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reblog with a spoiler for your wip with zero context. no context allowed.

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the authors open fetish that complements the themes of their work

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its so sad when a fanfic trope initially centered around noncon/dubcon gets popular enough that it turns into a watered down extremely consensual healthy-relationship version of it

as retribution i think i'm going to start taking vanilla tropes and making them noncon. the barista is putting roofies in the coffee. there's only one bed and the other guy is getting chained to the radiator. there's no social or legal protections for assault within soulmate matches

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Fake dating (fanfic trope ask)

Fake dating? Oh, Nami and Zoro for sure, platonic or romantic I don't care, and I'd probably write for it in a heist fic. Y'know what? That gives me an idea. Here's a snippet cause I got a little carried away thinking about them. Might make into a full fic, might not:

Good Fortune (ZoNami, maybe endgame ZoSanNami w/ tfem!Sanji, explicit modern hitmen AU, incomplete) - Two best friends walk into an illegal gambling ring and stir up some rather enticing trouble.

"You dressed me, remember?" Zoro smacked the nylon gloved hands fussing with his shirt collar.

"Is this really the best you could do?"

He looked fine. He looked damn good, actually, because he would begrudgingly admit Nami had taste. In the safety of his own mind, nowhere else. He couldn't have her getting a bigger ego than she already had.

Zoro didn't mind the maroon silk shirt half buttoned and still tight around his chest that she had chosen, because god forbid he look mediocre while accompanying Nami anywhere. Especially at an exclusive gambling parlor where even the staff had deep pockets.

"I can only do so much with the source material. Maybe if you made an attempt to look less like a hired thug." Nami grumbled, smoothing out the wrinkles obsessively. "I swear to god if you get us kicked out before we finish the job-"

"You're acting like we haven't done this before." He slapped at her hand again and grunted when she rudely kicked him in the shin with those weapons she called stilettos.

"Whatever, look cheap. See if I care. Let's just go."

It was impossible to look cheap when Nami sourced only the finest clothes for their heists. His pants actually fit, and the leather belt sported a real silver buckle, which Nami was surely going to pawn afterward.

He was only allowed the safety of a ceramic knife strapped to his ankle, but Zoro had won fights with less, and he knew how to use his environment to his advantage. The more pressing concern was where Nami was supposed to hide her gun.

"Where’s your weapon?" He asked, staring pointedly at the clutch dangling by her side from a thin silver chain. It was the size of a pocketbook, and even that descriptor was generous. "They're going to check us."

"Don't have one." Nami fixed her hair for the umpteenth time as she watched the numbers on the elevator go down, creeping closer to their floor. "You think I can hide anything bigger than a cracking kit in this?"

"You're unarmed?"

She gave him an unimpressed side eye, gaze dipping down to his left pant leg where his own blade sat comfortably against his sock. "Zoro, I don't go anywhere unarmed. That's what you're for."

The elevator dinged and just before the doors opened, he offered her his arm. She smirked as she stepped closer, the gossamer nylon of her elbow length gloves sliding over his shirt sleeve like water.

On heists they weren't themselves. They wore masks of other identities, other people who lived better lives and didn't know the pain of doing what they did for a living. Today they were Mr. and Mrs. Fukutomi, antiquity dealers who were looking to network and let loose with some games of chance.

Zoro preferred Nami as a work partner. She was cunning and ruthless, and she had an eye for details. It didn't hurt that she could match him drink for drink and barely stumble on the way back to the car.

"Good evening, sir and madam. What floor will you be stopping at?" The lift attendant asked politely, though Zoro noted how his eyes slid down Nami’s frame with hunger. He supposed if he were more inclined towards women, he might do the same.

"Penthouse. We're expected." Nami pulled a red room key from Zoro’s back pocket, hugging his arm tight as she handed it over.

That card was their ticket in, and the result of a month's work buttering up a contact. Their target was a man who had recently come into possession of a handful of blood diamonds, and was looking to meet a buyer over a game of cards. How he managed to acquire said gems was rather nasty business.

They were to get close enough to swipe them before he finalized the deal for the diamonds. If they failed, Zoro and Nami had a long, convoluted recovery mission to look forward to, and a smaller check.

Needless to say, they were both eager to end the night with heavy pockets.

"Enjoy your stay." The lift attendant said, holding the elevator door to make sure it didn't close as Zoro helped Nami step over the thin gap in those impractical heels.

He palmed a folded bill into the man's hand, ignoring the delighted gratitude sent his way. Zoro was too busy scanning the foyer for threats, of which there were many.

No less than four guards, a walk through metal detector, a woman who greeted them warmly and offered to take Nami’s overpriced coat, and two men chatting by the entrance into the parlor. They eyed him as an unexpected stranger, but were caught up in the reveal of Nami's dress as he helped her out of her coat.

It barely counted as clothes to Zoro, the deep, draping plunge of her neckline showed off enough skin to make even him hesitant to look. Maroon to match his shirt, and hugging her body all the way down, Nami chose it for the way the dress turned heads.

Their target was a notorious womanizer, and he had a thing for married women. Something about the thrill of 'bedding someone else's woman', if the rumors were true. A real fucking sleaze.

The gambling parlor was set up the way they expected, plenty of private games, a craps table, a black jack dealer, that sort of thing. Zoro let Nami steer him towards the bar and drank what she ordered him, barely blinking at the burn of straight whiskey down his throat.

"We'll be here a while, so get comfortable." She murmured, toying with her straw as she sipped at something that smelled heavily of fruit and vodka. Her dark lipstick stained it like dried blood. "How much heat?"

"Two in each corner, dealers packing, and eyes in the lights." Zoro said, his mouth brushing against her ear as she smiled like he told a joke. Her hair smelled like citrus and musk, and when he pulled her in by the waist, he understood not for the first time why men fell all over themselves for her attention.

"Careful, Mr. Fukutomi." She warned, smoky eyelids half closed. "We've got an audience. Blackjack, the cute one."

Zoro took a long sip of his whiskey as he scanned the room casually, gaze catching on the woman a few tables away. She was clearly watching them so Zoro could play it off as an accident, especially when his wry smirk had her immediately turning back to the game at hand.

Fair blonde waves curled gently and short, cropped at the nape of her neck, a cigarette pressed to her painted lips. The blue halter dress she wore showed off strong, broad shoulders, and a lean physique that had Zoro wondering if she really was all leg like she looked. And she was furtively glancing his way to see if he had lost interest yet.

Zoro was gay, except when he wasn't. He didn't see a need to put a label on himself like others, because who he fucked was his own business. But he wanted that blonde to also know his business.

"Think she knows us?"

"Absolutely not." Nami scoffed, and he knew that had to be true. They had never worked in this city before, and a woman that fine would've piqued both their interests. "But she's sitting with our friend, so we should say hello."

"You sure that's the reason?" He teased, knowing that whatever he thought of the woman, Nami likely thought the same. She liked her partners high femme as she always said, and he had a feeling the woman fit that description.

"Don't be gross."

"She's pretty."

Nami shot him a disbelieving look, her lips splitting wide on a malicious grin. "Oh, she's one of the exceptions, isn't she? Wanna make a bet?"

"We're working." He rapped his knuckles against the bar and signaled for the bartender to bring him one more of each drink.

"Boring." Nami checked her lipstick in the mirror behind the bar, slipped off her fake nuptial rings, then held out her hand. "Help me with my gloves. Slowly, don't rip them, you Neanderthal."

So they were being watched again, were they? Zoro slid the palm of his hand along Nami's forearm and dipped his fingertips under the edge, inching the glove off with something like reverence. The nylon was liquid against her smooth skin, her nails painted a muted red.

The deep, bloody hue of her dress looked good on her. It made her dangerous. Zoro's jaw twitched as he held back an insult, his first instinct when he got the urge to compliment Nami more than he should.

He knew when Nami wanted to put on a show, and right then she was center stage. She tucked a ginger curl behind her ear as she presented him with the other arm, the corner of her mouth twitching while he tugged the fabric loose from each finger.

"You sure know how to treat a girl when you're not talking." Nami sighed, brushing her hand against his as she took the gloves back. "Time to work."

"Do I wanna know why we did that?" He grabbed their drinks and followed closely behind Nami to the blackjack table.

"Nope. Because you're boring, remember?"

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Trying different ways of coloring.

When I saw this reference, couldn't help but drew Sanji

✨Fem Sanji is my Roman Empire✨

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put a fanfic trope in my inbox

and I will tell you:

how likely I am to write it

what character(s) or pairing I’d most likely write it for

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oh hey i've been following for a while but i just realized who you are on ao3. i jack off to your fic all the time so. thanks!

An honor???? So glad my fics are serving their purpose, thank YOU!

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When we’re both kinda sex averse but pent up so we have to just beat the shit out of each other to get the energy out

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“do you think you’ll still be writing fanfic when you’re 90?” yes, I do, and I hope AO3 is still here with me when I’m a 90 year old childless fanfic writer who writes slow burn dead dove do not eat dubcon gay sex enemies to lovers. next

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“I don’t have to explain myself to you why I write what I write” is the sentence every fanfic writer can and should say more often by the way

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Comms open once again!!

Payment via PayPal or kofi

Dm if interested

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Editing and taking out a whole chunk of unnecessary world building that added 750 words to the chapter feels like shooting a fairy in the face with a .38

It had to be done for the flow of the fic but oh my god. Exiting the document looking like this

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not writing, not not writing, but a secret third thing

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Sometimes I forget people aren't multishippers then I see someone talking about how they used to ship something then got a new ship and I'm like what do you mean you aren't just collecting ships like cool rocks you see on the ground

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me: truly a well crafted tragedy is such a bittersweet pleasure to take in and serves a purpose, not just as a sad story but as a reminder that even that which ends badly might not have happened in vain or for nothing. The love, the grief, the actions still meant something simply for having taken place and for us partaking in it.

me when said tragedy is about to actually unfold, sweating: ok but consider this. i dont want this to happen

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developed a real fondness lately for characters who experience a horrific act of violence and come out the other side saying "ah. I don't think I get to be me anymore. they took out the part that was me, killed it, and put something else back in its place, and now I'm whoever the hell that is." love it when someone becomes a corpse and replaces themself <3

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reminder that we are all going to die. write that controversial smut