You catch sight of the pole which may or may not have once had a sign on it that indicates the exit from the path. From there it’s just a short ride down the street and around the corner before the school—and more importantly the playground—rises up before you. The gate has been left open, presumably by Taeil taking the same path, and as you ride through you spot his bike abandoned by the tree he always leaves it by. Taeil sits on the swingset, moving back and forth only slightly. He stares off in the other direction, and he seems nervous. You’ve known him too long and too well to not recognize the way that he obviously wants to fidget but shoves it down in order to remain mostly still.

“Hey!” you call out as you hop off your bike and set it down next to Taeil’s. He whips his head around in surprise and returns his own greeting.

“So what was so urgent that you called me out here to talk now?” you ask as you meander over to the swingset and take a seat on the swing next to Taeil, immediatelykicking at the ground to give yourself a bit of momentum. The nervousness that you detected in his body language a moment before surges up, swelling into his face as he gulps and twists his fingers together.

"Oh, nothing much. How're you?" His words are almost too calm, and he still refuses to meet your eye.

"'Nothing much'?" Your disbelief is obvious as you quirk an eyebrow upward.

"Just answer the question," Taeil mumbles.

You roll your eyes, slowly kicking your legs back and forth. The air has begun to chill slightly, and goosebumps begin to slowly form on your exposed skin. "Oh you know. Still going through constant internal turmoil over college. Go to college with my best friend and not have to separate myself from you or go to the best college for my major. Same old same old. You?"

"I'm in love with you," Taeil blurts out.

Your eyes pop open like a cartoon character's and you just barely manage to stop yourself from falling off your swing in surprise. "Holy fuck."

Silence falls between you as you try to gather your wits enough to form a sentence and Taeil sits statue still. The chorus of cicadas and the wind in the trees hums in the background as your surprise slowly fades enough for you to regain brain function.

"This is nothing much—"

"I understand if you—"

You speak at the same time but quickly cut off, each chuckling slightly. He was still Taeil, and you were still his best friend.

"You go first," you say with a slight smile that Taeil returns, if with slightly less enthusiasm.

"I get it if this makes you uncomfortable," he begins, taking a big breath. "Trust me, it weird me out just as much." You roll your eyes good naturedly and open your mouth to respond but Taeil barrels on like a runaway train. "I'm sorry this is so sudden but I needed to tell you and you've probably going to a different college than me and that's terrifying on it's own but the thought of you never knowing—"

"Taeil," you say, setting a hand on his shoulder, "do yourself a favor and actually breathe." He nods vigorously and wheezes in a breath, looking very much like he was about to continue his crazed monologue. Unfortunately, you couldnt hold yourself together anymore and burst out laughing. "You dumbass!" You finally cackle  "I love you too!"

Now its Taeil's turn to almost fall over in surprise. "What?" You've never heard so much shock in his voice and for half a second you wonder if perhaps you just caused his brain to disintegrate. "Since when?"

You count backwards in your head, finally coming to the right year. "Eighth grade."

"Eighth grade?" He demands. "You mean we could have been dating this whole time?"

You snort out a laugh, "I don't know about that, anyone in their right mind would've dumped tenth grade you."

Taeil grimaces. "Good point."

"But hey," you say, a grin taking over you face, "others may arise but this solves one problem."

"Which is?" Taeil asks, fingers brushing across yours where they grip the chain suspending you from the swing set. You take his hand and swing your conjoined fingers back and forth between you. He offers you a small smile, happiness glowing on his face.

"I know which college I'm going to.”

@kpopscape​ @neowritingsnet​ @nct-writers​

#kpopscape #neowritingsnet #nct-writers #taeil x reader #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #moon taeil x reader #nct scenarios #taeil scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct imagines #taeil imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct fanfic #taeil fanfic #nct 127 fanfic #taeil fluff #nct fluff #nct 127 fluff

[fleouriarts]

dark goes to therapy

hello here is a fic i actually wrote around a year ago and never uploaded because i was too embarrassed. it could probably use a better name but this is what i named the file on google docs and i cannot bear to call it anything else. enjoy

You’ve barely made it through the door when your ears start ringing.

Jesus. He's here again. At some point you assumed you would get used to Dark showing up every once-in-a-while, but you were still filled with a certain disdain whenever you came home to his imitation of tinnitus.

The thing is, it's not even annoying anymore.

In fact, it's starting to get concerning.

Dark usually showed up whenever you were with Mark. You remember one of your first (and worst) encounters, where Dark unceremoniously whisked you away from a date with the other side of his coin and proceeded to threaten you with the tact of a teenage boy who'd just been broken up with. The next encounter in the sewer was much more elegant, it seemed he'd finally calmed down, but what he said was still the same: Mark is bad, I am good, join me, he doesn't deserve you. If there was one thing Dark had excelled at, it was consistency.

Him visiting you ten times in the last month was, in fact, not in line with that consistency.

You're pulled out of your thoughts by him finally materializing. This was usually the part you weren't supposed to see, the part he'd set up far in advance, but he's been sloppy lately, and so you watch as his body reconstructs itself from the void. Once his self-summoning is finally over, he stands in faux elegance above you, eyeing you up and down. You can tell when he's genuinely ready for your encounters and when he's faking it, and today, it seems to be the latter.

"So. I see you've come back to me."

"I literally haven't," you grumble. "This is my house, I came back to my house."

An unimpressed look fills his eyes. "My, so sassy. Did he teach you that?" His scowl tells you exactly who he's referring to.

"I haven't even seen Mark in, what, three months?" You retort. 

"But he still... affects you."

"Yeah," you sigh. "That's how people work, Dark. Why are you here?"

He cocks his head. "Same as always. To convince you."

"No, you're not," you respond, unenthused. "If you were here for that, you'd be pulling out the whole shebang-  the dark hallways, the freaky pictures, the spooky voices. Where's any of that?"

Dark scoffs. "Listen, you can't pull theatrics like those every time, see, they have to stand out. Every time does not equal standing out."

"Right." You stare at him for a moment, finding out how to phrase what you'd been needing to tell him ever since he started his frequent visits. It's blunt, but you don't want it to be mean. If it's mean, you know he won't accept it.

"You need help, man."

He strikes a sly smile. "Precisely. That's why I need you, to help me-"

"No," you cut him off. "Not that kind of help. I mean the counseling, get-your-feelings-out type of help."

His face becomes one of pure confusion. It's an emotion you've never seen him express, at least, not without a touch of anger added to it. "What?"

"You show up whenever Mark is around, right?" He says nothing, but you know it's true. "That's one of your things: you're always dramatic, you always want me to join you, and you always show up around Mark. It has been three months since I was even near Mark, and you haven't pulled out your stupid props yet. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

His eyes are starting to squint. "Are you saying something's… wrong with me?"

"I'm saying something's off," you respond, treading as carefully as you can. "You're inconsistent now. I know you got messed up from everything in your past, that's already enough reason to get you help, but now you're unraveling. As much as I hate to admit it, I don't want that to happen."

He stares you down before responding. "Do you really think I can be 'helped'?" He's drawing out his words, and you know you're in for it. "I don't think you understand. Mark took everything from me. There is nothing you or I can do to change that."

You're starting to get frustrated. "Yes, I know you can't change the past, but if you put some effort in, you can change the present," you get out, as calmly as you can. "And no, the effort shouldn't be following Mark around and harassing whoever he talks to. You're just reminding yourself of the pain; you're not his shadow."

He’s silent for a moment. You get the feeling that you’re about to die. 

“You don’t know anything about me, do you?”

For whatever reason, that really gets you. “Wh- Don’t know anything about you?! Every time you come here, you sit here and monologue to me about your trauma! With rehearsed scripts and everything! I know everything there is to know about you!”

Dark’s brows furrow, and you can feel anger surging out from him. “That’s only what I show! There’s so much you don’t know, so much you’ll never know-”

“I know enough!”

Well, now you’ve done it. His shell is starting to break, projections of suffering emanating from his figure. You're about two steps away from being found dead on your living room floor in a few days.

But you have one idea. If you do it, you might stoke his rage even more, but there's the slightest chance that you won't. That you'll make him understand.

You step forward, wrap your arms around him, and brace yourself for certain doom.

…

It never comes. 

Dark stops, and you still feel how his shell breaks and cracks, but it's not anger. It's confusion, shock, warmth, sadness- it's everything all at once, everything except anger.

And then he cries.

It starts as a sniffle, then a quiet cry, then breaks out into loud sobs. He hunches over, head nestling into your shoulder as he bawls his eyes out. As you glance at his face, you see that his tears aren't water- they're thick and black, like a mix of blood and tar. Unfortunately, you're wearing a white shirt, but you can take a few stains if it means helping him.

You don't know how long the two of you stay there. Seconds blend into minutes that blend into hours, as often happens around Dark, but at some point, he vanishes, and you're left alone in the shadows of your living room. 

You don't see him again.

#markiplier #darkiplier #my writing #this is a mix of me loving dark to bits and wanting him to get some therapy and me just hating him he is SO annoying sometimes dfgjkdfjkdfh

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Unravel, Chapter 6/20

Work Summary: Antisepticeye has a plan to destroy Darkiplier, steal his power, and take over everything - and he might just succeed. What starts with Yandereplier going missing evolves into a messy web of betrayal and grief, of blood and tears, of old wounds and new faces. However this ends, Ego Inc. will never be the same again. Chapter Summary: Dr. Iplier finds himself somewhere new, facing Yandere’s kidnapper. The truth comes out and the situation escalates in one horrifying swoop. Warnings: Mind control, violence, blood, death threats, non-con touching, brief suicide mention 

Read on AO3

Enjoy!

~

“Hey, wake up already, I only gave you a little bit.”

Dr. Iplier groans. He wakes slowly, confused. It takes him a long moment to remember what happened. But it comes to him moment by moment, the strange feeling, the cabinet closing, the empty box, the static, the syringe, the static –

Dr. Iplier gasps awake, jolting into full awareness. He’s sitting in a chair, his arms and legs tied down. He’s somewhere he’s never seen before, somewhere cold and dirty, somewhere with wood floors and wood walls. The person standing in front of him grins, Cheshire-like and sharp.

“There you are! I only needed you out for a minute, it’s been nearly ten.”

Dr. Iplier pales.

“Anti!?”

“Who else?”

Anti stands before Dr. Iplier in his classic black t-shirt and dark, forest-green hair to complement his green-tinged skin. His ears are gauged, his throat is slit and bleeding slightly. His eyes, one bright blue and one glowing green, are glinting with barely-restrained glee.

“Where am I?” Dr. Iplier gasps, trying not to sound afraid. “This isn’t your hideout!”

“No, it’s not,” Anti says, “Or at least, it’s not my main one. I knew you guys would come looking for me, so I figured I needed another place to hide my secrets.” Anti laughs at Dr. Iplier’s bewildered expression. “I’ll admit though, I’ve had this place on reserve for a while, off the grid. Not completely, though. I mean, hello!” He points to himself and glitches, pixels scattering and reforming. “But as much as it could be. We’re out in, oh, what are the words, a little wood cabin in the middle of nowhere?”

“You mean…?”

“Oh no, not the cabin, who knows where that thing is. But it’s fitting, isn’t it? It’s a handy place to have, for sure, especially after your esteemed leaders tore my main hideout apart.” Anti pauses, leaning closer to Dr. Iplier. “You’re looking for someone, aren’t you?”

“If you remember their visit,” Dr. Iplier mutters, “You know damn well who we’re looking for.”

“Ohhh, someone’s grumpy!” Anti laughs, as though he’s looking at a hissing kitten. “You won’t be talking so tough in a minute. I have something to show you. You’re only the second Iplier to see this place.”

Dr. Iplier’s heart simultaneously sinks and soars. He knows what Anti means even before he glitches away for a moment and returns with another person.

It’s Yandere. It’s Dr. Iplier’s son, his boy, his baby, the one he’s been missing, the one he’s been lonely for, the one he’s been afraid of losing forever, standing before him in the flesh, whole, alive…but wrong.

It’s mostly his eyes. There’s no whites, no pupils, no chocolate brown, only static, black and white and lifeless. He faces Dr. Iplier, but he stares through him, seeing nothing. His entire face is slack, mouth open. His hair is dirty, greasy, his normally-bright ruby bangs are now dull and dusty red. His cheek is bruised, as are places on his arms and legs. He’s peppered with cuts, his neck is mottled purple and red, his nails are chipped and dirty. He’s too thin. His breathing is wheezy. He stands limply, like the slightest tap might knock him down, yet his posture is mostly straight, like a doll meticulously positioned.

Or a puppet.

“Yan,” Dr. Iplier gasps, staring at his child with undisguised horror.

“Don’t bother trying to talk to him,” Anti says casually, “He doesn’t care about what anyone has to say but me. He won’t remember this later, anyway.” He points to Yandere’s buzzing, static eyes. “He can barely string together a coherent thought with all the static floating around in his brain right now. So we can talk about anything, no need to worry about what Yan’ll remember.”

“How did you do this?” Dr. Iplier asks, quiet with shock. “There’s measures in place to keep you out…”

“Yeah, but I’ll tell you a secret.” Anti leans in towards Dr. Iplier again. “They don’t completely work. I couldn’t manifest all the way; otherwise I would’ve kidnapped him sooner. But I could sneak my static into the things he listened to, I could put glitches in the things he watched.” Anti grins, voice darkening. “I could put little messages into his head about how nice the static is, how pretty it is, how fun it is to listen to it. How fun it is to obey it. To submit. It took some patience, but eventually he was putty in my hands, and none of you suspected a thing.”

“So the storm, the blackout…”

“Actually, that’s the one thing I can’t take credit for.” Anti shrugs. “I still needed a way to manifest in the building, and the storm was my chance. I may have lent some power to the lightning bolt that hit the building, though. And when I left, I made sure to leave a little path through the coding so I could come back after the Googles fixed everything again. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having our lovely chat.”

“You mean you wouldn’t be having your monologue,” Dr. Iplier snaps.

Anti grins again, but there’s something different about it. Before Dr. Iplier can figure out what, Anti raises a hand and strikes Yandere across the face, his nails splitting open Yandere’s cheek.

“Yan!!” Dr. Iplier cries, lurching forward against his bonds.

“I’m in control here,” Anti says, eyes glittering with rage, mouth still grinning. “Yandere is my puppet. You are my prisoner. He already knows his place, and you had better learn yours. I’d hate to have to skin him alive right here in front of you, but I will if you make me.” He glitches a knife into his hand, holds it under Yandere’s chin. “Are you going to make me?”

“No, no, please,” Dr. Iplier begs. A tear runs down his cheek.

“Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

Yandere, for his part, doesn’t even react to the slap. It snaps his head to the side, and he merely slowly turns his head back to face Dr. Iplier again. There’s three lines in his cheek from Anti’s nails, dripping blood down his face.

“Maybe you should’ve listened to Wilford after all,” Anti says with a shrug. “Not that he had any real reason to keep suspecting me; he had no evidence but a hunch and his own paranoia. But you know what they say about broken clocks.” He pauses. “Come to think of it, Jackieboy mentioned how quiet I’ve been lately. I guess you guys had plenty of hints, you just ignored them.”

“How…how do you know about all that?” Dr. Iplier asks, tears still falling from earlier.

“C’mon Doc, don’t you remember my PAX video?” Anti laughs. His hair fades into yellow-green, his eyes turn black. “I’m always there, always watching. I know everything.” He laughs again at Dr. Iplier’s shocked expression as his hair and eyes return to normal. “Hey, hey, I wanna show you something cool.”

“Wh…What?” Dr. Iplier asks, feeling as though he has no other choice.

“Watch this.”

Anti steps closer to Yandere, getting into his personal space. Yandere doesn’t react, doesn’t move away.

“Yandere.”

Yandere turns his head and looks at Anti, still expressionless.

“Who’s your senpai?” Anti grins, draping an arm around Yandere’s shoulder.

“You,” Yandere answers without hesitation, voice monotone.

It’s so unlike Yandere, so unlike his normal emotional self, so unlike his normal personality, that Dr. Iplier sobs.

“Try again,” Anti says, prodding Yandere’s bleeding cheek with one finger. “Say my name this time.”

“You are my senpai, Anti-sama,” Yandere says, still dull and lifeless.

“Did you hear that??” Anti cackles, dropping his head into Yandere’s shoulder to laugh. “He used “-sama”!” He grins at Dr. Iplier, all teeth. “I’m his god now.” He looks back to Yandere with a smile that’s almost gentle. “You’ve really taken well to your conditioning. Good boy, Yandere.” He ruffles Yandere’s hair, raking through the greasy strands with his long nails, and while Yandere’s expression doesn’t change, his posture perks up, like some part of him enjoys the praise.

Dr. Iplier just feels sick, seeing Anti pet Yandere’s hair like he used to.

“Don’t touch him,” he gasps.

“Why not?” Anti asks, leaning in close to Yandere, nose to nose. “He doesn’t mind, see?” He takes Yandere’s chin, turns his face forward again, and licks a line up Yandere’s cheek, tongue running a long stripe through the drying blood there.

“Get away from him!!” Dr. Iplier screams, fighting against his restraints, tears pouring down his face in earnest. “Let go of him, don’t touch my son!!”

“He’s not your anything, not anymore,” Anti says, straightening but keeping his hands on Yandere’s shoulders. “All he knows now is me. All he cares about is me. If I told him to kill himself for me he’d do it. Wanna see?”

“No, no, no,” Dr. Iplier moans, sagging in his bonds, exhausted and shattered.

“Good.” One of Anti’s clawed fingers runs up Yandere’s neck, stroking over his jugular. “I’m not ready to give up this puppet yet.”

“What do you want with him?” Dr. Iplier asks, weeping. “What do you want from me?”

“Ohhh, what do you want from me??” Anti mocks, hair morphing into a natural dark brown and green eye glowing like a star. “Let me tell you, Doc.” His appearance changes back to normal as he looks down at Dr. Iplier. “I have a plan. And it all started with Yandere here.” He pauses. “Well, actually, it started with this.” He digs in the pocket of his jeans for something, and pulls out a small, skinny, cylindrical vial of purple liquid.

“What is that?” Dr. Iplier asks, mystified as to how this relates.

“This,” Anti says, holding the vial up to the light, “Is a potion that Marvin made. He doesn’t know I have it; I doubt he even knows it’s missing. He has this thing where he likes to make potions he has no intention of using to boost his skills, and then he hoards them all in case they end up being useful someday.” He shakes the vial lightly, and as it sloshes, red and blue peek through the ripples. “He changes their hiding place every week so I don’t find them, but I always do. I’ve been waiting for him to make me something useful, and he finally did.” Anti peers at Dr. Iplier, flashing another shark-toothed grin. “What do you think it does?”

“I…” Dr. Iplier starts, “How would I know?”

Anti lets out a barking laugh.

“Good point,” he admits. “This potion is designed to split beings up into their base essences.” He speaks slowly, thoughtfully. “It’d probably make a normal human explode. But if Marvin took it, he’d probably just lose his magic. If I took it, it might pull away my glitches. Oh, I know!” He snaps his fingers with his other hand. “It’s like Bim’s power, how he can pull things apart. But this is much more concentrated, much faster, much stronger. But it’s also one-use only. You’d have to take the whole vial for this to work. And I have a particular victim in mind.”

“Who?” Dr. Iplier asks, dread creeping down his back. A potion like that could cause untold damage to any of the egos.

Anti grins.

“Dark,” he says, like it’s a logical conclusion. “If Dark takes this, I bet it’ll split him apart from his aura, and then it’ll be mine for the taking.” His eyes glint as Dr. Iplier’s widen. “I’ll be the most powerful figment on the planet. I’ll be unstoppable. And you,” He points at Dr. Iplier. “Are going to help me make it happen.”

“What!? No way!!” Dr. Iplier cries. “Why me, anyway? And why take Yandere?? Why not do this yourself!?”

“Are you kidding?” Anti scoffs, “I’m not stupid. There’s no way I could sneak this potion into Dark myself. He’d catch me in an instant, and then it’d be game over. There’s no way I could puppet Wilford, either; if I could, I’d just do that instead of bother with all this.” He puts an arm around Yandere again as he continues. “Really, you were always the best candidate to enact this plan, Doc. No one would ever suspect you, and you’d have ample opportunity. I would’ve just puppeted you, but you’re too close to The Host.” He snarls in annoyance, grip tightening on Yandere’s shoulder. “For a blind guy, he sees fucking everything. So trying to get you directly was too risky. I needed a different way in. I needed leverage.” He looks at Yandere, still impassive and blank, and grins. “I needed Yandere. I knew that so long as I took care not to condition him with someone else in the room, I could make him a puppet right under everyone’s nose. I thought about just making him give Dark the potion, but he’s so fucking in love with him.” Anti grimaces in disgust and grabs Yandere’s face in one hand, squeezing his cheeks. “If he were just a human I could force him anyway, but he’s a figment, and his whole stupid existence is about being in love with Dark.” He releases Yandere’s cheeks to grab his hair instead. “I didn’t want to risk him shaking off my suggestion in the middle of it. So instead, he’s my leverage. After all…” He looks back to Dr. Iplier. “You’re still the best person to get this potion into Dark. All you need is a push.” He pulls Yandere’s hair, so hard that Yandere is lifted up to stand on his toes. He doesn’t even flinch, but Dr. Iplier does.

“So, what,” Dr. Iplier gasps, mind reeling, “You kidnap and threaten Yandere to make me do your bidding? Is that it?” He glares at Anti. “If you got Dark’s aura you’d kill us all. I can’t let that happen.”

“That’s just the thing, isn’t it?” Anti cackles, “You’re between a rock and a hard place. If you refuse my plan outright, well, I’ll probably just keep you here. See if I can make you a puppet without Host breathing down your neck. They might figure it out when I send you back, but I could always just possess you and pretend to be you.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Then I could get Dark, and keep Yandere for a while…but ugh, you might push me out. No, this is the best way.” He finally releases Yandere’s hair, and Dr. Iplier watches a few tufts float to the ground, pulled out by Anti’s forceful grip. Yandere falls back on his heels, almost stumbles, but rights himself back to his original posture. Anti cups Yandere’s chin, turns his face to look into his static-filled eyes. “I might just kill Yandere if you refuse.” He grabs Yandere’s waist with his other hand, pulls him so he’s flush against Anti, chest to chest.

“He’d…” Dr. Iplier forces himself to stay calm, keep down his revulsion. “He’d come back. And in the meantime, we’d find this place, Dark and Wilford will rip you apart, and Yandere will wake up safe at Ego Inc.”

“He might come back,” Anti agrees, hand on Yandere’s chin creeping around to the back of his neck. “He might not, though. And if he did, do you think you’d have enough time to find him? You don’t know where this place is. You can’t even be sure what country this is.” His hand on Yandere’s waist travels, pulling up Yandere’s shirt, nails digging into his back, leaving red lines as they go. “I wonder how many times I’ll have to kill him before it sticks. Probably not many; he’s not as popular as the others. But how will I do it? I could skin him like I threatened to do earlier. I could slit his throat, make us twins. I could strangle him. I could rip out his spine, or his lungs, or his heart. I could make him commit seppuku or eat poison. I could tie him up, release him from my control, and let him be fully aware while I torture him, make him beg me to kill him with his own free will.” Anti grins, leaning his head onto Yandere’s shoulder, into his neck, fangs against Yandere’s skin when he speaks again. “Maybe I could tear out his throat with my teeth, right here, right in front of you.” He breathes in through his nose, ruffling Yandere’s hair, and growls. “I bet his blood is so nice, so warm. I bet it tastes incredible.”

“Stop, stop, stop,” Dr. Iplier moans, mindless in terror and grief as he watches Anti put his hands on his son, sickeningly intimate. “Don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him.”

“Does that mean you’ll cooperate?” Anti asks, not pulling away.

Dr. Iplier whimpers, too in shock to sob. He knows helping Anti will lead to ruin. With Dark’s aura, Anti truly would be unstoppable. He’d be at least a match for Wilford, and he’d be able to mow down anyone else in his way. He could capture so many as puppets. The harm he could do is, truly, limitless. He might even go after humans, too, might try to take over anything. With Dark’s aura adding to his power, it might even be possible.

But…there’s still Yandere. There’s still his baby, there’s still his little one. Dr. Iplier could protect Yandere, he and the others could keep him safe, held away from Anti’s destruction. They can reinforce Ego Inc., rebuild the codes to keep Anti out, fight back, resist. They could find a way to destroy him. They could find a way to defeat him.

Dr. Iplier looks up, above Yandere’s head, to look at the timer there, the timer that everyone has, the timer that says how long someone has to live. He’s been avoiding looking at it this whole time, afraid of what he’ll see. But he needs to know. He can’t make a decision without seeing it. Yandere’s time is written in light blue numbers, which is promising; blue means the number can change, it can go lower but it can also go higher. The number is fluctuating up and down rapidly, no, not just fluctuating, glitching. The numbers scramble and fuzz up, rippling and crackling like a malfunctioning digital clock. Dr. Iplier’s jaw drops. He’s never seen someone’s time behave like this.

It’s stark, undeniable proof that Yandere’s life is completely in Anti’s hands. Whether he lives longer or dies sooner depends on Anti.

And what Anti does depends on Dr. Iplier.

Dr. Iplier cannot do it. He cannot kill his child, not even for the greater good.

He lets his head drop, ashamed.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” he asks Anti, quiet and broken.

He doesn’t see Anti’s grin, but he can imagine it, all pointy teeth and eyes that glint with triumph.

“Look at me,” Anti says, “And pay attention.”

Dr. Iplier lifts his head. Anti finally, finally lets go of Yandere, allowing him to return to his original position, staring emptily at Dr. Iplier.

“I’m going to send you back with the potion,” Anti begins. “You’re not to tell anyone about this conversation. You won’t tell anyone that you saw me, or saw Yandere, or anything else about what happened between us today. You won’t tell them to confront me again, or consider me as a suspect, or anything. If you do, consider our arrangement broken, because I’ll be murdering Yandere the second you let anything slip.” He smirks. “You can’t tell the Googles to revisit the coding keeping me out, either. That counts. You’ll carry that potion, keep quiet, and wait for a good time to use it on Dark. Inject him with it or make him drink it, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“It might take a while,” Dr. Iplier mumbles.

“I know that,” Anti says, “I’m prepared to wait as long as it takes. But when the opportunity comes, you better take it. If you hesitate or change your mind, I’ll kill Yandere. But first I’ll sneak back into Ego Inc., take the potion from you, and give it to Dark myself.”

“How do you expect me to hide from The Host?” Dr. Iplier asks, “You said yourself that he knows everything.”

“What did he say before?” Anti asks in return, “Something about not knowing the past?” He grins at Dr. Iplier’s expression. “Told ya, Doc, always watching. Anyway, if you play it cool, he won’t suspect a thing. Once you give Dark the potion, I’ll drop by to snag his aura and return Yandere.”

“Return him unharmed,” Dr. Iplier growls. Anti laughs.

“It’s a bit late for that,” he chuckles, stroking Yandere’s scratched cheek. “But he’ll be free from my control, alive, and in one piece. That much I can promise.” He appears a knife into his hand, approaches Dr. Iplier, and cuts one of his hands free before holding out his own. “Is that a deal?”

Dr. Iplier chews his lip. He doesn’t want to do this. But he doesn’t want to lose Yandere. At the very least, he can agree for now, and figure out a plan later.

“Fine,” he sighs, thoroughly exhausted. He shakes Anti’s hand.

“Excellent.” Anti takes the potion back out of his pocket and gives it to Dr. Iplier.

The vial of purple liquid is surprisingly warm. Dr. Iplier slips it into the pocket of his lab coat. It feels like a hot stone, weighing him down. Anti cuts him completely free, allowing Dr. Iplier to stand. He rubs his wrists, chafed from the rope.

“Alright then,” Anti says, preparing to glitch them back to the clinic.

“Wait!” Dr. Iplier exclaims. “Can I…” He swallows. “Can I say goodbye to Yandere first?” Anti rolls his eyes.

“He doesn’t know you anymore, remember?” Anti asks, condescending. “And he’s not going to remember it once I pull the static out of his brain.”

“I know, I know, just, please,” Dr. Iplier begs, “Just for a minute. I’ve missed him so much.”

“Fine,” Anti sighs, like it’s a huge inconvenience. “Make it quick.” He steps out of the way, leaving nothing between Dr. Iplier and Yandere.

Nothing between Dr. Iplier and his boy, the person he’s spent two weeks missing, two weeks waiting for, two weeks fearing he’d never see again.

He rushes to him, hugs him tight, starts stroking his greasy, limp hair. Tears prick his eyes as he holds Yandere close, and Yandere doesn’t react. He doesn’t push away, he doesn’t hug back, he doesn’t make a sound. He doesn’t relax with relief or flinch with fear. Still, it brings strength to Dr. Iplier’s heart to have his son in his arms again, even if for a moment, even if Yandere won’t remember or care.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing Yandere’s forehead, over and over. “I love you, I love you so much. I’m going to fix this. I’m going to make this right. I promise I’ll protect you no matter what.” He cups Yandere’s cheeks, mindful of the bruise on one cheek and the scratches on the other. “I’ll get you home again. Just hang in there, baby. It’ll be okay.”

He searches Yandere’s face for a reaction, for a twitch, for any indication of recognition or acknowledgement. There’s none. Yandere’s expression is blank, his eyes are still only static. Tears start to run down Dr. Iplier’s cheeks. He kisses Yandere’s forehead one last time before letting him go.

“I’m ready,” Dr. Iplier whispers through his tears.

“Quit crying,” Anti mutters, disgusted.

Dr. Iplier wipes his eyes with one arm as Anti grabs his other.

Then with a zap, they’re in cyberspace.

Dr. Iplier gasps, looking around himself to see code and binary surrounding him. Anti is electric beside him, zooming through the code, pulling Dr. Iplier with him. They hop from wifi network to hotspot, keeping up with the endless stream, until, suddenly, another zap sounds and Dr. Iplier is standing in his clinic again.

Anti is gone, but the potion remains in Dr. Iplier’s coat pocket.

He collapses into a nearby chair and sobs, and sobs, and sobs.

When The Host comes in that evening for blood transfusions and new bandages, Dr. Iplier is numb enough to act like nothing is amiss, and fixes Host like normal.

“Normal,” he thinks to himself as he helps Host, “Nothing will ever be normal again.”

#dr. iplier #yanderplier #antisepticeye #markiplier #jacksepticeye #markiplier fanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #kristin says stuff #unravel #o o f #i love this chapter but y'all might not >:3c

[nothingunrealistic]

just for fun, some snapshots of this fic as it was being written, with commentary. under a cut to avoid dumping dozens of screenshots in a row on anyone’s dash. also i’m going to reblog this and add some more because tumblr is cutting me off from saving any more changes but i’m not done saying what i wanted to say.

i got this prompt back in july, dropped it into a new google doc, and then didn’t do anything with it until october. as you can see, i didn’t immediately have any good ideas, so i just let it percolate in the back of my mind (along with one or two dozen other writing prompts and projects) for a while.

then, three and a half months later, i finally had an idea! at three in the morning! (not pictured: half a dozen links to pages about autistic burnout, meltdowns, and shutdowns. research is important but it’s not as fun to look at.)

sometimes you think of dialogue well before you think of how to fit it into a scene.

this was eleven days later.

finally! some actual prose! and a way to tie the story to the events of canon! (after this, i worked on this particular fic every day until it was done.)

just putting stuff in brackets works basically every time. the bracketed notes start out as a more high-level interview of what’s going to happen, then get broken down / separated / elaborated on further until they pretty much stand in for individual paragraphs / sentences / lines of dialogue or inner monologue.

see: stuff from the Big Block Of Text getting copied and pasted to where it should be.

pretty sure *this* big block of text got written on one of the rare occasions where i actually managed to write for the entire hour i have set aside specifically For writing. if i were to break down the revision history further, it’d almost certainly show that many of these paragraphs started out as bracketed not-quite-prose, some of which still remained at this point. (also pictured: one particular line from mafee that did not make it into the final draft.)

more details from canon and just details in general.

mafee does Not have rights. (also, it turns out it’s much easier for someone to press their hands against their whole face if they’re not wearing glasses.)

by far the funniest change i made while writing this.

writing any new character’s pov is an adventure in trying to nail down how they’d talk inside their own head. doubly true for any new billions character given that no one talks like a normal person on billions; triply true when it’s a character like rian who Knows no one talks normally and is trying to fit in with the Accepted Dialect.

i’m like dropping hints that winston is having a bad time right now.

winston is having a bad time right now.

rip post-it note fidgeting; long live pen fidgeting. (another research topic: what *do* quants do all day that they might still be working on late at night? well, possibly, backtesting and optimization of algorithms.)

two character threads that started here: rian trying (and ultimately failing) not to make it obvious that she Cares about winston, and winston speaking more tersely than usual, for obvious reasons.

i watched Many clips from the show trying to figure out whether the doors at axe capital ever stayed open on their own, what sound they made when people opened them, and if it was even plausible for characters to hear construction noise through the glass when the doors were shut. (on that last point, i ultimately decided that if the mase cappers could hear becky lynch yelling through a closed door — and most likely they did hear her before they saw her — they could certainly hear power tools.)

“everyone else went home” was the best reason for mafee to walk back into the tmc office that i could think of. he just wants to hang out with Someone yknow?

mafee’s made the noise worse not only by leaving the door open, but also by sitting down loudly and talking a lot!

mafee’s use of “quisling” is a very specific shoutout to the incident he’s describing. axe declared that there was a quisling in the office; mafee had to ask what that meant, and donnie defined it for him; a few episodes later, mafee went out of his way to drop “quisling” into the conversation when talking about it to someone he wanted to impress.

getting the wording of this exchange just right was tricky. also rip mafee’s chair spinning.

switched up the placement of hammer noises and drill noises so that it’d be a Continuous, unrelenting noise that forced mafee to talk louder still and ultimately became too much for winston.

also had to figure out how to fit this comment from mafee into the flow of the scene.

mafee jumps to act as soon as he realizes something’s wrong; rian thinks about what the best course of action would be first.

rian’s got a pretty idealistic perspective on how taylor operates. (this connects nicely to a canon comment from wendy about how taylor tries “to solve every problem [they] see.”) she’s also still working out How people talk here.

wanted to include this early point about it being quieter in taylor’s office, but i couldn’t really make it work.

this was the first point at which i had a clear idea of how this fic was going to end / would conclude in any satisfactory way. bringing that “rian cares but doesn’t want that to be Known” detail full circle.

punctuation pickiness! (and the door is finally closed!)

you know what sounds even worse than metal on wood? metal on metal!

i spent so much of one day just working on these few paragraphs.

and then i got the idea to throw in rian’s recollection of winston’s description of the mase cap office either late that night or the next morning and wrote most of it down while sitting through a meeting. (ft. more emphasis on the Separation between rian and winston & taylor.)

DUMBO is an acronym (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass) but it isn’t always written in all caps. i found a style guide (from a college department in nyc, though i can’t remember which one) that declared it should be written as Dumbo rather than DUMBO and decided to go with that.

mafee is WELL out of the loop here. no wonder he wants to leave.

i went pretty hard on “mafee is being Less Than Kind And Understanding about this whole situation” and eventually had to have him walk it back with “well i didn’t WANT him to suffer or anything.”

this is everything i managed to get done in the Designated Writing Hour (and then some) the night that the supernatural finale aired. oops.

i was torn between rian hearing Something to alert her of taylor’s presence and hearing nothing at all; ultimately i chose the latter. (this revision was also from the brief period of time where i changed the google doc to a landscape layout in the hopes that the Changed Visual would shake some more ideas loose. it worked, a bit.)

see: rian Not hearing taylor.

this detail was added pretty late — one of the last changes i’d made the day before posting. (i’d also switched the google doc back to portrait mode at this point.)

#sometimes i write #Soph's Writing Podcast: Text Edition

[smallblueandloud]

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 for the writing ask- I AM SO SORRY I COULDNT STOP!!! xoxo

aaaah these questions look SO GOOD thank you so much <3 <3 for this ask meme, which will be open all weekend!

1. tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

i pulled open all of my WIP google docs for this and my laptop started whirring ominously, lmao. this is going to be a Little Long but i love talking about my wips so who cares!! (under the cut because EXCERPTS)

guys and dolls but gay - very, very casual rewrite of guys and dolls if sky masterson was a woman. i’m loving how chill i’m being about this one because it’s so much fun to not have to worry how i’m going to write lyrics in a not-weird way and just focus on the story. this one’s first because it’s theoretically closest to being finished.

sky, laughing: “oh? people. all the people you turn down every day. well, i imagine there’s someone out there that’ll catch your eye.”

sarah, stiffening: “...yes, there will be.”

sky: “and what might this person be like?”

sarah: “he will not be a gambler, for one.”

sky does not miss the pointed pronoun. “i’m not interested in what he won’t be, i’m interested in what he will be.” she sits down on the desk, in a pointedly masculine pose, and sets her fedora next to her - at her most Hot Queer, basically. “how will you know when he gets to you?”

my fic for the aos rarepair fic exchange - i can’t give any plot or ship details, for obvious reasons, but it’s 1.3k and i’m having fun with it!

steven roadtrip of destiny - canon divergent fic set at the end of steven universe future where steven goes on a roadtrip instead of... canon. it deals with some heavy emotions and it’s also a character study so it’s tentatively shelved until i get around to rewatching suf. but i am projecting on steven like crazy and it’s really, really cathartic. it’s taught me a lot about myself too lmao.

He’s never been anonymous before. He kind of likes it. It means he can fold his arms on the table and put his head down without Pearl worrying about his posture, or someone asking him if something’s okay.

In the last few months, he’s grown to hate people asking him how he’s doing, or if he’s okay. He always ends up lying, because he doesn’t want to worry them, and he ends up feeling worse.

Probably because it’s more of him supporting other people without supporting himself.

He should have told someone how he was feeling. He should have reached out. Sadie could’ve helped him. Lars would’ve listened. Connie would have hugged him and then found him the appropriate mental health professional.

(God, Steven wants a hug. Also the appropriate mental health professional? Whoever that would be.)

untitled aos fic - i don’t want to give a lot of details because :eye emoji: and also i don’t know much about what the plot of this is going to be anyway, lmao. but here’s an excerpt:

daisy “that actor who doesn’t shut up about data harvesting” johnson (@daisyquake) tweeted: two weeks :eyes emoji:

Elena Rodriguez | Seven Cents S2 Streaming On Netflix Now! (@yoyorodriguez) retweeted and added: the problem with being friends with daisy is that you SHOULD have some insight into what her tweets mean but you still have no idea

Fitz (@justfitz) retweeted and added: Try being married to her

untitled star wars twins fic - because i am a total and massive nerd. i’m just kind of stuffing everything i have feels about from the post-anh era into this and planning on figuring it out later? i’m really loving talking about the culture of alderaan (and the culture of the survivors) and also i just love writing luke and leia’s relationship... so much......

(no excerpt for that one because i’ve basically posted all of it in various posts lmao)

aos ds9 au - i’ve posted a LOT about this already and i want to keep the plot a surprise but fsk is in this and married and half the cast is aliens, what else do you need in life.

“Good morning,” says Jemma, coming into the room with her hair wet and her uniform crooked. “Hello, darling.”

“Hi,” says Daisy, turning her face up for a kiss. Jemma obliges absently as she walks past, looking around the room.

“Has anyone seen my hair clip?”

“No,” say Fitz and Daisy in unison.

and of course, last but never least in my heart, chapter 3 of the magnum opus - writing this is on hold until my brain decides to stop hitting me over the head at every possible moment, but there’s like... 2k written so far? it’s. it’s going.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Coulson, and makes quick work of the right gauntlet. It’s only halfway through the left one that his fingers slow and he says, quietly, “Simmons designed these, didn’t she?”

She lets out a quick breath. “Yeah.”

He stays quiet for a few more seconds, finishing up the last of the straps, making sure they’re tight enough. Finally, he says, “She should be helping you with these.”

Daisy pulls her arms back and swallows down some words, or maybe a couple of feelings, or maybe a sob. “Yeah, well.”

2. tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

the last sentence of the magnum opus!!!!!!!!!!

no, lmao, i’m gonna try to be serious. i really, really want to write some librarians fic in the near future? also MORE OF THE SENSE8 AU. i’m DYING to write some stuff about that. especially sam’s cluster, for some reason? Let’s Make Him Suffer (Comedically)! one day i’m gonna finish that list of what cluster/situation each song is about and then it’ll be over for all of us!

3. what is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

i spent about eight months imagining a scene where riza hawkeye was really injured and mustang was holding her in his arms (basically the promised day scene but with more privacy) so does that count?

hmm, just for some other possibilities: glinda telling dorothy about elphaba, laura somehow seeing or speaking to natasha during catws, a good omens au of the good place (specifically the ”i don’t even like you!” / “you doooooooo” scene), kencyrath au of star wars (ESPECIALLY THIS ONE, except setting up the first scene alone would take 7k, but i want to talk about leia and luke and their MESSED UP TRUST ISSUES in this au).

oh, also, something about star trek tng where jean-luc and beverly and jack were in love and then jack died and picard left. more specifically a scene set during the pilot episode where jean-luc very cordially offers beverly the option to transfer off the enterprise, that he wouldn’t dream of holding it against her, and beverly very cordially telling jean-luc to go fuck himself. i want to write 30k of that broken triad. i want it so bad. i dream of that fic. maybe one day when i find myself with a completely empty month or two, i’ll binge all of tng and Write Some Stuff.

4. share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

since you and i have tww in common, i’m gonna do a tww fic! otherwise i’d have to reread literally every fic i’ve ever written, lmao.

(this is long but i put this post under the cut so i have RIGHTS. also consider this a sneak peek for the j/d fic in the sense8 au?)

“It’s okay,” says Helen. She sits for a moment in silence, seeming thoughtful. “The Congressman and I are in the same cluster,” she says eventually. “I’d- I supposed that’s easier on the Secret Service?”

“Yes,” says Donna. “The-”

She stops herself from saying anything further. President Bartlet and the First Lady aren’t exactly quiet about who’s in their cluster, especially with senior staff, but that doesn’t mean she should go talking about it in an unsecured room in LA, of all places.

To cover for her blunder, she gives up something else: “The same with Josh. They got really lucky with him, actually. It’s just him and me, so they won’t have to worry about anyone threatening the Chief of Staff through the barista in the local Starbucks.”

Helen looks up from the Ohio numbers she’d drifted back to, a slow smile creeping up on her face. “Josh is in your cluster?”

“Uh-” says Donna, feeling like national security wasn’t worth whatever she’s just blundered into. Oops. “Josh- Josh is my cluster, ma’am.”

She catches her mistake the second it’s out of her mouth, but Helen doesn’t call her on it, more focused on other revelations. “No wonder you two look at each other the way you do!” she says, sounding delighted. Donna shuts her eyes, praying for this to go away. It’s not that she’s ashamed of Josh - it’s just so, so complicated, and other people never think about how difficult it was. Still is.

i’m just... i really liked the idea of donna fumbling and having to reveal this to cover up for what else she was going to say? i don’t know why i’m so charmed by this. i think it’s because it would be impossible in the show - you can’t show what someone was going to say on television, not without a lot of setup and very careful scripting. it’s just a really fun situation to write about and i’m really proud of this conversation in general.

also helen santos was a dream to write and i love her a lot. i kind of want to write one of the fics in the series about her and her cluster solely because like... look at her. she’s a delight in literally every scene. i love her.

5. what character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

daisy johnson!!! i love writing daisy johnson!!!! she is the most adhd character i’ve ever written and i literally just have to transcribe my own inner monologue and it works perfectly!!!!!

Swing shift: 1600 hours to 2400 hours. Daisy always ends up getting back to her quarters at like 0030 hours, when Jemma is asleep and Fitz is reading some kind of technical journal. Then she has to eat replicated pizza, alone, and freshly replicated pizza is actually pretty hot but it feels cold at that time of night, like, spiritually.

6. what character do you have the most fun writing?

...whoops i literally just answered that lmao. uh. i also really love writing sky masterson in the guys and dolls fic? she’s just weaponized hot queerness in a suit and i love her for it. she is intentionally trying to seduce this repressed lesbian and it’s really funny and also really hot of her and it’s so much fun to write.

also, i wrote chidi for the tgp fic and it was possibly the most fun i’ve ever had with a pov, although that was also because i was purposefully trying to mimic the tone of the show. i still think that line about michael and a grenade is, like, the funniest i have ever been in my life. but chidi’s panic was surprisingly easy to write? all of tgp’s characters have such STRONG voices, it makes writing fic ridiculously easy as long as you don’t get stuck on a plot for six months.

7. what do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? would others agree?

oof, this one is ALWAYS tricky. uh? uhh?? i’m going to ruin everything by saying this but i basically alternate between the same two sentence structures and i am really frustrated about it. i also alternate between the same two styles of endings and i always use the same beginning (set scene, main character pov, thoughts-as-exposition, back to scene).

BUT ON A MORE POSITIVE NOTE i like to talk about emotions and relationships and character development!! i have my “queer subtext goggles” superglued to my face, lmao. i like to think about how characters must have felt about things in canon and how it must’ve influenced them. i like making people deal with the consequences of their actions, especially how it’s influenced they themself. i also just really, really like writing people who love each other, whether it’s romantic or platonic or anything in between. i just want them to be happy! i just want them to stick together! doesn’t matter what fandom, i stand by it.

#loudwithlaughter #sb and l rambles #sb and l answers #sb and l is writing #thank you for sending this in!!!!! #now for literally All The Tags lmao #aos ds9 au #verse: fitzskimmons thingy #fic: you're a candle in the window #verse: and it's golden #mcu ideas #tgp ideas #st ideas #fic: help me hold on to you #fic: on that bumpy road to love #jesus CHRIST that was a lot of tags #okay okay i'm pressing post now #this was such a delight thank you SO much for sending it! #the steven roadtrip of self discovery fic

[writethehousedown]

The start of all things that are left to do (Jankie) - Mar

A/N: Jackie had been surprised when Janice approached her at the end of their creative writing class, all smiles and boundless energy. Janice was a pretty girl, and Jackie, at twenty-two, had yet to learn how to talk to pretty girls without stumbling over her words.

Jackie was already nervous to begin with, so perhaps arriving thirty-six minutes early and drinking two large cappuccinos before Janice even met her at the café hadn’t been the smartest choice. Now she was nervous, trembling a little, and had thirty six minutes left to think about everything that could go wrong once Janice sat in front of her to work on their project. Jackie could choke on her words the second she saw her, or draw a blank on any story plots and be useless as a partner. Then Janice would think that she was a fraud, and maybe she was a fraud and her parents were right and she should have gone to law school like they wanted, oh God… That was, if Janice even got to the cafe. Maybe she’d decided she didn’t want Jackie as her partner, after all.

Jackie had been surprised when Janice approached her at the end of their creative writing class, all smiles and boundless energy. They hadn’t had a real conversation before that; just some small talk here and there, whenever Jackie felt brave enough to hold eye contact with the girl instead of avoiding all interaction by sitting as far away from her as possible. Janice was a pretty girl, and Jackie, at twenty-two, had yet to learn how to talk to pretty girls without stumbling over her words. And she so wanted to talk to this one. So, when Janice asked her if she wanted to work on the assigned short story together, Jackie forced herself to say yes, to Janice’s obvious delight. And now there she sat, trying to rein in a caffeine rush and starting and scratching out sentence after sentence.

“The air in the windowless room was cold and stale-” No. Pointless.

“A girl walked alone at night-” That’s the name of a movie.

“The rain came down on the-” No, no, no.

Jackie dropped her pen on the table and buried her face in her hands. She looked at the wall clock. Twenty five minutes left. She puffed her cheeks and huffed while looking toward the counter. Screw it, she thought. Might as well make it three coffees.

    At four minutes past three p.m., Janice bounced into the café, in lilac dance shorts and a matching sports bra that showed through the open side of her white tank top. She waved at Jackie and went up to the counter. Jackie used that time to clear the table and straighten her clothes and her posture and her thoughts.

Janice came back holding a reusable cup with a straw in one hand and a paper bag of scones in the other. She sat next to Jackie and left the bag open on the table. An offering. Jackie took a scone and smiled at her.

“Thanks, Janice.”

“Oh, please, Janice was my father. I’m Jan.”

Jackie laughed a little at the dumb joke and Jan looked very pleased with that.

“Alright. Jan. What did you get yourself?” asked Jackie, trying to make some conversation before they got to work.

Jan shook her cup a little. “Watermelon frappuccino.”

Jackie’s disgust must have shown on her face, because Jan smiled until her eyes crinkled and said “Don’t judge me, it’s good,” then bit her metal straw.

Jackie’s eyes flickered down to the girl’s mouth, but she blinked and quickly looked up. The mischief in Jan’s face told Jackie she hadn’t been quick enough.

“Do you wanna get started?” asked Jackie, scooting closer to the table and putting her hair up in a bun, just to give her hands something to do.

Jan nodded and rummaged through the backpack she’d left on the floor, taking out a lavender, leather bound journal and a handful of glitter pens tied together with a rubber band. Jackie looked at the colorful stationary and thought it matched the image of Jan that was slowly forming in her mind.

They both opened their journals side by side and dived in.

“So. Do you have a plot in mind?” asked Jan, while she wrote “Short story (w/ Jackie)” in bold letters at the top of the page.

“No, unfortunately,” said Jackie, and quickly added “I’ve been trying, though. I think I’m off my game today, sorry.”

Jan smiled at her and lightly bumped her hand. “Don’t worry, gorg, we’ll figure it out together. We have eight days.”

“No, for sure. I know.” Jan seemed satisfied with her response and turned back to her notes.

Jackie knew she could have left it at that. But the monologue that had been rattling around her head all day wanted to make its way out through her mouth, and before she could stop it, she was dropping all her inner turmoil on a girl that barely knew her name.

“It’s just, in those eight days I have to fit this six thousand word story and two big projects I haven’t even started. Plus I promised I would help my cousins with their college applications because my mother said I’d be neglecting my family if I didn’t. And I need our story to go well because it’s the first project of the year and if our professor doesn’t like me now, he won’t have me as his TA next year and I need some teaching experience just in case playwriting doesn’t pan out and I have to find a new source of income.”

The rant cut there, leaving Jackie out of breath and incredibly embarrassed. She chanced a side look at her partner to gauge her reaction and found the girl frowning, taken aback.

“Jacks…” Jan started, pity evident in her voice.

Oh, here we go. Jackie knew better than to lose her composure in front of girls like this, who never understood. She was always ready to smile and nod at the tips on how to control her anxiety from people who didn’t have a clue. Jan opened her mouth and Jackie braced herself for whatever tired suggestion would come out. Probably yoga, if her outfit was any indication.

“Let’s make a work plan.”

What?

If Jan noticed her shock, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she barreled through like a woman on a mission, writing everything down as she went.

“Six thousand words in eight days, minus two days for editing and as a buffer, just in case. That’s less than eight hundred words daily. We can’t meet up everyday, but we can work on the same Google doc and try to align our schedules to have virtual meetings. We’ll take the next half hour to sketch out the whole plot and we can discuss character types as we go. What do you think?“ she finished, finally looking up at Jackie.

Jackie stared back, unable to answer.

“Jacks?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, that sounds reasonable. Perfect, really.”

Jan preened under the compliment and added more comments on the margins of her journal.

"You really have it together,” said Jackie, still in a trance.

Jan looked sideways at her, clearly pleased with herself.

“My college grades average out to a nine so far. I don’t plan on changing that. Do you?”

“No, of course not. Let’s start.” Jackie grabbed her own journal and searched the table for the pen she’d been using, coming up empty. She noticed Jan staring at her and turned to face her.

“What?”

Jan smiled a little and leaned in. “You, um…” she trailed off and reached her hand towards Jackie’s face, pushing stray hair away from her cheek as she reached behind her head. Jackie couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from Jan’s eyes. She felt a tug in her hair and Jan pulled her hand back, holding Jackie’s missing pen.

“You were looking for this?” she whispered.

Jackie moved to grab her pen and grazed Jan’s hand in the process.

“Thank you,” she whispered back. It felt important to keep her voice low. “You’re so pretty up close.” Or maybe she should’ve not talked.

Jan’s eyes widened, but her smile didn’t falter. “Am I?”

“And from afar. You’re just pretty.” Jackie straightened up in her chair and shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Jan sat up and picked up her drink, swirling the straw in the almost empty cup.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” she shot back, glancing sideways at Jackie. “I’ve wanted to talk to you all month, but you always run out of class as soon as it’s over.”

“Oh, that,” said Jackie, chuckling a little. “Yeah, I’m always late to something. And, if I’m being honest, I was avoiding you.”

Jan dropped her smile for the first time that afternoon. Jackie noticed and rushed to correct herself.

“No, not like that! I just get nervous around you and I always say the wrong thing when I’m nervous. Just now is a good example.”

That seemed to appease Jan, but not enough for her to drop the subject. Instead, her eyes showed that same gleam from before, and Jackie realized she wouldn’t leave this conversation unscathed.

“Why do I make you nervous, Jackie?” asked Jan, the image of innocence as she leaned back on her chair and sucked on the straw.

Jackie didn’t buy it for a second.

“You know why, Janice.”

Jan did a happy little wiggle on her seat and left the cup on the table. “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.” Jackie just laughed. Her nerves had turned into giddiness and it wasn’t just the caffeine anymore. She felt light, she felt brave enough.

“Alright, I’ll say it: I like you. You’re cute and bright and I get stupidly happy when I see you in class.” But Jan knew that already.

“You’re adorable. Maybe once we turn in this story, and you finish your two projects and send your cousins to college, you can sweet talk me some more over dinner.”

“Well, who could say no to that?”

They both stared at each other, beaming, until Jan turned to the table with purpose and asked: “So, story now?”

“Story now.”

#rpdr fanfiction #jankie #jan sport #jackie cox #the start of all things that are left to do #mar #lesbian au #concrit welcome #back to school 2020 #day 3: pens #submission

[coelpts]

Being Mean to Dr. Boris Habit 2: Electric Boogaloo

hi! my last post on this matter was getting a wee bit gigantic so i made a second post regarding being mean to dr. habit during smile for me’s ending sequence. if yalls wanna see the first part of this, regarding what happens when you shake your head during the first two endings of the game, you can read it here! this post and the previous DO have spoilers, so be forewarned!

EDIT: or, if you want to see ALL of the ending dialogues in one place, i’ve compiled it all into a google docs spreadsheet you can find right here!

now, to continue the madness.

First though, there are a couple of things to go over.

Like the fact that the Lily is indeed in the corner of the room, wedged between Boris’ desk and the window, appearing to repel the darkness that covers the rest of this wall away from itself.

And that no matter how late it gets, the ending never gets any darker and the sun doesn’t move at all. It’s like you’re stuck in this one moment.

And that one of the no violence posters got...on the ceiling...

And, of course, Dr. Habit has 3 monologues for when you escape the dentist’s chair. And since I’m cataloging EVERYTHING...

The Escape Monologues

First Escape

If you’ve played the ending, you recognize this line. But Habit continues for like, eleven more lines of dialogue!

Fun fact- If you count everyone in the Habitat including yourself, you can guestimate that Habit would have obtained somewhere around 640-680 teeth had the Big Event gone without a hitch.

That’s too many.

If you choose to wait out the dialogue, you will eventually black out. Presumably due to the laughing gas or the pain of having 19 teeth taken from your mouth. You get the following prompt,

and you go back to the dentist office.

Second Escape

No thank you, doctor.

Hey? These lines make me real sad folks! An excellent zeugma example, though.

And we pass right out all over again.

Third Escape and On

HEY, GUYS???

After this point, should you continue to escape he will repeat this dialogue.

...Alright, I was trying to avoid this, but I guess I’ve no choice in the matter, huh.

Push Ending

I’ve just cataloged the whole thing. Wherever the path splits, I’ll put a header and a note.

yeah me too doc

I couldn’t handle standing off to the side all impassive. I had to stare deep into his eyes to really see if I had this in me.

1A. Yes, I’m ready to end this.

...And so it ends.

1B. No, I don’t want this to end.

I MEAN...

2A. Yes, I’d rather have a staring contest then push you off your balcony.

I think the worst part of all this is that he...like, very clearly has no will in him to fight anymore. You literally just told him, “I don’t have the heart to continue, I don’t want to fight you and I’d genuinely rather sit here forever and do nothing than hurt you” and he doesn’t even capitalize on the opportunity to get you back in the chair and seize the rest of your teeth. He just.

Does nothing.

This line is pretty alright. Hate I had to do this to see it.

...And so it ends.

2B. I don’t know what I’ll do.

...And so,

3. It ends.

And now you never, ever have to do this.

So don’t.

#Smile for Me #Smile for Me Spoilers #Boris Habit #Dr. Habit #Flower Kid #Part 2 of a 2 Part Saga #I've officially ripped out my heart #Contains all of the Escape dialogue and the entire Push Ending #I did it so you don't have to! #Sorry this took a while. Got busy at work. You know how it is.

[elizaviento]

Compatibility

Note:  I’ve had some stuff weighing heavy on my mind recently and what better way to mentally escape than write cheesy breeding smut?  So, here you go.  This has actually been sitting in my google docs as a draft for AGES and I’m glad it’s finally free.  

Compatibility

(Kitty Rick x Reader)

NSFW -- 1680 words.  Dom/sub elements, heavy emphasis of breeding.

(FYI:  This story is a continuation of His, Anchor and Heat which can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.)

*****

True to his word, as Rick carried me toward his bedroom, it continued for days and I truly hadn’t the slightest clue what I was in for when I’d encouraged him to give in to his instincts.  Occasionally, we’d pause to eat, drink or sleep.  But, other than that, we remained tangled in a knot of limbs, tussling about on the rumpled mattress until every muscle in my body ached and I felt that just one more orgasm may put me into a coma.

However, that wasn’t to say that I hadn’t enjoyed myself… immensely.  Especially considering that, as I became more and more exhausted, Rick seemed to become more and more dominate; directing me, positioning me, overpowering me.  And, it was glorious.  Because, no matter how I tried to assure him in the past that I would always yield to him, he seemed to cage himself – refuse himself the luxury of the willing pet he’d always desired – and halted shy of the domination that he so obviously craved.  That is, until now.

“Rick – oh fuck,” I panted, lying face down on the mattress, covered in sweat.  He hovered above me, nuzzling and nipping at the nape of my neck.  As much as I wanted to ask him to stop, I never wanted it to end.  But, I was in dire need of a shower and I told him so while attempting to roll over on my back.

“No,” he commanded before clamping his jaws on the junction of my neck and shoulder, holding me fast.

“Why?” I managed to squeak while attempting not to struggle beneath him.

“Because I need – I’m trying to breed you, baby,” he stated, matter-of-factly for the first time since this fuck-a-thon began and it rendered me absolutely boneless.

“Breed? Wha – what do you mean, breed?”

“Mmm, sweetheart.  You know exactly what I mean,” he cooed in my ear.  But, I remained perfectly still and quiet, allowing him to elaborate further. “I’m gonna fill you up, my pet. Don’t you want that?  Fill you up with a litter of our own, hmmm?”

“Oh my god,” I moaned, pressing my face to the mattress.  I hadn’t the slightest idea if it were even possible for him to impregnate me. Would our DNA be compatible?  What would a cat man/human woman hybrid even look like?  Had it happened before?  All these questions flashed through my head while Rick’s claws grazed down my back, tracing the outline of my spine before gripping my hips; lifting and positioning me the way he liked best.

“Rick?” I asked, my voice strained as I felt the plush head of his dick pressing into me from behind for the – how many times had it been already?  The slight sting of raw flesh didn’t deter my desire, rather it served to spur it on.  But, that word continued to ring in my ears.

Breed.

Breed.

Breed.

A litter of our own.

Being the clever feline he is, he sensed my hesitation and could clearly picture his hackles rising in my mind’s eye.

“Wha – w-w-what’s the problem?”  I was correct.  His voice now held a harsh edge that was unmistakable – he was on the defensive. “You don’t want that, huh?”  His claws pricked my skin as he dug his fingers deeper into the flesh of my hips.  I sucked a breath between my clenched teeth, unsure of how to respond. However, he didn’t give me the opportunity.  “Well, you know what – guess what, sweetheart – you don’t have a fuckin’ choice.”

With that final sentence, the harsh edge of his tone was replaced with a dominant playfulness that he reserved only for me and I felt myself relax ever so slightly. Even though he may have been serious in his intention to ‘breed’ me, he knew the exact way to go about it to ensure my compliance.

“Isn’t that right?” he asked, snapping me from the inner monologue that seemed to constantly be playing in my head.  Arching over my back, his silken fur glided across my heated skin and I shivered as his textured tongue lapped at the shell of my ear from behind.  “Answer me.  Say ‘yes, Rick’.”

“Yes, Rick.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, pressing his chest to my back; his dick sliding across my ass in the way he knew drove me crazy and I pressed my face to the mattress once again to suppress a moan.  “You belong to me, don’t you, my pet?  I take care of you.”  Pressing his furry muzzle to the sensitive flesh behind my ear, his wet nose left small damp patches across my skin.  Goosebumps erupted in its wake and I felt him chuckle against my back, mingled with the deep rumble of his purr.

He did take care of me, in every way I could possibly need or want.  In fact, since relinquishing my independence, I hadn’t harbored even one regret.  My life was comfortable and easy and I honestly couldn’t image it any other way.

“Yes, Rick. I belong to you.”

With a deep growl that was almost tender, Rick tipped his body to the side until he flopped on the mattress, bringing me down with him.  Then, before I could react or even giggle, he hooked my right arm behind his head, hoisting me further upward so that our heads were level, and hitched my right leg over his hip.  Then, while pressing his muzzle directly behind my right ear, he snaked an arm between us, grasped his dick and slipped inside me with ease.

This position was new – and incredibly intimate; his already labored breaths, mingled with purrs, wafted across my sensitive flesh, sending goosebumps from my scalp to my toes.  The comfortable sensation of fullness was already enough to rip the millionth moan from my throat, but when he grasped my hips in his paw-like hands and forcefully yanked me downward on his cock, I literally squealed.  Gripping the comforter with my free hand and gripping his shoulder with the hand slung around his neck, I held on tightly in anticipation of his next move.

“Watch,” he demanded, vaguely.

Pinching my brow, my body began to tremble as the seconds ticked by with absolutely no movement.  Finally, I was able to mumble a confused, “huh?”, before he pricked the flesh of my hips with his claws and elaborated –

“Watch yourself get fucked.”  Hitching a breath I tipped my chin, shifted my gaze downward and locked on the place where our bodies connected.  Once satisfied with my compliance, he slowly pulled my body upward – my pussy sliding along the length of his cock until just the tip remained – and then slammed it downward, harder than before.  “Did – did you see that, hmm?” he asked as I whimpered.  Don’t you – don’t look away.”

I wasn’t given an opportunity to protest – as if I would – or even reply.  He simply repeated the lift and slam motion with my helpless body, harder and faster.  With each upward pull, his cock emerged wet and glistening and with each downward thrust, it was completely engulfed.  Soon, I was boneless and limp as a rag doll as Rick continued to manipulate my body and growl, lapping at the skin behind my ear with his textured tongue.

“Ah, fuck yeah.  You like that?  Y-y-you like seein’ that dick pound that tight snatch of yours, huh?”

I couldn’t speak – at least not coherently.  Instead, my eyes threatened to roll back into my skull as the delicious pressure mounted with each pass of Rick’s cock over that soft, spongy patch of flesh.

“Keep watchin’, my pet.  I-I-I want you to see that pussy cum all over my cock.  Mmm, you’re close, yeah?  Fuck, I – I’m gonna fill you up real nice.”

The words ‘fill you up’ had a double meaning that was not lost on me and I found myself welcoming the possibility.  Even though I seriously doubted I had the ability to birth a ‘litter’ of… whatever type of offspring we’d produce, the idea of one – or possibly two – evoked a delightful warmth that began in the pit of my stomach and migrated downward at the exact moment the pressure snapped and pulsed outward in a blinding gush of ecstasy.  Involuntarily my eyelids fluttered closed – finally breaking the intense gaze – as something akin to a moan poured from my mouth in the shape of “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Seconds later, the welcome pressure of fangs on my bare shoulder yanked me back to reality as it intensified and punctured with a pop that I could feel more so than hear.  Then, after a few more thrusts with faltered rhythm, Rick’s smothered shouts reverberated from my shoulder toward the center of my chest as he filled me up real nice, just as he promised.

----------

Hours later, I stared up at the ceiling with unblinking eyes, as I had since Rick dozed off with me pulled tightly to his chest.  Lying on my side with both of his arms wrapped around my waist, his deep breaths wafted across the side of my face.

He hadn’t said it back.

He wanted to breed me… but couldn’t say IT back.

Or – was it really all just instinct fueled by the intense desire to hump any female in heat?

Realistically, there was no way our DNA was compatible enough to create a life.  I knew this, deep down.  No matter how many times he came inside me; no matter how much he insisted – it was impossible.

I was his pet. That was the agreement.  That's what I signed up for.  Not his mate. His pet.

With a deep sigh, I scooted closer, gliding my palms down his chest.  The silken fur felt so good slipping between my fingers and his heat radiated like a furnace, giving us no need for additional cover. Content with the logical conclusion, I drifted to sleep.

The End.

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