#which has increased the frequency of one of my personal least favorite things to come out of fast fashion publishing

[avissapiens]

Avis' Subject Symposium

A Crash Course in Trance Pt 1: Files.

(Art by Acro @sodalite96/https://twitter.com/sodalite96 Used with their permission. Go check them out!)

So often new subjects come to me and they don’t know the first thing about trance. None of its mechanics or methods, and so it can be very daunting for them; to step into such a wide abyss without knowing what to expect and what is expected of you. Many of them, even experienced subjects, expect that 100% of the work is and should be done by the Hypnotist. In truth both parties, the hypnotist and the subject, must be willing and able. But while it’s more readily apparent what must be done in order for a tist to be successful in their endeavors, many subjects/potential subjects can have a hard time understanding what it takes to get the most out of their trance, both from pre-recorded files, and from live sessions with a hypnotist. So, I’m here to give you what is in my opinion, the essential Crash Course to Trance, starting first with trancing to files.

Location

Find yourself somewhere nice, darkened and quiet, where you know you won’t be disturbed. This is already a hard task for a lot of subjects, living with other people always increases the chance that one might barge in on you, eyes glazed over, drooling all over yourself. Or that someone’s reckless pounding from above might shake the abyss so thoroughly that it takes you out of trance. But here is the thing I will stress. While physical quiet is a good idea as it allows you to focus on the words and suggestions streaming into your head. What matters so much more is internal peace and quiet. A location where you can feel at ease and safe and secure in yourself. A locked bedroom surrounded by mountains of pillows. Your favorite plush armchair that threatens to swallow you almost as well as the Abyss of Trance. The peaceful morning route on the train whose path you know so well that you can be lulled into trance just by the rumbling vibrations of the tracks beneath your seat. Wherever you can be comfortable.

The ideal location for trance I'm sure does exist in some government facility or therapists office somewhere, where you can be dropped into an isolation tank and be brainwashed clean. But most of us will never encounter that. So what matters then is the ideal mindset for trance, which is one of peace, safety, trust and assurance.

Equipment

This is one of the reasons so many love using files. Because its barrier to entry is so low. All you really need is something to play the file on and a place to listen. This is in contrast to working directly with a tist where you need, at the very least, A good internet connection, maybe a camera, Another person who you trust and who might be wildly inconsistent. Or working in person which probably will require a whole location and time-table to get set up. No, Files are relatively simple and they are no better or worse than live sessions for certain purposes. However, like all simple things, they can be elevated by improving its ingredients. A box cake from the store and a home-made chiffon are functionally the same, but their difference comes in the ingredients and technique.

So for trance I recommend spoiling yourself a little, at the very least buy yourself some decent quality over-ear headphones. Many file-makers (myself included) add frequencies and binaural beats underneath the main track. These serve the purpose of training your own brain’s waveforms to a certain frequency, thus more easily taking you into trance. But they can only be detected and properly registered with some good headphones. Additionally, The encapsulation of headphones provides a more immersive experience, isolating you and transporting you through the trance experience like you are in your own little world. Trust me. $600 studio headphones aren’t needed, But a good quality wired $40 headset goes a long way and is multi-purpose. A decent quality chair or mattress also will serve you well, not just in trance but in life.

Focus

Trance is a very tricky state that, like all things, requires practice and patience to master. Staying in trance is like a tightrope walk, teetering gently between the realm of consciousness and awareness, and the oblivion of total subconscious and sleep. It is the liminal space between the two, that subconscious space that makes trance and hypnosis possible. It is the state where your mind is most open to total suggestion and where magical things can happen. So how does one walk the line between these two modes of being? The answer is focus. Or rather Half-focus. Focusing without focusing. With descriptions like that it can sound like some kind of Zen riddle, but that is often what it feels like sometimes. Now this is not a laser focus like you would expect in a classroom setting, no one is being tested here. It's a more gentle and subtle focus. Like focusing on the world around you. Focusing on the wind on your face, the rise and fall of your lungs; On the way your body just goes loose and slumps over. The trick is to go in and to follow along, to listen and pay attention and try to comply with the suggestions given at first. Suspend your disbelief and engage with it unironically and without pretense. If you notice yourself drifting, don’t try to force it back to focus. Simply let it explore where it wants and to carry on organically. Nothing in trance needs to be forced. Simply focused on and allowed to happen.

Many subs oscillate in trance, their minds ebbing and flowing like a Sine wave; wavering in and out of trance, one minute aware, the next minute completely blank and asleep, and then for a brief moment in bliss. But it averages out to trance at the end of it. One must also not fear dropping out of trance. Focusing too much on that eventuality makes it a self fulfilling prophecy. Just Focus-not-focus-half-focus and enjoy yourself.

Apprehension

So many subjects look at files and their mind begins to spin with endless questions and anxieties. Worries about “losing themselves” or “changing too much” or “doing things they don’t want to do.” It’s a valid set of concerns for a new subject, uninitiated in the true mechanics of trance and only knowing of hypnosis what is shown in the media. Evil villains and monsters brainwashing our heroes to do horribly enticing and arousing things. So ingrained is this idea that it even crossed over into the allure of hypnosis files. And while I won’t say it's impossible for that to happen, I have 3 comments on it to ease your mind. First, with Files, one of the best things about it is that the subject gets to control practically every single aspect of the experience. When you do it, how many times you listen, and whether you listen at all to begin with. While all files should be clearly labelled with Content and trigger warnings and given an explicit summary of what they are and what they do, we know that is not the case. The amount of “Mystery files” I've seen on various forums irks me to no end. But it appeals to some people. However, for those who are not particularly fond of surprises you have the absolute power to review the file before you trance to it. You can give it a fully aware walk through, or just jump through segments to look for anything that doesn’t suit your taste.

Once you’ve done that however you might still be conflicted about some content. Not openly averse to it, but unsure. Dumbing down and IQ reduction are probably number one on this list. People are so terrified of somehow losing everything when they learn to stop overthinking things. For these concerns my second point suggests Introspection. Ask yourself “Why do I/Don’t I want this?” “Is it really as bad as my anxiety is making it out to be?” Because if you like something a lot, and really want it, then why should you deny yourself it out of fear? Even aside from dumbing, many desires are tinged with this air of guilt or fear. Terrified to acknowledge or grab hold of what we truly want and own up to it. In my estimation Hypnosis can be one of the best ways of dabbling with those desires because in trance there is no shame or judgement. Finally, my 3rd point says you don’t have to worry. If you really don’t like a suggestion you can always leave it behind. Your mind has built in fail-safes to reject suggestions you haven’t agreed to. A file cannot make you do something unless you want it, at least subconsciously. The old cliche goes “All Hypnosis is Self-Hypnosis” and what that fundamentally means is that as a subject you are the one who decides what happens. You consent and go along with things and allow them to happen to you. It is your desire, your focus, your arousal and your own subconscious that allows hypnosis to work. Subjects have more power than they know. I really hope it assists some people in vibing better with trance and files. I’ll be putting out another version for Live hypnotists later this month.

Thanks again to Acro for letting me use their Art, definitely go and support them on twitter. And If you want to support the creation of more hypnotic experiences that might help you practice that balance of focus then you can do so by subscribing to my Patreon, or to my Youtube channel. And if you want to interact more closely with me and my supportive community you can join my Discord server.

#Hypnosis #trance #gay hypnosis #brainwashing #caption #hypnotized #hypnokink

[tennessoui]

Pleaseeee do 43 or 46. I love your work btw

(insert months late panicked noises about how I thought 45 was 'falling in love with best friend's partner' and so wrote hold me fast for it, but actually 43 is 'falling in love with best friend's partner' very whoops very my b)

so i did 43 again anyway, but in a modern au and where the couple is actually in love (but it is an obikin happy ending because kit did write it)

(wife is unnamed the entire time so no character bashing it could literally be anyone ive been calling her rebecca in my head lmao)

43. Falling In Love With Best Friend's Partner (2.7k.......)

Obi-Wan’s kettle goes off with a whistle right as there’s a fierce banging on the door. He almost drops his favorite mug in surprise, which puts him in a bad mood from the get-go. But for the love of Christ, who would come call at his house at nine at night? It’s more than rude; it’s downright indecent.

He stalks through the house until he can unlock the door to give the person on his porch a piece of his mind, but then he sees who it is.

It’s Anakin, and he’s crying.

If there’s anything that can make Obi-Wan quiet his temper on a normal day, it’s Anakin Skywalker. A distressed Anakin Skywalker brings out every ounce of his compassion.

“Anakin?” He asks immediately, stepping forward to touch the man on his arm gently and guide him inside. He doesn’t even have to suppress a sigh when Anakin doesn’t remember to toe off his shoes in the entry way--that’s how worried he is at Anakin’s tears and the way they only increase in frequency and sound when Obi-Wan moves his hand to his back and pushes him further into his house, all the way to the dining table where he urges him to sit down.

Anakin still hasn’t said anything resembling actual words yet, so Obi-Wan goes to the kitchen to make them both a cup of tea. It’s either that or give into the temptation to thumb the tear tracks off of his cheeks and that’s a little more revealing than Obi-Wan likes.

He’s not that brave, for one.

For another, Anakin is a married man. A man married to one of Obi-Wan’s closest friends, a previous grad student turned co-author of at least seven publications, with more on the way. He can’t risk tenderly wiping away her husband’s tears because Obi-Wan Kenobi has been at least a little in love with him since they were introduced four years ago, when he’d swanned up to him holding two champagne glasses in one hand and stuck out the other to shake. “My wife talks about you nonstop, Professor,” he’d said. “I used to be so jealous until I sat in on one of your lectures when I was still in school. Made sense then.”

Obi-Wan had not known what to do with that, but had taken the proffered champagne glass and assured this strange man he had nothing to worry about.

After all, Obi-Wan wasn’t the sort of man to chase after former students or people in marriages.

Over the next few years, however, it became quite clear to him that there was a big addendum needed in his moral code: people in marriages to former students drew his eyes apparently the way no one else has ever managed to in his life.

Or perhaps it was just Anakin. Perhaps it’s always been just Anakin.

Coming to terms with the shameful, quiet love he carried for a man who flirts like it’s second nature and always has a warm touch or word to bestow on Obi-Wan had been difficult, to say the least.

Anakin’s wife had been one of Obi-Wan’s closest friends. His inconvenient and persistent feelings for Anakin had turned her into one thing only: his wife. They could not be friends when Obi-Wan spends half his nights wondering what it would be like to sleep with his arms around her husband. They could not be friends when the last dozen times the married couple had invited him over for dinner, he had paid more attention to her husband than to the food or to the other topics of conversation or to her.

And she has to know. She has to know why their latest paper has taken eight months to write. She has to have seen the way Obi-Wan perks up so obviously when Anakin brings his wife her lunch, the way he has to turn away from their chaste kisses, the way he listens keenly to any information she gives him on her husband, the way he had excused himself from the room when he heard her tell another colleague that they were trying for children.

In academia, you learn fairly quickly that it is useless to resent someone for having what you do not. It seems that Obi-Wan has to learn this lesson all over again when it comes to people. It’s hard. It’s selfish. He hates that he loves Anakin. He hates that he loves Anakin the way he does, that it’s been four years and he still loves him, that not even his happy marriage, his love for his wife, the fact that his wife is Obi-Wan’s friend, can change it.

Anakin considers them friends now, which is so much worse and yet still more than a pathetic old man like Obi-Wan deserves. Worse, because when Obi-Wan had started rejecting dinners at the Skywalker household, Anakin had pushed back with worry. When he’d noticed that Obi-Wan’s lunch most often consisted of whatever cold cut sandwich was on sale at the gas station next to campus, he’d started bringing Obi-Wan a lunch along with his wife. When Obi-Wan had stopped responding to his texts, he showed up to drag him to a night out.

Worse, because being Anakin’s friend is nothing like being his husband, and the differences make him ache as much as the acts of kindness make him want to weep.

It’s still more than Obi-Wan deserves. He knows that intimately, the way he knows that nothing can ever happen between the two of them because Anakin loves his wife. And his wife--

“She cheated on me,” Anakin gets out between uneven breaths.

Obi-Wan promptly drops his favorite mug and watches it shatter on the floor.

“Oh!” Anakin exclaims at the loud noise, peeking around the corner, and looking like he’s about to offer to help. Obi-Wan shoos him out of the kitchen, and grabs the remaining mug of tea to follow him. The mess can wait for a later time.

“What did you say?” he asks carefully, nudging the mug over to Anakin, who wraps his hands around it.

Anakin blinks up at him wetly. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Obi-Wan drags his chair closer and dares to lay a hand over Anakin’s arm, watching his face for any negative reaction. Anakin just looks at it though, as if he can’t even comprehend it.

“Please, tell me what happened,” he entreats softly.

Anakin blinks and takes a sip of the tea. It’s chamomile, which is the only tea blend Obi-Wan knows Anakin likes.

“I, um.” Anakin clears his throat and reaches up to wipe at his eyes. Obi-Wan thinks his breath leaves his body for a second when he sees the slighter lighter ring of skin around Anakin’s fourth finger. He never thought he’d see what that sliver of skin looks like.

“I came back early from a work trip, cause. Um. Cause we’ve been having problems,” he starts with a quick side glance at Obi-Wan. “Just some fighting. Going to bed angry. I guess stuff you’re never supposed to do.”

Obi-Wan tries to arrange his face in an expression meant to convey that he definitely knows what stuff one is supposed to do in a marriage.

“So I thought I could, you know. Surprise her. But when I got in, there was someone else in the house. In our bed, Obi-Wan, she fucked someone else in our bed. I--” Anakin starts crying dropping his head into his hands and dislodging Obi-Wan’s arm completely.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan murmurs, at a loss for what to say. He settles for kneeling down next to Anakin and rubbing his knee. This is platonic.This is fine. This isn’t taking advantage of Anakin in this state.

Obi-Wan has absolutely no desire to take advantage of Anakin in this state, not when he’s so hurt and sad and in need of comfort. Obi-Wan just wants to provide him with comfort, but it feels like a grievous violation to touch Anakin like this willingly. It breaks one of his most cardinal rules.

But it turns out he’d break a lot of rules for Anakin, apparently.

Especially when Anakin responds so well to his touch, practically throwing himself out of his own chair and into Obi-Wan’s arms, tea forgotten on the table.

“How am I supposed to go back there?” He sobs into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I thought...we were supposed to raise kids in that house and she...she’s been...she’s been cheating on me in our bed--”

Obi-Wan tentatively strokes through his hair, adding pressure when Anakin reacts positively. He hates seeing him like this, so torn up and aching. He’d loved his wife, it’s so clear to see.

But Anakin has always struck Obi-Wan as the sort of person to put loyalty over everything else. For his wife to break his trust so suddenly and quickly must spell the death of his love for her. That must be what Obi-Wan is witnessing now, with Anakin, sans wedding ring, sobbing into his arms like this. This must be how Anakin’s love dies.

“I’m so sorry, Anakin,” he murmurs into the man’s temple, pressing his nose there at his hairline and inhaling as softly as he can. He’s disgusted with himself. He can’t help himself. He--

“She said she loved him,” Anakin sniffles, seemingly unaware of anything but his own pain. Obi-Wan gathers him closer at these words and rubs at his back, offering silent comfort. To have Anakin close like this is agony, but to be an appropriate distance away from him as he fell apart would also be agony of a different sort.

And if the last four years have proven anything, Obi-Wan will choose the agony that causes Anakin any modicum of happiness he can give him.

“She said--” here Anakin pauses and takes several deep breaths against the cotton of Obi-Wan’s now damp sleepshirt. “She said she didn’t when they started, but then I--I didn’t notice and it--she said it just happened, but--”

He breaks off and freezes in Obi-Wan’s arms quite suddenly. Obi-Wan stills his own hands in response. “But?” he asks, barely more than an exhale.

“But she said she couldn’t feel sorry about it,” Anakin whispers back, pulling away so that he can look at Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan stares at him, uncomprehending. Anakin’s wife is the unapologetic sort of woman, yes, but to be caught cheating on her husband and then refuse to apologize for the betrayal? That’s something else entirely. “What?” he stutters out in a completely unflattering way.

Anakin’s eyes glisten, but he purses his lips and flexes his jaw before he speaks again. “She said she couldn’t feel sorry about falling in love with someone else because it’s quite clear I’ve done the same thing. And--and she may have physically cheated on me first, but I’ve...I’ve been emotionally unfaithful to her for years now.”

Obi-Wan blinks quite a bit and very fast, tightening his hold on Anakin before pulling away just as quickly. “That’s absurd,” he spits out, trying to calm his rushing heartbeat. “Anakin, you’re the most loyal person I know. You would never--”

“She was right,” Anakin cuts him off, breaking eye contact with him to look over his shoulder and then down at...at his lips. “I didn’t even realize she was right until she said it, but. But I’ve been in love with someone else for three years of my five year marriage. I--I’m not who we thought I was.”

And his eyes well up with tears again and Obi-Wan isn’t strong enough this time from stopping himself from reaching out and brushing one of his tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“Anakin, you’re not…” thinking straight, serious, in your right mind, in love with anyone but your wife. “You’re hurting, Anakin,” he settles on saying. “You need to...sleep. To rest.”

You need to stop saying things that will break my heart in a few days when you realize you don’t actually mean them.

But Anakin has always been stubborn, especially when it comes to Obi-Wan’s demands. “Obi-Wan,” he insists, shoving his face forward so that their heads connect with a thump. “Obi-Wan, it’s you. It’s been you. For. For longer than I knew. For three years at least. Maybe longer. It should have been you from the beginning. When--”

“Anakin, please,” he finds himself begging, scrambling up and off the floor and away from this troublesome man. “Do not say anything you cannot take back. You are in distress, you’re not thinking clearly.”

Anakin follows him to his feet. “I need to say this,” he says, voice breaking. “Please, Obi-Wan. Let me say this.”

Obi-Wan has never known how to say no to Anakin. He closes his mouth instead.

“Before we even started dating, that’s when I sat in on your lecture. When we were seniors. I just wanted to see. Wanted to know why she liked you so much, measure up my competition. But then I liked you, more than I’ve ever liked a guy before. And it only got worse after I met you again, at that party, I don’t know if you remember, but. The days after, I drove my wife insane asking questions about you and your work and your interests and your hobbies, and I didn’t even realize I was doing it.

“You were just...you were so amazing. But I loved her so much I didn’t even notice I had any love left in my heart to give to anyone else, but then there you were. There you were and every time I saw you it was like...coming up for air. Like I was living someone else’s life and then sometimes I just got to be myself and it was only ever when you were around and--I didn’t know it was love until my wife told me tonight that she fucked another man because she couldn’t stand that I fell in love with one first, and I knew immediately who she was talking about. It was you. It’s...Obi-Wan, it’s always been you.”

Anakin closes the distance between them slowly, as if he’s giving Obi-Wan a chance to run. Obi-Wan does consider it, he won’t lie, but he stands stock still as if frozen to the ground. Anakin reaches up gently and wipes at one of his tears. Obi-Wan hadn’t even realized he started crying.

“Please don’t cry,” Anakin whispers through his tears. “I understand if you--if you don’t feel the same way, but I couldn’t be quiet about it once I realized. I don’t know how to love quietly.”

Obi-Wan does. Obi-Wan’s spent four years loving Anakin quietly, and now he doesn’t have any words left in him to love him out loud.

Anakin’s hand falls away from his face at his continued silence and he looks, if possible, more heartbroken. “I...I understand,” he murmurs. “You don’t feel the way I do. I--yes. I get it. I...deserve it.”

At this, Obi-Wan has to say something because it’s been one of the tenets of his world for years now that Anakin Skywalker deserves all the love there is in the entire universe. “No,” he says roughly, dragging the words kicking and screaming from the pit of his stomach. “It’s not that. It’s--”

Anakin looks at him with wide, wet, blue eyes.

“It’s that if you...if I say it and then...tomorrow you decide you don’t mean it...darling you have to know there would be no recovering from that, for me. I’ve been so obvious.”

Anakin blinks as the words register in his brain, and Obi-Wan can tell the exact moment they do because he inches closer and clutches tightly onto his shirt. “You’ve not been obvious at all,” he murmurs, eyes still shining, even as he directs his entire attention to his lips.

“What would I need to do?” Obi-Wan breathes, aching to wrap his arms around his waist and terrified that doing so will startle Anakin away from him. “What would I need to do for you to understand how much I...how much I’ve loved you for all these years?”

“Kiss me,” Anakin whispers, leaning down as if drawn by some magnetic pull.

Obi-Wan knows he will hate himself in the morning for giving in when Anakin is so obviously grief-stricken and looking for no-strings-attached physical comfort. And yet, he meets him halfway anyway.

#asks #prompt fill #lets be real these havent been ficlets for months let alone snippets #these are just. fics lmao #anyway i couldnt choose who to hurt/comfort with this prompt so ii actually went with both haha #very on brand #anakin's pov would of course contain the famous 'oh. OH.' of realization #obikin #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #i have so many amazing asks to respond to and im going to do it tonight #i just wanted to post this and then spend like a solid eight hours on my paintings because they have a really real and fast approaching #deadline #cw: cheating #married with a twist au

[haro-whumps]

Hey how do you think that would be a reverse version of GW? Like, instead of Galo getting the whumpees, the seven of them somehow, through a legal technicality, get a Galo that was Bethany's slave?How donyou think they'd all be, in this situation?

I would like to clarify that Galo and Bethany are NOT related in this version.

--

"... an old paramour," Greyson stated, hedging an explanation. Bethany had been, well, significantly too old for him, at the time. But he'd liked that.

Even so, he wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to disclose his past questionable relationships with his housemates.

"And what did she leave you, exactly?" Evan asked, wearing his joggers and leaning against the doorframe, Lilah dressed similarly and walking past him with a deep pull from her water bottle.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Greyson said, passing him the letter. Lilah propped her arm up on his shoulder, only to be dislodged as he propped his arm up on her head. The two leaned in and read the letter together, their faces screwing up at almost the exact same moment.

"Well that's cryptic," Lilah said, taking the page from Evan's hand and flipping it over, checking the blank back. She handed it back to Greyson, who nodded his assent.

"So my bet's on bird," Evan said, ganking Lilah's water bottle and finishing it off.

"Evan!" Nyla called from the other side of the house, "Have you sent me your portion of the mortgage yet?"

"I thought the point of buying a house was to get away from landlords," Evan muttered to Lilah, who snorted.

"Evan!"

"Doing that now!"

Sasha entered and gently shoed the athletes out. "I n-need to get st-started on dinner."

She placed her hand on Greyson's shoulder. "It'll be fine. Maybe it's j-just a dog?"

Greyson shrugged, sighing. He wondered why he'd even been IN the woman's will at all.

"N-now move. I'm cooking."

Greyson smiled playfully back, bumping his hip to Sasha's, and left. He found Nyla rifling through the rest of the mail.

"Are you sure that's all they sent you?"

"Unfortunately."

Nyla huffed, letting the letters smack against her skirt. "Why couldn't they have had a lawyer write to us or something? Anything to save a dime, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to be preparing for!"

"We can run to a pet store the day it gets here. If not, a night in the garage won't kill it," Greyson assured. Also, wasn't HE supposed to be the one preparing? He set his hand on her shoulder. "You worry too much."

"I worry exactly the right amount, thank you," Nyla said, whapping him with the mail. As she walked towards her office, she called out, "Lilah, you'd better have put those in the hamper!"

"Does it bring you joy to endlessly nag?!"

"I live in a house with four other people!"

Greyson chuckled. He was also probably overthinking this. It was weird, and definitely unexpected, but it would all be fine.

--

That was a human person.

Tall, with choppily short hair, kneeling in their front entryway between Evan and Lilah's running shoes and the narrow side table Nyla used for mail and key rings.

That was a human person.

They all looked to each other, wondering what to do, and this was technically Greyson's problem, which meant he was the one who should do something about this. Why. Why this. Why him?!?!

When it became undeniably obvious that the other four were waiting on him and the silence was stiflingly uncomfortable, Greyson cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Hello?" He hadn't meant for it to sound like a question.

"Hello master," the slave returned, skirt fisted with shaking knuckles.

"I am Greyson," he cleared his throat again, "What's your name?"

"...Galo."

Oh Greyson was so out of his depth.

"So uh, you're Bethany's pet? Ex pet?" Evan asked, and Greyson was relieved someone else had said something.

"Yes master."

"This is weird," Lilah stated, shifting anxiously from foot to foot with jittery energy. "This is fucking weird. Why did your ex girlfriend give you a slave? Why were you dating someone who likes slavery?! Greyson what the fuck!"

"Okay deep breaths!" Nyla ordered loudly, everyone complying instantly. "This is. Unexpected," she agreed. "But let's not get out of hand. Galo, sweetie, would you please stand up?"

"Yes mistress."

"You don't need to call anyone master or mistress."

"Ma'am?"

"Ma'am is fine. Let's get you settled in. You can probably stay in Sasha's room at the moment, who'll sleep with me?"

Sasha nodded.

"Okay, good. Are these all of your belongings?" Nyla asked, gesturing at Galo's duffle bag, who nodded again.

"Okay, great. This way."

Greyson was so, so grateful to know Nyla. So glad she was in his life. Her competence was unparalleled.

"I-I'm going to make d-dinner."

--

Galo followed his mistress, who he wasn't going to call mistress, to a baby blue room with impressionist paintings hung from the walls, leaned up against each other, stacked against the desk and dresser. Canvases were just about everywhere, but it didn't seem messy. Just full.

"This is Sasha's room but you can stay here until we figure all this out. Oh! My name is Nyla, sorry, I spaced on that, we'll get you introduced to everyone properly once... once we settle down."

Galo bowed, hand crossed over his chest.

"This is just a little unexpected. We hadn't known you were--human."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"No, no, no need to apologize. Just some information lost in the pipeline. Why don't you settle in and... we'll chat more at supper."

His mistress left, closing the door behind her, and Galo was left standing in the center of a room that wasn't his.

He took a shaky breath. Well. They'd accepted his name, at least, which was nice. Maybe someday he'd tell them about... him being a man. Maybe. Definitely going to wait and see on that one, he wasn't interested in a repeat of what had happened last time he'd told an owner he was a man.

There were five of them.

Galo sank to his knees, duffle bag hitting the floor, his hands covering his mouth. There were five of them.

He was a fairly gigantic failure at keeping one owner off his back, how was he ever going to please five?!? And the little one had been so angry with his presence--he would have to show his gratitude to Mistress Nyla, later, for stepping in.

Oh god, what would they use him for? This house was no estate--maybe they would just have him clean. Yeah, maybe, maybe he could just clean for them and stick to the shadows and he would be ignored.

A hysteric peal of laughter bubbled out of him.

Ignored.

Yeah, right.

--

But for some reason, that... did seem to be the case. They ignored him. Mistress Sasha and Master Evan especially seemed to have no idea what to do with him, and would awkwardly prompt him to leave them alone if he guessed their routines wrong and ended up in the same room as them.

Master Greyson made earnest attempts to speak with him, which Galo responded to as best he could. But the conversations were stilted things. The most successful ones hinged around Mistress Bethany, and Galo always found himself stressed and exhausted after talking about her.

Mistress Lilah seemed to find him a curiosity, asking him questions and prodding him into helping her with her "Influencer Gig," which mostly involved holding light sources or cameras for her. She would occasionally do up Galo's hair and makeup, and Galo tried very, very hard not to show how miserable that made him. To smile and be grateful and not waste her product and time with babyish tears.

Mistress Nyla was his favorite. She had him help with the household chores and spoke kindly to him. She would praise and sometimes touch him. Conversations with her were... trickier, though.

Mistress Nyla has a very good memory. She would ask questions, know things he'd told Master Greyson or Mistress Lilah, gently pull his life's story from him. She would sometimes make him ask uncomfortable questions about himself, too, about his place as a slave, which--he knew better. He knew better!

She would stop, when he started shaking, though. Ask him to please go clean the kitchen or bathroom or fold laundry. It made him feel weak. A useless, manipulative slave who cried to get out of situations he didn't like.

"It's okay, Galo," she sometimes murmured, petting his hair and letting him kneel at her feet with his head in her lap. "You're being good for us. It's alright sweetie."

--

Master Evan didn't like talking to Galo. So he knew better. But one day, a couple friends of Master Evan's had come and gone, and one of them--

Not that Galo wanted to assume, or presume, but she'd. She had looked.

"Yeah, she's trans," Master Evan confirmed, looking desperately uncomfortable. Galo would find a way to apologize later. He just. He had to. He.

"And that's okay?" he blurted gracelessly, instinctively flinching back for two reasons.

"Yeah? I mean, yes, absolutely, I respect and support her 100%."

Galo fidgeted with his skirt, something Mistress Bethany had bought that he wanted little more than to burn.

"Are... do you, wanna tell me something?" Master Evan asked, also not making eye contact. "Or, maybe tell Nyla something, since I dunno if I'm really the guy to, uh." He gestured at himself and Galo bit his lip.

"The others are also, okay with, uh?"

"Being trans. Yes. It's not bad... bro? We're all chill and respectful here. Oh you know Sasha? Sasha's like, super smart, and knows all about this stuff, she could talk to you about this?"

"Yes sir," Galo said, knowing he'd overstayed his welcome the moment he'd opened his mouth.

"Cool. Chill. Yeah. Okay then," Master Evan said, and left the room quickly.

--

That night Galo had found a pair of Master Evan's sweatpants and a couple of old t-shirts on his bed.

--

The next time Lilah pulled Galo to help with her Influencer Gig, she'd done his makeup and hair and he had cried, to see a man who looked like him staring back from the mirror.

--

Mistress Nyla took him shopping. She held his hand, both literally and metaphorically, with increasing frequency as he started to transition and actually began to feel like this new house was his home. That these people weren't going to hurt him, that they maybe even liked him. Almost.

--

Mistress Sasha had him help her move her remaining belongings from the blue room. His room. They were, officially and permanently, making her old room his. Her paintings were either hung up throughout the rest of the house or set into storage in the garage. He helped her carry whatever else was left into Mistress Nyla's--now hers and Mistress Sasha's--room and organize so Mistress Nyla didn't work herself into a fit over the clutter.

"Thank you," he said quietly, crouched in front of the dresser and slipping some of Mistress Sasha's less-used attire into the drawers.

"Hm?"

"For, giving me your space, ma'am." For everything. For all of it.

Mistress Sasha crossed over to him and sat in the floor where he was, opening her arms to him. He leaned in, slowly wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face to her shoulder.

"You're part of the f-family now," she said warmly. "Of c-course."

#answers #thanks! #writing #mine #anonymous #gw #Galo #Nyla #Greyson #Sasha #Lilah #Evan #AU #slave Galo AU

[blindwyrm]

Basics of Energy Work - Part One

Expanding Awareness Energy work is a subtle art, a foundational building block to successful magic. Almost all magical practices involve some form of energy work - and there are countless forms - but how it will function from individual to individual will differ greatly. To put it simply, energy work is the practice of manipulating unseen energies. Everything - people, places, animals, inanimate objects, even our thoughts - vibrates at a specific energetic frequency and emits energy. By learning how to identify and tune into these energies, we can use them to direct our magic and spell work. Chances are, you have worked your own personal energy before. More often than not, your own energy will be the easiest for you to tap into. To do this, we need to learn how to expand our awareness. Meditation Meditation is a good practice to have when pursuing any kind of magical endeavor; there are many ways to meditate and there is much to achieve through it. The overall key to meditation is, generally, focus. You are training your mind to simply observe with non judgement; not to simply clear your mind of any thought at all, which is the common misconception. There is not just one way to meditate - if sitting cross legged in a room bathed with incense as you engage breathing exercises works for you, great! Some people meditate through dance, yoga, exercise, crafts, etc. Anything where your mind can drift, “tune out” so to speak, as your body instinctively goes through the motions. There are also several forms of guided meditations that you can use for specific goals, such as attentiveness, visualization, improving memory, empowerment, etc. Elemental meditation is popular among the witchcraft community. What’s great about guided meditation is it extremely accessible through apps and things like youtube (favorites of mine are the fire meditation and the water meditation from magickians!) and makes the whole process of learning to meditate a lot less intimidating.  As meditation relates to energy work, it will sharpen your ability for visualization, increase your focus, have you more in touch with your physical and inner self as both the same and separate entities, and increase your awareness of changes in and around you - all of this working towards an enhanced ability to sense energy and its movement.  What is this mystical “energy?”  If you’re having trouble wrapping your head around the idea of the elusive and all encompassing vaguery of “energy”, don’t worry. The idea may seem intimidating, but they are not inaccessible. If you are struggling, it only indicates that you are human. This will take practice and it will require you to understand the concepts on a physical level. Luckily, these are steps that nearly every magical practitioner, old and new, has and will continue to work on for the rest of their spiritual journey. Every question you have has likely already been answered. Some may just take a bit of research to find! However, I’m going to try and provide at least some cursory information here. To get a real idea of what “energy” feels like, set aside some quiet time for youself. Close the door, dim the lights, turn off your phone. Light your candles and make sure you will be left alone. Sit down on the floor and make yourself comfortable - not too comfortable! You don’t want to fall asleep. Draw in some deep breaths and clear your mind, as you did in your meditation. Continue until you feel your breathing regulated and yourself relaxed. Now, close your eyes and rub your palms together, like you’re trying to warm them up, then pull them an inch or two apart. You should feel a charged sensation tingling between your hands, maybe even like a ball, vibrating and pulsating in your hands. If you concentrate, you may even be able to feel a sort of magnetic resistance if you attempt to push it back together. That’s energy. It’s really that simple. If you don’t feel it at first, just try again. The more you do this, the easier it will become to identify your own and different types of energy all around you through a technique called centering, which will be discussed below.  Grounding The term grounding, sometimes called Earthing, means to recalibrate your energy. Essentially, the purpose of grounding is to shake off “excess” energy and ground yourself back in reality, into the rhythm of the plane on which we exist. And while grounding does restore balance and connectedness, there are greater implications to explore when it comes to grounding. Everything on this earth is shaped by forces and presence of the Earth and cosmos, and as such, “this connection is deeply inherent to a sustainable state of well being. The Earth, as an organic and inorganic system, is constantly bathing all life on the planet with its highly ordered and coherent electromagnetic field. The natural tendency of an organism is to couple with the Earth’s energy field and come to a mutual state of cooperation and harmony within its environment, finding its niche and proper place within a system. What we need to understand is that all systems strive to achieve, return to and/or maintain a state of coherence. Whether one is aware of it or not, we are always taking part in a constant process within our universe, coupling with other energy fields and finding some sort of balance within this space. This happens everywhere within the context of an ecosystem, whenever two forces interact for any reason. The more organized or coherent these fields are, the more effectively and efficiently energy can be [manipulated.]”  Grounding allows us to cultivate a relationship with the earth and facilitate a healthier, more coherent state of being. It allows us to align our energy for more accurate working. Like meditation, there are many ways to ground; a list of some of my personal favorite methods can be found (here.) Shielding and Centering Shielding is important for magical workings as it provides a protective barrier to maintain our center. To do this, you’ll want to get a feel for your personal energy first. A good way to do is something called centering. Throughout the day, you naturally will pick up on all kinds of external energy; some good, some bad, most of it probably neither of the two - either way, it is energy that is not yours. Meditation and shadow work will be useful in identifying what feels distinctly you, but you should be able to know when you’re not feeling entirely you. If you’ve been feeling particularly out of sorts, a good tip to get back in touch with yourself before centering or shielding is to spend some time in self care. Turn off your phone and go to your room or a friendly space in nature, a library, a favorite haunt and engage in a creative project, put on your favorite music, eat your favorite food. Be mindful of your physical space, your body, sensations your are experiencing. Be attentive to you and only you; your wants, needs, feelings, comforts, etc. Take a bath and allow yourself to relax. Your only responsibility right now is you have no responsibilities - if even for just a short while. Just do what you can to access some “me time” to do something you love to do and observe yourself. Take note of what you choose to do that brings you joy, why those things make you feel happy and fulfilled, how exactly these feelings and activities resonate with you. Record this in your Book of Shadows, as it is useful information to getting to yourself on a more intimate level. Learn to recognize this energy and get familiar with what it means to feel yourself. It can be easy to get lost. Centering can get you back, especially when you make these feelings more accessible to yourself.  To center, we’re going to go back to the exercise in the beginning; in a quiet place, meditate and rub your palms together - build up that energy between them again. When you pull your hands apart, you want to visualize this sensation. What color is it? What does it feel like? Is it light? Heavy? Is it vibrating? Focus on the pulsation and how it pushes against you. Allow it to move and grow. Picture it contracting and growing until you no longer can. Pull it in close to you, somewhere you can focus on it - many people use their solar plexus or heart chakras. This is the same energy you’re going to use to shield yourself. Instead of centering this energy, however, you’re going to push it out to envelope you. Visualization in your meditation and centering exercises should help with this; visualizing energy usually makes it easier for people to push it outward. Again, knowing what specifically makes this your protective energy will be useful - what color is it? Texture? Is it elemental? Perhaps your energy doesn’t feel like light, but water or air. Maybe white is a protective color to you or maybe green is, for Earth. Maybe your energy shield is a network of stars in the shape of your zodiac constellation. Maybe the outside is reflective, to reflect any negativity directed your way. Maybe its a shield of smoke, to conceal yourself. No matter what it looks like to you, just make sure it is yours. Don’t feel pressured to commit to something either - your idea of what these concepts look like will grow and change as much as you do.  Push this energy outward and around you, as if you are creating a protective bubble for yourself. To enhance the intensity of desired outcome, surround yourself with corresponding elements. Light white candles or wear black tourmaline. I personally like to use dragon’s blood incense or oils. There are many things you can do in tandem with any of these practices, so long as they make sense for you and are helping you to achieve your desired results. This shield will become stronger the more you do this and keep you protected from psychic attacks, curses and hexes, negative energy, and bad intent.  These exercises are all building blocks to unlocking great power within oneself, but they are also a great power on their own as well. Taking the time and patience to hone these skills will aid you in all your magical endeavors, whether through sharper focus, strong visual associations, enforced protective barriers, and/or knowing your true self above all else. Once you have established your abilities, you will be able to do them any time, anywhere and begin to play more with energy, both internal and external. In the follow up, I will focus on charging and programming. 

#energy work #witchcraft #witchblr #witch #energy #spiritual #spirituality #shielding #grounding #centering #bos #protection #magic #magick #magic 101 #magick 101 #basic #basics #withcraft 101 #baby witch #beginners magic #beginners witchcraft #notes #spellbook

[lakemojave]

Supergiant Games: Same Bones, Different Skeletons

I just finished a retrospective of all 4 games by Supergiant on my twitch channel, and I have a few thoughts I wanna connect and questions I wanna explore. My love for these games is real strong and i could write a whole essay just gushing about them, but I wanna give some thought to what makes them so compelling: not just to me, but to damn near everyone I’ve talked to on their discord who feels the same. I myself rank Bastion among my favorite games ever, and Hades is climbing that list at a clip. And even though I could take or leave Transistor or Pyre, they keep pulling me back.

But I could talk a whole lot about each game’s appeal and waste a lot of time. I’ve gushed enough to my friends about how Bastion and Pyre’s rugged, apocalyptic atmospheres draw me in with their incredible vibrance to contrast. I could talk about how Ashley Barrett’s vocal tracks carry Transistor on their shoulders, or what makes Hades so much goddamn fun that the game doesn’t really need to be much else. But I realize that if the Supergiant library is so universally appealing to me, there must be some sort of connective tissue between them--some sort of fundamental similarity that makes them work. After thinking about it for more than five minutes, it turns out there are many; some are pretty obvious, and some less so. This brings me to the conclusion that the Supergiant library, with its four wildly distinct and different games, still follow a noticeable formula--one that is flexible enough to allow such completely different games.

Game Design

The Supergiant library are all essentially top down action rpgs, Transistor having the most elements of the genre. This is still a pretty weak connection, given how different they all play from each other. The only two that have much overlap in the most basic sense are Bastion and Hades, with the same general fast paced, real time combat. On closer examination, the two games have enough differences in the variety of mechanics at play, (Bastion with its multiple weapon slots and a shield, Hades with its sheer number of commands) that even they are hard to compare.

There are, however, several mechanics that the library loves to use. The first that comes to mind are the difficulty conditions: idols in Bastion, limiters in Transistor, titan stars in Pyre, and the pact of punishment--and arguably Chaos boons as well--in Hades. Their function is simple: increase your challenge for a little extra reward. Bastion and Pyre go the extra mile by fixing in world building elements to this mechanic; Bastion’s idols inform about the game’s pantheon, while Pyre informs about its, well, evil pantheon. The use of these conditions is indicative of Supergiant’s game design philosophy as a whole--you, the player, can make the game as hard or easy as it takes for you to have fun. The inclusion of infinite lives in Bastion or god mode or hell mode in Hades further builds on this point. This library is designed for all sorts of audiences, whether they want to be challenged by their games or simply immersed in the story.

Another repeating mechanic in these games are the use of challenge rooms, which started in Bastion as the training grounds and, to a lesser extent, Who Knows Where. In Transistor they are the sandbox test rooms, and in Pyre they are the beyonder crystal’s scribe trials. They appear in Hades a little more ambiguously; the infernal troves or Erebus rooms are not quite the same, but they serve a similar function. This function is a momentary break from the gameplay loop for a little extra reward, much like the previously discussed conditions. Transistor and Hades’ challenge rooms offer relatively negligible rewards; the sandbox rooms simply offer xp and unlock tracks for the jukebox, while the Erebus tiles offer double the reward for any normal tile. Bastion and Pyre go the extra mile by giving specific, long term rewards for their challenges. In Bastion’s training grounds, the Kid earns weapon specific abilities that are among the game’s most powerful; in Pyre’s scribe trials, exiles can earn character specific talismans that feed their specialization. For the most part, these rooms give the player a low stakes opportunity to practice, hone their preferred playstyle, and reward the effort, all while being completely optional.

Akin to these breaks in the game loop are designated resting areas/hub worlds. The Bastion, the Sandbox, the Blackwagon, and the House of Hades each offer a moment to interact with characters and lore, goof around with the environment, buy permanent upgrades, or just take a break. Transistor utilizes this function the least of the library, since it never once requires the player to enter the space. Pyre utilizes it the most since it has the most breaks in both frequency and number. In a way, this decision is both a game design and storytelling choice. Between all four games, perhaps excluding Transistor, this is where the majority of story beats take place. It is where the player can read up on some fresh lore or meet the ever growing cast of characters, and eventually grow to cherish them (as I often do playing this library). Without little breaks like these, the climactic or world/story shaking events that take place out in the actual playable space have no impact or narrative weight. The fact that all these sort of interactions are completely voluntary also rewards the player in the storytelling sense; by choosing to engage with the figures of the story rather than having that choice decided for them, the player feels as though they themselves have agency in the story unfolding.

Style

Perhaps the most distinct part of the Supergiant library, (and perhaps what I personally love most about it) is its aesthetics. There are few games that look, feel, and sound the way these games do. Yet, the four of them hardly resemble each other. Bastion is a rugged, frontier-esque sci fi apocalypse, Transistor is a sleek, cyberpunk apocalypse, Pyre is a high fantasy purgatory space, and Hades is simply stylized Greek mythology. It is a shock to remember, then, that these four games are all designed by the same artistic team.

I confess I don’t know much about art, so I don’t have anything too profound to say about Jen Zee’s art style, besides that I like it a lot. It is also worth noting that despite her spearheading art and character design for the whole library, each game still looks visually distinct, and not just in their overall aesthetics. Take the character design of the library, for instance. Bastion’s human figures tend to be short, stocky, with exaggerated facial features. Their colors are highly saturated, with a soft, almost blurry quality that gives a level of warmth to the fatalistic atmosphere. Transistor’s characters, barring Red, tend to be based around palettes centered around a single color, such as the Camerata red and the spectrum of the function character profiles. Pyre is the first of the library to use talking portraits, which contrast robed figures with stark color palettes and simple designs with unrobed figures with much noisier details. Hades is easily the most distinct of all four, using simple colors and thick outlines on all its characters. The most consistent feature of all their designs, as usual, is how wildly different they are. For Hades, Zee makes sure that characters only look alike in any way if they have some relation to each other, such as the Furies, Achilles and Patroclus, or Zagreus and his parents. On the whole, the versatility and variety in the character design is impeccable.

What I most enjoy about these games is Darren Korb’s soundtracks, which continue to vary wildly. From the closet-recorded Bastion soundtrack to the whole two and a half Hades score, Korb’s scoring keeps improving and changing in the 10 years Supergiant has operated. His music, which adds and changes motifs as each game progresses, contributes to the atmosphere just as much as the visuals do. Whenever he teams up with Ashley Barret to add vocal tracks to certain parts of the game, they always manage to place them at critical narrative or emotional beats, turning them into the games’ most memorable moments. The team goes one step further every game by incorporating a musician or source of music into each game, giving the music just as much character as the one performing it. It also sneaks its way into the aforementioned hub worlds by providing the player a means to play their favorite tracks whenever they want (except in Hades, where they have to pay in game for that privilege). In essence, Korb makes sure to give each game a distinct feel through its music, but familiar enough to connect the library in the player’s mind.

Just as Supergiant gets so much mileage from Korb and Zee alike, they also manage time and time again to make use of Logan Cunningham’s top notch voice over work. Originally the sole voice actor at Supergiant Games, Cunningham continued on from famously narrating Bastion as Rucks to remaining a ubiquitous voice throughout the library. His role as the Transistor in the game proper drives the emotional core of that game, and his role as the Voice/Archjustice proves to be a solidly effective, yet distant antagonist. In Hades, his roles are somewhat overshadowed by Korb’s performance as Zagreus, (which I’m still blown away he still had time to do) but his performance as Lord Hades is still excellent. Supergiant also uses Cunningham in Hades to sort of satirize how often he narrates for them by casting him as the narrating Old Man, then allowing Zagreus to break the fourth wall and acknowledge him. It is as if the team at Supergiant knows how much they use the same stylistic team, then mocking that same choice.

To other studios: learn from Supergiant

I’m running out of things to say and my ball of yarn that connects all these newspapers and polaroids on my wall is running thin. I would talk more about Supergiant really knows how to end a game and frequently does so in similar ways, or that their library is a masterclass in character-driven stories, but this little essay is long enough.

Instead, I wanna talk about how Supergiant does something right which so many AAA developers and publishers don’t seem to understand. To contrast with the Supergiant library, consider Assassin’s Creed, another franchise I have spent an embarrassing amount of time playing. This franchise releases a game almost every year, and in my experience, when a company does this, you tend to get the same pig with a different paint. From the original Assassin’s Creed to their most recent release, Assassin’s Creed Odyssey, the differences seem to be night and day. Combat and free running are far more complex than they once were, rpg elements to story and gameplay have been introduced, composers, writers, voice actors, and cast members have changed with each release, and the sheer size of the game has become staggering. Yet, in the 13 years and 11 main releases in the game’s history, (plus spinoffs) any change has not only felt incremental over time, but fundamentally insignificant to the skeleton of the game. Assassin’s Creed 1 and 2 play and feel differently, but the differences are subtle. The bones are different, but every year they assemble to form a vaguely Assassin’s Creed shaped thing. People who play games tend to hate this and frequently berate companies for this practice; Bethesda and GameFreak receive the same criticism that their games are so formulaic that their new releases might as well be carbon copies of the ones before it.

Yet, Supergiant Games, with its four games over ten years, has used essentially the same team and building blocks to make games that can hardly be considered interchangeable. Whether its the passion of this humble little indie studio or the sheer talent of this team, Supergiant takes the same pile of bones and assembles them in a different shape each time with care and attention. They are proof that a formula doesn’t need to be tweaked or altered or given a different coat of paint in order to be accepted; instead the formula needs versatility, the means to produce a fresh result each time. It also works best when we adore the result every time.

#thank you for coming to my ted talk #got shit to say #bastion #transistor #pyre #hades #hades game #supergiant games #supergiant tag

[girlysword]

Manifest: Pre-Season 3 Predictions and Thoughts

Now that the season 3 trailer is out, here is an overview of my holdover theories from the last two seasons and any new thoughts sparked by the trailer

Dangers:

Death Date and the Major: I was not expecting these conflicts to be resolved so quickly, although new conflicts were introduced. Adrian believes 828 is a sign of the apocalypse, he will probably stoke the fire of 828 hate. Also, since the key to the Death Date seems to be “follow the callings, no matter what,” our heroes may be torn between doing sketchy things and possibly dying (especially since the trailer seems to confirm that they did die and were saved by the supernatural callings [and that the plane blew up in season 1 because there couldn’t be two planes at the same time]). As for the Major, someone will inevitably take her place and will be more guarded than she was. There is also the question of whether this was just her pet project or does this go higher up? If, say, the President called Vance and told him to stop helping the 828-ers, would Vance betray his new friends?

Disappearances: Cal’s kidnappers disappeared, suggested that they went the way of 828. This would be the 4th time after Zeke, Griffin, Fiona and Billy Daly. Are these disappearances increasing in frequency, suggesting an imminent apocalyptic event? Or have these disappearances always happened, it’s just widespread info in the modern age and the fact so many people disappeared with 828 that highlighted the phenomenon and this has always happened? History buffs, find mysterious disappearances where the person suddenly reappeared. Here’s hoping that the Agatha Christie disappearance was an 828 event and her novels published after her disappearance hold clues. I still believe the fortune teller Olive met had her own 828 episode. There is also still the question of how Al-Zuras is tied into this. I predict TJ will return from Egypt, riding on a white horse, with critical information just in the nick of time (which means he’ll probably be absent, bar Skype calls, for the first half of the season, but sometimes quality is better than quantity).

Xers, Meth Dealers and Kidnappers, O My!: If there is a time jump between seasons, the first episode could see the return of Cal’s kidnappers. It would be cool if their Death Date were the end of the season, so the finale’s tension is waiting to see whether or not they croak (like a villainous version of the tension of the season 2 finale, wondering whether Zeke was gonna die). They could feed into Adrian’s doomsday theory if it seems that they are following their Callings. The Xers are still a threat, Tamara may take on a leadership role with her brother in jail and the group may team up with Adrian.

Saanvi: She is not a danger, but boy is she in a lot of danger. Her attempt to cure the Callings/Death Date will definitely continue to have side effects and it may have even ensured that the Death Date kicks in. She also murdered a high ranking military officer. She’ll definitely be laying low if not in complete hiding at the start of season 3. Thankfully her shipping prospects provide her with enough plot armor that I don’t think she’ll die in season 3 (I am worried about her after that, though). As it is I think we’ll see a storyline divide between her and the other main characters. She and Vance will team up to take on the government and the other characters will deal with the supernatural stuff, with Ben bridging the gap.

Shipping:

I still think that Jared and Michaela are going to get together at least one more time, that’s just how shows like these work. Hopefully it’ll be brief and then it’ll be done. What could lead to troubled waters for Zeke and Michaela you ask? Well, a couple of things. Now that Zeke no longer has a ticking clock pushing his self-betterment, he might fall back into bad habits, and/or Zeke and Michaela could become complacent in their marriage, letting all the other drama in their lives take precedence. Be on the lookout for either or both of them starting to keep secrets from each other, the best part of their relationship in season 2 was their honesty and immediate airing of any possible issues. I do hope that Zeke and Michaela are endgame, because when their relationship is good it is great. I also hope that Jared and Drea get together because I think they could have a really fun dynamic. They would be the sarcastic couple that gets exasperated with their psychic friends (just think of the background side glances!).

I definitely think Benvi is going to happen but it is definitely a slowburn, so I don’t expect them to get together until the end of season 3 or even until season 4. We haven’t even gotten to Ben coming to the realization that he might have feelings for Saanvi, which I don’t expect to happen until either right before or during the straining of his marriage to Grace. I predicted before that Grace might lie about Eden’s parentage to protect her, and I still think that’s a good theory, especially since Grace’s first Calling was telling not to get a DNA test. Ben would understand, but that would still be a tough situation. Also, Grace was 100% supportive last season, but last season also showed that Ben’s obsessive tendencies can get him into trouble. Grace and Ben might fall out over the interpretation of a Calling, particularly if the well-being of their kids is concerned. I am starting to think that Benvi might not be good for Saanvi’s health. Saanvi has picked fights with a supernatural force and the US military, it would take some serious plot armor to protect her from the serious danger heading her way. I feel like the writers might kill off Saanvi after her and Ben get together to twist in the knife. But, I was wrong about Zeke’s chances of survival, maybe I’m just a pessimist.

Olive and TJ are flipping cute together and I hope that they are a relatively drama free couple to provide a breather from the other couples. One of my favorite things about TJ and Zeke is how well they fit into the family, I feel like if OlivexTJ or ZekexMichaela ever broke up TJ and Zeke would still be close friends with other members of the family. I really hope that TJ becomes Ben’s son-in-law someday (with Zeke’s dad in the background shouting, “I called it!”).

Characters:

Olivia: I hope Olive doesn’t go to college (I don’t have anything against college, I loved going to college and i believe that people should continue to learn after high school, even if its just Skillshare. I just don’t think it’s a practical choice for everyone and that it would be interesting to watch Olive follow a path different from the “norm”.), beyond taking mythology classes and the like at community college. I still think that she’ll take over the Church of the Believers, especially since Adrian thinks the 828-ers are harbingers of the apocalypse. The Church could split between Adrian and Olive.

Ben: Believing that they died on that plane is not going to help him chill.

#manifest nbc

[thewritewolf]

Two For Two Chapter 7 - Interview

Our heroes consent to a couple interviews to help answer questions.

@ladynoirjuly2020

Enjoy!

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Read on Ao3

Snake Noir leaned forward to grab one of the snacks they had laid out for them before the show started. On the one hand, he didn’t want to eat too much since he’d be doing most of the talking today, but on the other hand, whenever he did these sorts of things as Adrien - which he did a lot - they never let him eat anything.

While he took a big bite out of the pastry, he glanced to his left where Dragonbug was sitting. They had both done these sorts of interviews in the past, but they weren’t all that common. He could tell by the way she was sitting up unnaturally straight, hands in her lap, that she wasn’t feeling all that relaxed about this interview.

Maybe that was part of the reason she had asked him to do most of the talking this time around? Or it could really have been what she had given as an excuse - that he didn’t know a lot of the details, so he couldn’t accidentally say more than they had intended to. Either way, Snake Noir didn’t mind. What mattered was that he was helping his lady.

“Welcome! I’ve been hoping I’d see you two back on my show again.” Nadja Chamack arrived, giving them a pleasant smile as she took a seat opposite them. Her eyes tracked over the newest elements of their suits.

“Let’s hope this time goes a little bit better,” Dragonbug said with a smirk.

Nadja laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I think my producers learned from last time not to push superheroes around.”

“Good to hear,” Snake Noir said. “Expecting a big turn out for tonight?”

“Paris has a lot of questions for the two of you, so I’m sure everyone will be even more excited than usual to see you.” Nadja put her finger to her ear, listening. She nodded and looked back at them. “Are you two ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Ready to start right meow!”

Nadja nodded again, a faint smile on her lips. She made a gesture toward the crew and the lights dimmed. There was a pause as the show’s theme played. Lights flared back to life and the cameras began rolling.

Nadja’s voice took on a distinct tone as she switched into ‘news anchor’ mode and addressed the invisible audience.

“Good evening! I’m Nadja Chamack and this is Face to Face!” She turned to face them. “And for the second time in our show’s history, I’m glad to welcome back the beloved guardians of Paris - Ladybug and Chat Noir! Hello!”

The two of them waved to the camera.

“It’s a pleasure to be here, Nadja!”

“Yeah!” Snake Noir agreed. “We’re sure the lovely people of Paris are curious about what’s going on with us.”

“There is no doubt about that!” She adjusted the tablet on her lap. “Now, before the show started I shared a list of questions. Where would you like to start, Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

“Well, let’s start there - for the time being, I’ll be going by Snake Noir as long as my suit looks like this.”

“Yes, and I’ll be going by Dragonbug.”

It was a great start to their formal interview, but after an hour of questions covering everything from their mysterious new powers and the potions - both of which they had to be fairly vague about - to more minor questions like personal favorite akumas and their opinions on the fighting game recently released that centered around them.

Even Snake Noir’s energy for running interviews was getting low by the time the show was nearly over.

“I can tell you two are getting tired, but bear with me! Just one last question before the two of you go.” Nadja smiled and glanced down at her tablet. “Observers have noticed that the frequency and power of Hawkmoth’s akumas have been increasing. What are your opinions on your odds of unmasking Hawkmoth in that context?”

“It doesn’t matter if Hawkmoth is getting stronger. Even if Hawkmoth turns the whole city against us,” Snake Noir said with conviction, “We’ll still win the day and bring him down!”

-----------------------

A few days later and Dragonbug was meeting for another interview. This time it was in a much less formal - and more familiar - environment.

“Thanks for coming, you two!” Alya grinned as she locked the door to her room.

Alya took a seat opposite them, all three chairs placed in front of a big green screen attached to a roller in the ceiling, not unlike the one that Dragonbug had in her room for schedules.

“Always a pleasure, miss Ladyblogger,” Dragonbug replied. “We’ve got something important to say, but it's also not something that needed to be said on mainstream television.”

“Oh I totally get it, LB.” Alya winked. “Besides, anyone who really cares about all this is probs following the Ladyblog anyway.”

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on.” Dragonbug crossed her arms. “This is going to be partially a message to everyone like you - who had a chance to be a hero, but had it taken from them by Hawkmoth.”

“Plus we’re going to give you the details about that whole mess with Miracle Queen,” Snake Noir added.

“Oh…” Alya sagged in her seat a little. “Dang. I guess I forgot that everyone else wouldn’t get to join up too. Well,” she added, “I did tell Nino.” She glanced up hesitantly at the two of them. “If that’s alright?”

“Of course!” Dragonbug nodded. “I figured that might be the case. And besides, he’ll have found out either way today, right?”

“Right. So… which one of you is going to lay this all out?” Alya glanced at Snake Noir, who held up his hands in front of him.

“No, no. My lady is a much better storyteller than me.”

“Fair enough.” Alya reached over toward her camera. “You ready then?”

Dragonbug sighed. “Not really, but let’s get this over with. They deserve to know.”

Alya nodded and pressed the button.

For the next twenty minutes, Dragonbug did her best to give a good recap of everything that went down with the Miracle Queen battle. Alya set the stage with the details that the public knew about - the akuma just before Miracle Queen, the sudden blackout that no one could account for.

The only thing Dragonbug didn’t mention was Master Fu and who exactly Miracle Queen was. Which was partially to protect Chloe, but also to deprive her of even more attention.

By the end of it, she was glad to have finally gotten it all off her chest. It might have brought back into focus just how much everything was now resting on her and Chat’s shoulders, but at least now she didn’t have to worry about meeting with the previous heroes one on one and telling them they could never be heroes again.

Not for the first time, she gritted her teeth and looked forward to the day that she could unmask Hawkmoth.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Chat Noir #Ladybug #Ladynoir #Snake Noir #Dragonbug #LadynoirJuly2020 #Nadja Chamack #Alya Cesaire #ml fanfiction #my writing #Two for Two

[ticklishraspberries]

Try

A/N: (Hello! Haven’t been round here in a while, but it’s still lovely; you’re still lovely. And here’s a dual thank-you-for-filling-my-late-it-cravings and I-miss-stan-he-deserves-some-fix-it-fluff-too thoughts. Hope you’re having a good one!!)

This is so cute!! I loved it, thank you for submitting!! - Raspberry xo

There was a time in Stan’s life where he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen someone get tickled. It might happen occasionally; a poke here or there to accent a point or get someone to shift away. Then Richie decided he rather liked tickling, and well—

It’s not like any of the Losers had a lot of say when Richie wanted something.

But it wasn’t horrible, as much as Stan might’ve feared anyway. When half their time dissolved into wrestling matches, tussling and rolling around the carpet of Bill’s room, the addition of some wandering, wiggling fingers just meant less bruising (most of the time) and more laughing (all of the time).

This was probably due to the fact that the group, surprisingly or not, knew a lot about each person’s limits, even without saying so.

Richie didn’t have any, first of all. He was as content with ticklish tracing down his back as he was getting pinned to the ground and thoroughly taken apart. Of course, none of the Losers went full overboard or anything nasty, but even the more sadistic times they could remember left Richie cherry red and teary-eyed, beaming long after the tickling had stopped.

On the other side of the spectrum, Stan would have to put himself.

That’s not to say he had a problem participating in the suddenly numerous amount of tickle fights the group now had. If anything, he might even enjoy them, as long as Richie never found out. The gloating of his ‘genius idea’ would be unbearable and likely result in him getting tackled and wrecked—which is exactly what he wanted anyways, defeating the point entirely.

So yes, he enjoyed them, but almost strictly as the one doing the tickling.

Then he started dating Bill.

Dating Bill was easy, especially once their friends stopped their ‘subtle’ gawking and lame teasing. It was as cool and natural as their friendship, with the bonus of cuddles whenever Stan so desired (and he wouldn’t have thought that he’d want them all that much, but once he got them, he couldn’t imagine being without them).

And as their friendship slid easily into their relationship, so did their friend group’s element of random, frequent tickle fights.

And Stan liked them even more, if he were to be honest.

There is nothing in the world that can beat the sound of Bill Denbrough’s laughter or the look on his face as Stan scribbles quick and nimble fingers up his sides.

He’s a constant stream of babbling nonsense with no way to understand through his laughter and stutter combined. His hands tug uselessly at Stan’s sleeves, body squirming violently without going anywhere. His eyes get all crinkly with a smile so bright that when Stan stops, he feels more breathless than he thinks Bill might be.

Just the thought of Bill, flushed red and breathing deeply through stray giggles has Stan’s fingers itching for something to do, but—

That’s exactly what he shouldn’t do.

Stan blinks, eyes focusing back on his surroundings.

The TV is still on, at some part of the movie, though Stan has absolutely no idea where. He could’ve zoned out five minutes ago or fifty. This may even be a new movie; he’s not sure.

He can feel Bill take a deep breath behind him, chest raising enough to push lightly behind Stan’s back.

Bill’s hand lies still on his side.

And that—that’s what started Stan’s train of thought.

Because Bill, he was a bit of a fidgeter, at least when it came to touch.

He constantly had his hands moving; winding through Stan’s curls, rubbing over his back, caressing his cheeks. It was nice, one of Stan’s favorite things, actually. But Stan was perceptive, and he’d started to notice something.

He started to notice that Bill’s hands would sometimes, and with increasing frequency, come to a dead stop.

It happened when the were in his room, wasting the night away with slow kisses, his hands drifting slowly from Stan’s hair down his neck.

It happened in the night, when he held Stan from behind, a hand clasped over the front of his stomach.

And it happened just now, when his hand slipped from doodling small patterns over the sleeve of Stan’s upper arm to lay over his side.

Stan had noticed, though he hadn’t said a word. And he’d spent the week trying to put the pieces together, though it hadn’t really clicked until last night.

They were lounging around Bill’s room, splayed out over his bedsheets. It was all casual conversation when Bill shot off a snarky comment that had Stan poking a giggle out of him, a sound Stan felt compelled to chase after. And then after he’d wrestled Bill down and made him cry mercy—

Bill had sat up, a glint in his eyes.

A glint that had Stan’s eyes widening, skin prickling.

And then the look left, and Bill tugged him into a gentle and tired cuddle.

And it sounded dumb at the time, when Stan had tried to work out what just happened, but now-

Did Bill want to tickle him?

The thought sends heat crawling up Stan’s neck; it’s dumb and embarrassing, but-

It makes sense, if he thinks about it.

While Bill did get his fair share of attacks in the group, he’d never been one to turn down revenge. He’d even start a fight or two, if one of their friends looked a little bored or put out, just to liven them back up again.

Having a younger brother, Bill did have some of the most experience in this niche topic. He’d definitely sent more than one of the Losers into hysterics with his skilled, probing fingers.

And just the image of Bill, straddling a friend Stan can’t bother to conjure into better focus, with his head tilted, grin teasing, a devilish glint to his eyes—

Stan’s wants so badly to turn and check that Bill can’t feel the heat that’s burning his ears, but that’d probably look even more suspicious than what his paranoid brain is coming up with now.

So, what?

The problem had been found, mostly, kind of. It’s the closest thing to an answer Stan can reason to anyways, what with the small amount of information he’s gathered.

So this would be the part where he plans out the solution.

But—

Stan shifts in muddled discomfort before he can really think about what he’s doing. He masks it as repositioning and settles back more snuggly against Bill’s chest, hoping his boyfriend hasn’t noticed.

He settles for worrying at his lip, still lost in thought.

He doesn’t know how ticklish he is. He doesn’t even know if he is ticklish.

When tickle frights became a normal thing in the Losers’ Club—and even the thought has Stan rolling his eyes—he’d been hesitant.

Alright, more than hesitant, he’d been opposed.

The thought of being squished against the floor, hands ruffling through his clothes, while he made any number of weird snorting (Bill), shrieking (Eddie), or combined (Richie) kind of noise—

It unsettled him.

And bless him, somehow all of his friends, down to Richie ‘no boundaries’ Tozier, had gotten it without being asked and let him be.

But now…

Now he hears a thump and screaming laughter and he’s not scared. He’s sometimes annoyed, sometimes entertained. But now, it’s the new normal and…

His eyes roll more forcefully, almost rolling right out of his head.

It’s the new normal and he kind of wishes someone had just gotten him involved already so he didn’t have to go through the process of giving his boyfriend permission to tickle him.

The movie is still going, but Stan is 100% sure Bill isn’t paying attention. If he were, he’d have already gone back to some mindless, endearing movement, but his hand still lies fixed on Stan’s waist.

So Stan flips forward onto his stomach before pushing himself up to straddle Bill’s legs. Now Bill seems to be paying attention, though he only get a small “w-wha-“ out before his mouth seals shut at Stan’s hands, slipping under his shirt to drum lightly on his stomach.

He immediately goes to bite his lip, fighting to keep the twitching of his mouth to a minimum. Stan can’t help the smile that takes his own face. And though he knows what his goal is, he can’t help a quick swipe of fingers that has Bill tensing, eyes shutting, and mouth puffing in a startled breath, before he continues the steady tap-tap-tap.

“S-Stan, come on. Are you r-re-really-“

Another gratuitous scribble of Stan’s fingers catches Bill mid-speech and pulls a bright laugh out of him before his mouth zips shut once again, stubbornly refusing to let Stan catch him off guard.

And then they’re silent—waiting—tension growing with every bored tap of Stan’s fingers.

And Stan, he was just going to say it.

Rather, his plan was to just go out and say it.

But for some reason, the words, “You can tickle me, if you want,” are stuck somewhere beneath his windpipe. And in the time it takes for Stan to wrestle them into his mouth, Bill’s smile has shifted from one of light torment to full-bodied amusement.

He raises an eyebrow, when Stan finally meets his gaze, a repressed huff of laughter shaking his chest even though Stan’s fingers have stilled.

And damn it if this deviates a little from the plan, but sometimes Bill is just asking for it.

So Stan decides to take the scenic route to his destination, scribbling his fingers over Bill’s lower stomach and admiring the view when his shocked expression quickly crumbles into unrestrained laughter.

Bill does as Bill always does, grabbing ahold of the fabric around Stan’s wrists without really doing much to block the movement of his fingers, spidering up to his rib cage and back down. He just needs something to hold onto and the thought would make Stan smile if he weren’t already.

As his fingers travel along the familiar space, tracing nonsense onto Bill’s stomach, kneading along his sides, and scratching at the bone and spaces of his ribs (maybe sneaking a poke or two under his arms when he’s dumb enough to keep them up), Bill’s squirming only grows more wild.

It’s kind of funny actually. Here Bill is, able to pin any one of them down in a wrestling match (or whenever he finds it necessary to help someone else get some well-deserved revenge), and yet he never tries to use any of that strength to just, say, buck his torturer off.

It’s really not that hard a conclusion to come to, even if your mind is preoccupied with something more…pressing. But Bill still manages to let that slip his mind entirely, every time, and instead squirms and jolts and writhes around until he’s spent.

Sometimes Stan thinks Richie isn’t the only one who’s taken a liking to this new pastime of their’s. But Stan is a nice boyfriend, so he won’t embarrass Bill with that conclusion yet.

There’s enough pink in Bill’s cheeks now to see in the dark of the living room, lit only by the television long forgotten in the corner. The color starts somewhere beneath the collar of his shirt and washes up to the tips of his ears. Stan’s fingers travel with a mind of their own, slipping up the side of Bill’s well-travelled torso to follow the path of color.

And although Bill’s movements had calmed slightly as the tickling went on, fingers spidering up the side of his neck are enough to get him going again. His shoulder flinches inward, hands moving to fist in Stan’s shirt and push him marginally back. A desperate and semi-clear, “p-p-plehehease!” squeaks out through the blubbering.

Stan lingers, long enough for Bill’s nose to scrunch up and deliver an unfairly adorable snort, kicking the color in his face up a notch, before he finally stops, leaving his hand to play with the wild hair mussed up around the nape of Bill’s neck.

It doesn’t take Bill too long to get his breath back, though the tingly feeling of Stan playing with his hair does punctuate his breathy ‘calm down’ laughter with a sharp giggle or two every now and then.

It’s a sight Stan can’t get enough of and who could blame him?

But then, he’s reminded of exactly how this all came to be and exactly what is waiting for him.

One hand slips loose of Stan’s shirt, settling behind Bill for him to use as leverage. He pushes himself up, a smile on his face, but one much more controlled, more devious than the one Stan had put on his face moments before. His eyes are sparkling with left over laughter and steely with a quiet determination.

The hand still gripping one side of Stan’s shirt, hovering over his side, is suddenly all Stan can think about.

But all too soon, Bill’s gaze starts to go soft again. Stan latently thinks of what he must look like, the deer-in-the-headlights look, the spike of fear that muddles the strange anticipation in his gut. It’s got to be this that has Bill backing down before he’s even touched him.

“You know, you can-“ Bill’s eyes find Stan’s from where he’s begun settling back into the pillows. Stan has to take a second to refocus. He swallows.

“You can get me back, if you want.”

And that seems to be the last thing Bill was expecting, if his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline means anything. His mouth hangs open for a second, trying to speak with no sound coming out. Bill clears his throat.

“S-Stan, are you-?”

The question fades out and Stan has absolutely no idea why it has him feeling twitchy. The need to slip off Bill’s lap, out of his hold, grows strong in the back of his head.

“I don’t know,” His tongue feels dry. “But you can—you can try.”

The statement ends high, like a question, with Stan shifting his position at how awkward it all sounds. Bill doesn’t move his hand an inch, from where it’s still fisted in his tee, but Stan’s own movements have the fabric ghosting against his side and tingling in a shockingly new and sensitive way.

And they just sit there, in silence. Bill probably still staring up at Stan; he wouldn’t know. For some reason—despite how confusing this situation is making him feel—he knows for a fact that he’ll blow a fuse if he keeps looking Bill in the eye after finally spitting that out, so he doesn’t.

They sit there so long—at least it feels ridiculously long—in such a tense silence that Stan feels the sudden need to apologize.

Maybe he got it wrong. Maybe Bill was just forming new habits and Stan read too much into it. Maybe now he’s gone and asked Bill to—to tickle him, basically, and now he’s weirded out!

Stan gets so caught up in his own internal rambling that he doesn’t recognize the soft yet persistent pinching against his side until he’s jerking away and into the couch cushions.

It stops upon impact, but as soon as Stan’s pushed himself back upright, it’s back and worse.

A gasp catches in his throat and his left arm is pushing at the feeling with no thought as to what is could be, just that it needs to stop.

Then three things happen, in rapid succession.

First, Stan’s fingers tangle with Bill’s.

Next comes the realization of what’s happening, a realization Bill seems to have at the same time.

Then, Bill’s sly grin makes a reappearance, and Stan feels breathless all over.

Of course, that’s nothing compared to what real breathlessness can be, Stan finds out.

Because it’s a quick tussle that leads to their positions reversed, Stan—frazzled and still in minor shock—pinned underneath Bill—whose smile seems to grow with every second.

And then Bill’s fingers are tripping up Stan’s sides, clumsy in their excitement, but very, very effective.

They’re so devastatingly effective that Stan doesn’t actually realize he’s laughing until the room is echoing with it.

It sounds almost foreign to his own ears, high and frantic and loud. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so long or hard, but it’s not the most prominent thought on his mind at the moment. What is front and center is the tingling, electric, and down right debilitating sensation sparking along his body.

If Stan could get a coherent word, or even thought in, he might compliment Bill on his thorough technique. All that comes out though is a series of mortifying squeals and varying degrees of laughter. Ironically enough, this seems to be all the compliment of skill Bill needs.

His hands work methodically to trace, prod, and spider over every conceivable tickle spot Stan might have. And while it answers Stan’s lingering curiosity of his body, he did not need to know with such depth (or any depth, really) the different pitches of his own laughter that come from Bill drilling into each and every one of his ribs. Of course, Bill finds this to be critical information, and it might drive Stan a little crazy.

It’s only once Bill wriggles his fingers into the space under Stan’s arms that he squeals and latches onto Bill’s wrists.

Oh, yes, self-defense is a thing. Maybe Stan wouldn’t judge Bill on forgetting that quite so harshly next time.

But even with Bill’s hands in his grasp, Stan can’t just…push them away.

He could—physically. Despite the barrage of giggles pouring from him, he knows he could shove Bill onto the carpet or at least away from his shockingly sensitive armpits with enough effort.

But when he peeks through damp lashes (when did he start tearing up?), Bill looks the happiest Stan can remember seeing in a while. And beneath all that giddiness is a look so fond, it warms Stan in a way even his useless struggling hasn’t done yet.

So he—gives in.

His hands stay clamped around Bill’s wrists but do little more than squeeze tighter when Bill’s mouth joins the fray, dotting kisses into the crook of Stan’s neck and making him squeak externally and groan internally at the sappy picture they must make.

And in what must be the most surprising revelation of the night, Stan finds that he…doesn’t hate this.

He didn’t expect to truly despise it or anything (though he can’t say the thought didn’t cross his mind). But even so, the fears he’d had before—about losing control and feeling silly—haven’t really been an issue. And the unexpected pros of Bill being touchy, fixed with that sunshine-bright smile, and leaving him with the pleasant ache of a good laugh—

It’s actually kind of nice.

Damn it, Richie.

Stan doesn’t have the mind to follow that thought though, or any other matter-of-fact, because as soon as it enter his head, Bill’s fingers have slipped into the dips of his hip bones and started drilling in.

And he may have—no, definitely—spoken too soon, because it’s not until that point that Stan really does loose his mind.

It’s like the tingles that’ve floated through his body have all decided to ricochet towards one unbelievably sensitive point, and the shriek leaves his mouth before he can even get the breath for it.

Stan’s hips buck up instinctually, trying frantically to displace the sudden, overwhelming feeling. He can hear weird shrieking and loud laughter that can’t possibly be coming from him, but he can’t place it over the number one priority of getting enough air in.

He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. His body and mind are live wires that won’t connect, so he does the only thing he can think to do.

“B-Bill, plehease!” Stan gasps out, and—just like that—Bill’s hands are rubbing firm, soothing, and decidedly non-tickly strokes over the lingering prickle in Stan’s hips.

Stan is still gasping, like he’d just run a marathon if not for the intermittent strings of laughter. When Bill slides off Stan’s legs and into the space beside him, Stan can’t comment, but he does shift closer to smother the last of his soft giggles into Bill’s chest.

At that point, Stan is put together enough to realize that Bill is laughing, albeit without making any noise, but still laughing at Stan. So Stan smacks his shoulder, without any of the force that he should be using, before snuggling back into Bill’s arms. It has the opposite effect in making Bill laugh more, but Stan can’t be bothered to care; all he wants right now is to nap.

And with Bill’s hand rubbing softly up and down his back, sometimes trailing lightly in a way Stan now recognizes as a little bit ticklish, it’s all he can do to not pass out then and there.

But first, his voice comes out low and slurred.

“You are not telling the others about this.”

Bill laughs again, this time out loud. The shaking of his chest earns another smack from Stan. But between that and the kiss he leaves on Stan’s forehead, Stan falls into a peaceful sleep, a soft smile still on his face.

(Of course, the others do end up finding out. And Stan knows Bill didn’t say anything—at least purposefully—by the shock of his wide eyes and the apologetic gaze he offers Stan when Richie throws the first teasing comment.

Stan figured this would happen honestly, but that doesn’t stop him from rolling his eyes and flipping Richie the bird.

Things don’t change too drastically, even so. Sometimes Richie will tase his sides to steal Stan’s attention away from his books. Sometimes Eddie will poke at his ribs to check if he’s paying attention to his lectures.

Once in a while someone will try to catch him unaware and launch an attack. And sometimes he’ll just—let it happen. Because it’s really not that bad and it can feel nice to laugh with friends—especially when Stan knows he can turn the tables at any moment.

The only thing that does worry him for some time is the thought of someone slipping their hands a little lower than his sides. Call it baby steps, but Stan doesn’t feel quite ready to let that loose in front of a crowd.

But thanks to the fact that Stan’s hipbones are secured safely underneath the band of his pants, a place even Richie wouldn’t venture in his little experiments (if only because of Bill’s glaring), Stan feels sure enough that his secret will stay safe.

As safe as possible, anyways, with Bill already abusing the information.

Because as many times as Stan thinks, and even calls, Bill a monster for using that secret so liberally when they’re alone, Bill will always shoot back, smiling ear to ear, that he’ll stop as soon as Stan asks him to.

And well, behind the lingering smile and buzzing warmth in his stomach, Stan finds himself ignoring the teasing comment and diving right back in to make sure Bill knows the same is true for him too.)

#stenbrough #stanley uris #bill denbrough #stan x bill #bill x stan #it #stenbrough fic #it fic #tickle fic #ticklefic #submission #fic

[7-wonders]

Service With a Scribble

Summary: Duncan’s a dick to a cashier, and (Y/N) decides to get back at him with a healthy dose of kindness.

Word Count: 4063

A/N: This got way longer than I thought it would, so I made it a full-length imagine. Enjoy!

Based on this ask from Anonymous: 

For the coffee shop AU: Duncan is a sourpuss in the mornings, the barista notices how he treats the cashier so they end up drawing cutesy things on his cup to “brighten” up his day (but also to tease him a bit). Duncan is about to complain but the drink was the best he’d ever had so he lets it slide and holds the drink in a way to hide the drawing. This continues for weeks, the drawings getting more elaborate until one day they stop and the drink is subpar. 1/3

Duncan asks about the usual barista and finds out they’re just out for the day. The next day there is no drawing but the drink is excellent. This continues for a few days and Duncan gets concerned, he’s formed a weird bond with this barista and sort of loves the weird stranger-ship they had. He asks to meet the barista and is immediately infatuated with them, but the barista seems subdued. 2/3

Then I would imagine Duncan doing everything in his power to brighten the barista’s mornings, and then of course they fall in love and happily ever after lmao. Sorry this is quite long, but I love coffee shop AUs

He’s not a morning person, at all. 

Duncan supposes that most people don’t enjoy mornings, but that fact doesn’t really matter when it’s his morning that’s less-than-enjoyable. His routine is always the same: wake up, stumble to the bathroom and attempt to get ready without falling asleep again, and drink ungodly amounts of coffee until he starts to feel almost human again. The coffee at his office is subpar, which is the norm in all offices across the DC area (and in all offices around the world, but again--his problems only apply to him, at least in his mind). Since Duncan is incapable of making his own coffee without burning it, he has to wake up even earlier in order to get coffee at his favorite coffee shop on the way to work.

This particular morning is especially rough for the mogul, who drank one too many whiskeys at a charity event for the Shepherd Freedom Foundation last night. The expensive alcohol created a hangover that he hadn’t experienced since college, and Duncan prays that this isn’t related to the gray hairs he found speckling his facial hair last weekend. He refuses to take his sunglasses off as he walks in the undercast Metro weather, only folding them up into his coat pocket when the soft lighting of the coffee shop makes it bearable to not squint. The mere smell of roasting coffee beans acts like a drug for him, giving him the strength to make it to the front of the line. The indie music filtering softly through the speakers, the ambiance, the local artwork: none of it matters in this moment.

The cashier is new, or at least new to this shift. Duncan’s never seen this short man with bright blue hair before, and he’s not pleased that his order will not be automatically known as it is to the rotating door of familiar cashiers he’s seen before. The employee stutters his greeting, looking down at the register as he asks Duncan for his order. Sighing tempestuously, Duncan forces his eyes to not roll as he places his order. 

“Large Americano, three shots.” Duncan doesn’t have time for flowery language and polite small talk, curtly speaking and already passing a crisp five to the cashier: he’s had the price of his order memorized for months, now.

“$1.45 is your change--oh no!” The cashier gasps, hands scrambling to pick up the change that he’s dropped on the counter. Duncan glares at him, nearly yanking his money back into his waiting hand. 

“Thanks,” Duncan spits sarcastically, “your complete and utter lack of a brain has made my day so much better.” He knows he’s being unnecessarily rude to this person who already goes through enough shit while working in the service industry, but the anger floods through him quicker than he can count to ten. 

The barista, who is also working her first morning shift after two months of being the afternoon barista, rolls her eyes at this stuck-up guy who thinks he has the right to talk to Zack like that after a simple mistake. That’s one of the things (Y/N) hates the most about this city: all of the rich white men who believe they’re so much better than everybody else solely due to their last names. An Americano is not difficult to make, so she busies herself with a different pursuit as the espresso steams. Uncapping the permanent marker with her teeth, (Y/N) decides that this man could use a little laugh to cheer up his day.

“Large Americano, three shots!” (Y/N) calls, setting down the coffee on the front of the counter. She’s a little disappointed that she can’t wait to see this customer’s reaction, but she’ll be in deep shit if she doesn’t get this order into the suppliers before 10, so (Y/N) disappears into the stockroom.

Duncan picks up his drink, ignoring the scalding of his taste buds as he takes a long drink of his long-awaited drink. His eyes widen, but not due to the sudden lack of feeling in his mouth. This, Duncan reluctantly admits to himself, is the best damn Americano he’s had in a long time. Examining the cup, his expression quickly morphs into one of confusion and burgeoning anger. His order’s written on the paper cup, but there’s also something else: a drawing. 

It’s easy to tell that this was quickly done, a doodle with some thought behind it. There’s a little stick figure that Duncan assumes is meant to be him, an angry expression and what looks like a couple of dollars in his balled-up stick fist evidence enough for him. There’s a sun above the drawing of him, peeking out through the rain clouds that hang directly over the drawing’s head. A little note accompanies this Picasso’s masterpiece, the nice handwriting reminding him to “cheer up, it’s Thursday!” 

Duncan grits his teeth, having half a mind to complain until he gets whatever barista fired, but another drink stops that thought. Although he’s never had a bad coffee here, this particular drink, by whichever particular barista decided to try and be funny, surpasses any expectations he previously had. Plus, the longer he looks at the cup, the more he has to fight the smile that threatens to fight its way onto his face. However much it hurts him, Duncan...supposes he could let the issue slide. For now, at least. 

He can’t find whoever made his coffee, the only employee around being the cashier who is still warily watching Duncan out of the corner of his eye. Oh well; if they work here, they’ll be bound to make Duncan’s coffee again. On his way out, he pauses right before he opens the door. 

“Sorry...about earlier.” He cringes at how the apology comes out, but the cashier nods slowly.

“Have a nice day.” When the door closes behind Duncan, the cashier scoffs and angrily scrubs the countertop. “Dick.”

//

Duncan’s visits to the little coffee shop three blocks away from Gardner Analytics only increase in frequency, the brunette sometimes finding himself there multiple times a day. He knew almost everything about this barista that had managed to captivate him from the first day that little cartoon had showed up on his coffee cup. Their shift, however long it was, always ended by 11; his coffee was just fine if he showed up in the afternoon. They were quick-witted, managing to create more and more elaborate drawings with each day that passed (Last week, Duncan had actually laughed when he turned the cup around to see that the logo had been turned into Batman--a topic the customer before him had been enthusiastically speaking to the cashier about). 

Sometimes the drawings were funny, little jokes that only Duncan and his mysterious barista would know. Other times, they were quite beautiful. Miniature cityscapes of a dreary Washington, made vibrant by the multiple colored markers used to draw the scene. A silhouette of a bridge, a lone person standing on top of it while a little boat floats beneath. That had been a particular favorite of Duncan’s, the only pop of color coming from the red balloon the person on the bridge was holding. He had taken up the habit of saving these cups, carefully washing them out and displaying them in an empty cupboard in his empty apartment that greeted him with nothing but silence every night (fuck, he really is lonely).

The one thing that Duncan still does not know, however, is who this barista even is. Everyday he receives the best coffee he’s ever had along with a personalized cup, and everyday he can never manage to catch who it is that’s drawing on his cup. He starts to think that all cups have drawings on them, which would make sense if it weren’t for the few times his name had been included in the design. Maybe his barista designs them when they’re sitting in the back?

(He’s right, but he doesn’t know that it’s become as much a part of her morning routine as counting the tills and turning on the ‘open’ sign. She has a stash of Sharpies now, all in a variety of colors that remain tucked in her bag until she has the chance to use them on her favorite customer’s cups. She’s not sure why she’s become so invested in providing a smile to this man’s day; maybe it’s to spite him, or maybe it’s because, for that moment when his eyes light up and his gaze searches for the artist he’ll never find, the one who watches sneakily from the back as he attempts to finally catch her in the act, she feels her heart flutter in a way that it never has before.

He doesn’t know, and he won’t know, she constantly tells herself. He’ll stop coming one day, or get sick of the drawings and finally complain like he should have on that first day. It will stop, and so will the way her breath catches in her throat when the door jingles open and his bright blue eyes are revealed from behind his reading glasses--a new addition to his wardrobe, although she would never admit to knowing enough about him to have realized that he suddenly started wearing glasses.)

//

The sixth time this routine, this dance of Duncan looking for (Y/N) after (Y/N) presents his large Americano in a newly designed cup, has happened is when her coworkers start to tease her about it.

“He totally likes you, y’know?” Marina, a pastry chef who likes to work early mornings, asks. Her large brown eyes stare (Y/N) down as she becomes flustered, shaking her head and focusing intently on scrubbing the coffee grounds out of the bottom of the industrial sink. 

Duncan had left maybe ten minutes ago, his search once again proving fruitless after she quickly made his coffee and then just had to go wash the dishes. It’s become a game for her coworkers, all of them giggling as they slyly watch to see if Duncan will ever catch her or, the more likely case, if (Y/N) will allow herself to be caught.

“Please, he’s just a customer. He doesn’t even know who I am,” (Y/N) says, shrugging off the possibility.

“Uh, are you blind?” Jeremy, another barista, chimes in. “He looks for you every single day, sometimes twice a day. He always comes in at the exact same time, and always looks at your drawing before trying to see who made his coffee which he never will, since we make the coffee behind the order window.”

“Plus, if he was ‘just a customer’ then you wouldn’t draw on his cups like you do,” Marina says.

“Did you two plan this out?” (Y/N) asks, throwing the rag in the towel bin and putting her hands on her hips.

“It’s only a matter of time before one of you gives in, and my bet’s on you.”

“My bet’s on Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome,” Jeremy says, placing a tea on the window and calling out the order.

“Yeah, well prepare to be waiting for a long time.” Grabbing two trash bags that need to be taken to the dumpster, (Y/N) sticks her tongue out at her snickering coworkers before opening the back door with her hip and disappearing into the mid-morning sun.

//

Every logical part of Duncan’s being screams at him to stop this odd infatuation with the person who makes his coffee and takes enough care to go out of their way and personalize a cup for him, but he just can’t. Nobody’s ever cared that much, which is a conversation for the therapist that he’ll never go to see. In a way, he feels like he knows this barista, like they understand him. It’s stupid, and Duncan’s sure the drawings are just a way for the bored employee to pass the time until they can leave, but all logic leaves him whenever his thoughts land on this person with no face. He can’t stop how his heart speeds up when he enters the coffee shop, hoping that today will be the day where the mystery finally unravels.

It’s Thursday, exactly a month after the first time Duncan found that little stick figure version of him on the back of his Americano. The date, this little ‘anniversary’ that Duncan wasn’t aware he had been anticipating, is not lost on him as he enters the familiarity of the coffee shop he’s come to know so well. After his less-than-stellar first impression last month, he had quickly come to know the cashiers extremely well. Still, none of them would divulge the name of his favorite barista, claiming that it wasn’t their place to do so. 

He’s going to do it, he’s decided. Today will be the day that he finally asks to meet his barista (his barista, a misnomer he’s had to use whenever he thinks of the artist whose name it seems like he’ll never learn. It’s probably uncouth of him to be claiming this person who he’s never met, but he can’t help it.) Placing his order, Duncan stands next to the counter and tries to hide how impatiently he’s waiting for his coffee.

The first thing he notices is that there’s no drawing on his cup. He frowns slightly at this sudden deviation from the routine that’s been cultivated, but assumes the shop must just have been busy all morning. His barista, he surmises, likely just didn’t have the time to work on a drawing. 

Duncan hadn’t realized how refined his taste had become to the large Americano that had been made for him daily by only one person, almost recoiling when he takes a sip of his drink. It’s not as if it’s bad, but it’s not the same as how he’s had it everyday for a month. Like it was before he got that first cartoon, his coffee is just fine.

Walking back up to the cashier, Duncan hardly waits for him to look up before he’s speaking. “The barista, the one who normally works this shift?” Duncan tries, and fails, to sound like he’s not that interested in the question that he’s asking, and it goes understood in the unsaid second part of his question. The cashier looks conflicted, like he’s not sure which information would be okay to share.

“She had to take the day off today, some sort of family issue.” Duncan’s chest warms at this small gift he’s been given, knowing now that he’s her (whoever she may be) customer.

“Oh...” Duncan trails off, not quite sure what to say.

“She should be back tomorrow? I’m not sure though,” the cashier offers helpfully. 

“Thanks.” Duncan leaves reluctantly, only reassured by the renewed vigor to seek his barista out tomorrow.

The next day, Duncan’s on high alert for any sign of the woman he’s come to care deeply for. He’s not sure what he’s looking for; a ponytail, or a soft figure that’s utterly feminine? He doesn’t know what she looks like, but he’s sure that he’ll know who he’s looking for when he sees her.

For the second day in a row, there’s no design on Duncan’s coffee cup. He’s disappointed, sure that she must have had to extend her unexpected absence until he tastes his Americano and realizes that it’s his barista’s Americano. His heart starts to pound, and he tries to look as if he’s not going to jump out of his skin. 

“Hi,” Duncan greets stiffly, the cashier hiding his smirk behind a cough. “Is...the barista that normally works, is she here?”

The cashier, who had his money in the work pool on Duncan cracking first, nods. “Yeah, I’ll go get her.”

Any coherent thought that Duncan may have had goes flying out the window when the door is pushed open and he finally comes face to face with his barista. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Her big eyes light up when she sees Duncan, lips curling into a smile, as she runs a hand through her hair nervously. Her smile is already Duncan’s favorite part of her. It’s the kind of smile that allows her radiant personality to shine through, warming anybody who’s lucky enough to be in its path. 

“Hi,” Duncan says, the only word he can force out that isn’t stuttered mumbling.

“Hi,” she repeats. “Did you finally get sick of my little scribbles?”

“Yes--no, I meant no!” he assures. “I’ve actually really enjoyed your drawings, and they’ve become my favorite part of my day. You also happen to make the best coffee I’ve ever had, which is definitely a plus. But then you weren’t here yesterday, and it sort of threw me for a loop.” Her smile falters slightly, just long enough for Duncan to see the sadness that lingers in her eyes.

“I had...uh, a family emergency yesterday.” Her grandpa had fallen down a set of stairs at his home and broke two ribs that nearly punctured his lungs. At the hospital, he had also taken the opportunity to allow his doctor to explain the secret he had been desperately trying to hide from his family: Alzheimer’s Disease.

The disease had been caught early, during a routine checkup when his regular doctor had asked him how the newest great grandchild (barely a month old) was doing and he couldn’t remember the baby’s name. A few tests later, and the devastating diagnosis had been handed down. (Y/N)’s grandfather, ever the strong patriarch, hadn’t wanted to share this with his family until it started to become worse. That plan, however, flew out the window when he lost his footing at the top of his staircase.

“I can’t believe you actually liked those stupid drawings,” she continues. “I just started it to get back at you for being a jerk to Zack, and then I saw how happy you got when there was another drawing the next day. It just kind of snowballed from there.”

“I don’t think they’re stupid!” Duncan interjects. He’s prepared to launch a crusade, letting her know just how talented she is and how he doesn’t know what he’d do if she were to stop, ending it with the carefully-placed question of when her next day off is so that he can get to know her properly, when a voice from the back yells for her. Duncan’s stunned at suddenly learning her name; it fits her, and it’s a lot better than calling her ‘his barista.’ She looks over her shoulder, wrinkling her nose when she sees the delivery truck with the weekly stock fulfillment. 

“Looks like that’s my cue.”

Before she goes to turn around, Duncan finally remembers how to speak once again. “(Y/N)?” She stops, looking at him. “That’s your name, right?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Duncan smiles genuinely, not one of the forced smiles he slaps on whenever he’s meeting with a client or donor. “I’m Duncan. It was wonderful to finally meet you today, (Y/N).” He can’t stop saying her name, the syllables rolling off his tongue smoothly and leaving behind a taste better than the finest coffee in the world.

“It was nice to meet you too, Duncan.” His heart nearly flips when she says his name, giving him a small wave before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Duncan remains frozen in his tracks, still staring at the spot she once occupied, as if blinking will wash away her existence like a shimmering mirage. His mind does loops, replaying the brief conversation in his head over and over again until her voice is all he can hear. Duncan can’t get her eyes out of his head, that brief flicker of sadness a problem that he needs to solve. He can’t watch this person, who’s given him so much happiness, feel anything less than happy. Strolling up to the counter, Duncan smirks at the wide-eyed cashier.

“Tell me,” he says smoothly, “what does (Y/N) like?”

//

(Y/N)’s stuck making drinks the next morning, the shop being too short-staffed for her to work on any of the other tasks she needs to complete. It’s a pretty steady shift so far, the cooler weather drawing more people to come in and get some warmth before braving the rest of their commute to work. She just wants to get through this shift, her mind on the problems she has to deal with while her muscle memory goes through the motions of creating the drinks she could now make in her sleep. She doesn’t even hear when Jeremy calls her name the first time, only hearing him when he gently bumps her shoulder. (Y/N) looks up at him with wide eyes, silently wondering if she’s messed something up.

“Shit, Jer, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to zone out,” she stammers out an apology.

“I wasn’t trying to get your attention because you’re in trouble or anything. Honestly, you can still make drinks better than I can even when your mind is a million miles away.”

“Okay, so what’s up?” Jeremy has a tendency of forgetting what he was talking about if he gets going on a different subject, and this seems to be the case. 

“Oh! Your Prince Charming is back, and he’s asking for you again.” She looks at the drink she’s just finished making, seeing that it is indeed a large Americano with three shots. There’s no design on the cup; not because she’s decided to stop, but because she just hasn’t had the time or the energy.

“Should--should I take this out to him?” Jeremy looks at her with wide eyes, nodding slowly like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

“Yes! Go, or else I’ll swoop in and steal your man,” he threatens jokingly. She picks up the order, smiling when Jeremy shoots her a thumbs up before ushering her out the door. 

Duncan’s cheeks are already pink as he stares down at his phone, trying not to look like he’s waiting for her. He’s holding a small bouquet of brightly colored flowers, most likely having forgotten his mother’s birthday or some other important event.

“Hey, Duncan,” she greets, setting his coffee down in front of him. “Sorry, there's no design today.”

“That’s okay.” Duncan holds the flowers out towards (Y/N), biting his lip and attempting not to show that he’s nervous. “These are for you.”

“For me?” (Y/N) takes the flowers from him, their hands briefly brushing against each other before she quickly pulls her hand back. She smells them, smiling brightly up at Duncan. “These are my favorites! Nobody’s ever bought me flowers before.”

“Why not? You deserve all of the flowers, and so much more.”

“Thank you, Duncan. This was really sweet of you.”

“You just...looked so sad yesterday. I wanted to brighten your day like you brighten mine.” (Y/N)’s cheeks heat up, and she looks down at the flowers instead of looking into his eyes for fear of getting more flustered. 

“Duncan,” she nearly whines, not good at taking compliments.

“It’s true, and you should be told that everyday.” Duncan reaches across the counter and puts his hand on top of hers, making her stare at him with surprised eyes. “Listen, (Y/N), I’d really like to get to know you when you’re not wearing that cute apron of yours.”

“You do? My drawings impressed you that much?”

“Your drawings increased my interest in you, and meeting you has made it impossible for me to not ask to see you outside of your job.” He smiles at her, leaning in closer from over the counter. “So? What do you say?”

Instead of answering, (Y/N) holds a finger up and fishes a marker out of her apron. Uncapping it with her teeth like she did on the day that she first decided to draw on Duncan’s cup, she scribbles one last masterpiece for him before handing it over. He quickly scans what she’s written, smirking and letting go of her hand with a nod. ‘I’m off at 12; lunch?’ Her phone number directly follows the question, a smiley face drawn next to it.

“I’ll be here to pick you up at 12, then.”

“I’ll be the one in the apron.”

//

Tag List (I’m on a time crunch so I’m just tagging a few homies): @lvngdvns @wroteclassicaly @ccodyfern @cocosfern @langdvnshepherd @divinelangdon @1-800-bitchcraft @venusxxlangdon @mega-combusken @tcc-gizmachine

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd imagines #duncan shepherd x reader #hoc #hoc imagine #house of cards #house of cards imagine #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine

[kpopcrapbag]

Monday Night In (Round 1)

Type: one-shot mini-series

Genre: smut, fluff, fluffy smut, the tiniest dash of angst

Content: needy Jaebeom, shy Jaebeom, dirty talk, oral sex, and over-stimulation

Warning(s): brief mention of allusion to self-esteem issues

POV: 2nd person (Jaebeom x You)

Word count: 2.2 k

A/N: This is my first post. I hope I did well. I’m very new to writing fanfic. So please be nice, or at least constructive. This was supposed to be just one post, but I got carried away (since I’ve always been such a maximalist in my writing) so I made the executive decision to split it into parts. Anyway.. I hope you enjoy smutty Jaebeom content because that’s what I’m all about.

Prompt: GOT7 JB YCMN photo shoot by Naver x Dispatch 

You and your boyfriend are spending a lazy Monday night in. He had been busy for the past three weeks and you were making up for lost time. Jaebeom had suggested a romantic dinner at a trendy new restaurant, but you insisted on having him all to yourself for the night. So you ordered in and decided to watch a film you two had been meaning to watch together. 

Whenever Jaebeom would get busy with GOT7, you two would usually allocate the little time you had together for intimacy. Which was easy since you share an apartment. Both of you figured that you could always talk through texts and calls anyway. It was something you two agreed on strongly. Having dated a few years now, you understood each other’s needs and were pretty in sync with each other.

At least Jaebeom thought so.

After dinner, you move to the living room sofa. Jaebeom takes his place on the middle right cushion expecting you to sit next to him on the left. But you sit on the far left, leaning on the arm rest and staring at your phone. Jaebeom is dumbfounded as he just stares at you blankly.

“Should we watch the film now?” he finally asks, trying to grab your attention. But you didn’t even spare him a glance.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N!” he almost shouts and you finally look up from your phone.

“What? Yeah. Let’s watch this bad boy,” you reply, barely looking at him. Your eyes are glued to your phone as soon as the words leave your tongue.

Jaebeom sighs but he presses play anyway. He figures when the film starts, you’ll pay attention to it or at least to him. He never wants to admit when he feels extra needy.

While he was busy promoting their latest album, you were also busy with work. You even had to go on several work-related trips outside the city last week. Whenever you two got really busy, it was normal that you wouldn’t be able to communicate as much. You’re cool with it. And so is he. Whenever this happened, you two would be inseparable when reunited.

So your behavior tonight really has Jaebeom confused and annoyed. Aside from the small talk over dinner a few minutes ago, you haven’t really been paying him any attention. But he’s going to be patient with you. God knows how patient you have been with him and his life as a kpop idol. So he tries to concentrate on the film. But he can’t help but glance at you. 

He scoots over to your side of the couch, gesturing you to lean on his left shoulder. You were still looking at your phone so you didn’t notice his invitation, so you rest your head on his lap instead, which is your usual position when you watch a movie together at home.

Jaebeom isn’t complaining though. He’s relieved you’re finally paying him attention. He reaches for your hand to hold but you lead his hand to your head instead and you resume holding your phone with both hands. Jaebeom laughs softly as he caresses your head, playing with your hair.

You adjust your position and instead of facing the TV, you were now facing up with your phone still your main view. If it weren’t for your phone, Jaebeom could simply lean over and you two would be face-to-face.

The contentment of having you lie on his lap slowly fades away. Usually this would be enough for him, but he was extra needy tonight. He starts glancing at you again. Eventually, he ignores the movie and just stares at you as he leans back on the couch.

It takes him a few moments to notice that you have been smiling and silently giggling for five minutes straight. Jaebeom tries to peek at your phone to find out what you’re looking at. But he can’t see it from this angle.

Jaebeom has the urge to just grab your phone and throw it away, so he can just hold you in his arms. But he doesn’t act on it. You two have had this fight before. It was messy. Eventually, he realized that he was just being insecure about the whole thing. He doesn’t want to go through anything like that again. So he sits up straight and focuses on the film.

“Damn, how is he this handsome?” you blurt out.

“Okay, that’s it,” he says as he gets up from the couch causing you to sit up too.

“I can’t take this anymore,” he continues, “Who is so handsome that you ignore me even though we’ve barely seen each other for weeks?”

You show him your phone. And he sees pictures of him from GOT7′s Naver x Dispatch photo shoot for their latest album. Jaebeom blushes.

You get up to hug him, your arms around his waist.

“His name is Lim Jaebeom,” you say as you look up at him, “He’s my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for four years now but we’ve known each other for seven. He’s the leader of the idol group GOT7.”

Jaebeom’s mouth is stiff and he can’t look you in the eye even though your face is right in front of his. Seeing him like this makes you giggle.

You sit back on the couch. Jaebeom is still stuck where he stood, still blushing. You grab his wrist and pull him to sit beside you.

“They recently had a comeback, but I was too busy with work to watch most of it,” you continue, “So I’ve been playing catch-up. I finished watching all their stages while I was travelling for work. And now, I’m just falling in love with his beauty all over again. He truly looks spectacular in this blue suit.”

Jaebeom swallows the lump in his throat. His face feels hot from embarrassment. He hasn’t said a word since you started talking.

“I’ve been loving how he’s growing out his hair recently, although I miss his undercut. But I really love how he looks with his long wavy hair.”

You shove your phone in his face as you praise his looks. He’s still pretty shy about it, quietly telling you to stop.

“Just look at that jaw line, his cheekbones, and, of course, those eyes!” As you mention your favorite features, you give them a slight touch, brushing your finger along his jaw, then his cheek, and just beneath his twin moles.

“Okay,” your boyfriend finally says a little louder. “You can stop now.”

“This black and white one has to be my favorite. His fingers on his lips like that? I mean talk about sexy.” You grab his hand and give it a little peck.

You bring the phone closer to you now as you sigh and continue to praise Jaebeom, while still holding his hand.

“He’s just so fucking hot. Don’t get me wrong though, he’s adorable and silly and dorky and hella cute too. But he is just pure sex sometimes, you know? This gaze is just so telling. He looks like this when he has the nastiest, dirtiest thoughts and he--”

You turn to Jaebeom and see that he isn’t acting so shy anymore. You look back at the photo, and then back at your boyfriend. He has the exact same gaze as the photo. You know you’re really in for it now.

“Jaebeom, baby, hey,” you say softly.

He takes your phone, places it on the table, and proceeds to inch closer to you. You lean back on the couch and he follows you, he plants his hands at either side of your head. You’re both lying down now and he has you pinned underneath him. His gaze unwavering.

“Go on, babe,” he says, his voice deeper now. “Tell me more. What happens when I have these nasty and dirty thoughts?”

Yep, you’re really in for it tonight. You tell yourself.

“You go full on beast mode,” you answer, almost breathless.

“Sounds rough,” he says as he brushes his nose against yours.

You nod and swallow the lump in your throat before you can say, “Yeah, really rough.”

Jaebeom rests his forehead on yours and says, “You look like you’re into that, though.”

Your breathing is shallow now and you can't even respond.

He moves to whisper in your ear, “I bet you love it rough. Like it’s the only way you want to be fucked.”

You let out a whimper at the sensation of his breath in your ear and your core trembles at his words.

“Is that what you want, babe?” Jaebeom asks, facing you now. “You want me to fuck you rough?”

You stare back into his dark, almost black eyes and you can feel the heat from your core spreading throughout your body.

“Yes, please,” you moan.

In an instant, Jaebeom’s lips come crashing down on yours. He doesn’t even need to slowly prod you for his tongue to enter, you immediately grant him access as soon as the kiss begins. It’s sloppy and hot. You realize he’s been so needy and desperate this whole time. He even growls when he sucks on your tongue.

You reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it up. Your kiss breaks briefly as he removes his shirt. You sit up a little to remove yours as well. Jaebeom smiles at the sight of your bare chest. You were always the type to remove your bra the moment you get home and he will always be grateful for that.

He lunges at your left breast, his mouth enveloping your nipple. Jaebeom sucks on it while his left hand gropes your right breast. His free hand ventures down to your crotch, grips it, and rubs down intensely, all while still devouring your breast. He swirls his tongue around the firm bud, then sucks on it, and then bites it. Hard. He looks you in the eye as he pulls away, while biting your nipple, with his gaze dark, intense, and sexy as ever. When your moans increase in frequency, he switches to the right one, ensuring it gets equal attention.

Jaebeom moves down your body, leaving sloppy, wet kisses as he makes his way to your vagina. He pulls down your sweat pants and panties in one go and dives right into your folds. His hands hold onto your hips tightly as his tongue enters you.

“Jaebeom!” you scream. But as he redirects his focus to your clitoris, you’re a moaning mess in no time, switching between calling out his name and cussing.

You grab his hair and pull on it hard, making him groan and suck on your clit even harder. He flattens his tongue on it and pushes down roughly while shaking his head, making you shriek and grip his hair even tighter. His left hand leaves your hip to play with your folds. When he feels you’re wet enough, he inserts his middle finger all the way in. He curves it and then pumps it in and out of you slowly. You grab the arm rest of the couch above your head and grip it tight as you scream for more.

Jaebeom inserts another finger and picks up the pace. Your walls start to clench around his fingers. He even playfully bites your clit, making you curse at the top of your lungs.

“Fuck, Jaebeom. Ah, fuck. Fuck!”

He inserts another finger and goes even faster. Your walls clench around him more and you both know that means you’re close to orgasm.

“You’re so close, baby,” Jaebeom says in between sucking on your throbbing clit, “Don’t hold back and cum real hard for me, yeah?”

“Fuck, yes. Oh god, yes! Jaebeom, don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop!” You scream and moan all at the same time. Your hands squeezing your breasts now, so desperate to cum.

Jaebeom inserts a fourth finger and you lose it, moaning incoherent words.

“You always take four fingers so well, babe,” he says in between licking your clit, “and you always feel so fucking tight.”

In moments, your orgasm crashes over you. You feel like you could black out from it. Your entire body is shaking from bliss. But Jaebeom doesn’t stop. He pleasures you through it. He slows down to match how your body shakes, but he still goes hard and deep inside you. With his four fingers thrusting in and out of you and his mouth sucking on your clitoris, your orgasm feels like it’s been going on for minutes.

This much over-stimulation is what you get for riling up a needy Jaebeom. But you never really complain about it until the next day and even then, when you can barely move, you still don’t regret it.

When he finally stops, he immediately gets up to get you some water and a towel. It annoys you how he seems to not even be shaken by all the work he did, while you’re a fucked-out mess and you were just lying there. You manage to sit up when your boyfriend comes back with the water and towel. He cleans you up while you down the tall glass of water.

...

#kpop smut #got7 #got7 jb #got7 jaebeom #got7 lim jaebeom #jb #jaebeom #lim jaebeom #got7 smut #got7 jb smut #got7 jaebeom smut #jb smut #got7 imagine #got7 scenario #got7 jb imagine #got7 jb scenario #got7 jaebeom imagine #got7 jaebeom scenario #jaebeom smut

[writingonjorvik]

Can We Discuss Quest Frequency?

Ok, before we start, did y’all not want 5000 SC? Because I’ve had a giveaway running since Monday and only one person has entered?! Seriously? Y’all get on it.

But on a serious note, we’re going to be talking about the results from this poll, and like always the poll will continue to run after this analysis is out. But I wanted to do this today because of the changes that came out to the Horse Market.

So to start, I can get why SSO would want to stop having the Horse Market. By being stationary, it makes these horses accessible and it gives SSO somewhere where they can always fit more horses instead of terraforming more of the environment and I can appreciate that. It also means there’s not this continuing source of EXP that will continue to push veteran players to levels unavailable to everyone else, but that’s also got its own problems and we’re going to break into that.

So to start, now that the horse market is done, that’s a lot of exp that’s now unavailable to new players, meaning access to players for those higher levels is going to be harder, if possible (there was a lot of horse market exp over the years). But this also highlights the problems in SSO’s leveling system. With a lowered pool of exp, there’s a wider gap in player level and with things like championships were a level 22 player can race a level 5 (I did), that’s not a fair matching system, and there’s less to do to close it. I mean, there’s a whole other topic here about championships being seriously improved by making more groups and only putting in same level players to make the races fair. But exp access and SSO’s apparent fear of giving it out/increasing level caps isn’t really the point of this.

No, I think the bigger issue with removing the horse market is it means less people are going to get on, which is bad for an MMO. MMOs are, despite the about a quarter of y’all according to my other poll running right now, advertised on having a lot of players. And SSO already has a low player retention compared to other MMOs (400,000 of 12,000,000 before accounting for multiple accounts). But to remove a bi-weekly event removes another reason for players to get on.

Start with the basics of this survey.

Two thirds of y’all said you got on daily when you had quests.

But that drops down to only 6.4% when there aren’t quests. That’s an insane drop! Nearly half of y’all said if you don’t have quests you only get on when you have something to do. That’s not a frequency, that’s a guess and it could be anywhere in a wide spectrum of times. But it does mean that the more often SSO puts out quests, the more often that is.

I’m gonna go through these next three quick.

To be fair, I think the original wording of the last one might have skewed my data. I didn’t mean how often should SSO make new events or how often should they repeat (duh, holiday events should happen once a year), I meant how often should one be happening. Regardless, I’m going to use the data as it was collected.

A massive amount of y’all think story quests need to be happening more often, and considering that SSO is a story driven game, I don’t disagree. I think the majority “Quarterly” release here is fair, and it is something SSO seems to be working towards. But that shouldn’t be the only quests! Over 70% of y’all think smaller side quests need to me added at least monthly, if not more often. And y’all think events should be running quarterly to monthly in a pretty big majority.

But it’s not just about quests being more often, it’s about continuing to have something to do.

Nearly 90% of entrants said quests need to be longer than a day. It’s not just about things coming out more often, it’s about continuing to have something to do. And whether you think events, general, or story quests need to be longer respectively, length is the fourth biggest priority for all interests in new quests, bigger than new areas to explore.

Y’all didn’t really see to care about seeing new things outside of areas to explore, and since SSO’s also pretty big on exploration, kinda makes since. But based on y’all’s results, you care more about worldbuilding in story and generally having fun for a longer period of time than needing new assets, which for a game, is great! If you’re fine with reusing assets, that should mean less development time for the devs. They largely need to write story, not create new set pieces.

But it can also be repetitive and y’all agreed resoundingly on that.

You guys want dailies back, though with some updates. Dailies having a story purpose was behind dailies being fair and having a balanced progression and then having a reward for finishing them. Dailies like your popular favorites, any of the druid quests, the Rescue Ranch, or the Kalters, where they take a fair amount of time and immediately reward you with something for doing the daily, like a quest, a horse, or a new area.

What I think is frustrating is that nearly all of you either said fishing or the Sunfield Hens as your least favorite dailies, but SSO makes jokes about it. Sure, having a reward like an achievement makes these dailies more bearable, but there’s still a stupid amount of slog and y’all still said you hated these dailies even after those achievements were out. For SSO to hold these two (a super minority of all of their dailies) as the standard that dailies are and the reason they don’t add more is, frankly, just nonsense. Further, the fact that they have done nothing to make these more enjoyable is beyond me. Just rebalance them. Make the hens stay still longer. Take away the “Good try” in fishing. Besides the point.

The overwhelming evidence from y’all’s feedback is that while quality matters, having something, even minute, is better than nothing. And for a game that runs itself on the idea of having people online, it is in their best interest to have something to do for their players, a reason to get online, even for a fractional amount of time.

Look, quests obviously take time to make and I never think quests should be put out at a rate that makes them poor or puts crunch on the devs, but if the majority of your game is focused around story, then more story should be added. If that’s padded for a month by a fun, unique daily (like the Sun Circle was), most of y’all are fine with that. It’s a reason to get on and be playing this game we all love, even if it’s not for hours on end. And until SSO gives us easier access to making secondary characters (which they really should will all these branching stories), then they need to encourage more people to be getting on their accounts more often.

And that’s all the time I have to break this down. The data is all available, so y’all extrapolate what you can and I’m going to think about how cool a daily where a randomly generated horse appears at the rescue ranch every week and you have to take care of them, or rival group dailies where to max you have to make peace with both (like between the Bobcats and Bulldogz) but until then helping one looses favor in the other, or organizing the library to find books on Jorvik’s magic and past with Linda. There’s so much there and it doesn’t have to be big or complicated and still be able to add on the game.

#woj analysis #sso #star stable #starstable #star stable online #starstableonline

[lets-talk-appella]

2018 Fic Roundup

I was tagged by @aliciameade​ and @acabellas​, so thanks for that you two! Okay actually this was loads of fun to do because I’ve only been writing fic since like April/May so here we go:

Total 2018 Word Count: 206,438 - not gonna lie, pretty proud of that

Total 2018 Hits: 33,768 on AO3. No idea on FFN because the website won’t tell me

Other 2018 AO3 Stats: Kudos: 1921 Comment Threads: 177 Bookmarks: 218 Subscriptions: 121

Links & Titles to 2018 Works: There are 30 - literally everything I’ve done has been this year - so I put a break.

Four Sambucas - 987 words, Not rated Beca is the DJ at a popular club and she's just doing her thing when an incredibly drunk Chloe confuses her with the bartender.

Jealousy’s a Bitch... or Maybe it’s Just the German - 15,171 words, G All Beca/Kommissar interactions in PP2 (plus some additional content) as told from Chloe’s POV. Basically, an extremely jealous Chloe Beale. Largely cannon, but I added some things in the middle and at the end. Part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #1

Just a Joke? - 1,316 words, G When Jesse says something serious to Beca, meaning it as a joke, she freaks out and goes to the one person she can open up to: Chloe. Part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #2

Chloe’s Secret - 7,364, G Chloe needs to know why Jesse broke up with Beca, so she secretly goes to LA to confront him for hurting her best friend. Takes place about five months after PP2 and is part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #3

That’s When She Knew - 4,214, G In which Beca finally wakes up to realize that she’s been in love with Chloe this entire time. Much fluff ahead, enter at your own risk. Takes place just under a year after graduation/Worlds/PP2. Part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #4

Expectations - 7,801, T The immediate follow up to That’s When She Knew (this will make more sense if you read that first), in which Beca and Chloe finally admit their feelings to one another. After leaving Central Park, they go back to their apartment and Beca believes that Chloe seems to have some… expectations of where things should be headed next. Of course, she panics. Part of a series. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #5

Spooning Looks Easier in the Movies - 2,716, G Sure, they’d decided to wait before getting really intimate together in their new relationship. That doesn’t keep Beca from being a little awkward about sharing the bed for the first time since they’ve told each other about their feelings. Part of a series. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #6

Reality - 23,703 (listen I got excited), M Continuing the series and following the established Bechloe line, this follows Beca and Chloe as they figure out life as a new couple. Specifically, how they prepare for their first time. Smut, but more in a making love way. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #7

Accidents Happen - 1,892, G A different take on the Activities Fair from Beca's freshman year. Or, Bechloe Week 2018 day 1 - prompt "accidental kiss."

The Underwear Incident - 3,967, Not Rated Beca Mitchell is one of the most famous music artists in America. She gets a lot of attention from her fans, which occasionally makes Chloe a little jealous... established Bechloe. For Bechloe Week Day 2 - Jealousy.

Don’t Touch Her - 3,504, T Getting drunk texts from Chloe is nothing new for Beca. However, when the messages become alarming, Beca races into action. Part of Bechloe Week Day Three - Drunk Texting.

How to Break Beca Mitchell with Six Words - 473, G Submission for Bechloe Week Day Four - Why. Angst ahead. Read at your own risk.

The Eight Times Aubrey Posen Had to Ask Why - 7,482, T Aubrey prides herself on knowing her best friend, so to suddenly not know what Chloe's thinking is alarming to say the least. Or, the times Aubrey was confused about Bechloe's relationship and had to ask about it. Alternate Bechloe Week Day Four - Why.

Five Minutes - 2,661, G Beca and Jesse have gone on a road trip meant to seal their future together, leaving Chloe devastated. She gives up entirely, hiding away from the world... but then, there's a knock on the door. For Bechloe Week 2018 - Road Trip.

Sealing the Crack - 2,215, G When Chloe's valuable good luck charm breaks in an accident, Beca is there to pick up the pieces. For Bechloe Week Day Six - Good Luck Charm.

Come Home to Me - 10,377, T Chloe dishes herself out some of the pasta, being sure to save a good amount for Beca. She chases it around her plate with her fork, suddenly not feeling particularly hungry. She finds herself glancing out the window at their empty driveway with increasing frequency. Beca really should have been home by now.

Amy’s Limit - 2,461, G This came from Tumblr Prompt - "Stop being so cute," but I decided to add it to the series because I thought it fit well. This follows the events of "Reality," and is established Bechloe. Told from Amy's POV. Pure fluff and horrible pick-up likes ahead, read at your own risk. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #8

Fallen Leaves, Fallen Bellas - 35,086, T “It’s not true, though,” Chloe’s voice jarred them from their thoughts. “I mean, it can’t be. Ghosts aren’t real, and they definitely don’t kill people. You made that up to scare us, right?” she asked Aubrey, smiling uncertainly. Aubrey didn’t smile back. Or, a horror-themed twist on the Lodge at Fallen Leaves. Originally for Pitch Perfect Horror Week 2018.

Restless Nights - 5,706, M Prompt: "If you can't sleep... we could have sex?"

I Want to See You be Brave - 3,065, G Prompt: "I'm your lock screen?!" "You weren't supposed to see that." For this one, I did an alternate version of the "Confession Scene" following the fight for the pitch pipe in PP1. Enjoy!

Naked Mole Rats Aren’t Endangered - 4,052, G Based on Tumblr prompt - "That’s my ex-boyfriend/girlfriend.” - “Well, kiss me so they see.” Honestly a little ridiculous.

Black Sabbath - 4,783, T For Tumblr prompt "Don't do that again! You scared the shit out of me!" This is set during Beca's junior year, meaning that Emily isn't here, sadly. Enjoy!

Dangerous - 5,307, M A spin-off on the last motorcycle prompt. This is pure smut, actually no plot whatsoever but with the added motorcycle imagery from the last chapter. So, yeah. If you don't want to taint the motorcycle fic, look away now! I also want to give a shout-out to Redlance's excellent A Moment's Reprieve fic, which inspired part of this. Um, pretty NSFW stuff ahead.

The 12 Times They Said, “Stay Awake” - 10,347, T Based on Tumblr prompt "Stay awake." I low-key forgot about PP3, so ignore that. Also, if you don't want your heart torn out, stop after segment 11. Also, warning for character death. Sorry about that.

Area 51, Now in Barden - 1,555, G For Pitch Perfect Horror Week Day 5 - Alien Abduction Listen. Don't take this too seriously, because I definitely didn't.

Friday the 12th - 5,649, T For Pitch Perfect Horror Week Day 6 - Fears Come to Life. It's set sometime between PP1 and PP2, and is definitely cannon-divergent.

Shine Bright (Like Cubic Zirconia) - 10,015, E Created for Tumblr prompt "The diamond on your engagement ring is fake." Contains a lap dance and smut, so if you're not a fan, I'd skip this one. Also, the French was an idea stolen from Tumblr user isthemusictoblame (who also goes by iPhone on here).

Make Me (Where Dreams Come True) - 15,629, E Beca doesn't want to dress as a Disney princess for Halloween. But it's all Chloe's idea, and Beca will do just about anything for her girlfriend, especially when Chloe bribes her... Smut. For Bechloe Week Day 7 - Disney. So, yes. Disney-related smut. And a second chapter for the strap.

Winter Dreams (Beca’s Song) - 3,441, G "The touch brings memories of the night before, of needy kisses, of soft whimpers and sharp gasps, of lips pressed to bare skin, and of limbs tangled together; memories that make Chloe’s body heat up and heart beat faster in her chest. She stretches out her limbs slowly and takes another deep breath. The touch on her back pauses, and Chloe cracks open her eyes a millimeter to see Beca – propped up on an elbow, like she’d imagined – watching her, deep blue eyes heavy with sleep and a tenderness that makes Chloe’s chest ache. Beca’s hair sticks up in weird places and a small purple mark dots her porcelain skin just below her collarbone, a proud remnant of the night before. She’s absolutely perfect." “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #9

Real Hot Wings and Fake Hot Dates - 3,566, G “Hey, it’s okay,” Aubrey says with surprising gentility. “I’m a little nervous, too.” That makes Beca turn back to her in shock. “You are?” Aubrey nods and says, “Of course. If they figure us out, we’re not gonna get that discount.” Mitchsen fake dating fluff as a Pitchmas 2018 gift.

Favorite Fic: Yikes, mate, asking the hard questions. Probably Expectations, because that’s the idea that started literally everything else - without it, I wouldn’t be a fic author. Otherwise, Chloe’s Secret, Naked Mole Rats Aren’t Endangered, Friday the 12th, Stay Awake, or Winter Dreams.

Hardest Fic: Honestly, anything with smut. I have such a hard time writing smut. And, currently, planning my Beca Sexuality fic (more on that in 2019!).

Do you plan on taking prompts in 2019? Tentatively yes! I love doing dialogue prompts the most, because they give me room to play. I do still have 12 prompts in my inbox, some of which are from like August, so, yeah... I’m gonna do those first.

What was the best thing about 2018? Honestly, just discovering this fandom and starting to write this much. I’ve always enjoyed writing, but writing fic like this took me to a whole new level. I’ve loved it more than I can say, and I feel like I’ve gradually been becoming a better writer because of it.

What was the worst thing about 2018? As for fics? Maybe... not enough time to write? Or just pressuring myself to churn out fics more quickly than I was really able to with classes/life.

Any last thoughts for 2018? I’m gonna miss the 20gayteen references, tbh, but make room for 20biteen! Also where’s the Bechloe kiss?

Goals for 2019:

Complete and post a fic where Beca struggles with her sexuality. I’ve got a ROUGH outline and all flashbacks written!

Finish my inbox prompts because, like, it’s been months.

Maybe try creating an original work? I have a couple ideas, but we’ll see.

And because I had so much fun with this, I’m going to toss it at @chloes-yellow-cup!

#2018 round up #complete fic masterpost #my writing #thanks 2018! #bechloe #pitch perfect fanfiction #bechloe fanfiction #plus one mitchsen

[id-never-letyoudown]

A Muse List

Wilford Warfstache: reality warping semi-madman. He goes through time and just rolls with the punches. Knows at least a dozen alternate versions of the same person. Makes multiverse ships technically canon. Sometimes he forgets which timeline he's in and acts like a kid who fell asleep in the car and woke up in bed. Kinda OP, but I I'll discuss anything big with the other mun beforehand. For now it's just small stuff. -tagged: pink stache whiplash

Dark: literally watch Damien. Only this Damien had ties to the mafia, which Celine was heavily against. Also Damien and Will had a romantic relationship, highschool sweethearts, promise ring. Then Damien started running for mayor, Wil met Celine, feels were had. (ps: he's got both sets of genitalia, cuz everyone forgets.) -tagged: 3d dream

Fordwil Stachewarf: started as a joke of a bizarro!Wil and now, welp, here he is. He's a manipulative green haired asshole. A creep. He does not "roll with the punches", if one version of you likes him then he will expect all of them to, and he will take. Stuff with him can get hella triggery so I don't use him often. He's a total hardass. -tagged: green jerk

Chase: ha, an average bro. Trickshots. Memes. Bad puns and scraped knees. Anxiety ridden and depressed. Tries to drink away the pain. Also he's a werewolf and used to have hella bad anger issues, they have gotten better, but when it's that time of the month it's easy for him to slip. -tagged: sad awoo

Dr. Iplier: ;A; after losing his V-card to his highschool sweetheart who was moving away, three months later when he tries to break it off, she tells him she's pregnant. So they have a shotgun wedding. Also his family disowned him for this. He had to balance college, a job, and financially caring for his long distance, pregnant, wife. The boy was stressed, and he vented to her. Very next day she says she lost the baby. And ol' doc blamed himself. They've been married since, and whenever he brought up separating she would bring up the baby. He hired a PI who uncovered that there never was a baby to begin with, so now he's just "fuck you, fuuuuck yoooou." Now he's trying to get her to divorce him so she won't take everything. -tagged: doctor love me

Host: ah hah, favorite boi. My Host did used to be the Author, and after getting his ass handed to him, started looking for ways to really amp up his abilities. He found It(not the clown, fck off)and offered a deal "I'll give you a vessel, in exchange for power" and It misinterpreted and took HIS body instead of letting him find someone else. Over the years he's realized his mistakes and has become much more humble. Basically: Host is a host to a being not of this world or even dimension. -tagged: host2

Yan: goes from "not feeling a thing" to "feeling too much" real quick. If you see him being peppy and cheerful, it's an act so ppl don't question him. He wants to feel. So whenever he gets feelings for someone he often takes it too far. Much too far. Also he's a kitsune h e r e -tagged: bloody cute

Winston: fucking pink, pompadour, greaser demon. Him big. Tol. Stronk. Very protective of his partners, especially if they're human. Big teddybear. Loves animals and works as a mechanic. His town? Almost everyone is a demon there, they just wear glamours all the time. -tagged: big pink

Anti: fucking glitchy glitch tech demon. Acts like a computer virus. Very bitter. Up Dark's ass. He has feelios that he refuses to deal with, so he just annoys Dark and insists on being by him most of the time. He likes Dark because he's one of the few who don't take his bullshit and aren't scared of him. -tagged: virus boi

Bing: saaah dude. Super laidback unless he's alone, then he gets to work and is actually semi serious. He's got a few defects, mainly with his eyes, so he wears shades. Default safemode, the dial(yes, dial)is on the back of his neck. Ppl confuse this for volume too often. Notch one: he can cuss. Notch two: he can look up lewds. Notches from then on just increase how raunchy he can be and the frequency of his lewd statements. Very last notch: he can FUCK. also, he has a detachable dick, like, he can still feel it when it's not attached, thanks to bluetooth. Weird man. -tagged: robruh

Virgil/Anxiety: anxious bab with a sarcastic tongue and foul mouth. Total pessimist. Will not go out of his way to interact with people. Loves puns and dad jokes and Disney. Sings. Acts like a damn cat tbh. But surprise! Him a spider. Has giant spider legs coming out of his back that he hides -tagged: smokey eye

Patton/Morality: god, fckin. He's trying so hard. He wants to be the bestest friend/father figure that he can be. Sometimes he holds his own feelings in and bottles them up. -cough-surprise binch, daddy kink and puns. -tagged: pun papa

AD: h e y, I know we all have headcanons n shit, but my Dark would have tried to get their pal DA out of the mirror and into a body, after things settled, somehow. It would have taken him years, but he would have. Course it didn't go quite as planned. By then whatever remained of the DA was far too gone, turns up being stuck in a broken mirror realm can really fuck you up. And eventually turn you into a demon. AD is not the DA anymore, all they remember is that night and that night only.

Any semblance of the DA they once had is now gone. Now they're out for revenge, and when you're able to travel through reflections that can come quite easily. Ofc they look like Mark(more specifically Dark, as he was the one who both put them in and took them out of the broken mirror that was keeping them tied to the manor), only hella scarred and with white streaks all throughout their hair. Their eyes are mirrors, which is just fckin creepy. Personality wise they don't trust easy. A smartass with a sharp tongue. Brutally honest. Redeeming quality? If they see someone/something that's vulnerable they'll protecc. -tagged: spitting image

Kink(Klancy): a kinky mtherfcker. Used to be in a hella abusive relationship with someone who called beating and using him with no regard for his safety at all "bdsm". And it was Klancy's first and only romantic relationship. It wasn't until his bad, horrid excuse of a dom took them to an actual, legit bdsm club that he realized what the dom was doing was abuse. So he dumped him, and Jeremiah and his buddies helped get his stuff. Klancy decided that from now on he'd take his sex life in his own hands. He isn't currently looking for a a relationship, but I'm a shipping hoe so if y'all are up for a slow burn, hit him up -tagged: kink it up

Eric: hoooooo b o y, well, his backstory was awful before. Now it's uh, downright trigger worthy. I won't go into detail, let's just say Pops has a bad touch way of getting Eric to "calm down". He is a quiet, anxious boy. We all know his canon story. He feels guilty that he's the only one of his siblings living now. And Derek doesn't help. He's moved out and with Klancy, because I want them to be friends and you can fite me in the pit. Klancy-aside from Host-is the only one that knows what Derek's been doing since uh, Klancy being Klancy decided he'd try the dad on for size and Derek said some questionable things in the heat of the moment. Klancy has practically adopted Eric, he'll fight Derek.

Eric is a nervous wreck and easy to manipulate. Which makes him perfect for juicy, angsty threads. -tagged: yellow handkercheif

Periwinkle: a defective Google unit made with an experimental sensory system, it made him incredibly sensitive to the point of pain. So he wears clothes from head to toe, along with a helmet, Daft Punk style. He works at a nearby Google place, doing surveys with owners of Google units. He fakes being emotionless when on the clock, as he's been threatened with deactivation due to violent outbursts. -tagged: off limits

Copiplier: his name's Leslie, Officer Morgan. He prefers being called Lee. He abides by the l a w!! No exceptions. Whenever someone makes a noise complaint or some other with the office, he's the one that shows up. Mostly because none of the other officers want to deal with t h a t mountain of paperwork. His hair's on the long side, man bun long. And he buff. When I say he looks good in the uniform I mean "gets mistaken for a stripper" good. Which is fair, because for some time he was a stripper, before police academy(cough, he still is, on the weekends). Strict boi is kinda dense and ever since Yukio gave him some damn pocky he's been addicted to it. Which is great, since he used to be a smoker. -tagged: oh officer

#muse info #muse list