#Fanfic stuff

[autumnillustration]

Ahsoka: He's nine. Nine-year-old boys are allowed to pick their noses. I'm willing to bet my boots you picked your nose at nine.

Obi-Wan: I did not. Did you?

Ahsoka: I was never a nine-year-old boy.

(AU where post-banishment Ahsoka gets zapped back to TPM. Link to fic)

[breakfastteatime]

*writing 5k of lead in to get to the original idea that kickstarted this fanfic*

[booksandpaperss]

and the REALLY good ones will probably do it better than canon lmao

[bloodinwine]

dude. fandom/fanfiction is so fun. like i'm just writing about a hot person making out with a hot vampire and stuff and getting art for it and talking to other cool people writing about hot people making out with a hot vampire too and this is so great. i'm so happy it's friday. this is my life.

[intermundia]

one secret thing about the relationship between storyteller and story is that the story is not a submissive obedient thing that accepts the will of the storyteller. it fights back and demands to have a certain shape, like characters refuse to do or say things and scenes refuse to appear too early or too late. it's a living thing that you're in a complex and vaguely toxic relationship with as you try to bring it into the world. like sometimes it is actually helpful, loudly suggesting the right path forward, but often it's actively unhelpful, just saying 'nope' over and over until you figure out what it's unhappy about. the more complex the story the more objections it has and the more opportunities to be stubborn as hell. it's truly infuriating to be like "well.. the story won the fight today" because who's the sentient person in this relationship?? me!! and yet...... i still lose.

[bratzbrat]

✟The Witch Hunter!

pairing: a witch!hunter Katsuki Bakugo x fem!reader.

cw: mentions of death! | naked bodies! but no sexual goings on lol! | female reader! |

1.7k words.

⊰𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑⊱ »»————> Typhoon!

you awoke to the sounds of relentless bashing of waves against the ship's hull, wood groaning and creaking under the pressure, as the men above, desperately try to control the vessel. the room swayed violently, and cold seawater seeped through the cracks in the floorboards, pooling at your feet. disoriented, you blinked, trying to gather your bearings as the storm rattled the ship around you.

heavy footsteps stomped down the narrow staircase, and the witch hunter stormed into the room, boots splashing the shallow water. his expression was stern, as his eyes landed on you, seething with barely contained anger.

"you," he growled, stepping closer, water dripping from his soaked figure. "ya' think you're clever, don't ya'? summonin' this storm to get ya' freedom?"

you met his glare, raw hatred in his eyes, that equally matched it's color. as the ship heaved and shuddered, his not so patient patience seemed to have snapped. he took another step toward you, voice hard and gravelly in his throat. "you're the one who called it, so cut it out. now." he towered over you, looking down as he grumbled his orders.

a smirk tugged at your lips despite the intensity of the moment. "i didn't summon anything," you replied, holding your ground. "this has nothing to do with me."

"liar." he scoffed, but desperation flickered beneath his anger. "but fine. can ya' get rid of it? or not?"

"oh my~ we must be desperate aren't we?" you teased and tilted your head, feeling the sway of power shift as he waited, "let's say i help you," savoring the moment. "what's in it for me?"

"we don' have time for ya' nonsense!" his jaw tightened, and he seemed to weigh his answer before finally spitting out, "you'll have a twenty percent chance of makin' it out of this shit alive."

"twenty percent, huh? how generous of you." you raised an eyebrow, amusement gleaming in your eyes.

he didn't respond, and you took one last steadying breath before reaching up, letting yourself feel the pulsing rhythm of the storm beyond the ship's hull.

"i can't do it. not from down here," you said, after a futile attempt. his gaze lingered on you for a moment, scrutinizing, before he finally reached over and yanked your wrists down, his grip firm.

"you seem rather trusting... i might attack you..." you teased, tilting your head again, as he glared, unamused. he said nothing, again, only grabbed the chain between your shackles and hauled you from your spot, dragging you toward the stairs leading up to the deck.

"i'm going to need my hands," you smirked, holding up your shackles, testing him.

"ya didn't need 'em to mess with my crew," he shot back, as he led you up the narrow steps. rain poured down on you both as you emerged into the storm, lightning cracking out and illuminating the rolling waves that tried to swallow the ship.

just as he reached to unlock on your shackles, the ship leans, almost completely tilting over, a towering mast splintered and swung down, catching him across the shoulder. and his eyes widened as he lost his footing, the impact throwing him off balance and over the side of the ship.

you stumbled to the edge of the deck, peering overboard to see him thrashing among the waves. "captain! a man fell overboard!" you whipped around calling out.

"not my problem!" she shouted, eyes fixed ahead. she barely glanced your way, her knuckles white as she gripped the wheel, futilely fighting to steady the ship. "i've got a ship to keep from sinking."

your jaw clenched, as you looked back in water. and then, everything he did for you these past few days replayed at the front of your mind. "ffffuck..." you muttered under your breath. with a frustrated groan, you took a deep breath and launched yourself over the side, diving into the freezing water below.

you reached out to the waves and pulled them around you, forming a rapid current to pull you through the sea. the icy water stung, but you pressed on, closing the distance between you and the witch hunter's barely conscious figure. grabbing hold of the collar of his rugged wear, you used the water to push you both toward the faint outline of a coastline in the distance. and watched as one massive wave swept the ship under.

you washed ashore on a deserted, snowy coastline, the cold biting into your skin. the witch hunter laid sprawled out beside you, his chest still and face pale from the chill. shivering, you leaned over him, your fingers finding the key looped onto his belt. with a quick twist, you unlocked your shackles and tossed them aside, savoring the freedom for a split second.

the stillness of his body made your chest tighten. you placed your hands to base of his well-built torso, feeling his tense muscles beneath the cold skin. you pressed down, and dragged your fingers along his abdomen, up to his mouth, pulling the water from his lungs in a single motion. he gasped, coughing up the rest of the seawater, and his eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a mix of confusion and lingering hostility, as he took in his surroundings. the snowy coastline, the storm... and you sitting nearby.

"what the hell happened?" he barked, pushing himself up on one elbow.

"you fell overboard."

"where's the ship?"

"it sank."

"you witch—you sank the fuckin' ship?!"

"no! but I did drag your ungrateful ass to shore..."

"why?" he sneered.

"you had the keys to release me." you rolled your eyes, swinging the shackles so they'd clink.

he scoffed, "of course." a bitter smirk tugging at his lips. "you're a witch, your kind only thinks about themselves."

you were shivering but didnt let that stopp you from putting him in his place. "I don't know where you got that information. and I'm not—"

"don't care." he bit back, cutting you off. teeth knocking as the cold air blew his hair away from his eyes.

he sent a glare in your direction, and didn't waste words. with a grunt, he turned and started marching off into the blizzard. you hesitated, teeth chattering as the cold bit through your soaked silken dress, before trudging after him, each step heavy in the thick snow that offered little to no protection against the freezing wind.

after what felt like hours of relentless stumbling, the blinding white finally gave way to the faint outline of a small house. a warm, golden glow flickered from inside, promising refuge. the witch hunter grunted and quickened his pace, reaching the door and knocking, his shivering figure tense with anticipation. when no answer came, he knocked again, harder, and the door creaked open slowly, revealing a simple but inviting space—a cozy bed, a small table with two chairs, and a fire crackling in the hearth, spreading warmth throughout the room.

"get in," he grumbled, stepping aside just enough for you to slip past. you didn't hesitate, the heat drawing you in instantly. you stepped further into the cozy space, glancing around at the modest furnishings "is it really alright to just, barge into someone's home like this?" you asked, feeling a bit uneasy.

"what choice do we have? we'd freeze to fuckin' death out there." bakugo shrugged, tossing a log into the fire.

"but what if the owners come back?" you pressed, scanning the room. "where would they even go during this blizzard?"

he paused, a dark smirk creeping onto his face. "they probably went out to get more firewood and died."

"thanks... that's really comforting..." you shot back, rolling your eyes, unable to suppress a nervous laugh.

"welcome to reality," he replied, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "out here. it's do or die." he dragged his gaze to you, sitting on the floor quivering near the fire.

he began peeling off his heavy, soaked layers and hanged them by the fire. after a glance in your direction, he gestured for you to do the same.

you shook your head. "I'm not exactly... covered in layers like you are." you said, gesturing to your thin, soaked silk dress that hugged every curve of your body and showed off the print of your hard nipples.

his eyes narrowed, gaze flicking over your attire, clearly unimpressed. "you're gonna freeze to death like that," he muttered.

"oh? isn't death my fate when all of this nonsense comes to end?" you chided, scooting closer to fire that lost it's warmth by the second.

"I don't intend on bringin' the corpse of one of the supposedly greatest water witches to the king." he dead panned, looking over your frame once more. "can't y'just, witch the water off us, or somethin'?"

"no." you shivered, "not in my current state..." and bowed your head, to avoid looking at him.

after about ten solid minutes of relative warmth, the fire began to crackle and flicker, the flames dying down alarmingly fast. the hunter cursed under his breath, frantically scanning the room for any sign of firewood. and the last embers finally extinguished, leaving the room in an unsettling darkness.

"fuck…" he muttered, his breath visible in the chilly air. and as if on cue, you began to shiver again, the howling wind outside becoming increasingly pronounced now that the fire was out. the damp silk of your dress still clung to your skin, amplifying your discomfort.

"take 'em off," he gruffed, as he rubbed his arms to ward off the cold.

"huh?" you shot back, incredulous.

"you heard me. take. 'em. off."

"where I'm from, its common etiquette to get to know someone better, before you tell them to take off their clothes." you jeered, bringing your hands up to 'cover' your chest.

"take 'em off or freeze to death," he replied, "I don' have time for ya' nonsense." teeth chattering as he struggled to strip off his own wet clothes.

reluctantly, you began to peel off the silk dress and the little armored details that had covered your body. the chill in the air intensified, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the cold.

"now c'mere," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

you couldn't help but smirk, a playful glint in your eye. "my my, that eager to get me in bed, huh?" you teased.

"in your dreams witch. our body heat will give us a chance at survivin' the night." he bluntly dismissed your teasing with a huff.

with a reluctant sigh, you stepped closer, crawled into the little bed next to him, and he pulled the thin covers over you, letting the warmth of his body, that surrounded you, hold you for the night.

chapter 4!

thank you for reading!

find the previous chapters in my masterlist!

you can also comment to be added to the taglist for

✟The Witch Hunter!

plz check ur privacy settings before commenting to be tagged!

©𝐵𝑙𝑢♡

»»————>𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@annepamgkrth @pikachuzhc @icedemon1314 @katsucookies

[jade-len]

i think it'd be funny if someone transmigrated as xin mo. the goddamn evil sword. instead of taking it seriously, they just really fucked around with bingge. and, somehow, ended up having the opposite effect of what it's supposedly rumored to do.

picture this: bingge, on the quest for revenge and power, comes across the almighty xin mo. this demonic sword killed everyone that dared to even try wielding it. and, the few who were lucky enough to have it by their side, eventually succumbed to the swords' will.

it is said that the sword is unlike any other, that it etches into your head and eats away your brain, until eventually it consumes you whole. it whispers, speaking in lust, greed, and hatred. it slowly beckons the wielder into giving in to the worst part of themselves and feeds off of pure sin. but to him, it is no matter; luo bingge will surely tame it.

and then he gets to the sword.

demonic qi practically oozes from xin mo. the aura surrounding it makes every part of luo bingge scream, "run; get away, away from that monster." his gut prods at him, begging bingge that this is probably a really bad idea. it's a little terrifying, how even luo bingge, the determined, vengeful demon, is now getting second thoughts about wielding xin mo from just being in its presence alone.

but luo bingge is too, a monster. so he ignores the screams of plea; pushing every thought of doubt in the back of his head, and tightly grips onto the handle. the world around him seems to spin and shake, tumble and crack, from the amount of force bingge needs to use in order to pull the sword of sin out of its place.

when bingge finally has it perfectly fit into the palms of his calloused hands, he hears whispering. he knows that the sword has accepted him as its new host.

the sword's language crawls up to him, as if it were feeling around his body and mind. checking every nook and cranny for it to settle into bingge's form, truly becoming one with the embodiment of sin. the words flow through his brain like a tragically broken guqin, a melody that holds him in a frighteningly familiar trance - all while simultaneously eating away at his brain in the worst ways possible, akin to a child and their favorite snack. it seems to beckon something, but even with luo bingge's impressive hearing, he cannot make out any words from the tone-deaf musical notes xin mo sings.

and then, it is clear. the land around him settles, and everything is still. xin mo itself seems to be.. content. at least, that is what luo bingge believes.

the language of this wretched sword reflects the state around these two monsters.

luo bingge expects it to demand for bloodshed, for the erotic ecstasy of multiple women, for bingge to steal the last of the finest gems of these horrible, vast lands.

instead, he hears this:

"yoooo damn that shit was crazy. did you see what i did there? man, you know, it feels so fucking good to get out of the dirt. hey, do you know if people can like, feed their swords or something? i'm kinda craving something spicy. we never know, in this wack world! wait, don't hold me like that, buddy. it'll make things real awkward."

but luo bingge is determined to get his revenge, so he puts up with the swords' constant rambling about.. whatever the hell it's thinking.

"wait, dude, did you seriously fuck a dying girl? that's wild. yeah, like i know she was dying but it doesn't sound like you wanted it. yo, listen to me, consent is very sexy."

"HAHA hey, dude, sir, man. you wanna play some 'i spy'? we don't have anything else to do. no? too bad, we're playing it. i spy a loser who doesn't wanna play i spy. hint: he's holding me right now."

"okay i know i'm supposed to be this super evil sword and beg to be used - woah that sounded real wrong - but can you at least clean me when you're done killing shit? if you don't, i'm gonna refuse to respond to you and you'll look like a dumbass trying to wield me."

"i can't hear you lalalalalalala you're not being very it girl right now lallalalaalalalla-"

somehow, this is worse than if xin mo was actually eating away at his brain.

weirdly enough though, as luo bingge starts spending more time with this weird ass, seemingly possessed sword, it starts to become more of a.. comfort to have it by his side than pure annoyance. he finds himself responding to it more, like, actually having full on conversations with it. it puts him at ease, wielding xin mo. the hatred doesn't consume him, instead, it seems to soothe the burning rage (and, admittedly, just replace it with small irritation) that holds onto his darkened heart.

xin mo is actually quite kind and caring, for a sword that's supposed represent and be the literal embodiment of sin. sure, it is a hassle to have it cooperate with him sometimes, and it does just ramble on and on about the most random things ever, not giving a single shit if bingge was in the middle of sleeping with maidens and slaying those who get in his way. for the first time, bingge feels so comfortable around something.

it's.. odd. what was supposed to be the turning point in his life, a big step in his plan for revenge, is now something akin to an... acquaintance. not like mobei-jun, or any of the women he's come across, but an actual, dare he say, friend.

sometimes, he finds himself thinking all of this delusional. is this what people were driven mad by? perhaps they simply could not handle dealing with a talking sword. he understands that xin mo was undoubtedly unbearable to be around at the beginning of their alliance, but it has never actually beckoned for blood, power, and sex. if anything, it does the opposite.

maybe he's the delusional one. maybe this is xin mo's way of getting to him.

maybe, xin mo should be considered a thing. the thought feels terribly laughable, as if he were witnessing a person horribly explain themselves. it also makes his teeth grind together in pure agitation.

"hey, you know, you didn't deserve any of the things they did. it wasn't your fault, binghe. the fact that you're half heavenly demon doesn't make you a monster, or any of that wild stuff.. uh, i'm here for you, okay? i know you don't really like talking about all of this or opening up, but i just want you to know that you can.. talk about it. it's not like i can tell anyone else, anyways.

hey- shit i didn't mean to make you cry! wait, wait it's okay to cry! you need to let it out anyways, i promise it doesn't make you weak. there, there. i don't have any hands, so me patting you on the head with my handle will have to do. there, there.. everything will be alright, you'll be okay. i'll be here every step of the way, even if you want to get rid of me."

xin mo, the demonic sword, is more of a person - a good person - than anyone he'd ever come across.

...and then bingge and the xin mo transmigrator become besties or he falls for the damn sword. knowing him, he probably doesn't even know the difference between platonic and romantic attraction anyways. maybe bingge gets a plant body for xin mo using airplane's wack writing. idk i typed all of this down in one sitting.

(plot twist: it's not that the transmigrator xin mo had the opposite effect, it was literally just a placebo effect. luo bingge thought that, and thus it actually did help him lmao)

[thats-ill-eagle]

The comedic timing of AO3 going down FOR 10 HOURS literally the day after Pride Month ended is unparalelled.

[iridescentgleam]

writing is so funny because sometimes I am a certifiable Word Master™ and can knock out thousands of words in one sitting and be very confident in my word choice, and other times I am desperately googling Thesaurus.com every three words because I've used the word "replied" five times now what the hell why is my brain not working-

[pokimoko]

It's been a year to the day since I completed my Eternal Sunshine of the Absent Mind Moon Knight fic trilogy, so I thought I'd commemorate the occasion with some Jake Lockley art inspired by the series, with a dash of A Monster Calls for angsty flavour. Enjoy! 💜

[lets-try-some-writing]

I have observed several types of fic writers, and so for kicks and giggles, here they all are. Each of them scares me for different reasons.

The Prepared And Ready To Publish™:

Several documents dedicated to worldbuilding, planning, cross referencing, character lists & traits, plot twists, and then the actual fic document.

Dedicated to the max to creating a rich world. Probably knows more about the niche thing than you ever will. 100% could have written a thesis and chose to do fic instead (or did both at the same time).

Created a masterpiece and promptly vanished off the face of creation before coming back in with another banger to crush souls and save fandoms.

Their arrival is akin to the birth of a new era because they never fail to somehow make a niche ship popular, make a headcanon fanon, or otherwise give so much depth and interest to a character or setting that whatever they have devised is largely accepted as gospel by their readers.

They either use a high end writing program or wordpad. There is no in-between.

Mysterious. Very mysterious. Reasons for this mysteriousness vary between fics and authors.

100000/10 would be friends with them if I could. Legendary writers. But also they scare me because ??? What void offered you such power ?????

The Baby Writer:

All vibes and loosely strung plots.

It may not make the most sense, but good gracious the dedication is there.

Notable lack of comprehension when it comes to characters and places, but it's bad form to not leave a kudo because it takes guts to post anything in fandom.

They are still figuring things out and their grammar or formatting (possibly both) is probably a mess, but they've put heart into their work.

Sweetest rays of sunshine who want to be involved and are eager to learn the ropes.

The fandom's young ward or despised new arrival (depends entirely on fandom popularity and age).

8/10 would happily offer advice to them. Just can't read their work for too long without wanting to throw it into grammarly. The fear factor comes in the form of the miraculous misuse of fandom terminology. (Yeah it's tough bud, the fanon is wild. But goodness that term/canon word does NOT mean what you think it does.)

The Smut For Your Soul:

Meticulously plans the smut with all the loving care of a sculptor.

Somehow plot got involved.

Miraculously, they managed to not include an iota of plot and it has somehow managed to work.

Headcanons abound and cuteness and or angst lurks merrily behind every corner.

The tags mean everything and nothing at the same time. They are but faint guides to the fae wilds ahead. Tread lightly.

Has a mountain of unfinished WIPs that will follow them to the grave or emerge ten years after conception to grace whatever fandom spawned the idea.

The fandom thanks them for their service, although often that praise is late or hits like a freight train.

???/10 I personally avoid smut but I have friends who write it so it really depends. Terrifying because you never know who falls into this role of writer. It could be anyone. Normalcy is a mask poorly adorned for the sake of conforming to The Great Machine.

The Angst Lord:

Has a million slightly different ways to hurt their blorbo. Each are somehow more horrifying than the next.

The embodiment of the iceburg videos seen all over the net. Ask one question and you shall unravel and scheme of torment so great you shall regret having dared to speak up.

Has dozens of WIPs or unwritten ideas that they claim they will return to.

They are controlled by passion and emotion and can and will insert their own complicated situation into a fic.

Almost nothing is off limits.

Arrives to the fandom ready to brawl and somehow ends up respected or feared. They often stare in bafflement as they end up unscathed and watch angry comments fly toward the arguably innocent shippers.

Generally some of the nicest people who happen to enjoy inflicting The Horrors upon someone fictional.

'10/10 would befriend and promptly regard like a wild racoon. Offerings of angsty ideas yield delightful commentary. But also I need to prepare myself for anything they say because O U C H my SOUL.

The General Writer:

Fluff, cuteness, possibly a delightful touch of angst and pure unbridled creative simplicity.

They may not have the most brutal or soul wrenching tale, but they always manage to write something that someone, somewhere, desperately needs.

Devastatingly underrated and deserves far more praise for their contributions to the fandom.

Produces some of the softest of scenes and the most touching of interactions between characters in a contained, careful crafted, tale.

Introducing new ships or family dynamics in such a tasteful manner that brain chemistry can easily be altered.

Arrives to the fandom as a lurker and shows their appreciation through their work. Oftentimes, they are very quiet and go unnoticed.

INFINITE/10 Love these writers, honestly a gift to fandom. The sheer level of dedication to producing fluff is astounding and scary all at once.

The OC X Canon:

Has so many ships and headcanons that it's astounding.

The lore development rivals IDW and Lost Light combined. All the kudos to them for putting their souls into their characters.

The dedication is mind boggling.

They put up with so much crap they could be in MMA Wrestling if the verbal assaults translated into physical strength.

Has so many adjustments to lore and whole AUs devoted specifically to creating a perfect world.

Skilled in the extreme (or not) at integrating their ocs into canon.

Arrives to the fandom not intending to make ocs. Leaves with seventeen leashes for their new abominable creations. Is loved or hated by literally everyone, sometimes for no reason.

6/10 perfectly lovely people but very niche in their interest and thus not everyone's cup of tea. Scary because that level of sheer willpower is meant for demi-gods.

There are more types of writers, but these feel like the big overarching ones. Which kind of writer are you? :D

[morningnoodles]

my other favourite thing about bagginshield fics is when the authors write in the initial notes of the fic something along the lines of, "this fic has taken some liberties with canon but if Peter Jackson can do it so can we" because truly: if Peter Jackson can do it, so!!! can!!! we!!!

[breakfastteatime]

How dare this game call me out like this...

[booksandpaperss]

me reading my own fic: man this is exactly the kind of story I wanna read it’s almost like this is curated specifically to my tastes wow

[deducitetemporacarmen]

I did a thing!

If you ever wanted to look for fics that are <character>/any or <character> & any, this is for you:

This script shows only works that have the specified character(s) tagged in a relationship of some kind. You can pick between romantic or platonic or both or strictly one without the other. A03's inbuilt filters and the normal ao3 savior still work when you turn it on, so you can very much say "I want to see this character with anyone EXCEPT THAT GUY". I think it's also handy if you look for rarepairs or fics featuring rarer characters. More detailed instructions are in the link :)

Hit me up if you have any trouble! (This is based on the ao3 savior script, which I got permission to use. Thanks again, tuff :D)

[intermundia]

so i've always found anakin's dialogue much more difficult to write correctly than obi-wan's. obi-wan is a wry and posh voice, simple in compared to anakin's mess of contradictions. pragmatic, blunt, and forthright, but also that somehow translates into saying things like i'm haunted by the kiss that you should never have given me, my heart is beating hoping the kiss will not become a scar in the most melodramatic way possible. he's self aware enough to say shit like you're asking me to be rational, that is something i know i cannot do, but also one of the most deluded characters in star wars. it's hard to accurately capture the way he says the truest possible thing at any given time (from his point of view), sometimes he's spouting poetry, sometimes joking and quipping about it, depending on if he's in the prequels or mid clone wars. as vader his vocabulary is menacing, lofty, sarcastic. it feels impossible to nail the exact balance between his brilliance and stupidity, his literal, technical brain with all its jokes and pure, deep, strong emotion. it's definitely part of what makes the character special, but it's also a hell of a needle to thread trying to write him right.