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buggyboba · 1 month

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Surrender Your Mind

part one [ x ] AO3 [ x ]

Part two | Fasten Her Tether Unto Me

A/N | Hello! Thank you everyone for your positive feedback on part one! I am a newish fan fiction writer, and I have zero clue what I am doing, but we are faking it until we make it! I will set up a masterlist (no pun intended) and a tag list. As of right now, I will try to update this story every Wednesday. In this chapter/part, I went for a different tone, so I hope you all still enjoy it. As always, Thank you, and if you have any prompts or questions please feel free to send them in, I would love to fulfill some prompts and drabble.

Also look at me pulling from book media…~ Buggy.

TW | A bit of choking, but not in a sexy way, but maybe…lots of pet names, Pet, Puppy, Kitten, descriptions of violence. Missy is still a dick.

Word count | 6315

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The steady hum became a constant companion; the machine felt alive; even when you couldn’t hear the hum, you felt the low vibration. It felt like it was watching you; it could see your every movement, and you could have sworn it locked you out of certain places as you carefully explored them. The woman, The Mistress, as you still had yet to actually call her that in conversation, had so graciously, as she put it, allowed you to stay there to be safe. She had kidnapped you, and every time you had tried to leave over the past week, she was always there, stopping you, or her machine wouldn’t open the door. You had gotten decent at picking out her footsteps and would make yourself scarce. She hadn’t actively tried to interact with you, save for stopping you from leaving, and the one time you accidentally ran into her when you were exploring, that was a few days ago.

Tonight, however, You had thought it was clear. You hadn’t heard her in a while, so you had dared to slip into a room whose door had been locked prior. You couldn’t pass up the opportunity; maybe it was a way out; it wasn’t like the woman had actively threatened your life, but you weren’t a fan of being captive, especially with a stranger who refused to explain anything to you, one who you felt so strange around, your mind still foggy when you looked at her when you caught glimpses of her as she worked on something. The room you entered smelled of a fireplace, it looked like it could be a study, but you weren’t sure. The warmth of the fire in the brick fireplace warmed the area, it was a small comfort given that the rest of the ship was so bloody cold. There were books lining the shelves, there were mounted creature heads above the fireplace, and from what you could see, there seemed to be artifacts, weapons, and specific books in glass cases; this felt more like a hunter’s lounge than a study. There was a faint smell of cigars, but it was so faint that you figured no one had been smoking them recently.

As you walked into the room a little more, you looked at the chair facing the fireplace. On the side table, there was a small tumbler of amber liquid, a plate of half-eaten cucumber slices, some sort of orange-colored jam, and clotted cream. Oh, no, you had to leave. You turned and walked straight into her chest. She caught your arms so you wouldn’t fall back. She looked down at you with a smile that couldn’t quite make up its mind if it wanted to be a smile.

“So I have finally caught my little mouse.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, causing you to shiver. “Have you enjoyed poking around my private room?” She asked in a tone that was dangerous, almost daring you to answer. Her hands tightened a bit on your arms before she let you go, walking towards the chair. “I’ve had a long day,” she started.

You wondered what she did all day; you hadn’t seen her or heard her. You watched her unceremoniously flop into the large, high-backed armchair in front of the fireplace. You stood there silently, you could slip out of the room quietly. You could return to the guest room she had given you and stay hidden as long as you could.

“Go on, ask about it.” Her voice sounded from the chair as she grabbed the little tumbler, holding it between three delicate fingers and pulling it up to her lips. Her lipstick made a smudge on the glass as she took the liquid into her mouth, setting the cup back down. Her fingertips grazed the glass as she pulled her hand back and swallowed the sip she had taken before she turned her face slightly, watching you out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t be rude, and just stand there silently.” Her lips twitched into a half-smirk.

You awkwardly forced yourself to walk closer; you gave the chair a wide distance as you stepped around the right side of it. “Why was your day long?” you asked, watching her carefully.

She was silent as she picked up a slice of cucumber, putting a small dollop of the jam on it, and then another small dollop of the clotted cream. She popped the whole thing in her mouth, chewing, before letting her tongue dart to the corner of her lips, where some cream had escaped. You looked away and down, waiting for her to answer, your arms wrapped around yourself a bit, before you forced your gaze back onto her.

“Do you want some?” she asked, motioning to the treat she had been eating. You shook your head. “Have you eaten since you got here? Well, you must have; your body doesn’t seem to be deteriorating.” She said as she eyed you over. “Eat,” she said more firmly. You shifted again and moved to carefully take one of the cucumber slices, putting it in your mouth. You had been able to sneak to the kitchen and had been eating, but you weren’t going to make her mad by not taking what she offered.

“So, why was your day long?” You tried to ask again, taking another cucumber slice, this time adding a little bit of the jam, and you were surprised it was apricot jam. The surprised look you gave seemed to have prompted her.

“It’s from The Scoundrel’s Club, a very prestigious member’s club. Well, that was until they so rudely threw me out since I was no longer a man. Silly of them, really. I held a chair there for countless years. Shame what I had to do to them for their disrespect,” she muttered a bit.

“The Scoundrel’s Club?” you asked carefully. She nodded, but didn’t elaborate on it. You also had questions about her other statement, but really, you didn't have any reason to ask about it. You sighed and looked for a seat; there was only the stool to the armchair, so you sat on that in front of her. “Alright then, what did you do to them?” You asked, and your gut told you that was the wrong question because there was this sort of delighted, almost off-putting grin that took her lips. You immediately regretted your decision to ask.

There was a moment of silence as she seemed to be getting the details of her story in order. Taking another sip of the liquid in the tumbler, you could only guess it was some sort of sipping whiskey, which you weren’t expecting, but then again, you knew nothing about this woman.

“Well, you see, as one of the longest-standing members of the club, it was very rude of them to cast me out, so I ruined one’s life, then collapsed the bridge he was on; one had a nasty accident with a train; you should have seen the splatter.” She smirked softly, imitating a sort of splatter sound, flexing her hand to imitate a 'splatter’. You grimaced, not wanting to think about what she had said. “Little bitty bits of Bobo Braithwaite all over the English countryside, ironic because it was his railroad.” The woman giggled a bit. You shivered, trying not to vividly imagine it. You didn’t know whoever that man was, but you almost felt bad.

"Oh, don’t feel bad; these were all terrible people, so in a way, my revenge was for the better.” She made a face and then shook her head, continuing speaking before you could voice your opinion on it. “Then I —” She started to continue and looked back at you with a frown. “Are you not enjoying my story? You look pale, pet.” She let her face drop in expression as she watched you.

“I mean, is this why you had a long day?” You asked calmly, trying not to look at her, making it a point to look at your hands that sat in your lap as you listened to her. This woman spoke of murder like it was a normal Tuesday, as if it were a jaunty walk around the park. You were stressed and nervous, and yet the only thing she really had done to you was kidnap you and make vague threats.

“Oh, no, but it was a valuable lesson about being rude... and what I would do to people I know versus a stranger like you if you continue to be rude and keep avoiding me...in my own tardis...rather rude indeed.” She said, gauging your reaction.

“Tardis?” you asked.

"Oh, for...” she sounded annoyed. “Yes, the machine we are in... Tardis, Time and Relative Dimension in Space, you have figured out now that I am not of Earth, yes?” She raised an eyebrow, and you nodded. "I know you silly little apes are stupid, but I have to assume you are at least a little clever...or you would be dreadfully boring."

You made a face at her insult.

“You have two heartbeats and are like, so cold when you touch me, and all of this...” You motioned around yourself. “It is too insane to be worldly.” You sighed. “So, yes, I figured you weren’t human.” You said you were trying to sound calm, and you looked at her again. You weren't entirely set on aliens as the story, but everything was too weird to be just your run-of-the-mill normal human activities.

“You are correct; I am superior to you, little primitive apes….I am a Time Lady.” She said like that meant anything to you. You nodded a bit, waiting to see if she would explain, but given her piss-poor explanations so far, you didn’t expect it. “I am the most dangerous being in the universe.” She nodded and grinned a bit at you, You weren’t sure you liked that either. “And unfortunately for you, I still haven’t figured out why they targeted you to get to me.” She said her expression changed as her cold eyes bore into yours like she was searching for something—anything that would give her a clue as to who you were, why the assassin blew up your flat, and why she didn’t want to immediately kill you. Logically, she should kill you and take away whatever leverage these assassins thought they had on her. However, her curiosity about why they thought you were leveraged over her got the better of her. She decided if she didn't figure it out soon, she would just throw you into the time vortex or something and be done with you, but for now, the situation was intriguing enough to keep her attention. Well, keep the little spots between her plans interesting enough anyway.

“Delightful.” You muttered a bit and shifted on the stool. “So what is a Time Lady?” you tried; maybe if you asked specific questions, you might be able to get some sort of semblance of what is happening. “And why does that make you superior?” It was your turn to raise an eyebrow.

The woman scoffed and shook her head. “I don't have the time to explain the complexity of being the elite of Gallifreyan society, especially to you.” She waved you off.

"Okay, that sounds fake.” you shrugged. “Time Lady, ridiculous title, ‘elite of Galli...Gallif’..”

“Gallifreyan….” She repeated it calmly, like you were a child. “If you are going to try to be insulting, at least know the words you are saying.” She drawled.

You crossed your arms across your chest and sighed as you rolled your eyes. “Elites of Gallifreyan society... It sounds like you are trying to convince me that you are supposed to be important. You said your tone was trying to be teasing, but you weren’t sure how she would take it. “But it also holds the same gravity as a celebrity thinking they are important just because they are Hollywood elite.” You muttered. “Pretentious,” you sighed, but you felt the air shift before you saw her move.

You yelped as you were dragged off the footstool forward by your shirt collar. Her face was close to yours as she moved her fingers around your throat. “Did you not learn anything from my tale of being rude? Do I have to show you or teach you a lesson? You have been nothing but an annoying little mouse plaguing my tardis. I saved your life, and you are being an annoying little brat, speaking out of turn, with much more confidence than someone like you should have.” She said her fingers flexed around your throat as she spoke, your back against the footstool as she held you down with surprising strength.

You choked out, your hands going to her arm, one by her wrist and the other up on her forearm, trying to pry her fingers off your throat. There was a predatory glint in her blue eyes as she kept you pinned, ensuring you made eye contact with her as you struggled to breathe. Your cheeks turned red from how she held your throat; just enough air was able to get to your lungs to keep you conscious, though your body struggled and your lungs started to hurt. “I'm not going to let you go until you...” She seemed to pause in thought. “Say something nice.” She said it in a light tone, like she wasn't choking you.

Something nice? What sort of something nice did she want? Your mind was getting foggy; you were getting dizzy from the struggle of trying to intake air and panicking, and now she wanted you to say something nice.

“Come on, then, say something nice.” She said it more impatiently.

“You're scary and pretty.” You stammer out quickly, your fingers prying harder.

“Is that the best you've got—scary and pretty? That's not very nice, and you know what, pet, address me properly.” She said, pushing your back further over the footstool, your spine digging into the wood of it, sending pain through you. Your eyes darted around, looking for anything. Landing on the fire, you grimaced, and your jaw clenched a bit as you gritted your teeth. “You are like fire!” You started to panic. “Mistress, you are like fire—burning, intense, chaotic, but beautiful—a force to be reckoned with.”You tried to sound poetic; perhaps if you weren’t at the hands of a dangerous psychopath, you could string your words together better and maybe sound like you knew how to flatter someone. However, the word ‘Mistress’ still felt weird on your tongue.

Her hand pushed you hard before it was off your throat, leaving you a panting mess clinging to the footstool beneath you. Your hand held your throat, rubbing it as you took some heavy breaths in. "Better, I suppose; I'll expect something better next time,” she muttered, watching you as she crossed one leg over the other as she leaned back in the chair. “Now don't be rude again.” She warned. “Or I will end your pathetic little existence; really, you humans have such a short lifespan, and it would be a shame to cut yours shorter because you don't know your place.” She sighed and shook her head.

The only thing you could do was look at her with a mix of emotions before nodding. “You can make it up to me; you will join me for tea tomorrow, and we will talk more then. Go on off, you pop.” She waved you off. You scrambled to your feet and quickly raced to get out of the room.

Your hurried footfall caused the dark metal hallway to echo as you navigated it back to the room you were staying in. You closed the door behind you, slid down it, and let your hand rest on your throat, rubbing it still. Your mind was racing; there was so much happening, and you still didn't have any answers. After what felt like forever, you pulled yourself up and dragged yourself to the bed; it wasn't nearly as comfortable as your own bed, but being as you no longer had a bed and were trapped here with The Mistress, it would have to do. You lay down, burying yourself under the covers; your lower back stung, and you knew a bruise was forming. You curled into yourself, trying to relax, but your body was on high alert, listening for the sounds of her footsteps.

Eventually, your body ebbed into sleep, and you dreamt of many things—things you couldn't quite remember when you woke up—but your body was warm and flush, so it couldn't have been nothing, and she-- the thought of her brought you an even more confusing feeling. You had tea with her today, an invitation you were not allowed to break. You sat up from the bed and were startled when there was a neat pile of clean clothing sitting on the dresser with a note. She had been here. When you were sleeping? How did your body not wake you up?

You carefully got off the bed and went to check out the note and clothing. The note was in perfect script, black ink spelled out, ‘Get cleaned up and dressed; meet me in the study for tea. -M.’

Your fingers trailed over the soft material, it was black and looked formfitted—not exactly your style, but it was clean, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to get cleaned up properly with a fresh set of clothing. You grabbed the clothing and slipped out of the bedroom. You knew the way to the restroom, you had found it the first night you were there. The bathroom was large and marble, and the shower portion of it had one of those waterfall-style showers. You moved to turn the water on, pushing it to hot but not scalding. You moved to take your clothing off by the sink, finding a bag of toiletries had been set out for you. You assumed she had done it last night. You grabbed it and looked through it, pulling the items you needed out and giving them a quick sniff. They were fancy and smelled so good, You were quickly excited for this shower. Slipping in, you let the warm water wash over you.

The warmth was a quick comfort as your body relaxed, You stood there for a few moments, silent and reflecting, This had been an absolutely bonkers experience. If you weren’t so sure you were actively alive, you would have assumed you died when the flat exploded, and this was whatever happened after you died. Aliens, Assassins, Time Lords, and Tardises—this was all so much to take in. You felt numb, how were you going to get out of this? You were a prisoner on an alien ship, one that felt like it only tolerated you, much like its owner.

You worked the shampoo into your hair, as you thought, the smell was nice and assaulted your senses in the best sort of way. The Mistress did know how to pick scents, it seemed, because you were in love with the smell of the soaps she had given you to bathe with. It could be worse; everything so far—what happened last night hadn’t been so bad. Scary and very much uncalled for, but from her stories, that had been nothing.

You just wished you could help figure out what these Assassins wanted with you, you had no idea why they had targeted you, honestly, you weren’t someone important—well, not in the grand scheme of the universe after all.

You got to thinking as you washed up, maybe the assassins were from the future; was it really a stretch? Maybe they had come back to the past; of course, you were sure the woman had already thought of this; you wished she would share just a little more with you, anything more to help you understand the situation rather than leaving you floundering and drowning in a situation where you were out of your element. Today at tea, you were going to demand answers—not rudely, but you were going to get the answers you wanted.

You finished getting cleaned up, dried off, and got dressed quickly. Your stomach gave a low rumble, and as you made your way back to that study you had found last night, your heart started to pound in your throat as you made your way there. The memories of her hand around your throat flashed in your mind—how terrified you had been at that moment.

The study door was open, and you took a breath while walking in. “Usually we would take tea in the sphere; it has a delightful garden, but you are safest in the Tardis.” She said as you entered, your eyes scanned the room quickly, and fell on her. She sat up on this little raised part by some bookshelves. A small tea set was set out on the small table in front of her, along with a few different fruits and cakes. It was a proper tea setup. You moved to sit in the armchair that was angled towards hers.

“I see.” You said lightly.

“I am glad the clothing fits; I couldn’t have you traipsing about in those old, gross clothes, now could I?” She said as she poured herself a cup of tea, then poured you one. “Sugar? Cream?” She asked. You watched her, her body language was sort of rigid, but she was trying to present herself as friendly. You shifted in the armchair. You nodded and told her the amount you liked before she gave you the cup. You held the saucer in your hand and then took the cup off of it, putting it down. You held the warm glass in your hands, staring down into the liquid.

“It’s not poison,” She spoke with a little grin that made you wonder if she was telling the truth. “I wouldn’t poison you, don’t be boring, I wouldn't ruin tea like that, not for you... Not after I’ve gone through great lengths to keep you safe….you are welcome.” She said expectantly.

Was she expecting you to say thank you for her kidnapping you? Was she kidding? You brought the cup to your lips, taking a small sip of the tea. It was a nice blend of lavender and black tea. You could feel those icy blue eyes that were so enchanting watching your every move, like she was studying you and analyzing everything about you.

“So have you found out anything about the…uh…assassins?” You asked after a moment of silence.

"Yes, that was my long day yesterday,” she said, taking a sip of her own tea. “They are time assassins, much like weeping angels...oh right, I suppose you wouldn’t know what those are...hm, simple terms for you, I think,” she said, stirring her tea with a little silver spoon that she brought up to her mouth and let the tip of it press against her lips in thought. You watched her calmly, and you noticed she was wearing black today; it was still in the same style as her plum outfit, and her hair was still up, but some pieces had fallen to rest against her temple, but she didn’t seem to pay attention to it.

“You don’t have to use simple terms, I do understand some things, I’m not stupid.” You protested after she took a few more minutes to think.

“Oh, alright then, weeping angels are a sort of quantum-locked species, the lonely assassins they call them, they can take the form of many things, statues are their main appearance; and they can only move about if no sentient life forms are watching them. Essentially, what they do is touch you and put you into the past—a mercy they call it—letting their victims live a full life; they can consume the remaining time and energy that way, and of course, when they are in a pinch, they will just snap your neck like a wee little twig,” she mused, taking another sip of her tea and licking the corner of her lip before she continued. “Now, Time Assassins have taken that theory but are much more murderous; their bullets act as a weeping angel’s powers do, sending their victim back in time. The theory is that they shoot them somewhere vital, send the body back in time, and the past now has a John or Jane Doe to deal with, and the present has a missing person,” she explained. “Surely they don’t think that will work on me; I’ll just regenerate,” she shrugged.

“Regenerate? ” You asked, shaking your head a bit.

“Yes, the perks of being me. You see, if I get wounded mortally, my body has a sort of defense where it will heal itself through regeneration. Of course, I won’t look like this anymore. Shame, because this one has been delightful so far. Of course it took some time to get used to, my first go as a woman,” she mused.

“So.” You paused, taking a minute to gather your thoughts and put some things together. “You can just change your gender?”

“Yes and no, I don’t quite get a choice in it; all a bit of luck of the draw sometimes... most times... doesn’t matter; we Time Lords and Ladies are eons above your human notions of gender and roles.” She waved it off and looked at you with a cat-like grin.

“Okay, so… If their methods wouldn’t work on you, why use that method? And why come after you in the first place, and me?” You asked, leaning back in the chair a bit. You didn’t want to seem so tense, but you were. You watched as she took a look around the room in thought before her eyes returned to yours.

“Well, it could work, but I’m not getting into that with you; you don’t need to know all the nasty little details.” She nodded. “What I am more interested in is why they think you are important enough to go after to lure me out.” She spoke, her fingers trailing over the lip of the teacup in thought.

“Well, maybe in the future...” you trailed off, not really wanting to continue the thought.

“Oh, you think you are somehow important to me in the future.” She gave a wicked little smirk. “Now now pet, I am highly doubtful; you are cute, but...” she trailed off as well. She didn’t do relationships unless you had something to offer her, she paused. Perhaps you were another Lucy, a means to an end, a loyal pet. She clicked her tongue against her teeth as she thought about it, leaving you in silence.

"No, that might make sense... Perhaps they misunderstood our relationship.” She spoke after a long while. You blinked and shifted again. “I don’t think they are trying to lure me; well, this me or their intel was wrong.” She mused, leaning back as she thought of all the scenarios and which one would be the most accurate. “Either way, they came to this time for a reason: to go after you. They had made an earlier attempt at me, but it didn’t work out for them, so they changed tactics. You were supposed to be in your apartment when it blew up, which they thought would bring me out in a rage.” She grinned as she put things together. “funny… I wonder what you did to catch my attention if this theory of mine is correct.” She looked at you more closely.

Her eyes glided over your features, you weren’t the most offensive thing to the eyes, you were attractive, she had seen your thoughts, she knew you were intelligent, at least for a human, you also had an attitude, she almost liked that about you. You could be useful, she just had to get you loyal, she could just hypnotize you again, but that could be broken, shaken, true genuine loyalty was something else that couldn’t be broken as easily, she knew that well, the Doctor and his little human pets were a testament to that.

You shrugged, you had no idea, you had thought she was beautiful when you saw her at the tea shop, and you still thought she was, but now there was a danger to her, she wasn’t just a stranger at the tea shop anymore, she was the alien that kidnapped you, the Mistress, or at least that was what she insisted you called her, but you really didn’t want to do that.

“You are still so scared of me; your heart hasn’t stopped racing since you walked in.” She smirked, leaning forward just a bit. You shook your head, but it was a lie; she did make you nervous. "Oh, puppy, is it because I got a little rough last night?” She said it in a flirty tone that took you by surprise; she made it sound like it was an intimate encounter, not a violent one, but from what you could gather about her, maybe they were one and the same.

“Don’t call me that.” You shook your head. “I am nervous because you are a stranger, a murderous one, a violent one, who kidnapped me.” You said your voice was strong at the beginning but wavered at the end.

“Would you prefer Kitten?” She said she watched you, not denying the rest. “And I kidnapped you because they would have killed you... At least that is the running theory. To get to me, you should be thanking me.” She mused, leaning back again and watching you.

“I would prefer my name,” you said exasperatedly, saying your name.

Missy paused and sighed. "Oh, alright, since we are going to be in this together for a bit longer than I anticipated, I suppose I could occasionally use your name, don’t get used to it…I won’t remember it.” A lie, she would remember it, but she would continue to use little pet names for you since they seemed to irritate you. “I suppose, as a sign of good faith, you can call me Missy,” she said after a moment.

“Missy,” you repeated. “Okay, I can do that one.” You nodded.

“You will still call me Mistress, but I suppose you can call me Missy occasionally.” She calmly spoke, putting her teacup down. “I think I will look up everything I need to know about you,” she mused, watching you for your reaction.

“Or you could ask me like a normal person.” You sighed, shaking your head.

“No….absolutely not….boring small talk… dreadful.” She shook her head.

"Well, then tell me more about you.” You sighed, carefully reaching for one of the tea cakes.

“Oh…sure–” She started, and you laughed, causing her to frown. “Why is that funny?”

“You’ll talk about you, but you don’t want to talk about me, calling it boring small talk.” You said taking a bite of the cake.

"Yes, well, because it is. You are a boring little human. I am The Mistress, a renegade Time Lady who has conquered planets.” She chuckled, making a grand gesture with her hand. “The greatest archenemy of the Doctor, and all around much more interesting.” She gave a smaller grin.

“Oh hush, The Mistress is a powerful title.” She raised an eyebrow. “So was my former moniker, The Master, bit cheeky, bit sexy, it strikes fear, is straight to the point, of who is in control and owns you.” She waved you off. You shook your head a bit but dropped it. You weren't interested in trying to tease her and have her get mad, thinking you were being rude about it. Your mind drifted back to last night, and you cleared your throat, pushing the thoughts away again. You were certainly going to say something later about the whole Mistress/Master motif.

“Oh…The Doctor?” You asked, “Do all um-- Gallifreyan’s have silly titles?” You asked with a small grin of your own.

“Who is the Doctor?” You questioned, and the energy shifted, and you felt you had made a mistake again.

“You won’t have to worry about him.” She said calmly, though her body language told you otherwise, you weren’t going to push it; you didn’t want her to be mad.

“Okay, so what is our plan about the time assassins?” You asked while trying to get back on track.

“Oh, yes, well, I figured I would dangle you as bait, don’t worry, pet, they won’t get close enough to kill you... But we are going to make them make another big mistake, which hopefully will give me time to catch one. We bring him to an undisclosed location and get our answers through a series of slow, painful tortures, though I do suppose torture doesn’t really work...but it will make me feel better.” She said her tone was light, like she was talking about the weather. “I’ll probably just get into their mind, poke around, take the information I want, and then kill them, and they will join my cyberdears,” she shrugged. "Oh, that’s a good one, you’ll love it,” she nodded.

You blinked “Cyberdears?” you asked, looking at her in confusion.

"Oh, I can’t spoil the surprise, pet, but it is going to go viral,” she nodded.

She confused you; sometimes she was so posh, and then other times she was silly with her words, like when you watched a person from an older generation try the slang of this generation. However, once that thought subsided, there was an undertone you hadn’t caught before, but her smirk told you there was certainly something much darker to these cyberdears, as she called them.

“Are those skeletons in the tanks?” You asked, but you were still uncomfortable with the idea of there being ninety-one of them, just right outside her tardis.

“Shh, spoilers pet,” she giggled like it was her own inside joke. You grimaced but nodded, finishing your cup of tea and the tea cake you had grabbed. “So it’s settled, you’ll play the delightful worm on a hook, and we will catch us a time assassin,” she grinned widely. “I bet you’ll squirm perfectly.” She nodded.

You frowned, you didn’t like this idea. “Was that a compliment? An insult?” you asked.

“Yes.” She nodded and took a large bite of tea cake herself.

“There has to be a safer way, you’ve gone through all this trouble of making sure I don’t leave your ship, and now the plan is to dangle me out in public, waiting for the Assassin to make their move? What if they, I dunno, are good snipers?” You sighed.

“Well, you see, we go somewhere where we have the advantage.” She watched you, giving you a look that told you she found you annoyingly amusing. “No multiple high ledges, and plus, I’ll be watching you, don’t you trust me?” She teased you, and you blinked at her. What did you say to that? If you said no, she might get angry. You didn’t trust her; trust was earned, and all she had done was kidnap you. Well, that wasn’t fair to say; she did technically keep you safe from harm, but that didn’t excuse the whole kidnapping thing.

You opened your mouth a few times, trying to find the words. This amused her because she called you a trout and took another big bite of her tea cake. “Well, my dear, do you trust me?” she pressed, feeling your apprehension and deciding to play with it a bit.

“N…w….” You stammered.

“Oh dear, was that an attempt at a no?" She grinned, putting the plate down and turning to face you full-on.

“No, I mean yes, I don’t trust you; I don’t know you. It’s been eggshells since you kidnapped.” Missy, cut you off.

“Saved.” Missy nodded, correcting you.

“No matter what you call it, you won’t let me go.” You firmly spoke.

She shook her head, like what you were saying was nonsense. “So you would rather walk out there, out of my little safe haven, and then get killed? All because I am so scary?” She watched your movements closely. You sighed and shook your head. That wasn’t what you wanted, you wanted freedom, but you wanted not to be killed by some assassins who were coming after you because of her.

“Maybe just a little freedom; I haven’t been outside of this.” You motioned around, talking about the ship. “In a week now, we barely know each other, and I don’t know, maybe I’m just having a hard time with everything right now!” You sighed and shook your head, looking away from her. You grimaced again. You didn’t want to be too emotional, but you hadn’t really had time to relax enough to work through things.

"Jeeze, you humans are touchy... emotional...” she muttered, crossing her arms and looking at you. There was a long silence. “You are going to be fine….you are as safe as you can be here. If I personally wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have survived this long; I would have released you into the tardis’s underlevels and hunted you for sport.” She said calmly, “Now, we are going to finish tea; you are going to go slink off, you will join me for dinner at seven p.m. sharp, and then we will discuss this plan further, no more gross emotions from you. Do you understand?” She said like there was no room to argue.

You nodded and looked back down at your hands. You could get through today, and once again you had more questions than answers, but it was fine, you had accepted that this woman wouldn’t give you a straight answer.

━━━━━━»»•••««━━━━━━

TAG LIST| @germansarechill

if you want to be added to the tag list just let me know!~

#gomez!master x reader #missy x reader #doctor who #the master x reader

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mariacallous · 2 months

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April 12, 2019, Updated at 12:22 a.m. ET on April 15, 2019.

In the end, the man who reportedly smeared feces on the walls of his lodgings, mistreated his kitten, and variously blamed the ills of the world on feminists and bespectacled Jewish writers was pulled from the Ecuadorian embassy looking every inch like a powdered-sugar Saddam Hussein plucked straight from his spider hole. The only camera crew to record this pivotal event belonged to Ruptly, a Berlin-based streaming-online-video service, which is a wholly owned subsidiary of RT, the Russian government’s English-language news channel and the former distributor of Julian Assange’s short-lived chat show.

RT’s tagline is “Question more,” and indeed, one might inquire how it came to pass that the spin-off of a Kremlin propaganda organ and now registered foreign agent in the United States first arrived on the scene. Its camera recorded a team of London’s Metropolitan Police dragging Assange from his Knightsbridge cupboard as he burbled about resistance and toted a worn copy of Gore Vidal’s History of the National Security State.

Vidal had the American national-security establishment in mind when he narrated that polemic, although I doubt even he would have contrived to portray the CIA as being in league with a Latin American socialist named for the founder of the Bolshevik Party. Ecuador’s President Lenín Moreno announced Thursday that he had taken the singular decision to expel his country’s long-term foreign guest and revoke his asylum owing to Assange’s “discourteous and aggressive behavior.”

According to Interior Minister María Paula Romo, this evidently exceeded redecorating the embassy with excrement—alas, we still don’t know whether it was Assange’s or someone else’s—refusing to bathe, and welcoming all manner of international riffraff to visit him. It also involved interfering in the “internal political matters in Ecuador,” as Romo told reporters in Quito. Assange and his organization, WikiLeaks, Romo said, have maintained ties to two Russian hackers living in Ecuador who worked with one of the country’s former foreign ministers, Ricardo Patiño, to destabilize the Moreno administration.

We don’t yet know whether Romo’s allegation is true (Patiño denied it) or simply a pretext for booting a nuisance from state property. But Assange’s ties to Russian hackers and Russian intelligence organs are now beyond dispute.

Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s indictment of 12 cyberoperatives for Russia’s Main Intelligence Directorate for the General Staff (GRU) suggests that Assange was, at best, an unwitting accomplice to the GRU’s campaign to sway the U.S. presidential election in 2016, and allegedly even solicited the stolen Democratic correspondence from Russia’s military intelligence agency, which was masquerading as Guccifer 2.0. Assange repeatedly and viciously trafficked, on Twitter and on Fox News, in the thoroughly debunked claim that the correspondence might have been passed to him by the DNC staffer Seth Rich, who, Assange darkly suggested, was subsequently murdered by the Clintonistas as revenge for the presumed betrayal.

Mike Pompeo, then CIA director and, as an official in Donald Trump’s Cabinet, an indirect beneficiary of Assange’s meddling in American democracy, went so far as to describe WikiLeaks as a “non-state hostile intelligence service often abetted by state actors like Russia.” For those likening the outfit to legitimate news organizations, I’d submit that this is a shade more severe a description, especially coming from America’s former spymaster, than anything Trump has ever grumbled about The New York Times or The Washington Post.

Russian diplomats had concocted a plot, as recently as late 2017, to exfiltrate Assange from the Ecuadorian embassy, according to The Guardian. “Four separate sources said the Kremlin was willing to offer support for the plan—including the possibility of allowing Assange to travel to Russia and live there. One of them said that an unidentified Russian businessman served as an intermediary in these discussions.” The plan was scuttled only because it was deemed too dangerous.

In 2015, Focus Ecuador reported that Assange had aroused suspicion among Ecuador’s own intelligence service, SENAIN, which spied on him in the embassy in a years-long operation. “In some instances, [Assange] requested that he be able to choose his own Security Service inside the embassy, even proposing the use of operators of Russian nationality,” the Ecuadorian journal noted, adding that SENAIN looked on such a proposal with something less than unmixed delight.

All of which is to say that Ecuador had ample reasons of its own to show Assange the door and was well within its sovereign rights to do so. He first sought refuge in the embassy after he jumped bail more than seven years ago to evade extradition to Sweden on sexual-assault charges brought by two women. Swedish prosecutors suspended their investigation in 2017 into the most serious allegation of rape because they’d spent five years trying but failing to gain access to their suspect to question him. (That might now change, and so the lawyer for that claimant has filed to reopen the case.) But the British charges remained on the books throughout.

The Times of London leader writer Oliver Kamm has noted that quite apart from being a “victim of a suspension of due process,” Assange is “a fugitive from it.” Yet to hear many febrile commentators tell it, his extradition was simply a matter of one sinister prime minister cackling down the phone to another, with the CIA nodding approvingly in the background, as an international plot unfurled to silence a courageous speaker of truth to power. Worse than that, Assange and his ever-dwindling claque of apologists spent years in the pre-#MeToo era suggesting, without evidence, that the women who accused him of being a sex pest were actually American agents in disguise, and that Britain was simply doing its duty as a hireling of the American empire in staking out his diplomatic digs with a net.

As it happens, a rather lengthy series of U.K. court cases and Assange appeals, leading all the way up to the Supreme Court, determined Assange’s status in Britain.

The New Statesman’s legal correspondent, David Allen Green, expended quite a lot of energy back in 2012 swatting down every unfounded assertion and conspiracy theory for why Assange could not stand before his accusers in Scandinavia without being instantly rendered to Guantanamo Bay. Ironically, as Green noted, going to Stockholm would make it harder for Assange to be sent on to Washington because “any extradition from Sweden … would require the consent of both Sweden and the United Kingdom” instead of just the latter country. Nevertheless, Assange ran and hid and self-pityingly professed himself a “political prisoner.”

Everything about this Bakunin of bullshit and his self-constructed plight has belonged to the theater of the absurd. I suppose it’s only fair that absurdity dominates the discussion now about a newly unsealed U.S. indictment of Assange. According to Britain’s Home Office, the Metropolitan Police arrested Assange for skipping bail, and then, when he arrived at the police station, he was further arrested “in relation to a provisional extradition request from the United States.”

The operative word here is provisional, because that request has yet to be wrung through the same domestic legal protocols as Sweden’s. Assange will have all the same rights he was accorded when he tried to beat his first extradition rap in 2010. At Assange’s hearing, the judge dismissed his claims of persecution by calling him “a narcissist who cannot get beyond his own selfish interests.” Neither can his supporters.

A “dark moment for press freedom,” tweeted the NSA whistle-blower Edward Snowden from his security in press-friendly Moscow. “It’s the criminalization of journalism by the Trump Justice Department and the gravest threat to press freedom, by far, under the Trump presidency,” intoned The Intercept’s founding editor Glenn Greenwald who, like Assange, has had that rare historical distinction of having once corresponded with the GRU for an exclusive.

These people make it seem as if Assange is being sought by the Eastern District of Virginia for publishing American state secrets rather than for allegedly conniving to steal them.

The indictment makes intelligible why a grand jury has charged him. Beginning in January 2010, Chelsea Manning began passing to WikiLeaks (and Assange personally) classified documents obtained from U.S. government servers. These included files on the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and U.S. State Department cables. But Manning grew hesitant to pilfer more documents.*

At this point, Assange allegedly morphed from being a recipient and publisher of classified documents into an agent of their illicit retrieval. “On or about March 8, 2010, Assange agreed to assist [Chelsea] Manning in cracking a password stored on United States Department of Defense computers connected to the Secret Internet Protocol Networks, a United States government network used for classified documents and communications,” according to the indictment.

Assange allegedly attempted to help Manning do this using a username that was not hers in an effort to cover her virtual tracks. In other words, the U.S. accuses him of instructing her to hack the Pentagon, and offering to help. This is not an undertaking any working journalist should attempt without knowing that the immediate consequence will be the loss of his job, his reputation, and his freedom at the hands of the FBI.

I might further direct you to Assange’s own unique brand of journalism, when he could still be said to be practicing it. Releasing U.S. diplomatic communiqués that named foreigners living in conflict zones or authoritarian states and liaising with American officials was always going to require thorough vetting and redaction, lest those foreigners be put in harm’s way. Assange did not care—he wanted their names published, according to Luke Harding and David Leigh in WikiLeaks: Inside Julian Assange’s War on Secrecy. As they recount the story, when Guardian journalists working with WikiLeaks to disseminate its tranche of U.S. secrets tried to explain to Assange why it was morally reprehensible to publish the names of Afghans working with American troops, Assange replied: “Well, they’re informants. So, if they get killed, they’ve got it coming to them. They deserve it.” (Assange denied the account; the names, in the end, were not published in The Guardian, although some were by WikiLeaks in its own dump of the files.)**

James Ball, a former staffer at WikiLeaks—who argues against Assange’s indictment in these pages—has also remarked on Assange’s curious relationship with a notorious Holocaust denier named Israel Shamir:

Shamir has a years-long friendship with Assange, and was privy to the contents of tens of thousands of US diplomatic cables months before WikiLeaks made public the full cache. Such was Shamir’s controversial nature that Assange introduced him to WikiLeaks staffers under a false name. Known for views held by many to be antisemitic, Shamir aroused the suspicion of several WikiLeaks staffers—myself included—when he asked for access to all cable material concerning ‘the Jews,’ a request which was refused.

Shamir soon turned up in Moscow where, according to the Russian newspaper Kommersant, he was offering to write articles based on these cables for $10,000 a pop. Then he traveled to Minsk, where he reportedly handed over a cache of unredacted cables on Belarus to functionaries for Alexander Lukashenko’s dictatorship, whose dissident-torturing secret police is still conveniently known as the KGB.

Fish and guests might begin to stink after three days, but Assange has reeked from long before he stepped foot in his hideaway cubby across from Harrods. He has put innocent people’s lives in danger; he has defamed and tormented a poor family whose son was murdered; he has seemingly colluded with foreign regimes not simply to out American crimes but to help them carry off their own; and he otherwise made that honorable word transparency in as much of a need of delousing as he is.

Yet none of these vices has landed him in the dock. If he is innocent of hacking U.S. government systems—or can offer a valid public-interest defense for the hacking—then let him have his day in court, first in Britain and then in America. But don’t continue to fall for his phony pleas for sympathy, his megalomania, and his promiscuity with the facts. Julian Assange got what he deserved.

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lxgentlefolkcomic · 2 years

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Info and FAQ (Please read before sending asks)

What is this?

This is the League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk, a comic project based on the premise of Alan Moore’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Think The Avengers, but with characters from Victorian lit.

If you’re familiar with the Alan Moore comic, or the 2003 movie, don’t expect this project to look much like either one. I’m keeping the name, the basic premise, and most but not all of the core cast, and going my own way with all the rest.

Where can I start reading?

For the start of episode 1, click here. For non-canonical bonus material, click here. I’ll be updating this post with more links as the comic proceeds.

Who’s working on this thing?

The LXGF team consists of:

Chicken (@mayhemchicken-artblog): Project leader, artist, blog owner, part-time writer

linguisticparadox (@linguisticparadox): Writer, blog admin

Dathen ( @dathen, @datheneth on Twitter, Dathen on AO3): Editor, image description writer

L. Spooner (@fruitviking, @voiceofspoon on Twitter): Writer

@see-arcane: Writer

Mr. Pinniped (@mrpinniped, Mr_Pinniped on AO3): Writer

Rosie C. (@absolutely-and-always13): Writer

Lemur (@drowninginaseaoflemurs): Writer

The Collector of the Whimsies (@pop-goes-the-weasel): Writer

Jesterbells (@jesterbells): Writer

Luna: Editor

Drakontissa (@thegoatsongs): Writer, image description writer

@cattuladaily: Writer

@severedfeetpics: Writer

@kouvei: Writer

@the-constellation-collective: Image description writer

Hiri (@hirilelfwraith): Image description writer

Jade (@riseofthesea): Image description writer

Do I need to read all the books and stories this is based on?

We’re aiming to make the comic accessible to people who have never read the original works. Reading the stories will enrich your experience with the comic, but it is by no means necessary.

If you’re interested in reading the original works, @linguisticparadox compiled a fantastic Google doc with links to all the texts we’re using as inspiration. (at least, all the ones we can currently share without giving away future spoilers... :3c)

How will you be handling [insert issue/plot point/character portrayal from either LoEG or one of the source texts here]?

Hopefully, in a respectful and nuanced fashion. We’re doing our utmost to remain faithful to the source texts we’re drawing from whenever possible, while at the same time avoiding uncritically reproducing the prejudices present in those texts.

What are the guidelines for sending in asks?

Be respectful. This is the “goes without saying” rule, but this is Tumblr, so I’ll say it anyway. Trolls, hate, bad-faith questions, and exclusionism will be deleted.

Read the FAQ. If your question is covered in this post, odds are I’m not going to answer it.

Be patient. I’m only one person, and I’m not always going to be able to answer asks in a timely fashion - or at all. This is my first time running a blog that receives this level of interaction, and I’m still figuring a lot of things out as I go.

Are you looking for guest artists/writers?

Not currently. We’ve talked about this possibility for the future, but as of right now we’re not accepting submissions for new writers. I’ve also had a couple people offer to help with inking/backgrounds, and while I appreciate the offer, I would like to clarify that I do not intend to do either. The comic will remain black and white and sketchy indefinitely.

What characters are part of this?

There are a LOT of characters planned to appear in this thing. I’m working on a separate cast list page, but in the meantime, the core League by the end of Episode 2 will consist of: Mina and Jonathan Harker, Irene Norton (better known as Irene Adler), Dr. John “Jack” Seward, Dr. Henry Jekyll/Edward Hyde, Ashley Griffin, and Captain Nemo. Additionally, expect to see a wide variety of supporting cast members in roles both large and small, including more official League members to be added down the road.

Why is Jonathan Harker here?

Because he loves his wife!! And I love him. Also, he’s a white-haired kukri-wielding genderqueer possibly-a-cryptid, and how can you NOT put a character like that in your comic?

(Slightly more serious answer: Because this comic is founded almost entirely on spite and self-indulgence, and in my humble opinion the Harkers were done dirty by Alan Moore. I’m a huge Dracula fan thanks to Dracula Daily, and I want to give Jonathan Harker the spotlight I feel he deserves.)

Where can I learn more?

Join the Discord server! We’re discussing the comic, the works that inspired it, Alan Moore’s uhh...questionable creative choices, and more! There’s some bonus art in there, too.

#the league of extraordinary gentlefolk #info post #lxgf #yes i have actually had multiple people ask why i'm including jonathan #most of them were...not worth publishing #don't do anons folks /hj #lxgf ashley griffin

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marisferasiop · 8 months

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Io's Masterlist!

First off, 100% of my works are mature or explicit. Minors DNI! Tapping any of my links implies your consent!

Everything I write goes to my ao3 ! I am no longer posting to Tumblr due to the way writers have been being treated, especially in the "Pedro fandom," and particularly related to theft and bullying.

I will put an ao3 link on a post and explain what I have written here, to signal boost. If you sub my page on ao3, you'll get my updates from minute one! Remember, ao3 is an archive, not social media! There is no algorithm! Search for what you like, use your filters, and curated stories will turn up! If you tap that above link, it will take you to one of my works. Tapping my name from there will take you to my ao3 dash. I do NOT have guest reading turned off, so you don't need a profile to read, kudos, or comment!

I write or have written for:

(deep breath) Sherlock, Preacher, Dragon Ball Z, Supernatural, Good Omens, Justified, The Mandalorian, Prospect (2018), The Last of Us, Triple Frontier, Moon Knight, The Bubble, etc, and currently have over 60 works. Feel free to binge! Most of my work is M/M, bi, or poly dynamics. I do have some BDSM-y works but they are tagged.

A note about me, personally:

I DO NOT get turned off by spamming likes on my posts or tags!

PLEASE reblog my works to spread viewership!

You can ask me anything! My ask box is open!

I do NOT take requests at the moment, nor do I really do drabbles. I write long, primarily fluffy or hurt/comfort explicit pieces.

Now to the good part: the works!

Pedro Pascal Masterlist: link

Oscar Isaac MasterList: link

Other Works Masterlist: link

Justified (Raylan Givens/ Boyd Crowder)

Preacher (OTP: Jesse/ Tulip/ Cassidy)

Good Omens (Ineffable Husbands, Crowley/ Aziraphale)

Supernatural (Destiel: Dean Winchester/ Castiel)

Sherlock (Johnlock: John Watson/ Sherlock Holmes)

Dragon Ball Z (Vegeta/ Bulma)

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babygirlharrington · 2 years

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Steddie Fic Rec #4

This list is shorter than my usual, but I feel STRONGLY about these ones, so do take them and enjoy. Thank you writers.

Ahoy, Big Boy - ChronicRabbit @chronicrabbit

Summary: Between accidentally intercepted secret Russian communications, a meddling preteen matchmaker with no collarbones, and increased proximity with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, a measly $3 an hour plus tips is nowhere near enough to deal.

Explicit, WIP, Longfic, Slow burn. TW for mentions of substance abuse and canon-compliant torture. A fic that chronicles what S3 would’ve been like with Eddie in the picture. Its phe-nom-e-nal. I await updates.

Time Gets to Me and I Wonder How to Simplify - DiscoSuperFly

Summary: Robin Hosts a Horror Movie Podcast with her Co-Host and show editor Steve. Their friend Dustin soon making his directorial debut in the genre fills a guest spot and talks up his screen writer, a reclusive horror buff Edgemont Munroe. Little do she and Steve know Edgemont is a Hawkins transplant in Chicago like the rest of them.

Explicit, Complete. Podcast AU? Check. Well-written subplot? Check. Chrissy Cunningham? Check. I don’t know what else you could possibly be looking for in a fic. Go read.

I'd Rather Be Damned With You - Anonymous

Summary: Steve is harboring an injured fugitive... in his heart. Now he just has to find a way to clear Eddie's name and maybe figure out why he can't stop thinking about the guy-- or what he should do about it.

Mature, Complete. Longfic! Part one in the Hymnal series. Steve keeps a wanted and recovering Eddie at his house. I read twenty chapters of this in one sitting (aka the entire thing) and was legitimately sad it was over.

The Buckley Double-Cross - breezeheart

Summary: Robin challenges Eddie to prove his theory that Steve isn’t straight. She also bets Steve that his famous charm won’t work on a guy like Eddie. What ensues from her meddling is a battle of flirtation the likes of which Hawkins has never seen… and maybe, just maybe, a spark of something more.

Explicit, Complete. Robin Buckley being nosy at its finest.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fic rec #bi steve harrington #gay eddie munson #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things s4 #stranger things s3 #stranger things fanfiction #steddie fanfiction #lots of these are longer works but the plot is too good and the writing is too good and ugh #they held my rapt attention all the way through and i am one autistic bitch!#so if that says anything #once again thank you writers #caspar certified post

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lcvernat · 2 years

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Our Tainted Love Chapter Three | Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist | Chapter Two | Chapter Four

Series Summary: Natalia Romanova had one mission: kill the princess. It was meant to be simple for someone of her skillset, and it would've been simple, but Natalia made one tiny mistake that could cost her everything: she fell for you. Yet she had no choice, you were her mission and she had to complete it.

At the end of the day, a love between an assassin and her target was destined to end in bloodshed.

Word Count: 3.7k

Content Warnings: fluff, mentions of dreykov & violence (think that's all tbh but lemme know if i forgot something)

A/N: starting this off by saying i am so sorry for abandoning this series for 3 months. writers block sucks but i promise you this series will get finished and i will try my hardest to make updates more frequent! i love this series, and i am so excited to write the next chapters & also to hear what you guys think. so please tell me what your thoughts are!! i love love love getting comment reblogs or replies to my fics, they mean the world.

You don't think you've ever met a more talkative man before today. You had danced with him three times, and he had not ceased his obnoxious chatter once. Your ears were going to bleed. His voice was like gravel, but it wasn't hot or attractive, it was disgusting, and you had to resist the urge to tell him to clear his throat multiple times. How he managed to still have things to talk about, you didn't know. You'd tried your hardest to tune him out after the first dance had ended, your body moving on autopilot as you nodded along to whatever he was saying.

Your feet were aching, and your face muscles were strained from the amount of times you were required to smile tonight. All you wanted to do right now was head back to your quarters and go to sleep. You hadn't even gotten another glimpse of the mysterious woman since the first time you saw her; it was as if she had walked through a wall and disappeared.

"-gardens are beautiful, you shall have to come visit them one day, yes?"

Lord Armstrong (you had surprisingly paid enough attention to catch his name) was looking at you expectantly and you blinked, your mouth tilting downwards in confusion for a split second before regaining your composure and plastering another massively fake smile onto your face.

"Hm? Oh yes, yes, that would be lovely."

He immediately brightened, and you had literally no idea what you'd just agreed to. Maybe if he wasn't so dull and boring, you'd pay more attention to him, but the only thing that was currently occupying your thoughts was the mysterious redhead. You hoped you'd be able to see her again, even though you didn't know her name. But you were determined to find her and speak to her, and nothing was going to stop you. Unless you died from boredom because of Lord Armstrong.

"Apologies, my Lord," you cut him off right as he opened his mouth to speak again. He shut his mouth, looking disgruntled that you had interrupted him (you were pretty sure he was a misogynistic asshole, if the way he looked down his nose as if he was superior to you was any indication) but chose wisely not to say anything, "but I do have to admit I'm quite tired. Would it be alright if I retire for the night?" Your voice was as professional as you could make it, even if you really wanted to scream at the insipid man.

You were planning on leaving anyway, whether he said yes or no, but you figured it was nice to ask him first. Many of the guests and nobles had already retired to their quarters for the night, each of them saying goodbye to you as they left. Each of them except for the redhead. It didn't make any sense. Why would she come to this ball, dedicated to finding you a marriage partner, without even bothering to introduce herself?

Ironic how she was the only one to catch your attention out of the hundreds of hopeful guests who had purposely sought you out multiple times to introduce themselves and have lengthy, albeit mundane, conversations with you. Lord Armstrong nodded, despite looking a bit disappointed that he couldn't get to spend any more time with you. You bid goodnight to him and the rest of the lingering guests before exiting the ballroom, one of the guards following in stride behind you the minute you leave.

Maggie was already waiting for you in your room, preparing to help you undress for the night. You were thankful to see a welcome and familiar face after hours of interacting with people you've either never met before or had seen at least once in your life, but all you really needed right now was to sleep for at least 24 hours.

The first part of her plan had worked perfectly. Natasha had captured your attention and had then effectively slipped out of the ballroom without being noticed by any of the guests inside, most busy mingling or trying to get a conversation or dance with you, so it was really quite easy to slip out unnoticed. She claimed a headache and had a servant escort her to her quarters.

They were nice. Extravagant, really. Better than anything she’s ever had. Better than the rickety bed with a mattress so uncomfortable concrete would be softer that she had to deal with in the Red Room. A dark, jealous monster writhed in her chest as she clenched her jaw. Life was unfair. She was well aware of that, and she tried to never let it bother her, but seeing these rooms that half the people in this castle had been used to all of her life whilst she had been treated as less than an animal, jealousy couldn't help but strike.

Being born was a gamble that no one asked to be a part of. Either you were lucky, and were born into the rich, spoiled life such as this; never having to know a day of pain or hardship in your life. Or you were another Natalia Romanova, unlucky in the gamble of life, despite being a child who had asked for none of it.

It wasn’t fair, but she couldn’t do anything about it. This was her life, whether she liked it or not. At least she could savor the six months of living in this room, with a bed that looked like a comfortable cloud she could sink right into, and actual good food that didn't taste like cardboard.

Yet that wasn't the only thing she should focus on; she had a mission to do. Everything seemed to be going according to plan so far, and hopefully she had captured your attention enough that you'd actively seek her out tomorrow. She didn't want to be the one to seek you out, didn't want to seem too eager. Best if she kept eyes off her for as long as possible.

Right now, though, she was ready to collapse into bed, and this time, she wouldn't be handcuffed to it. It's weird, this newfound sense of some freedom, even if she was only here on a mission. She could... live. Away from the chains Dreykov had her trapped in. All he required was updates on how the mission was going via letters, but he didn't need to know if she decided to act human for a while. Savor the months of just being able to simply live before she had to complete the mission.

It was noon now; you'd been up for hours and yet you still hadn't set eyes on the mysterious redhead from last night. You didn't want to risk asking anyone if they knew her name because you didn't know whether she was a noble or a commoner or even perhaps a peasant. Despite the Royal Marriage Laws being repealed 50 or so years ago, many nobles still frowned upon the idea of a member of the royal family marrying a commoner.

Did it make sense economically wise? Yes, because unfortunately, you knew that many of the royal family didn't marry for love. It was expected of them, really. They married for economic purposes, nobles that would be able to give them benefits economically. Rarely, they married for love. The marriage laws had been repealed, yet it was still rare for someone to marry a commoner or peasant.

You couldn't risk it. Even if you were adamant that you were going to fall in love with someone and marry them, not someone you couldn't stand. You were not going to subject yourself to years trapped in a loveless marriage: you would rather abdicate.

Luckily, you could always ask Wanda. She was your closest confidant and wanted nothing but the best for you. If you asked her, she'd probably fight to the death just to allow you to marry someone you actually loved.

"The redhead wearing all black?" She asked for confirmation whenever you had brought up the subject.

You nodded.

Wanda shrugged, hopping over a puddle before continuing, "I saw her for a split second. That's about it. She looked kind of weird. Pretty, but weird. I mean, who wears all black to a ball of potential courtiers? You'd think she would want to stand out."

You and Wanda had managed to escape the swarm of courtiers that wanted to get to know you more temporarily by retreating to the garden. You'd begged Clint to guard the gardens and not let anyone else in because you desperately needed some alone time to talk to your best friend. It had taken him a lot of convincing to leave you alone, since rumor had it that Maggie had threatened all of the guards to make sure you weren't alone with anyone for even a split second. Clint liked you though, and he trusted Wanda nearly as much as he trusted you, so he had agreed in the end.

"Maybe she didn't need to stand out," you muttered, plucking a flower out of one of the bushes.

You can feel Wanda's gaze on you, assessing you. "Don't tell me you've experienced love at first sight," she sighs, exasperatedly, "you don't know her. Now, I don't care whether you end up marrying a noble or commoner or even a dog if you really wanted to but... other people might care."

It's your turn to sigh, "I know. But she was pretty, and... there was just something about her, okay? I want to see her again."

Wanda sighed resignedly, but her gaze softened, "I'll ask around. Someone's had to have seen her."

You brighten, wrapping your arms around the redhead gratefully.

"You are the best, Wands,"

"I know."

Another victim visited her in her dream last night. Despite sleeping in a bed so comfortable it was almost surreal, the nightmares didn't stop plaguing her. For some reason, this particular nightmare had unnerved her more than usual, even though it was the same monotonous plot of all her other nightmares - Natasha reliving her kills again and again. Maybe it was the waking up in an unfamiliar environment, and the fact that she wasn't handcuffed to her bed that had done it. Whatever it was, it had woken her up before the sun had risen and it had kept her up.

Natasha thought it would be best to explore the castle today, so she would know her way around her temporary home for the next six months. She would probably have to steal a map from somewhere too, get a look at all the exits and guard towers, in case she might ever need to make a quick escape, in the rare chance the mission would go wrong. She didn't plan on hunting you down, instead hoping that you would be the one to attempt to hunt her down. The prey hunting the predator. How charming.

Either it was just her luck (and it probably wasn't, considering she has never been lucky a day in her life) or she was just in the right place at the right time, but she spotted you. Her next stop on her exploration list was the gardens, and Natasha had admittedly been quite confused as to why there was a guard refusing to let anyone entrance into them. That was until she had heard your laugh, followed by the sound of your light footsteps on the grass as you came into view, Wanda in tow beside you.

Natasha knew the exact moment you laid your eyes on her. Saw the way your breath hitched, and your chest stopped rising momentarily. Wanda stopped in her tracks too, turning to give Natasha an assessing stare. Natasha straightened automatically, before sending a gentle smile Wanda's way. Wanda may potentially prove to be a complication in her plan, especially since she's so close to you. Having Wanda grow suspicious of her is the last thing she needs, so she needs to get on the other redhead's good side.

She turns her attention to you then, and kneels down into a curtsey, "Your highness. Lady Romanoff, but please just call me Natasha. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She keeps her voice prim and proper as she rises from the curtsey.

"Natasha," you smiled at her, "please just call me Y/N." You turn to look at Wanda, Natasha sensing a silent conversation going on between the two of you, before you turn back to her, "Would you want to take a walk with me in the gardens?" You finally ask. Natasha notices Wanda gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before slipping away soundlessly, leaving the two of you and the guard alone. The guard coughs then, and you turn to look at him. The expression on his face says he doesn't want to leave you alone with Natasha. Your expression is reassuring, promising that you'll be okay.

If only you knew.

After an intense but silent stare-off between the two, the guard sighed resignedly, waving his hand in what Natasha thinks is meant to be a very begrudging approval.

"I would love to," Natasha finally replies, and the side of her mouth quirks up as she sees your face brightening. You turn on your heel, making your way back where you came, and Natasha follows after you.

"So, Natasha, I've heard that you're a ballerina?" You ask her. You'd been talking for a while, simply getting to know each other. Luck was on your side today, the universe wanting you to meet the redhead as much as you had wanted to meet her, and you were caught off-guard whenever you had exited the gardens just to come face to face with the mysterious redhead from the previous night.

Of course, you couldn't pass up on the perfect opportunity to actually have a conversation with her and show her your favorite part of the court, so you just had to ask her if she wanted to join you for a walk.

Natasha nodded, "I do. Though I doubt you've seen any of my performances. I, well, I perform in the more... poor parts of the kingdom."

You could sense her hesitance as she said that. She probably thought you would judge her for it. Frowning, you stop in your tracks and turn to face her. She stops too, turning to you with a confused expression on her face.

"I don't care about that," you say softly, "I'd love to see you perform one day. If you want to show me."

Natasha's smile is shy, "Thank you. I'd love to perform for you one day."

"Well, you have six months to find some time to perform so," you trail off, your tone lighthearted and full of amusement.

A light chuckle is your only response, and you both descend into a peaceful silence as you walk through the gardens together. Occasionally, you’ll point out some of your favorite flowers in the garden, and it warms your insides how you notice Natasha eagerly latching onto your every word. You don’t think anyone has ever given you so much undivided attention before, except for Wanda.

Carol used to give you her undivided attention, you two used to be inseparable, but something happened one day, and you weren’t sure what. A rift divided your friendship, slowly tearing it apart as you both drifted away from each other. It stung then, and it still left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth now. You hoped the rumors of her courting Maria Rambeau were true though, because you still wanted her to be happy.

“Are you okay?” Natasha glances at you, noticing the abrupt change in your mood, as if someone had flicked a switch inside you.

You shake yourself, pushing away the memories and focusing on the present. “Yep! Completely fine,” you give a tight-lipped smile before an idea popped into your head and you gasped, eager for a change of subject. “Hey! I want to show you something, come on.”

Grabbing Natasha’s hand, you failed to notice how the redhead momentarily tensed at your touch because you were too excited to drag her to one of the best spots in the garden. It was hidden deep into the gardens, and not many people knew of the place, but you did, and it was magical. You weren't sure why you wanted to share it with Natasha, you were just certain that you did want to share this special place with her.

"Here we are!" You said as you rounded a corner, the view greeting you was a beautiful stone fountain, covered in leaves and vines, moss in the crevices of some of the intricate designs carved into the fountain centuries ago. There was no water in the fountain, having dried out years ago, yet it was still beautiful. It was hidden by overgrown hedges that hadn't been trimmed or taken care of in years, and unless you were really searching for it, you wouldn't find it. You loved it. Sometimes you came here to hide from the duties of being a princess. No one ever found you here, not even the guards.

"Do you like it? It's one of my favorite places, I come here to hide sometimes. I don't think anyone else knows about it, not even Wanda. So, you're one of the special ones to know of its existence." You rounded on Natasha, smiling.

"It is beautiful," she agrees, "how long has it been here?"

"I have no idea, probably a long while. Maybe since the castle was built? Probably since the first ever monarchs, like way before my time. I love it, though."

You still hadn't taken your hand out of Natasha's. She hadn't removed her hand from your grip either, though. Unfortunately, she noticed it the same second you did, and abruptly pulled her hand from yours. You tried not to visibly deflate.

Wanda would most definitely laugh at you right now, talk some crap about 'love at first sight', but was it really your fault? Natasha was nice, and very pretty, almost ethereal. She looked like an angel. She actually listened to you ramble too, which was something. She wasn't boring like everyone else, but you knew you had to converse with some of the other guests too. This was a six-month long event, so you couldn't really call it a day on the second day, and you still didn't really know Natasha. You wanted to get closer to her, while also talking to the other guests.

"We should probably head back now," you break the awkward silence that had enveloped the two of you, "the sun's setting, and I don't want to get murdered by my lady-in-waiting."

"Yeah, that's a good idea."

The walk back was unfortunately very awkward. The mood was certainly ruined tonight.

Y/N L/N was the complete opposite of what Natasha had expected. The assassin expected an uptight, spoilt, and selfish princess, but you weren't that at all. You were the type of princess people wrote fairytales about. She wouldn't be surprised if you had a deeply devoted love for animals too.

She couldn't get her emotions involved. She couldn't afford that. Despite you not fitting the image she had made of you in her mind, she'd have to work around it. Even if you had treated her nicer than she's ever been treated in her life. Even if she had felt actual happiness today. Or what she thought was happiness. Something warm had blossomed in her chest as she walked through the gardens with you, trying its hardest to battle the darkness the Red Room had inflicted in her. Her life was a sick game.

Natasha had never been asked to get to know her victims before, rarely would she ever be asked to gain a relationship with them. She got their names, location, and killed them. That was it. This was different. She had to gain a relationship with you, had to gain your trust. She had to actually get to know not just the princess, but Y/N L/N. But she'd went her entire life with thinking of her victims as nothing except for something to be discarded, thrown out like the week's garbage. She could easily do the same for you. She could.

Having retired to her room for the night, she began to write the letter to Dreykov, needing to send it out tomorrow. The undercover guard had caught her while she was exploring a deserted corridor earlier today, and he had damn well been close to getting his throat slit with the way he had grabbed her arm, but luckily for him he had slipped her the note and revealed his identity before she could do so. Ivan was his name, and he'd been undercover here for months, under the guise that he had been a very skilled bodyguard for many different important individuals until he had a terrible accident and had to be on leave until his injuries had healed, and then got hired as a guard for the castle.

Whether he used to be an actual bodyguard or if he was just one of Dreykov's men, Natasha didn't know, but clearly his credentials were good enough and any background checks had been passed if he was allowed on the Royal Guard. He also seemed to be talented at staying undercover if he hadn't been found out yet, which was good. The last thing she needed was an incompetent man sabotaging the mission.

She'd meet Ivan tomorrow night when the rest of the castle had retired to their rooms, and he'd do whatever he had to do to get the letter to Dreykov without it being intercepted. All she had to do was update Dreykov on how the mission was going so far.

Of course, purposefully leaving out the part where you are a lot different than she had expected. And she fears she may grow to like you, because despite her determination to keep her emotions away from her job; she was a human after all, and humans had feelings, even if the feelings were ultimately unwanted.

general tags: @sheneonromanoff @olicity-boo @r4nd0mgir1 @tigerlillyruiz @dj-bynum3718

series tags: @lonewalker17 @francedeboix @notmeellaannyy @mrsromanoff @romugh @marrymemcgrath @gryffindorkromanoff @sayah13 @waltzingin1698 @natashaswifeyyyyy @persephonespomegranetes @princessblackmoon @shortstoppan @h3artsnatty @yyyyourmummmm @wanda-natasha @agalsmaraudersobsession @mmmmokdok @unknownwithyou @jowshuaayee @reginassweetheart @ellal04 @mazikeencooper @xxsekhmet @szlayed

dm me, send me an ask or reply to be added to my general taglist or this series taglist!

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff series #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow x you #black widow x y/n #natasha romanov

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yawnzzjun · 1 year

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13: NEW GUESTS

IDIOTS IN LOVE

Yungyu stared at the window as he noticed not one but six girls right outside the door.

Who are these girls? You and your friends of course but he couldn't find a reason as to why you all are here until..

"Why are you staring outside the window?" Seungheon asked the boy as he turned ro face him.

"Why don't you take a look for yourself." He answered back while moving away.

Seungheon made his way towards the window as a shock of excitement hit him.

"They're finally here." He mumbled as he rushed to the door, leaving Yungyu confused.

Seungheon opened the door, surprising the girls from his behavior.

"You made it!" He said.

You smiled back as your friends waved.

He let you all in but was greeted with the rest of the members.

"Where did you all come from-"

"You're coming with us for a bit." Was the last words he heard as Minho dragged him leaving you all.

"So now what?" Hyein asked.

────────────────

"You invited them over without aaking us?" Minho asked the younger boy.

"Well yeah, but in my defense you all went behind my back and interacted with her friends."

"To get you both together actually." Minho said, folding his arms.

"I don't really see the big fuss, just next time do tell us." Myungho said as he pushed Seungheon out the room.

"I was interrogating him-"

"I don't care Minho."

Seungheon came back out to see you all watching some sort of show while talking to each other then heard his name being brought up.

"So Y/N when will you actually date Seungheon?" Minji asked.

"Actually I have no clue, I dont even know how to date." was your response which made her laughed a bit.

Haerin eyes caught him as he decided to enter the room.

"Sorry for.. being dragged away..?" He said as he took the seat next to you.

Before the girls could respond his friends was already out but with snacks and a smirking Minho, for some reason..

──────────────

Of course Minho was only here to tease the boy about you, I mean both of them are close, why won't Minho not tease him?

You stared at both of them, laughing a bit everytime both you and Seungheon made eye contact then remembered that you had a task to do here.

"Seungheon I forgot something!" You said, causing Minho to stop as they both looked at you.

"What did you forget?" He asked.

"The hug!"

mars': writers block and feeling a bit sick over the past days is what I hate rn(sorry for late update and a short one as well)

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

TAGLIST: @gfksn @dearflwrz @shualuvss (open)

@ yawnzzjun

#8turn fluff #8turn seungheon #8turn myungho #8turn minho #8turn #8turn x reader #8turn yungyu #8turn yoonsung #8turn kyungmin #8turn jaeyun #8turn haemin #yawnzzjun #8turn seungheon x reader #seungheon x reader

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forabeatofadrum · 2 months

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an ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

Thanks for tagging me @wellbelesbian! Better late than never, eh?

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s):

Just Some Guy and Ljubili se. Those are my "active" WIPs now, because if I had to list all of them... oh boy. Although I'm working on Just Some Guy more.

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Outsider POV + Chosen One shit = disinterest

Queer journey + long distance = chaos (I think???)

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it?

For these two, none. I know Matt is MCD, but it stands for Matt Christopher Davis.

4. 🧭An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)?

I don't really have alternative titles, but they do have nicknames. I call Just Some Guy "MCD" because it's just funny to me and Ljubili se "Klaine in Ljubljana 2" which is ridiculous cause they're no longer in Ljubljana.

5. ⚠️Which WIP your most likely to finish or update next?

Just Some Guy. I only need to finish one more chapter and I've been updating it weekly.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

Ljubili se is in "drabbles and oneshots" and Just Some Guy in "Non-glee drabbles and oneshots" because I am chaotic and put all my writing in those two docs, unless something becomes too big, then it gets its own doc.

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP.

I’ve heard stories of physical fights between them, but I kind of don’t care. Just let me play chess in peace. If they want to knock each other’s brains out, be my guest. One time I walked to class and Simon almost shoved Baz against the wall in anger, and I just passed them. I think more students are kind of used to their escalations. So, no, I don’t care. Arnold says it’s rude of me to think that way, but it’s not out of malice. It’s out of disinterest. “Really, I don’t get politics,” I sigh.

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP.

I scrapped two scenes in Just Some Guy. The whole premise of the fic is that Matt honestly doesn't care that much about what the fuck is going in with Simon Snow and entourage. Originally, the kidnapping of the Mage in the 6th year had an entire scene where he, Leslie and John discuss it. And in the 8th year, there was an entire scene where Matt and his dad learn about the Mage's death, because once again, John and Leslie show up to discuss it. But in the end, I realised that Matt just... doesn't care. And those two scenes therefore felt very forced and it dragged the chapters down. The snippets aren't bad. They're just woefully unnecessary. I was like "I need Matt to acknowledge this" and I realised I didn't. I put both of them under the cut at the end of this post.

Hey, it ain't spoilers, cause everyone who's read Carry On knows what happens to good ole Davy.

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

Unfortunately for me, my mind's already started planning for this year's Klaine Advent/December Fanworks Challenge. Why is this unfortunate? Well, I still have to finish the 2023 one, Ljubili se.

But this idea is pretty neat. It's inspired by J.M. Frey's Accidental Turn series. That's all I'm sayin.

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on?

Actively, 2. Maybe 3, since bamboo ceiling is rotating in my brain. Don't ask me about the others in my WIP Hospital.

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

I AM FUCKING STUCK ON LJUBILI SE BECAUSE JUST LIKE LJUBIM TE I JUST FIND KURT'S POV HARDER/LESS INTERESTING TO WRITE.

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

Kudos back!

I think this post has been passed around in the Snowbaz fandom, so I am passing it to the Gleeks: @thnxforknowingme @caramelcoffeeaddict @coffeegleek @quizasvivamos @bitbybitwrites @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion @rockitmans @special-bc-ur-part-of-it and whoever else!

Year 6: Mage's kidnapping

When I come home from Christmas break, something is definitely up.

“Did I miss anything?” I whisper to Leslie. We’re walking towards the Dining Hall to meet up with the others.

Leslie looks around.

“I heard this from John,” she leans in, “that the Mage got kidnapped over Christmas.”

“What?!” I exclaim.

“Shut it,” Leslie hisses. Some people are indeed staring at us. “The Coven is keeping it quiet at the Mage’s request. He cannot afford to look weak in front of the Old Families and the Dark Creatures.”

“Then how does John know?” I ask, but I think I already know the answer. John just knows stuff. And so far he’s always right. Maybe he’s a Seer, or something. Not that those are real, but damn, John is a strong contender.

And yes, Leslie tells me that John just knows.

Leslie and I enter the Dining Hall and John waves. Everyone’s already here. I look to Leslie to say something about it, but she’s already run to Sam to catch up. I shrug. Leslie can be mysterious as well.

I sit next to John and I inquire about the Mage’s disappearance.

“Yeah, Simon Snow saved him and all that jazz,” John says quietly.

“Shouldn’t the Mage be the one protecting him, not the other way around?”

“You’d think, huh?” John sighs.

I look around. I assume others know as well, but no one discusses it openly. Even the Old Family kids don’t taunt Simon Snow about his mentor allegedly being kidnapped.

“Why did you tell Leslie?” I ask.

“Because I knew she’d tell you.”

“Why is it important that I know?” I ask, “You know I don’t care about Chosen One stuff.”

I care more about the pudding that’s in front of me. Fuck yeah, pudding. Both my mum and my dad are decent cooks, but they have nothing on cook Pritchard.

John shrugs.

“I needed you to react to it for story reasons,” he says.

“… Okay,” I say and I scoop some pudding on my plate, “Did it work?”

John nods with a smile.

“Yes, it did.”

Year 8: Mage's death

“Okay, so, the Humdrum attacked the Pitch Manor, where Simon Snow so happened to be. The day after, it attacks Watford. Simon and the Mage are there. Simon defeats the Humdrum and lost his magic. He kills the Mage. Is that… all?”

“In a nutshell,” Leslie says.

“Why would Simon Snow kill the Mage?” my dad wonders out loud. That is indeed the most surprising part, not even the fact that the Mage killed Ebb, the goatherd.

“The investigation is still in its beginning phase,” John says, “But it sounds like the Mage maybe wasn’t a good man after all.”

“Huh,” my dad says. That’s all. But it summarises it perfectly. Look, my dad and I are just some guys. We don’t have big opinions on the status quo, so we never really questioned how things are.

“So, what now?” I ask.

“There will be an inquiry into the Mage’s death,” Leslie explains, “Mitali Bunce is interim headmistress. Rumour has it that Simon Snow’s magic hasn’t returned, so who knows if he’ll come back to school.”

Damn.

This dude just saved the world, and he has to think about school?

I mean, I do too, but I am no Chosen One.

Bruh, it must suck to be Simon Snow

#tag game

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stardustseraphis · 3 months

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(This is just me venting)

I don't know if i really want to continue on with my story anymore.

I guess the situation that happened at the start of me writing on Ao3 still affects me.

For some context:

For months now i have been obsessing over a fictional character, well a slasher name Michael myers and i've also been fantasizing over a woman name Love Quinn from you. So i thought to myself lets make "a black version of love quinn x Michael myers", Rz myers exaclty. i wanted to start with their childhood, show how they grow. At the start I only had 3 chapters and before i could even write what i wanted to write some dumb fugly no neck having ass anonymous bitch decides to call me a plagiarist for some other persons story:

"I just saw the original story posted or rather updated and this looks like a bootleg of the original '(name of work)'

Folks don’t support people that steal ans modify other people’s work.🤗😇"- Guest1

Basically...

I was accused of copying someone's fanfiction.

As seen, the guest commented that my work was a "bootleg" version of the other person's work however they also went to the other person's work telling them that I copied and pasted it and then modified it. ( I saw the second things that they said because I actually went to the other person's work to check it out, since the guest put the name of the work in my comment section)

I later on filed a harassment complaint where the Ao3 policy and Abuse committee assured me that my work won't be deleted so long as I haven't engaged in plagiarism, and that two works can share the same premise, setting, and plot without necessarily being in violation of their Terms of Service.--- Essentially, I wrote a similar story, apparently, in a Rob Zombie Michael Myers genre to another person. Go figure. Just like many other stories about their childhood.

I tried to clear the air and address it in the story and even reached out to the creator of the other work because the person accusing me went to their comment section and told them I plagiarized, however that proved futile as the creator just deleted my comments and then blocked me.

After I was blocked, the other creator and the guest then talked shit about me in their comments, saying I had a little meltdown and that I was carrying out drama for attention or whatever. Even though I didn't even start this entire situation (I'm probably being a bit dramatic but I was very hurt at the time so)

Here's what the guest said in the comments:

"Talking about startdustseraph

Bond of Haddonfield writer.

Hello (creator) again, 🤗im guest1 and I wanna apologise if I made mess in your comments as i seen that copycat was doing drama. I see their immature behaving on this(i screenshotted it, she wrote i should eat their shit and piss, can show it if you have Discord chanel?)🫠🙄🙄

Sorry she made you delete my awareness comment as I'm free to believe this person has attention issues and not admit they copy your work and modified it.

I love this story and hope you update it☺"

For the record, I did tell them to eat my shit and piss because honestly they were annoying and not leaving me alone lmao-- I don't feel ashamed nor do I regret that, like you literally bugged me and you're getting mad that I clapped back?

I tried to move on, but idk if i can mentally. Everytime i post i feel watched or something.

I kept thinking to myself: Maybe i should quit for a while, especially from writing the current story I'm working on. Maybe just abandon it.

I had so much anxiety over the whole situation and it's honestly annoying that this even happened.

At the time I was also scared of potential harassment because, the author is a larger writer and has a larger following, and if the people who followed them saw what they were saying in the comments I'd be harassed on my story because the guest was literally stating my username and putting in my story and talking shit about me.

From that point, I felt like I didn't want to write fanfic anymore but at the same time some people did like my story and I'd feel bad if I just stopped writing all together.

Then again i don't owe it to them, i like writing for me. And if I feel uncomfortable writing than I shouldn't do it.

I think what irked me from the entire situation was how smug the guest was while claiming that I was carrying out drama for attention and stuff when in reality they were the ones talking about me nonstop in the creators comment section and putting me on blast to raise awareness of something i didn't do. Tbh I was having really bad anxiety about the whole thing and just trying to clear my name.

Little side rant:

The guest was acting mad childlike half of the time which leads me to believe they're probably a minor or someone young. I'm basing this off the fact of their smugness, the use of their little stupid ass emoji's, the unwillingness to leave me the fuck alone, and leave me out of their mouths. This is why I don't like younger people interacting with my work i swear.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Fast forward to now, things have died down, my story is still up, and the guest never came back but i feel weird continuing.

The other side of my brain wants to spite them, and just write. However I still feel watched and paranoid about the whole thing, and people who intact with the story, seen the story, etc.

But idk. I wish I was more nonchalant maybe I would have let it go. But im not. They hurt me and now im venting about the whole situation, and worried about continueing.

I don't expect anyone to actually read this tbh and I don't want anyone to read it so I did not tag it with usual tags regarding slashers. I think ill be safe I think but I don't know.

If i feel too paranoid i might just only allow registered users to interact with my story. And if i don't feel like continuing I'll leave the story up but like abandon the account.

TL;DR: I was accused of plagiarism on AO3 and I'm worried about continuing the story.

#vent post #tw vent #venting #vent #rant #ranting

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beck-a-leck · 9 months

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I'm gonna vent about fic comment etiquette for a hot minute beneath the cut and I'll probably delete this later after I've slept on it but...

I thought I would take my fics off of Registered Users Only lockdown, after being on it for several months. Not gonna lie I missed my guest readers and commenters.

But literally less than 2 hours after I did that I got this comment from a repeat guest commenter who has pretty much exclusively only asked the same thing when they comment

I'm legally allowed to commit murder now, right?

Like. For the last 3+ years this person has been reading my fics almost all of their comments are like this.

I'll post a brand new chapter and they'll comment 30 seconds later, "update when?"

Like. 😤

I get being excited over a fic. I get eagerly waiting for the next chapter. I even get the impatience that can come when a fic hasn't been updated in over a year.

I am very flattered to know that people feel that way about my stories.

But, mother fucker, I have been working on other things. If you just took 30 seconds to look at the rest of my profile, you would see that I have been writing other stories. I've been thinking about other fandoms. I've been juggling a dozen different projects at any one time. And I just want to shake them and shout "You'll get it when you get it! Stop asking!"

Like. I'm pretty sure this person commented a few months ago under a different name trying to semi-guilt trip me into continuing the story, which is not and never has been abandoned, and all they ever do it trigger the contrarian little gremlin in my brain that immediately says "well, now it's gonna take even longer. Nyeh!"

I just... idk. Part of me doesn't want to assume they're intentionally being rude. But also.

There are ways to comment on a fic you enjoy and would like to see more of, even if it's been on hiatus for a while without just demanding an update. They've MADE comments in the past that have been enthused and not demanding. But recently they've just gotten rude about it, treating me like I'm a vending machine and if they drop a comment (and comment) they'll get the content they want churned out to them in 2-3 business days.

I mean. Jfc saying "Please and Thank You" can go a really long way when you're asking people for things.

Like...

I just wonder if readers like that don't realize that every frustration they feel about an unfinished story, the writer feels tenfold along with a dozen other complicated feelings about it.

I certainly didn't expect that fic to still be in progress 3 years later. I thought it would be done in 6-8 months. But I can't control my damn muses and sometimes the inspiration just goes away for a very long time, and as the writer it's infuriating and guilt-inducing to see that Last Updated date getting farther and farther away.

But as the writer who is also doing all of this for free and for fun, I want to keep writing the stories that are currently fun for me, which means enjoying when different fandoms and new story ideas come and grab me by the hand and drag me off on new adventures.

I should just ignore the comment. Or at the very least wait until I'm less annoyed about it so I can respond civilly. But right now I'm just lying in bed, considering taking away guest reader privileges again. Just because I'm feeling petty.

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antiv3nom · 2 years

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Shakedown

Summary: Yukimiya Kenyu doesn't normally work the bars at the Blue Lock Casino, but after a conversation with a certain likeminded runner, he's glad he did today.

Pairings: Yukimiya Kenyu/Chigiri Hyouma, Yukimiya Kenyu & Chigiri Hyouma (can be read as just friendly or romantic, up to you!)

Word Count: 2.7k

Note: here's my contribution to the pit lock sin city collab!!! it was so so much fun writing yukki and i had such a good time with this pairing and just working with all the talented writers on the collab :] im glad i could help organize it!

also, this fic is on ao3 as well! it's under the same name, and my username there is antiv3nomarts, if you're more inclined to read it there.

Things were busy in the Blue Lock Casino—but when were they not?

Kenyu was used to it all by now, less out of fondness and more out of necessity. His familiarity with the sounds and sights of the game floor came quickly to him when he started his job at the casino, and it certainly hadn’t gone away now that he was a floor manager. If anything, he was paradoxically out in the crowd more often than any other job he’d had, despite supposedly not needing to leave his cushy office unless a problem were to arise. Because problems always arise.

Kenyu currently found himself walking into said cushy office after clocking in, dropping off his jacket on the unnecessarily fancy coat stand in the corner of the room and leaving his bag beside his desk. But, as he had found over many, many months of working this job, there was really no reason to even sit down anymore. It was better to get the jump on any and all tasks he had for the day.

The first of which, of course, was talking with his co-manager, Nagi Seishirou, the prodigy who’d found himself a manager position after less than a year of working at Blue Lock. The decision had received plenty of backlash—including from Kenyu himself—due to his general laziness and cold demeanor, but Kenyu had to admit: he knew how to get his job done. Get him going, and Nagi could have easily run an entire floor area on his own. The problem was getting him going in the first place.

And so, Kenyu’s first job of the day was reviewing the day’s work with Nagi and trying his very best to get his coworker to actually…work. Because as much as Kenyu would love to take care of everything himself, he recognized that if he wanted a day to go smoothly, he needed to divide and conquer.

Kenyu didn’t bother knocking on the door as he entered Nagi’s office—a room quite similar to his own dedicated space, but much more chaotic, with papers and forms scattered in random piles and useless objects placed on any available flat space. He knew at this point not to say anything about the mess to Nagi, but it still irked him every time he saw it.

“Good morning Nagi,” Kenyu said, strolling into the office and up to Nagi’s desk, leaning with his hand pressed onto the one always open spot.

“Mornin’ Yukimiya,” Nagi responded, turning his attention away from his laptop and whatever game he was inevitably messing around on. “Briefing time?”

“You know it,” Kenyu said. Nagi, expectedly, yawned. “We’ve got a few local big shot officials coming in today, so we’ve got to keep an eye on them and update the sections they go to and keep everything above board there. I think we’ve also got some general admin work to do regarding the new digital game spectating spots and the betting there.”

“I think you know exactly what I’m going to ask to deal with,” Nagi deadpanned.

“Hey, it’s always good practice to ask. Not like you couldn’t deal with the guests, or heck, both of those. But I’ll bring you the papers, and I think I already emailed you the online information.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Kenyu moved to leave, but there was a knock at the door, firm and rhythmic. Before either Kenyu or Nagi could respond, it simply opened. Standing on the other side was Mikage Reo, who was undeniably one of the most well off employees at Blue Lock. He was Nagi’s personal lapdog, though he’d always insist it was the other way around, despite his lower position. The two had entered at about the same time, and even as Nagi had climbed the ranks and Reo had lagged behind, Reo was almost always eager to work with Nagi in any way he could.

Reo smiled slightly as he looked at Nagi, but straightened up as his gaze shifted to Kenyu. “Good morning Yukimiya, Nagi.” The former returned the greeting, while the latter simply replied with a hum in Reo’s direction. Reo cleared his throat before focusing back on Kenyu. “Himizu called out of his shift last minute. Do you want me to find someone to cover for him?”

Kenyu thought, just for a moment, before responding. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll take that bar today.” He turned to Nagi, and muttered, “Guess you’ll have to take care of those guests after all. You good with that?”

“Yeah, that should be fine,” Nagi answered.

“Then it’s settled. Let me know if you need anything, I shouldn’t be too busy. Our section is already pretty slow today, so I can’t imagine one of the smaller bars would be any more hectic.”

Once Nagi nodded in confirmation, Kenyu headed for the door, which Reo held open for him. “Don’t keep him too long,” Kenyu instructed him, ignoring the light frown that split Reo’s face for a moment.

The bar in question was indeed slow on customers, but Kenyu wasn’t going to complain. Far from it, in fact—he enjoyed days like these, where he could comfortably focus on a single job instead of his usual routine, constantly bouncing around from problem to problem. Kenyu saw himself as a pacifist, and when it came to most issues, the most peaceful solution tended to be just dealing with it himself. So when he could solve a problem on his own, and just focus on that? He was in his zone.

That, and to be honest, it was a lot of fun bartending. Sure, there were drunk and rude clients, and it was still undeniably a customer service job, but Kenyu had a flair for the dramatics, and working in a fancy casino bar was the perfect place for them. People tended to be a bit more willing to pay the exorbitant prices charged for drinks if they got a bit of a show.

Kenyu didn't find himself paying particularly close attention to the people he served today, happy just to let the faces blend into a crowd and work almost on autopilot. There was just one person he found himself drawn to.

In a particularly busy moment, Kenyu caught a glimpse of someone new walking through the threshold into the bar. They were…out of place there, in a way that only an employee would recognize. They wore a runner's uniform—a simple shirt, vest, tie, and slacks—which meant they worked here. It was uncommon to get workers going anywhere inside the casino during their break, and they certainly didn't belong here, far as Kenyu was informed.

The most remarkable thing about them at a glance, however, was their hair. It wasn't that often that you saw someone with such long, silky, red-pink hair. It was tied back in such a way that it stayed out of their face, but still flowed smoothly behind them, the motion mixed with their posture granting them an almost regal air.

Kenyu forced his gaze to return to his current customer, letting this mystery person be as he continued doing his job. But as more and more of the people inside the bar finished their drinks or took them onto the gaming floor, they never left the edges of Kenyu's vision—or his thoughts.

Before long, the bar was empty, save for Kenyu and this mystery runner, who was now leaning against the counter and looking rather frustrated. Kenyu wasn't really sure why, but he found his feet carrying him over to them.

"Drinking on the job, princess?"

The stranger didn't even shift their gaze to look at Kenyu before spitting out, "I'm a man, thank you very much." He then very pointedly did shift his gaze, right to Kenyu's, and said, "And yes, if I can do anything about it."

"My bad. Tough day?"

"You don't know the half of it."

"You wanna talk?" Kenyu offered. "Half the job in here is listening to people bitch, so I've gotten pretty good at it."

The man barked out a laugh—a good sign. He looked around the room, eyes slipping over the many, many empty chairs, before saying, "Sure, why not? And maybe you can help me out."

Kenyu smiled, leaning an arm onto his side of the counter. "I'd bet I can."

The man quirked an eyebrow at Kenyu, but shrugged slightly, face shifting from oh really? to might as well in a matter of seconds. He began, "Okay, so—"

"Oh boy," Kenyu chuckled, "off to a great start."

"Hey, you're the one who offered to listen to me bitch," the redhead said with an accusatory point.

"That I did. Please, continue."

"Anyways. As you've probably figured out at this point, I'm a runner here, and…I don't want to say that my job sucks, but I'm…adjusting, right now."

"Understandable," Kenyu said, "any relatively new job is an adjustment."

"Well, that's the thing. I'm not new, not entirely at least. I used to be a runner at another casino that…let's say it ran similarly. I was actually really close to being promoted to a more stable position when one of my idiot coworkers pushed me down the goddamn stairs. The funny part is, I didn't even really fall, I actually managed to stay on my feet. No, I somehow pivoted wrong and hard on my right leg and tore my fucking ACL, so you could imagine I was out of commission for a while."

Kenyu winced, responding with a whistle. "Man, a torn ACL is tough, especially in your position."

"You don't have to tell me twice," the man said, hunching over to lay his head onto his arms.

"And yet you came back to the industry."

"Yeah," he said, gazing into space behind Kenyu, "Guess something pulled me back. Maybe someone. Still not sure." Looking at his eyes, Kenyu never noticed that their color matched his hair. That color was rare enough for hair, but eyes were another story.

Said eyes blinked out of their reverie, flicking over to meet Kenyu's. "Something about you tells me you're gonna get back up quick," he said.

"Pffft, don't flatter me."

"Oh trust me, my flattery is better than that. I mean, there's a reason I called you princess before."

"Sticking with that one, huh? You're starting to sound like my bosses," He scoffed.

"What, would you prefer kitten?”

“Decidedly not, thank you.”

“I mean, I have to use something until I get your name. And may I ask who said bosses are? I must know who I'm being compared to so I can defend my honor if necessary," Kenyu said.

"Chigiri Hyouma, thank you very much. And I work on floor B, under Karasu and Otoya."

“Ah yes, I know those two…very well. They can be pains but they’re good at their jobs and they mean well,” Kenyu sighed. “But what brings you over to this section of the casino?”

“Well,” started Chigiri, “That’s what I was hoping you might be able to help me with. I’m supposed to look for one of the floor managers of this section, but I haven’t been able to find either one. His name started with yu, it was Yuki…Yuki-something, I can’t remember entirely. Oh, and speaking of names, I never asked yours.”

Kenyu had to use every single ounce of willpower in his body not to burst out laughing immediately, as he said, “My name’s Yukimiya Kenyu, co-manager of floor B, at your service.” He even threw in a bow for extra politeness—and to let his face break into a grin without Chigiri seeing.

As Kenyu returned his eyes forward, he saw that Chigiri looked utterly horrified at the newly recognized reality of his situation. Kenyu couldn’t even help it at this point, covering his mouth to muffle his laughter.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Chigiri said, voice as panicked as his face.

“Please don’t worry about it, this is literally the weirdest situation you could have found me in. And you don’t have to call me sir, Yukimiya is just fine.”

Some of the fear of Chigiri’s face seemed to melt away, as he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a small flash drive. “Here you go, s—Yukimiya. Far as I know, there’s some information in here about a shared client between floors B and C. The bosses said to let them know if you have any more so you can plan for them.”

Kenyu sighed, grabbing the flash drive out of Chigiri’s hand. “This could have been an email…” he muttered, sticking it into his own pocket.

“Sorry again about that,” Chigiri said, moving to stand. “I can let them know for the future.”

“No, it’s alright, there’s no need to apologize. They always do this. And you were just doing your job,” Kenyu reassured him. “I get it, trust me. Believe it or not, I started as a runner here too.”

“That…” Chigiri trailed off, looking Kenyu up and down. “I can’t tell whether that fits or not. Maybe it’s the glasses.”

“Ah, yeah. I didn’t always have these,” Kenyu said, taking off his glasses to clean them absentmindedly.

“What, did your vision start getting worse as you got older? That’s not too strange.” The question was innocent for sure, Kenyu could tell from Chigiri’s tone, but it was still interesting that he managed to find the one thing Kenyu couldn’t deal with on his own.

“It’s…not quite that.” Kenyu’s face fell a bit, not quite sad, but solemn. “Optic neuropathy. In simple terms, my optic nerves are kinda fucked up. My vision gets blurry when I strain my eyes too much or overexert myself.”

Despite the serious subject, Kenyu found himself chuckling. “You and I are pretty similar, now that I think about it. Both of us being held back by something wrong with our bodies that could potentially fail catastrophically if we push too hard. Who would have thought?”

“I’m not quite sure it’s equivalent. And what do you mean, fail catastrophically?” Chigiri asked, frowning. “I mean, I get it with my situation, but I’m not quite sure how yours could go so wrong. It’s just a bit of blurry vision.”

“Ah, right. Well, there’s…a non-zero chance that I could go blind.”

“Ah. Okay. Yeah, no, that’s…that sucks man, I’m sorry. But I don’t know, I guess I just don’t see either of us as having something wrong, really. We just have different situations to exist in than others. Gotta treat your body like an ally, even if it isn’t quite the ally other people have. Sure, my leg is a ticking time bomb, but it’s still part of me.”

“I admire your ability to see it that way, but you can’t blame me for hating my situation when at the end of every long day my vision is spotty. My eyes are nothing but my enemy at this point, Chigiri.” Kenyu found his name rolling off his tongue for the first time, pointed and dangerous. “Still though, my point stands. We’re two sides of the same coin, I suppose.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Chigiri responded. The two stood in silence for a moment, until Chigiri checked his watch. “Ah, shit, I have to head back. Bosses are gonna think I’m slacking off if I’m gone for too much longer.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Kenyu said, a smile returning to his face. But as Chigiri turned to the exit, he found himself calling out to the man one more time. “Hey. If you ever have to rest that leg of yours, you’re welcome in floor C. And let Karasu and Otoya know that if they really need to bring me something to do it themselves. Have them bring you again, though. It’s always nice to have another pretty face around, kitten,” Kenyu said with a wink, slipping in the pet name again just to be annoying.

Chigiri let out a laugh. “I see you’re actually trying to flatter me this time. Alright, will do.” He smiled back at Kenyu one more time before turning to go. Kenyu stared as he walked out, once again captivated by that gorgeous hair. He really had to ask how Chigiri managed to get it that silky. Another day.

Things were busy in Blue Lock casino—but Kenyu may have just found a bit of calm within the storm.

#my writing #antiv3nom's writing #sin city collab #blue lock #bllk #blue lock fanfic #yukimiya kenyu #blue lock yukimiya #chigiri hyouma #blue lock chigiri #YAAAAY ITS FINALLY OUT!!!#IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS ONE FOR A HOT MINUTE

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