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dekariosclan · 4 months

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Imagine Gale as a talented and impressive young man, able to compose the Weave at will, skilled in a way that few can match, and favored by the Goddess of Magic herself. Imagine that because of these accomplishments, he’s caught the eye of a few up-and-coming magic adepts, and he falls in love with one of them—his first real love. Gale isn’t one to toss the ‘L’ word around lightly, so when he tells them he loves them, he means it; he gives himself over to them completely.

And in return, they love him for his potential. For his status. For the magic he can command. They love the wizard they see on the surface, but not the man underneath. They are attracted to his power, but not to him.

So of course the relationship fails, after the thrill of his magic wears off. But because Gale is a resilient young man and he’s caught the eye of so many, he soon falls in love with another.

And then it happens again. And again.

And each time Gale’s heart is ravaged, his ambition to become a better wizard grows, because he’s being shown time and time again that his magic ability is all that matters.

So much so that, by the time Mystra decides to elevate him from Favored to Chosen to Lover, he welcomes her with eager, desperate arms. Because if all his worth is in his magic, and that’s all he has to offer, and that’s all anyone wants from him, who better to love him than the Goddess of Magic herself?

Except…there’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that whispers she doesn’t really love him. There’s anxiety in his heart as time passes, and he reaches both the limit of what his talents can do and what Mystra will allow him to do. And most troubling of all: a growing panic that, just like his other lovers, she will soon grow tired of him and discard him if he can’t improve his magic any further.

He tries pouting, and pleading, and begging her to let him take more power, to let him be more for her, but she refuses. Smiles patronizingly. Tells him to be patient. But Gale can’t be patient when his power is tied so closely to his self-worth; he can’t be patient when doing so in the past has only ever lead to heartache.

So he does what he believes will be a Grand Romantic Gesture, one that will finally put him on equal footing with the woman he loves. Instead, it turns out to be a folly that dooms him and destroys his talents. And just as he’d always feared, Mystra tosses him aside the moment his magical gifts are gone—because what’s left of him holds no value for her.

————

Imagine Gale in his tower, alone, afraid, the ever-hungry orb in his chest, with only his tressym there to help him. No other friends to speak of. His colleagues forced to keep away for their own safety. His magical talents utterly stripped down, so that even when he does try and distract himself with illusions, he’s bitterly reminded of what he used to be capable of. Waking every morning wondering if it will be his last, ending every day full of loneliness and disappointment.

…and then he meets Tav.

At the lowest point in his life, at his most vulnerable, when he knows he’s going to be considered a burden, he meets this stranger and their group. So he does what he can to be useful—assigning himself to be camp cook, offering up his (now meager) magic skills, turning the charm up to 11—as he desperately hopes this will somehow work out. He’s pleasantly surprised when, after providing only minor details of his condition, Tav agrees to help him. He’s even more surprised when they actually follow through.

Imagine how Gale feels as Tav treats him kindly. As he grows to trust Tav, and then grows to like them. Imagine his surprise as he opens up and shows them more and more of himself, and they don’t turn him away.

But then his condition worsens. And he has to reveal everything: the foolish mistakes he’s made, and how dangerous he is as a result. He clings to Tav’s hand as he shows them his folly. He’s at their mercy now, and he knows this might be the last time he’ll ever feel the touch of another being, if they decide—and Gods, why wouldn’t they decide?—to cast him out.

…but they don’t. They don’t. Instead, they tell him to stay.

Imagine the relief Gale feels. The gratitude. And perhaps…just a hint of something more. Something that he dare not name, but that flares to life every time he thinks of how warm their hand was in his. Something that feels dangerously close to jealousy, when he’s had too much to drink and sees Tav smiling at another…

But he knows these are all foolish thoughts, because he has nothing to offer Tav. They are wonderful just as they are, but he…he is an empty shell of a man, a discarded husk of a wizard, and while they might tolerate him, he could never believe they might actually want him.

And besides, he still thinks of Mystra. He still longs for Mystra. She who cast him out, but to whom he still feels tethered. Sometimes he needs to cocoon himself in the weave, just to try and calm his fears and bring some joy back to his life, because magic is his life. And sometimes he just needs to see her face, even though that hurts as much as it heals.

One night he’s lost in thought, having conjured Mysta’s image after settling down at camp. Thinking that even if she hadn’t ‘loved’ him—certainly not in the way he’d loved her—she’d given him enough otherwise, hadn’t she? She’d amused him and been amused by him, they’d shared countless pleasures, why hadn’t he been satisfied with that?

Gale is so lost in thought he doesn’t realize Tav has come up behind him. Until they ask a question, startling him out of his trance. He’s a bit shaken, so he tries to turn the conversation from Mystra to the weave itself. And then a wonderful idea occurs to him, something that he’d been toying with already: what if they were to conjure the weave together?

He can show Tav how important magic is to him, let them experience what he does, perhaps even impress them a bit. But most importantly, share a moment with them. As friends would do…

He’s elated when Tav agrees. He leads them through the steps effortlessly, and they’re a surprisingly good student, following his instructions correctly (if a bit clumsily). He’s as excited as they are—perhaps even more so!—when they succeed in channeling the weave.

It’s such a pleasant, familiar feeling for him, like coming home to his tower in Waterdeep. Even as the weave connects him with Tav and makes them one, he’s easily able to hide his innermost thoughts, because he’s done it so many times before.

…but he’s forgotten that Tav has not.

————

Imagine Gale knowing every romantic partner he ever had only wanted him because of how he could raise their status, or how he could amuse them, or how he could command magic for them. And, each time, he was happy to oblige them, even desperate to oblige them, because if that was the price of their love, then he was sure it would be worth it.

But it still all came to nothing.

Now imagine Gale connected in an intimate way with someone he likes very, very much—while being what he considers his lowest, most worthless, and most humbled self. As far from the powerful, impressive wizard he once was as he could ever be. And suddenly a vision enters his mind from the lovely creature standing next to him. Only, to his complete and utter shock, it isn’t one where he is providing them with a service, or wowing them with his magical ability, or granting them some kind of power from one of the spells he commands.

Instead, when he sees their desire laid bare before him, it’s a vision of kissing him. Of holding his hand. The two most basic forms of affection and physical connection. The two things that he would still be able to offer them even if every last ounce of his remaining magical abilities were stripped from him. The two things he could share with them even if he was no longer Gale of Waterdeep, and just plain old Gale Dekarios instead.

Imagine the embarrassment and trepidation he feels at first, because surely he is mistaken?…and then the elation when he realizes that he is not. So much elation that his concentration is broken, the weave dissipating as he forgets about channeling it, as he forgets about Mystra. Because all that matters to him now is the image before him—the most pleasant and welcome image he’s seen in a very, very long time.

Imagine how that would feel…and how besotted, enamored and completely devoted he’d be to Tav afterwards. To know that someone finally—finally—just wants him.

Just imagine.

#Please enjoy this huge dissertation about Gale #(which was unintentional)#I originally wanted to talk briefly—BRIEFLY—about why the weave scene is so important to him #And then I….kept writing lol #Please also note that while this focuses on successfully channeling the weave I also LOVE the talk you have with him if you ‘failed’ it!#The same themes apply there because when you tell Gale you still think about being alone together he replies that he hopes to embrace you #It’s all about Gale finally finding someone who appreciates him just as he is and being able to connect with them #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #baldur's gate 3 #gale x tav #bg3

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somewhereincairparavel · 1 month

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okay but imagine. Thalia Grace, after Jason's death, in a fit of desperation, comes racing to Nico di Angelo, wanting him to summon his ghost, because she just wants to talk to her brother one last time. Before it's too late. Before he reaches Elysium, since the closest she could get to talking to her brother after he goes to the hero's paradise is through dreams, and that wasn't enough for her. Seeing his fragmented soul through dreams is not nearly good enough. She wants the message to reach him. The real him. Not a loomy remnant. She wants to apologise, as she feels her soul being hollowed out with guilt.

She should've looked for Jason, even after their mother told her that he's dead.

She shouldn't have been so busy with the hunters that she would have to cut their brother-sister conversation short.

She should've realised how much her brother craved her attention.

She should've come to the chb meeting that she'd promised jason she'd come to, she shouldn't have made her brother wait like a lost puppy.

The look in jason's eyes when she told him she'd have to leave was etched on to her face. Permanently scarring her soul.

She should've been a better sister. She failed him. She failed to make him feel wanted. She hoped Jason didn't face his death thinking that she didn't need him. Because Gods of Olympus, that would break her.

And she poured all of these gut wrenching thoughts to Nico, who suprisingly listened. Yes. Nico did resent Thalia for being in the hunters of Artemis, the same group that got his sister killed. But listening to Thalia pour her heart out to him, really hit a little too close to home. The daughter of Zeus seemed to echo a young nico, trying aimlessly to summon his sister's ghost to talk to her. They both had the same hollow red eyes, burning with hot tears streaming down, the same crease in the eyebrows, the same flicker of rage over their siblings's murder. At that moment, Thalia Grace looked as unthreatening as the king of all god's daughter could possibly look like.

But Nico was glad, that Thalia, atleast cared about her little brother to this extent. Up until this point, Nico had these lingering doubts if Bianca had really cared about him like this, she had dropped everything to join the hunters after all. Hearing Thalia talk about jason had healed his inner child. Maybe big sisters do think about their younger brothers, no matter how busy they appear to be... So he complied to her wishes. She deserved closure from her brother's death. It would do Jason some good too.

He poured all of his concentration into summoning the son of Jupiter, as Thalia anxiously chewed on her nails, pacing around the murky woods in anticipation. Until a wispy figure with rimmed glasses and neatly cropped hair, appeared in front of them.

"Hello, sis."

Nico di Angelo and Thalia Grace were more or less the same, when it came to wanting to make amends with their deceased sibling.

Except Thalia was the older sister who wanted her younger brother back, And Nico was the younger brother who wanted his older sister back.

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gatorlovebot · 6 months

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can't stop thinking about the way price would comfort you after spanking your ass red and raw. you weren't surprised in the slightest when he finally grabbed you and fiercily pulled you over his knee. you've had an unbelievably shitty week at work and not wanting to burden john with your trivial work drama, you've bottled things up. but unfortunately for the both you, when you bottle up your feelings you usually become petulant, short, irritable. a brat.

john can only handle it for so long.

he uses his wide palm to turn your ass red hot, the skin raised and inflamed after each spank. he shows you a little bit of mercy, not making you count out his strikes. instead he allows you to hide your face in the bed where he's perched as you cry big fat tears into your comforter.

your tears aren't because of the pain, that's secondary. it's the release of all of your pent up emotions from the week finally spilling over with the help of john's harsh hand. his strikes eventually stop, his hand coming to rest over each cheek, humming at the heat radiating off your inflamed skin. his hands are rough, the callouses catching your tender skin, but you know he's not doing it on purpose. john wouldn't hesitate to put you in your place when he knew you needed it, but he never pushed you too far.

his palm travels from your ass, trailing up your spine until it rests against the nape of your neck, giving you a gentle squeeze, a physical check in, before murmuring, "come on up, dove."

you scramble into his lap, arms wrapping around his neck to burrow your head in the crock of his neck. your safe place. he in turns wraps his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as his big palms stroke up and down your back. you tremble against him trying to collect yourself, knowing he was waiting for you. he cradles you gently, protectively, as you hiccup, "i'm sorry for being a brat."

one of his hands reaches back up to the nape of your neck, gently pulling you from your little spot so he can look at you. you must look a mess, cheeks wet with tears, eyes red and blurry, bottom lip trembling. but you can only see adoration in his eyes as he pulls you up to give you a gentle kiss to your forehead. you slump back into his lap at his tenderness. "i know you're never a brat just to be a brat."

"uh-huh." you agree, nodding dumbly as you try to calm your breathing and hide your face again against his burly body.

"mhmm," he hums against your temple, pressing kisses into your hair, "i know you always try to be good for me, so something must have really been getting at you this week. feel like you can finally share with me what's been going on, dove?"

#gator.writing #tried to write something cute and short but of course i just kept going so that's why it ends like that lol #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price imagine #captain john price

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buwheal · 5 months

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BEACH OUTFIT 💥💥💥💥

He used to surf the web back in 98'.

#the clothes were so difficult for no reason i kept having to edit them #i actually really like this one lol #cunty uncle type thing going on #Also i love the HC that he as a plush tummy thats so cute and im stealing it #i was about to give him flipflops until i realized he cant do that #He had a dolphin print shirt but it looked ugly with the shorts and i really wanted the striped shorts lol #deltarune spamton #spamton #spamton g spamton #spamton fanart #deltarune #deltarune chapter 2 #i think it looks fine but still i hope it comes across he's resting his right arm on an invisible prop for the pose lol #there was a small little fella in the back of my mind who wanted to put him in a two piece but i couldnt sorry lmfao #edit: I forgot to write this out but I wanted to put it on any post bc i dont want to post a txt post just for this #but honestly he's gotta be some flavor of queer.#It doesnt matter to me which type all that much but I HC that even though he probably is #he has never been in a relationship and i dont think he ever will #he is so full of himself and he's kind of an ass tbh. That and i doubt he trusts anyone with what he's gone through #even if he got time to heal i dont think he'd ever trust someone enough to make a real relationship that way #Thats it thanks for coming to my ted talk #if you opened the tags here's your secret paragraph & im not sorry #BuwheArt

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ghouljams · 10 months

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GHOUL I LOVE YOU BUT I’VE JUST BEEN BINGE READING (i don’t get yer notifs for some reason) AND I STUMBLED ACROSS DIE AND GHOST AND YOU CUT IT OFF RIGHT WHEN THEY WERE GONNA FUCK (or i assume so) AND SO

… may i humbly ask . may i . my lord ? my liege ? may we … get a snippet of Die and Ghosty . bc somehow i feel like their sex would either be Feral or Barely Enough To Call Sex and no in between

God yeah what would their sex be like? I think Die is so starved at this point that she's liable to try and drain Ghost dry, but at the same time she can't because he's technically in charge of her so she really has to ration because she doesn't know how much Ghost can take... hmm

The issue is that Ghost is an absolute bastard who's been eyeing his demon since she showed up.

Ghost grinds against you, and you hitch your legs around his waist, ankles crossed behind his back to keep him held tight and close. You're too quick to magic your skirts away.

"This what you needed? Cock keeps you off the corpses, yeah?" He murmurs, you nod and tilt your hips for a better angle. The tight hold you have on your control is fraying each time he rocks his clothed cock against your bare cunt. The desperate need he inspires in you, it's like dangling a gourmet meal in front of a starving child. You only have so much willpower, and being a demon cuts your desire to maintain it in half. You love frottage as much as the next demon but this isn't going to sate your hunger.

Your fingers fly to the waistband of his sweats, you dont want to rip the soft grey fabric under your all too eager hand, but some sacrifices must be made. Ghost stops his movements, letting you push his pants down, your fingers splayed greedily against the deep v of his hips, his skin warm and tight over the muscles if his stomach.

"Come on sweetheart, almost there," he teases, hardly twitching to help you towards your goal. With how little work he lets you do in the field you're surprised he's making you work for your dinner. You slide your hand lower, fingers wrapping around Ghost's rapidly hardening cock. He stays held for you even as you stroke him under his pants, but you can feel the way his muscles ache with the desire to thrust into your hand. All that delicious desire he's let build for you drools out the tip of his cock into your hand, slicking your grip so nicely you'd think it was magic. And who's to say it isnt?

You squeeze him a little harder than you normally would and he groans. Ghost hovers over you, his eyes dark through the opening of his balaclava. You suppose it's good he still wears it around you. You'd hate for him to be too familiar with the demon attached to his immortal soul.

Your lips part, head tipping to follow the way his eyes roll while you stroke his cock. Your thumb rubs against his stomach, dragging through his coarse pubic hair, feeling the muscles jump at your touch. He hums, his hips twitching forward into your hand. You make a similar questioning noise, half teasing him. Oh he feels good under your hands. You can only imagine what he'll feel like inside of you.

"Ah," you drop your chin to your chest as Ghost drops his head, his breathing beginning to grow heavier. You quite like the way his shoulders twitch, his biceps flexing as he holds himself still over you. "I thought you were going to fuck me," you coo, grip punishing as you stroke his fat cock. He deserves it for starving you.

"What're you doing to me," Ghost's voice is just at the edge of slurring, he sounds good like this. Although you quite like when he's barking orders too. He wanted to stay still and tease you, you're perfectly happy to enforce that magically.

"Nothing you weren't doing yourself." You breathe in his desire, feeling it fill your lungs as he shakes with repressed movement. Ghost grits his teeth, he could break the spell if he really wanted. You only hold so much power over your commanding officer after all. You'd almost think he likes this.

Ghost hisses out a breath through his teeth, and fixes you with a glare. His patience apparently having worn as thin as yours. Your good humor hitches, tumbling to simmer in your stomach. Your hand stills and your lieutenant bursts into motion.

Ghost's fingers wrap around your neck, pressing you hard against the mattress as he folds you in half. "Cheeky little bitch," he growls, your hands going to grip his wrist. You gasp, feeling him slick his cock against your wet cunt. The heavy heat of his cock drags through your folds, the blunt head catching against your hole again and again. He bumps against your clit and you jerk. He's still teasing you.

You open your mouth to complain and he spits into it, grip on your neck tightening to keep you from making a sound as he pushes every inch of his girthy cock into you. You want to scream at the way he breaks you open, forces your cunt to make room for him, but you can barely gasp for air. It hurts, the burn of the stretch pooling warmth through your muscles. You try to find purchase to claw at him but you're torn between the hand keeping you from drawing a breath and the cock dragging its veins against the aching walls of your cunt.

"Tha's it, you can take it." Ghost tells you as he bottoms out, grinding his cock deep inside you. He barely gives you time to adjust to him, his hips snapping another hard thrust, another mind breaking, pussy filling stretch. The worst part is he's right. You're made for this, made for him, and you love it. Slick gushes around him, working to ease the slide of his cock into you, and you clench around the length of him. Trying to keep him inside, trying to stay full.

His balls smack against your ass as he sets a punishing pace. His cock pounding deep into you, hitting your soft spots, veins dragging against your gummy insides, pouring aggression and desperation into you. He's using you like a toy, just like he should. You're his. His demon, a tool for him to use, to become an even more deadly force. He fucks you like he hopes it kills you. The slick sound of his cock pushing into your cunt filling the room under his panting groans.

Black fuzzes the edges of your vision, eyes rolling back as he shifts the angle of his hips to hit that toe curling sweet spot. You tap his wrist, feel his grip loosen enough for you to take a breath. Your throat is raw as you gasp and cough. He barely gives you a moment to collect a breath before his cock is forcing whines from you.

"Fuck, Ghost," you moan, tipping your head back, unable to arch when he's forcing you down against the bed. You stare at the barrack wall, at the way the light casts shadows over the stone. The spring in your stomach coiling tighter, your cunt gushing more slick with each punishing thrust of Ghost's cock, coating your thighs and dripping onto the bed.

You had no doubt that Ghost deserved you, but... the shadows. The stretch of black wings across the wall, the arching horns of a broken halo, the very devil himself in human form reflected in Ghost's shadow. The angel of death.

"God," you breath in awe. Ghost grabs your face, forces you to look at him, his eyes like molten rock. The heat from them drips into your veins. Makes sweat bead on your skin.

"He's not here sweetheart," Ghost tells you, and you abandon clawing at his grip on your throat to grab his face. You pull him down to kiss him through the mask, hardly caring that it's fabric and not lips you're kissing. Ghost pulls back, his hand leaving your throat to pull the balaclava up, before he's kissing you properly. Messy. Desperate. Hungry.

He snakes a hand between you to circle his thumb over your clit and you jerk against him. Sparks shoot up your spine, your hips bucking to follow the thrust of his cock. Your legs are starting to shake, cunt clenching around him as you whimper. "Good girl," he mumbles between kisses, "pretty little slag. Let me feel you."

You gasp against his lips, shuddering at what you're sure he didn't mean as an order. It pulls you just the same. Drags you through the heat and pops the lever on your orgasm, the spring unrolling as you shake under him. Ghost fucks you through it, his pace never slowing from the mad desperation, chasing his own release. He presses his hips hard against you, stilling with a low groan, his cock buried deep inside your clenching cunt. You feel his cum fill you, hot and thick. Deep shallow thrusts pumping you full as the rush of potent magical energy from Ghost's release fills your stomach better than any physical meal could.

Ghost takes a moment, enjoying the soft warmth of your cunt before pulling out. He tries to ignore the soft look in your eye as he rolls off of you to settle back on the bed. It's easier to ignore than the-

"You purring?" He asks, feeling you stretch next to him.

"Don't worry about it," you mumble, moving to cuddle up against his chest. Ghost raises an arm to wrap around you, keeping you held close as you tug his sweats back up. Maybe this demon thing isn't so bad.

#simon ghost riley #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #demon!darlings au #oc: die #wow this was really long i just kept fucking writing it #like i couldnt figure out how to get their relationship into bed #and i kept thinking about their relationship in the field how that would translate off the field #because their dynamic is very push and pull #and ghost has been reluctant to give Die anything up until now #it grosses him out to watch die eat organs so he switches her over to a sex diet lol

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sad-leon · 1 year

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Family Photo

Vs The Photo Casey brings back from the future

Im gonna throw hands with Splinter. Why is he so hard to draw ;-;

*sobs*

Anyways,

Little bit of context;

Donnie destroyed the photo (woulda destroyed the whole thing, but Mikey stopped him) after Leo abandoned everyone when he realized he caused the apocolypse. Casey never met Leo in the bad future.

This is for my seperated Leo Au that I'll post more about after the crossover :D

It does have a happy ending, theres just a shitton of angst first, of course

I spent so many hours on this so I wanted to share

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northern-passage · 9 months

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just found one of my favorite pieces of writing advice when it comes to interactive fiction, i think if you've read literally any of my work, it will be pretty obvious how much i use this in my own writing. i actually couldn't remember where i read this for the first time and on a whim i went through my twitter likes and found it in a thread. i'm going to transcribe it for ease of reading, but this is all coming from Alexander Freed (@/AlexanderMFreed on twitter)

he has a website here with other compiled writing advice about branching narratives and game design, though he never posted this there and hasn't really updated recently (but still check it out. there's some specific entries about writing romance, branching and linear & other game writing advice)

original twitter thread here

It's Tuesday night and I feel like teaching some of what I've learned in 15 years of branching narrative video game writing. Let's go in-depth about one incredibly specific subject: neutral / fallthrough / catchall response options!

Player ownership of the protagonist in choice-based branching narrative games (a la BioWare, Telltale, mobile narrative games, etc) is a vital aspect of the form.

The ability for the audience to shape a Player Character, to develop that character's inner life in their own mind, is unmatched in any other medium.

The Player determines the character's actions and THE MOTIVATIONS for those actions. The character's psychology can literally be as complex as the Player can imagine. However, this works best when there's enough space for the Player to develop those motivations. No game can offer enough options to support every interpretation imaginable; much of the character has to live in the Player's head, without necessarily appearing on the screen.

That's complicated. We're going to unpack it.

Generally, when presenting choices to a Player, we want those choices to be as interesting and compelling as possible.

But compelling, dramatic choices tend to be revealing of character. And no game can support hundreds of options at every choice point for every possible character motivation a Player might imagine.

This sort of narrative CANNOT maintain its integrity if the Player is forced to constantly "rewrite" their characterization of the Player Character on the fly. You want your Player to feel like they have more than enough viable options at any given moment.

At the simplest level of writing, this is where "fallthrough" responses come in.

In the examples above, each moment contains a response which furthers the story but doesn't imply a huge emotional choice for the Player. The Player is asked to choose A or B, agree or disagree, but can sidestep the issue altogether if desired.

These "neutral" responses are vital if both A and B don't appeal to the Player... or if, perhaps, the Player likes A but not the WAY A is being expressed. Milquetoast option C works for anyone; thus, the Player is never forced to break character because of a lack of options.

Questions work well for this sort of neutral option. Tacit agreement and dead silence also serve, in certain sorts of stories--as a Player, I know what's going on in my silent character's head and the game won't contradict it.

The important thing is that I'm never forced to take a path that's outright WRONG for my character. Even if other characters misinterpret the Player Character's motivation, my character's inner life remains internally consistent.

"Neutral" responses aren't the only ways to go, though. Some responses are appropriate for any character because they're tied to the base character concept.

Here, for example (from @/seankmckeever's X-Files), the Player is a marine on a mission. The Player can respond abrasively to her partner's fear or look into the issue (out of compassion or genuine belief), but our fallthrough is actually the TOP response.

There's no version of our marine who would absolutely break character by picking "Stay calm and on mission." It's not blandly neutral; rather, it reinforces aspects of the character we can be sure of and gives the Player an option if nothing else works.

Different sorts of narratives will use different sorts of fallthroughs. A comedy might treat the option to say something funny as a fallthrough, of sorts--it's entertaining and will never violate the characterization the Player has created.

In a quest-driven RPG, a fallthrough response can often boil down to "How do I move to the next step of this quest?"

That said, the strongest moments in a narrative will often have no "fallthrough" response at all. They'll work by creating multiple responses that, by overlapping, cover all reasonable Player Character actions while still leaving room for the Player to ascribe motivation.

#cataloguing this before twitter explodes LOL #only thing i changed was the 'Player' pronouns because :-)#this was so fucking frustrating to do the tumblr post editor fucking sucks ass and kept breaking with every picture i added #i did add img descriptions... i did my best #also i cannot believe this is the guy that wrote the rogue one novelization #one of the best star wars books hands down #umm anyways #writing #interactive fiction

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anonymocha · 7 days

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Bluepoch gave us the gift of barely-subtext tragic sapphic-centric media do NOT throw that away.

Context regarding PJSK and Undertale under cut.

Project Sekai cast is dominated by female characters but mlm is more popular, meanwhile Undertale has canon wlw rep and oh my god they’re at the bottom. I have nothing against these fandoms or media (I’m literally currently/was in them) but yeah. I just HOPE r99 doesn’t end up in a similar state.

#mochagaming #if r99 ever gets even more popular and people somehow manage to out-yaoi the yuri i may actually buy a gun #‘write more yuri then’ I AM <3 AND LETS KEEP WRITING YURI R99 NATION #this is an irrational fear btw #especially since the fandoms i previously in kept fixating on the men in women-centric media #which is not bad #good for them #but its alienating for me LOL #thankfully rn r99 fandom is still diligent woman appreciators so thanks guys #keep it up #I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST MEN OR MLM #I JUST REALLY NEED THAT SAPPHIC SPOTLIGHT #LET THIS DESPERATE LESBIAN DREAM THAT HER FAV GAME STAYS YURIFUL #(because fandom activity genuinely affects the game itself so…)#reverse 1999 #I am not trying to discourage any form of fandom content #But if I see someone complain about ‘lack of men’ in this game I… I genuinely dont know??? what to say???#we dont even have enough lesbian rep. it is always cast aside.#it should be prioritized (by bluepoch) i think #like to charge reblog to cast

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cuubism · 7 months

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unfortunately for my sanity i am thinking about them again [sheltered rich boy dream and feral child hob]

In retrospect, it was fitting that the first time Dream met Hob, he was breaking a rule.

It hadn’t been easy. Dream did not like to lie, and wasn’t very good at it besides. And breaking rules made him nervous. Broken rules carried consequences. But he’d needed to get out of the house, just for a moment. To clear his head. And just going for a walk was not a good enough reason to leave the house when he could be doing something more productive. Something better. Make some use of yourself, Dream.

So Dream had crafted a little story of extra studying, extra work, and managed to slip out. Dream did not always tell the truth, could not, but usually he lived in the shadows left by omission. The outward lie was bitter on the back of his tongue.

But he’d been freed. And now he was wandering. He did not often get the chance to wander, untended, unobserved. Making his unsteady way down the winding road leading out of the estate, and then into town, where he’d never really walked before. It was just getting late, almost sunset on a Thursday evening, and the streets were fairly quiet, only a handful of people about. And Dream wandered, not quite knowing what to do with himself but enjoying the quiet in his head.

Possibly meandering about on his own was a bad idea. Possibly he’d be hit by a car or attacked by a madman. He didn’t think he much cared.

And that was when he met Hob. That first dip of his toes into freedom.

He was sitting on a bench in the park, watching the small scattering of pigeons pecking for seeds by the fountain. Dream had always liked birds, but it wasn’t often he had the chance to sit and just watch them. He studied their patterns, mentally tracking the shapes they traversed, their mathematical lines. He should have brought his sketchbook. It would have been nice to work from live subjects, for once.

He was deep in his thoughts, in the calming trickle of the fountain and the repetitive paths of the birds, when another boy about his age plopped down on the bench beside him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so depressed while feeding birds.”

The birds had fluttered up in disarray at the sudden motion, but settled down again quickly. Dream looked at the other boy askance, irritated at his rare peace being interrupted.

“Do you often speak with people who are busy feeding birds?” he asked, unable to keep the annoyance from his tone.

“Only when they’re broody and mysterious,” said the boy. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but he must have been college age, like Dream. Dream was still wearing his jacket and trousers, for his own part. Everything about this boy was looser, really, from his longish brown hair, to his jeans and t-shirt. It made Dream feel very uptight in comparison, which was not a fact about himself he needed reinforced. He already knew it. “Do you often feed birds?”

“I am not feeding them,” Dream said. “They are eating what was there.”

“Just spying on them, then,” said the boy teasingly. Dream did not know what to do about being teased with what seemed like lightheartedness rather than mockery, and so didn’t respond.

“Seriously,” said the boy. “Are you okay?”

Then Dream did look at his face properly. He had very kind, very genuine eyes, was the first thing Dream noticed. It was not something he noticed about a lot of people. Perhaps it was not something a lot of people possessed.

Then the boy smiled at him, a soft, kind smile. It transformed his whole face from something merely pleasant to something lovely.

“Is that why you have come over?”

The boy shrugged. “You looked sad and alone. I’ve been sad and alone before, so I don’t think anyone else should.”

Dream bristled. “I am not sad and alone.”

“Just alone, then?”

Dream’s mouth popped open in affront, and then shut. Then he said, “Are you always so familiar and impertinent with strangers?”

“‘Familiar and impertinent,’” echoed the boy, with a laugh. “Sure. Are you always so snooty and aristocratic?”

“Yes,” said Dream, and he laughed louder.

“Honest though.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Hob.”

Dream nearly said, What kind of name is Hob? but swiftly realized the hypocrisy. Gingerly, he took Hob’s hand. “…Dream.”

“What kind of name is Dream?” said Hob, and Dream sighed. “And you really don’t have to shake my hand like a king deigning to touch the peasants. I’m not diseased.”

“I don’t like to touch people,” Dream said, taking his hand back. “Peasant or otherwise.”

“Peasant or otherwise,” Hob echoed. He didn’t seem offended. He was smiling.

“Are you here because you felt I should be taught a lesson? Is that it?”

“Nah. I just get bored easily.” Hob turned to watch the pigeons again, tapping his fingers restlessly against the bench. “I was out and about. You looked interesting. You wanna go for a walk?”

“…Why?” But Dream knew why. He had learned it as he’d wandered the streets, freed for the first time.

Hob shrugged. “Just to do it.”

Dream had stepped out of his comfort zone once today already. He supposed he could do so again. If Hob turned out to be an adolescent serial killer at least the end of his life would hold intrigue. “Very well.”

Hob grinned, so bright it struck some deep, static bell in Dream’s chest and set it ringing. “Come on.”

#dream made one (1) friend and started vibrating at the frequency of a million suns lol #sheltered rich boy dream & feral child hob #snippet #by 'sheltered rich boy dream' i really mean 'dream who was kept in a cage' and by 'feral child hob' i really mean... well that's a spoiler #i'm still in limbo on how i want this fic to go tho. we'll see which way it lands #my writing #dreamling

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spockfallsinlove · 11 months

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Prompt: Spock’s hands are injured and since Vulcan hands are so sensitive he can’t help but cry about it

"Shit," Jim is saying, over and over, as he digs the salve out of his bag. "Shit, hang on, shit—"

Spock, for his part, is biting down on his cheek so hard that he tastes blood, his hands held out in front of him and shaking. The burns aren't severe, but the pain is enough for his telepathic bonds to be burned themselves.

The storm rages outside the cave they've found themselves in. Lightning had struck as they were running to find shelter, causing a fire. Jim was trapped and Spock didn't give it a second thought when he pulled the burning debris off of Jim, his hands scalding from the embers.

"Jim," he croaks out, his voice shaking despite his best efforts. He doesn't know what he's asking for.

Jim uncaps the salve, hands steady as he scoops out a dollop. "This will hurt," he says. "I'm sorry."

Spock grits his teeth and lets out a small cry of pain as Jim, as careful as he is, painfully applies the salve to the burns dotting Spock's fingertips. Jim then wraps each finger in medical tape, wincing at every hiss and sharp breath that Spock takes.

"The comms," Spock manages to get out, "are they—"

"Still down because of the storm." Jim sits back on his heels, face pale and drawn. He wipes his forehead with his arm. "Damn it, Spock. I'm sorry."

"It's of no consequence," Spock lies, biting down harder on his cheek. The pain is mounting; not just the burn, but the lack of feeling he has in his hands. It's like he's been thrown into the dark with nothing but fire and pain to accompany him.

Something in his face must betray the true extent of his pain because Jim suddenly looks stricken, eyes wide. Spock realizes, belatedly, that there are tears streaming down his cheeks.

"What can I do?" Jim asks, his voice steadier than the panic Spock sees in his eyes.

"I cannot—" Spock sucks in a breath. Tries to steady himself, unsuccessfully. "Without touch..."

Jim nods, like he understands. With Spock, he always seems to understand. "Your telepathy. It's dependent on your hands."

"Yes. It's..." Spock squeezes his eyes shut at another wave of pain. "The burns are painful. But the lack of connection to my environment may be... worse."

Jim grips Spock's wrists, which are undamaged from the flames. It's like a balm over Spock's wounds; an anchor in the darkness. Jim's expression is intent. "What about my touch? Does it help?"

Spock could sigh with relief. It's like he's found home again, after groping in the dark for so long. "Yes," he says, gratefully.

Jim's hands grip just a fraction tighter, his fingers imprinting into Spock's skin. "Then I will continue to do so, as long as you need it."

The pain is already receding, Spock falling into the comforting warmth that is Jim's presence. "That may be a very long time," he says, a little more honestly than he would like.

Jim smiles. He releases one of Spock's wrists, but only to run a thumb across Spock's temple. "Forever, if you need it," he promises softly.

#i hope this is ok!!#i turned it into hurt/comfort because i'm a sucker for it lol #spirk #space husbands #my writing #thank you so much for the prompt!!!!#also if this totally fucks up the current facts on vulcan anatomy my only defense is that i have not kept up on current st canon AT ALL

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rintoki · 8 months

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when you sleep at night

characters: kafka x dom!reader

tw: somnophilia, dubcon, nothing too crazy actually relax

a/n: i guess this can be considered a second part to my first kafka smut, its like the exact same setting and dynamic.

MINORS DNI

the door opens easily as kafka steps into the entrance way, slipping out of her heeled boots and quietly making her way through the dark living room. all the lights in the house was out and it was eerily silent, through the dim lighting kafka strains her eyes to check the clock hanging on your wall.

11:37pm

you couldn’t possibly be sleeping this early yet. but, alas, you proved to be unpredictable to her once again as she turns the knob to your bedroom, pushing it open to reveal your sleeping form on the bed. her feet padded softly on the floor; taking slow, deliberate steps closer to the bed that you laid on.

kafka clicked her tongue, a tinge of annoyance blossoming in her chest when she sees that you were indeed fast asleep and not just pretending to mess with her. not that you were the type to do that anyway. she felt her finger twitch unconsciously, standing foolishly by your bed as she is once again reminded of how little you cared for her. despite her now regular visits to your residence, you never once welcomed her, nor have you ever made any type of accommodations towards her.

the woman breathes deeply, your familiar scent permeates the room and her body is quick to react to it. reminded of all the late nights spent together, how warm your body felt next to hers, and how good you made her feel. kafka shuts her eyes for a moment, deciding on what to do now. part of her knows that the right thing to do is to leave and come back another time, preferably informing you beforehand like you had asked of her.

but instead she remains in her spot; unmoving as she watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, your soft breasts hidden underneath the thin material of your pyjamas, and how easy it would be to simply unbutton it right now. kafka finds herself getting lost in her thoughts, eyes raking over your body as she thinks about everything she could do to you now. but more than anything, her purple eyes finally land on your hands; the same hands that brought her orgasm after orgasm. the very ones that hugged and caressed her body, how she wanted to feel them again.

and as if in a trance, kafka pushes her jacket off her shoulders, letting the expensive coat fall to the floor without a care. normally unheard of with how much she loves her coats, but now there’s no one here to see that. and there’s no one to witness as she peels off the layers of her clothing, her belly tightening with every passing second and soon the woman stood in nothing but her panties.

kafka crawls gingerly onto the bed, careful to not wake you as she eyes your hand resting by your side. she tests the waters, nimble fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling it away from your body. when you show no reaction does the excitement bubble up within her, her pussy already beginning to ache with need

inch by inch, she shuffles closer. until your relaxed fingers lay just underneath her clothed pussy, a wet spot now forming on her panties. kafka’s breathes deeply, trying to keep it even as she lowers herself onto your hand, feeling your fingers fold naturally under her weight.

a shaky breath escapes her at the feeling, slowly moving her hips back and forth on your curled fingers, not caring how awkward the position was. kafka watches your sleeping form carefully, but you showed no signs of waking up, still blissfully unaware and deeply asleep.

a small part of her was annoyed—that you didn’t wake up and catch her in the act, that she won’t get to see your reaction. but the larger part of her is now pushing off her panties, letting her bare pussy rub against the palm of your hand. it was warm, and the ridges brushed perfectly against her swollen clit. kafka shudders, her breathing turns heavy as she continues the slow rutting of her hips, allowing herself to enjoy the sensations until your hand was sufficiently lubricated from how much she leaked.

and with shaky hands, she positioned your fingers upright, aligning it with her hole before sinking down upon them. kafka nearly whines, biting back any sounds as your fingers penetrates her tight walls. she grips your wrist, holding them in place as the woman lifts her hips once again, this time pushing your fingers into her pussy. again and again, your fingers sunk deep into her warmth and kafka pants quietly. her mind was feeling dizzy from the entire situation, the fact that you weren’t even conscious now and yet you still managed to reduce her to this state. how even just your fingers was enough for her pussy to twitch and push back so desperately against your hand.

she squeezes her eyes shut, her head hung low and nearing the verge of her orgasm as she angles your wrist so that the tips of your fingers brushed against her spot. the sensitive patch of nerves singing in response as it felt like shocks ran through her body. kafka gasps loudly, unable to hold back her moans now as it almost felt like your hand was moving by itself. too far gone to put the pieces together even when your fingers begin to curl and thrust inside her, or when your thumb has suddenly begin to press against her clit at the same time.

her mouth hung open, panting breathlessly as her body felt like it was on fire. her hand wrapped helplessly around your wrist even as it moved by itself and her back arched, muscles flexing and her thighs trembled terribly. kafka was right on the edge, just a little more… just one more stroke, just one more thrust…

“agh…! fu—fuck, wha…!”

the woman felt every sensation in her body stop cold. before she’d knew it your hand was already ripped from her body, and her orgasm had come to a screeching halt. kafka nearly chokes, scrambling to her senses as she finally raises her head to face you.

from her flushed expression to her bare body, your cold eyes finally landed on your soaked fingers, covered in her wetness after having used it for her own pleasure. kafka watches with wide eyes; somewhere in her mind she understood that you had probably been awake for a while now, that you’d probably purposely fucked with her. brought her to the brink of an orgasm before ruthlessly ripping it away from her.

her heart pounds in her chest, an unfamiliar feeling as she waits for your next move, your next words. what will you with her now? she’s not that shameless to ask you to make her cum again after begin caught like that, but for whatever reason she could feel her pussy tightening again, waiting with anticipation of what you might do to her now.

#ERMMM #CLIFFHANGER ????#i know there’s nothing inherently dom/sub about what’s happening in this fic but idc if u read this any other way i will kill you #this dynamic is purely SUB KAFKA X DOM READER #the reason why this is so short is because i actually planned to write more about what happens after #but lowkey i feel like i don’t know how people will receive that so i just kept it short and sweet #i wanna continue with what happens after but maybe in another fic #six.writes #honkai star rail #kafka #honkai star rail kafka #kafka x reader #kafka x you #sub kafka #dom!reader #sub honkai star rail #i’m testing with this fic lol

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shitouttabuck · 8 months

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like a dog with a bird at your door

buck/eddie | 51k | rated e

The kid with blood pouring down his shins is not so far from the dog lonely enough that he thinks breaking his housetraining is worth it for the ten minutes of berating that come with it, the ten minutes of undivided, if reluctant, attention. Buck thinks, sometimes, that at least he wasn’t the kind of puppy that gets put in a sack and drowned at birth. He wasn’t always unwanted. And he isn’t anymore.

or, evan “i love you like a dog” buckley has only ever known how to love like, well, a dog, but maybe eddie diaz is the kinda guy to give a flea-bitten mongrel a forever home

read on ao3

#a healthy mix of crack and big feelings i think #EDIT: this is not pet play lol the ao3 tags are more explanatory 😭#posting and going to sleep because i spent over two months on this and im a little anxious lol #i love you like a dog #911 fic #buddie fic #911 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #nina writes #mine #also. every single one of you that kept me sane through this. and sent me dog posts n songs n poems n art. i love u so fucking much #and in every way but literal im curling up at the foot of your bed tonight

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starshapedspider · 6 days

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I think something I love abt r&m is whenever characters like morticia is there, no one seems to think she'd like boys n be boy crazy. she'd still be oh so in love with jessica. morticia being a girl does not change that all.

I talk about it enough as it is on the queerness of rick and morty, but they do it so naturally that you can't just deny that it's there. dude bros try so hard to pull a "and they were best friends" on rick and birdperson when it blatantly tells you word for word that rick was hopelessly so in love with birdperson, he had a false image of bp in his head that he'd drop everything (his culture, his people etc) to go on endless journeys and to live a lifetime together no matter what came their way.

and while I'm not the biggest fan of how unity is presented as nonbinary as a nonbinary person myself, they're a prominent transgender character that people try soooo hard to push away and even with my personal reasons, I feel seen by them! i was geniunely so shocked to hear rick, a character so many people present as a womanizer cool dude bro who doesn't give a shit, defend them and say "don't talk to them that way!", it was like a slap in the face but... in a positive way!!!! (When I say shocked, I mean it as in its new for me!!)

there's no way of getting around it whatsoever. you can't just go "b-b-but that's not what the writers meant!" When it's been confirmed so many times by the writers themselves. i know ill sound annoying, but r&m is, undoubtedly, oh so very gay and i think it's beautiful how such a silly show can bring together many talented disabled n queer folks alike even with the awful awful moments it has.

#van's shitbox #rambles #before anyone asks yes i was absolutely an annoying 15 yr old gay trans boy during covid #as i was writing this i kept on realizing “man this really shows who i was in sophomore year” LOL #rick and morty

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eldritch-ambrosia · 4 months

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“What?” Merlin finally asks, his voice dripping with annoyance from across the king’s chambers.

Arthur fumbles with his parchments, averting his gaze and raising his eyebrow at a page that was most certainly not upside down, heat rushing to his cheeks,

“Hm?”

“Arthur!” He says warningly.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well then, stop watching me!” Merlin rolls his eyes, leaning back down to grab for the sponge he had thrown in his frustration. “I’m doing my job, aren’t I?”

Arthur scoffs. “I’m not-”

“I can feel your eyes burning into the back of my skull, you prick.”

He wavers.

“I’m just… thinking.”

“Oh well don’t hurt yourself,” Merlin grumbles, scrubbing a particular part of the chamber floor harder. A wine stain that they both know won’t come off clean, from years prior, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. Trying to clean or trying to annoy Arthur though, he couldn’t really be sure.

He finally sighs, tossing the sponge back into the bucket, and stretching out his back. “What are you thinking about?”

He considers not answering. He’s the king, he can demand anything he wants from his servants, including leaving him the hell alone. Though that didn’t usually seem to work with Merlin and there were some conversations he couldn’t avoid forever.

“Why didn’t you accept the position on the council?”

Merlin turns to him fully now, head tilted in confusion. “What?”

“You could be in your own chambers right now. Large, lavish chambers,” he emphasizes, placing his parchment back down. “Dining and drinking wine and preparing for bed. Instead of… this.”

“My knees are getting a bit worn for this part, to be honest.” He says, standing and curving his back slightly, the crack of his bones echoing awkwardly through the chamber. “But I couldn’t do that to whatever poor fool would end up getting this job instead. I wouldn’t want to punish someone with your dirty socks and poor habits.”

“Hey-!”

“And then who would help Gaius? I am still his assistant, even if you seem to forget that. You’re telling me that you want Gaius to train someone entirely new to take over after him?” He crosses his arms, tutting disappointedly. “I didn’t know you could be so cruel.”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. It was just like him to throw off a serious question about himself with some long winded complaining or stabbing at Arthur’s character.

Now, though, he knew why.

Merlin shrugs, drying off his hands with a spare cloth, his eyes scanning the room. He always did this before it was time to get Arthur ready for bed, a final once over of a job mostly well done.

“You asked.”

“Because I wanted an honest answer. Not your usual prattle.”

“I am being honest.” Merlin insists, though his voice wavers.

Sighing, Arthur finally pushes forward. “Is it because you want to stay by my side? Because you and I can’t be parted?”

“What?” His head jerks, his knuckles gripping the cloth tighter.

“If that is the reason, we can still be together when you’re a council member! Hell, you’ll be a nobleman so you can stay near me without having to serve. Get off your feet for a while.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Arthur.”

“I know, Merlin.” He says gently, standing. “I know.”

Merlin’s eyes are wide as he swallows hard, and Arthur is sure he can see him shaking. “I don’t-” His voice cracks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s okay,” Arthur says, approaching his servant as if he were an anxious cat and not his closest friend. “I heard you and Lancelot talking in the training room a few weeks ago.”

He considers what Arthur’s said, his eyes darting back and forth before they settle on the king. “And you’re just… fine with it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say fine with it. I wish you’d have told me, at the very least.” He stops, only a few feet in front of the other man. “But, I suppose, yes. I’ve thought a lot about it and I don’t think we should be parted either.”

“Really?” He asks, blinking owlishly.

Arthur nods, reaching a hand out to his shoulder. “I want you by my side, Merlin. Whether that’s as my servant or as my advisor, you will always be the person I turn to first.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly, though his eyes are still shining. “I don’t want you to do this just because you feel bad. And what would the other advisors say? And the knights?”

“They’ll have to go through me then. And I don’t think making an enemy of the King of Camelot will really go well for them. Do you?”

“An enemy?” Merlin smiles and Arthur feels his whole body sigh in relief. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do.” A pause hangs between them, a familiar and comfortable silence. Merlin brings his hand up to Arthur’s, gently holding onto where the king’s hand rests on his shoulder, and Arthur can’t help but think that to stay here, in this moment, would bring him utter peace.

He’d never admit that, not to Merlin, or anyone else for that matter, but he could accept it for himself and that would be enough.

“Is, um, there anything I have to do to… move forward?”

“For your job, not at all. I’ll take care of everything.” Merlin nods, grinning softly. “But for us, can you tell me? I don’t want to know just from overhearing you and Lancelot. I want you to tell me the truth. Please.”

Merlin’s grin widens, his grasp on Arthur’s wrist tightening. “Okay. Let me just…” And he leans forward, tilting his head down ever so slightly, pressing his lips to a startled Arthur’s.

The king freezes, heat rushing to his face, and he can feel his chest tightening as Merlin pulls back.

“I love you,” Merlin murmurs in the air between them and Arthur can see it in his eyes. Which means that Merlin can see the absolute shock in his in return. Merlin’s face falls. “What?”

“You… what?”

“I… You said you knew!” Merlin accuses, attempting to pull back but Arthur’s grip on his shoulder tightens. “You shouldn’t be… I mean, you know that! Obviously, you know that, right? Why else would you have said all that?”

Arthur’s red in the face, sputtering and feeling like an absolute idiot. “I know about your magic, Merlin! I had no idea-”

“My what?!”

~~~

I know it's been done before but I'm a sucker for this trope. The only way I'm okay with miscommunication. Whatever you think happens next, it absolutely does :)

Hoping to write more Merlin blurbs to motivate me to finish my multichapter fics because writer's block is a bitch.

#bbc merlin #bbc merthur #merlin #merthur #arthur pendragon #fanfiction #writing #my writing #blurb #writing blurb #writing prompt #I spent the last hour of my birthday writing Merthur #seems on brand #also i had to stop in the middle because I kept thinking about Gwaine lol #writing practice #Merlin goes through an absolute rollercoaster of emotions during this

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punkstylerecovery · 2 months

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Something that a lot of people really don't understand about having OCD or psychosis or just intrusive thoughts is how violent and/or disgusting the inside of your mind can feel and how scary that can be. It can make you want to hide everything about yourself, afraid that somehow some detail could give away what's inside your head or even afraid you might "contaminate" other people because of what your brain does.

That fear can lead to you lying to doctors, which is understandable because doctors can be truly awful to people like us, and that can lead to us not getting mental healthcare for the shame and fear we carry around, not to mention anything else we deal with.

That fear is often reinforced when we try to tell people and they react badly. A lot of the things inside my head aren't things you're "supposed" to think, much less say out loud and people aren't kind about that. People on the internet will even accuse people talking about their intrusive thoughts of being predators or abusers or claim we "should be in jail" just for things we don't even choose to think.

This includes thoughts about attacking people, murder, rape, sex, saying offensive things, ect, ect. Its normal to me, in a way, how violent my thoughts can randomly be but that took a long time and I'm still scared of myself. I'm still scared to tell people. I used to think I was a monster when I was little, somehow evil because I couldn't control my brain.

I wish more people had even basic knowledge about things like this. I think it's something children should be taught about, so that less of us grow up scared of our brains in the way I was, so that less people treat us like shit because they don't understand what we deal with.

We need to kill this ableism/sanism with fire because I am so done with it.

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wikiangela · 3 months

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fuck it friday

tagged by @hippolotamus @fortheloveofbuddie 💖

so I started a new wip lol 🙈 I really need to work on all the other ones but I'll get to everything haha so i'm not sure if any of this makes sense for buck tbh but idgaf, this is just me projecting my own thoughts and feelings™️ and making it about him processing his death lol 💁 it is gonna be pre-slash buddie tho bc obviously I have to 😂

ngl i kinda don't wanna share any of it but also i wanna share all of it bc i'm kinda loving how it's turning out haha so fuck it, here are two short snippets haha

___

Ever since he died, Buck has been feeling… off. Numb. Sad. Exhausted. He’s not even sure how to explain it, how to voice it, so he doesn’t. When people ask how he is, he says he’s fine. And he is, he swears he is. He’s okay, he’s alive, he has his amazing friends and family, a job he loves, everything is fine. But… but. He’s not sure what the hell is wrong, but a part of him is not fine. Hasn’t been fine since the lightning strike.

(...)

He doesn’t want to go home. He just wants to keep driving, wherever the road takes him. Driving is good, he likes driving, letting his thoughts wander, listening to music, having control of something. He thinks that’s it, that’s why. Driving is one of the few times he feels fully in control, his feet controlling the speed, hands holding the steering wheel and dictating the direction. Whether he makes it to work or gives into the thoughts that tell him to not turn the wheel and let his car crash into a tree or a building, or another car – it’s all up to him. He doesn’t- he won’t crash his car on purpose, but sometimes he wonders… maybe at least that’ll make him feel something. Make him hurt, make him scared, anything. Make him die, this time permanently- he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t, he swears he doesn’t. He just wonders sometimes, that’s all.

He doesn’t wanna go home, so he decides to keep driving. Just a few more minutes, to clear his head.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @buckaroosheart @spagheddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @rainbow-nerdss @malewifediaz @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck @diazsdimples @theotherbuckley @nmcggg @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @disasterbuckdiaz @exhuastedpigeon @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess

#fuck it friday #someone take angst away from me - a few months ago I was all about fluffy fluff wtf happened lol #btw this is gonna be lots of buck driving and thinking lol #bc every day on my way to and from work im like: what if i didnt take that exit on the highway and just kept driving and driving and drivin #so yeah lol #im fine tho #buddie wip #buddie fic #buddie #wikiangela writes #my writing #fic snippet #my wips #buck driving fic #<- i guess for now this is the tag lol

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