#GOD i know this is what fanfiction is for

[rhyrhy]

Kiss the chef

…Ermm based on comments I guess this is a series now..? LOL?

[warnings]: chef! Abby, unserious. Part 1 here

You sighed, leaning against Dina, trying to ignore your phone. “Dee, this is bad. Like, I-have-a-crush bad.”

Dina chuckled, flicking your forehead. “Girl, what? You’ve barely even seen her face.” Rolling onto her side to face you, she smirked. “And I’m the sapphic disaster?”

You groaned, swatting her hand away. “Yeah, but her voice though. And those arms? Oh, unless—oh God. Do you think the muscles are compensating?”

Dina snorted, propping herself up on her elbows. “I mean, maybe, but I doubt it. Probably toned all over, y’know? Not just the arms.”

“That’s true…” you sighed, staring at the ceiling. “Soooo, do I just… wait for her to DM me?”

Dina shot you a look. “Oh, so you wanna be one of the millions of other girls thirsting in her DMs?”

“You’re such a jerk.” You rolled onto your stomach, groaning into the blanket. “I’m eating your pasta when you leave.”

Dina scoffed, clutching her chest like you’d physically wounded her. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“And to think,” she continued, voice dripping with betrayal, “I was gonna make you pancakes this morning.”

“Aww my sweet Dina” You peeked up at her, narrowing your eyes. “…Fine, fine. I’ll spare the pasta.” You sat up, stretching. “And you know what? I am not DMing her first. I’m not desperate.”

Dina snickered. “Ohhh, now I’m your sweet Dina.” She gave you a knowing look. Food was the ultimate bribe. “That’s right. You’re not desperate. Not at all.”

You folded your arms, huffing. “Bye, I have to film. Miss Arms and Abs isn’t the only influencer around.”

Dina threw open her closet and called after you, voice laced with sarcasm. “Oh wow, look at you. So nonchalant. As if you don’t have a crush on a woman you’ve never even met in person.”

She yanked on an oversized shirt. “Have fun, drama queen. And don’t think I forgot about those pancakes.”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Being called an “influencer” still sounded weird. You didn’t plan for this. But hey, free PR was a plus.

It all started in quarantine—everyone glued to their screens, desperate for entertainment. You were just another face in the endless sea, but apparently, 880.8k people liked yours. Your top pinned videos? A casual makeup tutorial and a GRWM featuring Dina’s voiceover roasting you for ten straight minutes.

@: 😭😭 this gotta be cyberbullying

@: her saying ‘looking casket-ready’ HAS ME DEAD

@: lights, cameras, fades tbh

@: okay but that shade match is perfect 😍

Now, ring light on, phone propped up, concealer in hand—you had a routine. The only real complaint? Editing out the parts where you tripped over your own words.

Recently, you’d started a new playlist: “Spring Break Glow Up.” The comments were convinced you were full-blown looksmaxing. In reality, you just wanted to look good for vacation. Gym, lymphatic drainage massages, a new hair color—okay, maybe a little looksmaxing. But after an embarrassingly public breakup, you needed something more than just your most-liked Instagram post.

“Still your loss btw💘”

———————

❤️ 1.8M — 💬 287.5K

@: “let her get up omg”

@: “Queen NEVER cries, body is too tea.”

@: “fumbling this is crazy work”

@: “my favorite unproblematic influencer”

Yeah, that was you. The sweet girl persona. So when you left that little thirst comment, it didn’t go unnoticed. Especially not the new notification at the top of your screen.

You: “Me next🫦!”

↳ @buffandbasil: “We’ll see :)”

↳ @ “.. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE???!”

↳ @ “pause. Is this WLW rn—?”

↳ @ “get the fanfiction writers on this one!”

+99 more notifications.

It just kept going. You muted it and focused on posting—gotta keep engagement up. Some days, you weren’t even going anywhere but still filmed in full glam, pajama pants just out of frame. Consistency was key. If you slipped, you’d disappear as fast as you blew up.

…But you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The keyboard emoticons instead of emojis? How old was she? Should you follow her back? Was the whole faceless thing hot and mysterious… or creepy and suspicious? Your brain wouldn’t shut up. And worst of all? Dina was right.

Scrolling through your comments per usual, you couldn’t help yourself. You tapped the home icon, staring at the notification you’d been obsessing over since you woke up.

Followed back. Just now.

Mutuals.

Meaning you could send a message if you wanted, and she would actually see it. But no, no—you weren’t saying anything first. That was ridiculous. So you waited. And you filmed. And you waited— yeah, this was even more ridiculous than the original plan. Until—

One new message.

@buffandbasil: “So… do I get a review from the famous food critic, or are you just gonna thirst from a distance?”

@ you: “ple-aseee. I’m simply admiring the you know, the… presentation.”

@buffandbasil: “Oh, so it’s about the food?”

@ you: “Of course”

@buffandbasil: “Mm. Good to know.”

Okay. That felt like flirting. It had to be, right?

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

The messages kept flowing, playful. Your heart shouldn’t have been racing over texts, but here you were, kicking your sock-covered feet. At some point during the week, you posted a casual TikTok—something stupid, barely even about her. Just a clip of you cooking with the black-and-white text overlay.

“Idk how to act now that I’m mutuals with the internet’s buffest chef.”

It was harmless. Cute, even. And then, everything felt good—until her replies stopped. You waited. Five minutes. Ten. An hour. You’d been texting since Monday. What’s the big hold-up now?

A like? That’s all you got. Not even on your last message, but one from earlier. Your stomach churned around. Maybe she got busy. Was this getting too parasocial? You had to check, not sure what for. But when you opened her latest TikTok, that’s when you saw it. A comment, just a few minutes old:

@: you and @y/n cooking video together when?

Okay, next. Scrolling.

^ @: right!, I need it like I need air!

Love that idea, you thought, thumb slowing down a little.

@: “Lmao she flirts like this with everyone, don’t fall for it.”

Oh.

@: “Lmao she flirts like this with everyone, don’t fall for it.” <❤️’ed by @buffandbasil>

Oh.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

[sillylittlespam]

she got, she got away

percy jackson x daughter of hecate!fem!reader ( childhood friends/crushes to enemies to lovers , SLOW BURN , ANGST , multi-chapter series )

summary : percy hadn’t seen (y/n) since she betrayed him after his quest to save annabeth and artemis. when she corners him in the labyrinth, he can’t help but notice she seems a little…different. what the hell happened to her, and why is she so convince that it’s nothing?

AUTHORS NOTE : (y/n) is a daughter of hecate with magical powers! i’m not exactly an expert on hecate magic so i kinda made it up because this is fanfiction

and for anyone who cares (i’m not expecting you to) here are some of the songs i was listening to while writing this!

race by alex g

motion sickness by phoebe bridgers 

everyone adores you (at least i do!) by matt maltese 

this isn’t helping (ft phoebe bridgers) the national

birds don’t sing by tv girl

knives out by radiohead

more parts of this series coming soon!!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Didja miss me, Bambi?”

Percy’s reaction to the familiar voice behind him was delayed by the violent flinch that went through his body

 After he gathered himself, he whipped around, sword raised as he came face to face with his best friend.

Ex-best friend, he had to remind himself. It was so easy to forget how (y/n) betrayed him as he looked upon her smirking face. She had no weapons in her hands, but he knew that didn’t matter.

He had gotten significantly taller since the last time he had seen her. They used to be about the same height, but now she looked up at him. Her face had gotten a bit slimmer as well, and her eyes held heavy bags of exhaustion. The grin on her face, however, was just as he remembered. Paired with the teasing look in her eyes and the way her head tilted to the side, it was the exact same look she had given him when she had cornered him in Capture the Flag.

And here she had captured him again, this time in the Labyrinth. 

He had known the risks of splitting off from the group, especially with Luke and his army wandering the Labyrinth’s corridors, but it was the perfect distraction. If (y/n) knew he was here, he knew Luke would know soon, if he didn’t already. All he could hope was that Annabeth and Rachel hadn’t been caught trying to find a way around Anataeus’ arena, which was being occupied by Luke.

“I did. I missed you a lot,” he finally responded to her question, his sword unwavering despite his long moment of silence. (y/n)’s grin widened, and Percy did his best to ignore the way his heart swelled.

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” she gushed, her tone far too casual for the situation. Her eyes looked past the blade in front of her and instead focused on his eyes, which were fixed on her arms. Her hands were tucked behind her back, but Percy watched for any movement as a sign that she was casting a spell, “I missed you too, Perce.”

“You know,” he started slowly, carefully, as his eyes drifted up to meet hers, “You wouldn’t have to miss me if you just came back to Camp,” he quickly realized his mistake as the smile dropped from (y/n)’s face and was replaced with a cold stare. He kept going anyway, “We can forget this whole Luke and Kronos thing and just go back to the way things were. We can be okay again-“

“The way things were?” (y/n)’s voice was calm as she repeated his words. Too calm, “Percy, do you remember the way things were for me?”

He remained silent, readjusting his grip on his sword. Despite the empty coldness of the corridor, his palms were slick with anxious sweat.

“I had nobody,” (y/n) continued, a layer of cold rage creeping into her voice, “They threw me into the Hermes cabin with half the fucking camp and expected me to be grateful to the Gods! The same Gods who send their own children off to sacrifice ourselves in their name! Does that not sound wrong to you? My mother is considered kind because she decided I was worthy of being claimed only after I got my powers, but has never cared enough to ever actually meet me.”

Percy swallowed the absurd amount of saliva that had pooled in his mouth. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew (y/n) was right. 

He would never forget his early days at camp, before he was turned into some mighty hero. Back then, he was seen as just another scrawny kid who just happened to be a child of the Big Three. A bit unusual, but nothing that anyone wanted to pay too much attention to. 

He always enjoyed being around (y/n), since she made him feel normal. The two demigods got along quickly, as they were both looking for a person. And for a couple years, they were each other’s person. The camp almost never saw one without the other. (y/n) knew everything about Percy, and Percy knew practically everything about (y/n). At least, he thought he did.

The worst moment of his life would always be that night last year when he got back from the quest to save Annabeth and Artemis. Not only did he have to tell Nico that his sister had died, but that was also the night when he learned that his best friend, his person, had been working with Luke and Kronos the whole time.

Percy had never been very good at regulating his emotions, and almost flooded the Camp several times following that night. Nobody blamed him. There’s no way to deal with something like that in a normal way.

“That’s not true,” he said, finally lowering his sword, and his steady voice surprised him. He felt as if he was going to cry, “You had me. We had each other. You decided to throw that away. Luke doesn’t give a shit about you, (y/n), he’s just using you for your powers,” Percy nearly missed the way (y/n) flinched at his words, “Once he gets what he wants, he’ll just throw you to the side-“

“You’re a liar,” (y/n) hissed, and Percy was able to detect a purple aura around her that made him take a step back, “Luke has told me about his visions. Visions of great things, not just for him, but for me as well! And if you join me, Percy, great things can come for you too.” Somewhere in the middle of her rant, she had gone from angry to practically pleading with him.

Percy’s mouth pushed itself into a frown as he felt the tears begin to form in his eyes, realizing that the girl in front of him was different from his friend. Something had happened. He wasn’t sure what, but this was not the same girl that he had picked strawberries with.

“(y/n)-“ he said her name for the first time since that night, stopping for a moment to fix his shaking voice, “Witch, you know I won’t do that. I can’t. If I did, I.. I wouldn’t be me anymore.”

(y/n) watched him, and for a moment, Percy liked to believe that she was how he remembered her. No crazy mood swings. No radical ideology that set them on opposite sides of the war. Just (y/n).

“I know,” her voice was quiet. Her eyes got a far off look to them, as if she were lost in thought.

“I don’t…” Percy paused once again as her eyes snapped to him, a bit surprised at their sharpness, “I don’t really think you’re you anymore, if we’re being honest.”

(y/n)’s eyes immediately dropped to the floor, and Percy knew he had struck something. The problem was that he wasn’t sure how to go about it.

“I don’t think so either,” (y/n) practically mumbled, looking anywhere but Percy, “Lately I’ve been feeling… Well, I don’t really know. I just feel weird. Like something’s not right.”

“Witch, I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. The torch behind him casted a ray of light onto her face, illustrating the stress lines that she definitely didn’t have a year ago. The glint in her eyes was gone, and replaced with a dull tiredness. Her hands, which he turned his attention back to, looked a bit odd.

He reached down and grabbed one, much faster than she could pull it away. Holding her wrist, he examined her fingers in the firelight, his eyes widening as he took in the charcoal-like color that had devoured the skin at her fingers and seemed to be creeping up to her wrists.

“What the hell is this?” He demanded, and (y/n) yanked her hand away, her eyes wide with what Percy recognized as panic. Without answering, she turned and began walking down the corridor that she had just followed Percy down.

She made it almost halfway down the corridor before a strong hand found her arm and made her stop. As she unwillingly turned back around, (y/n) found herself face-to-face with the same green eyes that used to reassure her any time someone made a snide comment about her abilities. Except now these eyes were filled with enough concern to make her feel nauseous.

“(y/n),” Percy repeated, firmer, with far more power than before, “What is going on with you? Is this because of Luke? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” (y/n) insisted, whatever was left of her confidence continuing to chip away. She had forgotten what Percy’s sad face could do to her, “This is my own doing. Just… don’t worry about it-“

“Your own doing?” Percy’s brows furrowed with such intensity that under any other circumstance (y/n) would’ve asked if he finally had a thought circulating in his head, “(y/n), is this because of your powers?”

She wasn’t sure why she didn’t just lie. Percy didn’t care about her. Not anymore. He had chosen to defend the Gods, and therefore he did not give a single shit about how horrible she had been treated throughout her life. At least, that’s what Luke had told her.

But this was Percy. Percy had been her best friend for years. He used to visit her every time she was sick, and he always made her bracelets during arts and crafts. 

(y/n) realized that her silence was answer enough as Percy’s worry lines grew deeper.

“(y/n),” Percy’s voice wavered as he took a step towards her, “Please don’t tell me that you’re killing yourself just to help Luke.”

“I’m not killing myself,” she replied, taking a step back, softly shrugging off his warm hand. She hadn’t realized how cold it was in the Labyrinth until she encountered another person, “It will go away. This is temporary. It’ll go away soon. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” Percy noted the way she seemed to be trying to convince herself as well as him, “(y/n), I need you to know that-“

A loud cheer erupted, its muffled sound signaling it to be a bit further in the Labyrinth. Judging by the way (y/n) stood straighter, head perked like a cat, Percy figured that was Luke and his gang in the arena.

“Shit,” (y/n) muttered, and she seemed to be speaking more to herself than to Percy, “I was supposed to be following you. I mean, I was following you, for quite a bit actually. But I was supposed to corner you and knock you out. Then take you to the arena where Luke could watch you fight someone to the death while half-conscious.”

(y/n) nearly laughed at the startled look that appeared in Percy’s face.

“Relax, Bambi,” she rolled her eyes, “Obviously if I was gonna do that, I would’ve already. I just needed to distract you so you would forget where you came from and where your friends are.”

Percy’s mouth fell open. Shit. He had chased her down the corridor, completely losing track of which hallway he had just come down, as well as what little sense of special awareness he had in the magical maze.

“I’m sorry, Percy, I really am,” (y/n) said, her lips pressed together in a small frown, “I told Luke I couldn’t hurt you. He said he didn’t care about my moral code, but that goes both ways I suppose.”

When Percy looked down at (y/n), he could almost pretend that they were back at camp and he had just arrived for the start of the summer session. (y/n) always took a couple days to readjust to having a friend around, and it broke Percy’s heart to see her anxiously checking to see that he still cared about her.

“(y/n),” he started, and then stopped. What was there to say?

“I have to go,” she said. He knew it was an encouragement to continue.

But what could he say? Don’t go? Come back? There would be no point.

“I love you,” he surprised himself with how easy the words came out, “And I’m not mad at you. I never was. Please take care of yourself. For me.”

(y/n)’s head tilted to the side, and in the torchlight Percy could see the shine of tears in her eyes. Instead of saying anything, she walked into his already opening arms, wrapping hers around his torso. She felt his arms close around her, and for a moment she allowed herself to close her eyes and live in the warmth. He still smelled like salt water and the strawberries from the field that they used to hang out at. His body heat almost seemed to burn against her cold skin, but she ignored it.

“I love you too,” she said into his chest, a strange sense of guilt and anxiety beginning to pile up in her chest, “I’m so sorry for leaving like that, Percy. I’m so fucking sorry, I wish I cou-“

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said softly, bringing a hand up to stroke her hair, “We can save this for another time, yeah? You have to go and I need to find my friends.”

“Okay.”

And so (y/n) allowed herself a moment of comfort, of which she knew damn well she did not deserve for a multitude of reasons. And Percy allowed himself a moment with his person, who had already abandoned him and was seconds away from doing it again.

But the Labyrinth provided a sense of security. No watching eyes, nobody to accuse them of fraternizing with the enemy. They both knew the other was thinking the same thing, but they also knew that this would be a one time thing. 

“I actually have to go now,” it broke (y/n)’s heart all over again to break out of the hug with Percy, “But, uh, thank you.”

Percy merely nodded in response, not trusting his voice.

“And be careful,” (y/n) added, her eyes holding a sense of urgency, “Not just physically, but with who you trust, too. There’s a lot of things you don’t know, Percy.”

She turned and began walking away, getting closer and closer to a hallway that would take her Gods know where. All Percy knew was that was not where he wa supposed to be heading, and that once she turned the corner, she would be gone.

“(y/n),” he called, “Thank you.”

She returned his nod.

A few seconds later, and Percy was left with only his thoughts and his horrible sense of direction.

[pleasantspark]

Why Viv's Writing Sucks (The Answer Might Shock You) (its bad)

You want a answer? You want a fully fledged answer at 8PM EST from someone who finished Popeyes Fries? Here it is, this is something coming from a writer whose been writing for a decade now.

The writing is the fault of Viv, she has no style, she has no grace and quit frankly everything she writes is simply... Misplaced.

She thinks of the ending before the beginning and middle. She skips the Who, What, When and Where and goes straight to the How. She decides background and lore before building lore for characters.

She does not slow down, and there's no one in her team to dissuade her from committing sins in writing. Now take it from someone whose trying to biased, but fails.

It's not a good idea to introduce characters in one go, as it runs the risks for forgetting majority of therm. Like I said in my Zoophobia Review. The issue was that the characters were all introduced once, which led me to calling Kayla Zill's girlfriend as I was not sure what her name was, which is sad, this show's that a FEMALE CHARACTER doesn't have ANYTHING but be an accessory to their partner.

This was the earliest example of Viv's writing, she has got to make it about relationships rather than everyone bonding, there's got to be some sort of shipping moment despite the characters having no correlation to each other.

She speedruns relationships, which people have spread positivity over, and the ISSUE is, it's OKAY when writing something like fanfiction because at least you can argue it's not canon (Unless you do what Gumball did, and mock them.) but writing a professional indie animation turned big studio show into something akin of that to Fanfiction is WHERE it becomes glaringly obvious.

Then there's the lack of awareness when it comes to personal or sensitive topics, Viv has a RAPE FETISH. Not CNC but no, the actual hardcore shit. Remember her old YouTube Channel? Yeah, it has SOFTCORE RAPE PORN on the playlist.

Look, I am not gonna speculate what happened to develop it, but please for the fucking love of god, STOP sexualizing the sexual assault, and shit.

You can argue the simularties between Stolkholm and Hazbin (Minus all the fucking CSA and Foalcon.) both were made by people who were heavily into proshipping and now became unsufferable crybullies. The key difference is one is a sister diddler and the other one is a abusive co-worker with tons of questionable allegations.

But yeah, it's clear Viv takes too many inspiration from Fandom, and DisneyTropes. Then turns around and hates criticism (Despite the fact most of her critiques point out flaws dedicated to wanting the show to improve.)

If you want your show to improve you can start by leaving the Fans to theorize and not rush to make shit canon, because then that would force the writing to conflict and twist and bloat.

If Viv wanted a fanfiction, you should've not quit ZooPhobia and made Hazbin and Helluva both webcomics. Or made Hazbin a Movie. You can't call yourself a writer or pioneer of jackshit when your show's identity shifts from Kids Cartoon with LGBTQ+ Themes, BoJack Horseman and South Park.

Your inspiration is Seth Rogan and South Park. Shows that are controversial yet you can't become controversial? The Legacy you built on are filled with lies and deceit. Your fans believe everything because just like Logan ThirtyAcre, your fans are children who don't know when they've been scammed or manipulated, and then when someone criticizes you, they harass the person.

This is not a fandom.

This, my friend. Is a Cult. If you can't respect KenDraws, I'd GLADLY ask them for writing advice. Because they know how to write.

[emkayewrites]

A *new* snippet from my Lukola fanfiction: finally updated after nearly 5 months! I TOLD YOU I'D BE BACK!

28th July 2023 - London (UK)

“Oh, God. This is really shite.” Nicola let out an exasperated sigh as she surveyed her work.

She was lying on her stomach, stretched across her living room floor, dressed in nothing but a large white T-shirt.  She was focused on the paper in front of her which was covered in indistinguishable black scribbles.  Strewn all around her were an assortment of coloured felt-tip markets and balled up pieces of paper – evidence of a creatively-challenging afternoon.

Luke appeared behind her and knelt over to peer at her handiwork.  She watched the expression on his face with some bemusement.

“It’s…” He started to formulate his words, his face blank.

“It’s…?” Nicola pressed; one eyebrow arched.

His eyes met hers and he smiled a smile that she had been getting to know well.  It was a pacifying smile. 

“You’re really pretty.” He concluded and moved his lips closer to hers.

She raised a palm up so that it created a barrier between their faces and rolled her eyes.

“No!” She shook her head at him. “You can’t distract me again.”

He seemed to take little notice of her protest, instead focusing his attention on placing a kiss on her hand.

Ugh, why did that have to feel so good?  She thought while gently prying her hand away from him.

“We need focus. Or you need to leave.” She threatened.  It was a half-hearted threat. 

If she was being honest with herself, it was not even half-hearted.  It was completely empty. 

It was not lost on her that they had not spent a single day or night apart since the Barbie premiere.  It hadn’t been intentional.  By some miracle, they had both found some slack in their schedules and it had just felt right to spend almost every waking moment together when work was not an obstacle.  Admittedly, they did spend most of their time in a bubble in either her apartment or his, away from the world but that was exactly what they were both craving.  In fact, the only thing they seemed to be craving these days was each other.  It was kind of becoming a problem.  After all, she was sure it was the reason why she was in the position she was in now: wearing nothing but her boyfriend’s T-shirt at four o’clock in the afternoon, desperately trying to work to a deadline that was very important to her but failing because said boyfriend was intent on being a menace every opportunity he could.  Sometimes all it took was her to look in his direction and before she knew it, they were both naked.    

“Alright, alright.” Luke stood up, holding his hands up.  “I’ll be helpful, I promise.”

Nicola put her attention back to the page.  She wondered if the creativity she needed would come more naturally to her if she was working on fabric rather than paper.  This made sense to her given that her design was going to end up on a t-shirt for the ChooseLove charity.  The charity had always meant a lot to her and she had been wanting to find a way she could tangibly contribute beyond just money and her famous name so when this opportunity had popped up, she had jumped at the chance.  It was only now that she was realizing how tough this was going to be.

“Maybe I need to draw it out on a t-shirt.”  She mused out loud. “Got any plain white tees?”

Luke looked up at her from behind the kitchen island where he was now stood over a large steel pot.

“Do you want me to answer that, or will a glare do?” He replied, eyeing her up and down.

Nicola looked down at what she was wearing and then cackled in response. 

She had kind of monopolized his wardrobe.  Every hoodie and t-shirt that belonged to him had sort of come to belong to her.  There was just something comforting about pulling on an oversized piece of clothing and letting yourself sink into it – and the fact that it all smelt like him was just a bonus.

“Your clothes are so comfy.” She sighed. “I want them in the divorce.”

Luke laughed at the remark despite himself.

She found her heart skipped a beat at the exchange.  She had made the quip without thinking but the fact that she was joking about being married and divorcing him and his reaction was one of ease did not go unnoticed to her. 

It was an odd thing.  She had experienced many crushes in her life – some more crippling than others.  OK, one that was more crippling than others.  Yet, she had never experienced anything like this before.  She had never felt closeness to someone who felt like a best friend and a lover and like family all rolled into one.  The fact that she could share her darkest and stupidest thoughts with him – things that she usually reserved for Grainne - was enough.  Yet, this was also a guy wanted to kiss all over when he was naked – and she often did just that in a slow and deliberate manner that drove him crazy.  Was this what real love was?  Was this the kind of thing her grandparents who were married for sixty years had?  Was this it?

“Alright, come on.” 

Her thoughts were interrupted by his voice.  He stood over her again, but this time, he was holding a plate of the chili and rice he had cooked earlier that day.

“What are you doing?” She frowned, wrinkling her nose at him as he sidled up beside her.

“You draw, I’ll feed.” He replied, his tone serious and business-like as he held a forkful of food up towards her.

She laughed in response.

“I’m helping.” He shrugged. “Open up.”

“I can feed myself.” She smirked, gently batting him away.

“You haven’t even had lunch. I think that’s half the reason you’ve got this creative block.” He was insistent.

“I know.” She relented. “I just can’t get to the food part of my day until I’m done with this part.”  She gestured frustratedly back at the paper in front of her. 

“I know.” He agreed. “So, I’m not telling you to stop even though I think you’re approach to meal planning is atrocious.”

She opened her mouth to protest but he interrupted her.

“It’s atrocious but I’m not here to change you, I’m just here to be a solution. You keep your hands drawing, mine will keep you fed.”

She thought about it for a second.

She hated to admit it, but he was right.

She had never quite figured out how to fuel herself and how to be busy at the same time.  It was like her brain hyper-fixated on the task in front of her and refused to let her go anywhere else until that task was completed.  It had made her an efficient and reliable person but if she was honest, it had not always been the best for her health.  It often meant skipping meals, starving, feeling lightheaded, and not getting to eat until the early hours of the morning sometimes. 

Luke was watching her face as she processed his words.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”  The cheeky smile spread across his face again.  “You’re thinking – he’s a genius. Why have I not been listening to him this whole time? I’m a tiny, little idiot.”

Nicola narrowed her eyes at him, biting back the urge to laugh again.  “It was going so well until you threw that remark in at the end.”

“Open wide, my tiny, little idiot.” He said with a smile, and she could not help herself but obey.

Somehow, the transition from afternoon to evening happened without them realizing.  Between forkfuls of food and many, many redrafts of her design, they managed to settle on something that was simple but also captured a little bit of her essence.  The night ended with them lying tangled beneath the covers, their limbs entwined. Nicola felt the stir of a long-forgotten feeling – it was deep, warm and unmistakable: satisfaction. 

(Excerpt taken from my fanfiction 'Curtain Fall')

[quartztwst]

I've seen everyone's wonderful magikey ocs! And I'm curious what Yuu, Quartz, and/or Shinii think if all of them!

(I hope it's not too much of ask 😅)

I have answered this in my Q&A example!!

And Shinii's

But if you wanted their opinion individually, I can give you some 😭😭 (i used a randomizer)

Opinions on OCs:

Vee by @heyhellohihowareyou

Quartz: "They're cool I guess. Their personality change is crazy."

Yuu: "Their moves are so cool! Their stamina is so strong! I never have to use my strawberries."

Shinii: "T-Toon Dude? YOU WANT ME TO TALK ABOUR TOON DUDE? YIPPEEE! TOON DUDE IS SUCH A FUN MAGIKEY USER! GAAHHH!! THE POUCH THAT THEY HAVE IS SO USEFUL IN BATTLE! I-" *goes on a tangent*

Airinniz by @hanizmiyu

Quartz: "I've seen her at school. I don't really talk to her though. I haven't see her in battle either."

Yuu: "That huge clock she has is intimidating! And I really like her Magical form! But I always see her sleeping in the training school so we don't really talk.. I would like to!"

Shinii: *the longest rant EVER*

Evelyn by @h0neybane

Quartz: "She's super fast when she eliminates those inky enemy things so she's cool."

Yuu: "I've seen her in class but she's so tired! Her MagiKey makes her work at night. I feel so bad.."

Shinii: *WHOLE BUNCH OF EXCITED RAMBLES*

Yuka by @chaotic-snow

Quartz: "I- Isn't she like 5? (No she isnt) God, can someone stop that DAMN BIRD? Actually, I WILL-"

Yuu: "Her abilities are super unique but.. Isn't she 8? I'm super worried about her!"

Shinii: *more ranting*

Belladonna and Schneider by @ieatfriedeggs

Quartz: "who the fuck let these gay people in my magikey" *says the gay person*

Yuu: "Oh! They're SUPER unique! Two MagiKey users pairing up like this is super rare!"

Shinii: *TALKING ABOUT HER FANFICTION??? FREAK*

Akshara by @twistedtalestory

Quartz: "I don't really have opinions on teachers at that MagiKey school thing."

Yuu: "Oh, she helps me a lot!! I really wanna be like her one day! She's so cooolll hehe!"

Shinii: *WHY IS THERE A PIN BOARD AND HOW DID SHE GET THIS INFO???*

"Messenger" by @dollie-ballerina

Quartz: "Who?"

Yuu: "I- Wait.. That sounds familiar??"

Shinii: "Who?" *SHE DOESNT KNOW ABOUT THIS????? THAT'S RARE*

[kyliafanfiction]

The Worm Fandom isn't actually that bad overall, compared to many.

What I will say, and this is probably just that I've dived deeper into the Worm fandom social space than most other fandoms I've been in, is that pound for pound, the Worm Fandom is the *judgiest* when it comes to fanfiction.

Megafandoms like SW and MCU are judgier overall, god knows the Reylo vs Finnrey and Stormpilot vs Kylux wars prove that, but pound for pound, I think the Worm Fandom has it beat.

[greencatalystcomet]

there is something in my stupid primal nostalgia brain that so desperately wants doctor who characters from different eras to meet eachother. i want amy to meet the third doctor. i want bill to meet susan. i want captain jack to meet adric or the second doctor. i want martha to meet the fifteenth doctor. and GOD the way i would go feral if ruby met rose. i may simply combust

[charbroiledchicken]

"you're the writer, you control how the story goes" no not really. i wrote the first sentence and then my characters said "WE WILL TAKE IT FROM HERE" and promptly swerved into an electrical fence.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[winters-on-the-wing]

you are absolutely right. it is such a problem in the fandom that men are endlessly given the benefit of the doubt, the world is BENT AND CHANGED purely for the sake of excusing their behavior, of making every single one of them come off as innocent victims. especially the death eater men. ESPECIALLY the death eater men.

it is so insanely formulaic. i can’t even differentiate the fanon interpretations of regulus, barty, and evan because they’ve all been given the same treatment. the only differentiation between them i see is that reggie is the smart one, barty is the crazy one, and evan is the sexy one. but that’s as far as it goes. now, they’re all sad wet cats who were abused as kids and forced to become death eaters. they’ve been stripped of authenticity, of objective, of WANT. they don’t want anything from their lives. they’re just plastic dolls created for angst porn. they’re the PERFECT victims.

and i don’t think that’s a coincidence. this fandom can’t stand to see privileged white men be complex people with darkness and flaws and bigotry. even when that’s the core of who they are. this fandom sees a pureblood white man and everything goes out the window except “how can i make him the victim here?” in a world where EVERYTHING CATERS TO THEM. in a world where what they were fighting for was to step on the heads of the oppressed to keep themselves on top. this fandom loves erasing that when they see men. it’s blatant, and honestly, it comes off as extremely bigoted.

i’m not saying you’re a bigot if you like these characters but the active action of continually, routinely taking the male death eaters and nobody else, taking the few sentences we have about them and throwing them into the garbage, weakening the OVERARCHING CONFLICT of the entire universe, all for the sake of avoiding seeing a white man as genuinely flawed and autonomous in his bigoted and horrific behavior. and it’s SO NORMALIZED.

“it’s fandom! let people enjoy it how they want to!”

funny how the same people who say that are the ones who leave endless hate comments on my fanworks that don’t infantilize the male death eaters. funny how that concept gets thrown out the window the second i merely suggest anything different from the status quo. these people don’t actually want to uphold fandom etiquette. they just want to shut down anyone who doesn’t enjoy it their way.

and god, don’t even get me started on the women. my third favorite character to write about in the marauders fandom is minerva mcgonagall and she, just like all the other women, are reduced to cardboard. they don’t have any personality because theyre never FIGHTING FOR anything. they never WANT anything except to tag along with whatever the boys are doing. except to step in and occasionally tease them or give them advice. but whenever i read a marauders fanfiction that isn’t jily, and i see the girls, i always ask myself “okay what do they want? what are they trying to get right now?” and i can’t figure out an answer. because the author hasn’t figured out an answer either, because the author hasn’t cared to figure it out.

girls in this fandom are treated like human props, human accessories. they’re the wise sages who know all the answers and then leave. they’re the venomous exes who provide angst for the boys. theyre the vile, evil mothers and motherly, stale teachers. when a character doesn’t have wants of their own, clear desires, clear goals, then they aren’t characters at all. they’re part of the set design.

Oh what you said responding to the ask about transphobia/bigotry I've been looking for the right way to describe it: hard to romanticize! Thats like the foundation of this fandom it seems. Everything is whitewashed and stripped down to its bare bones to be the most relatable and palatable shit! Complexity for this fandom is babying regulus and feeling bad because his brother (rightfully so) left home. Like cmon are we not capable of being deeper than that. We base everything on the most bland tropes like brother's best friend and grump x sunshine! Truly moving and deep literature explores people in 3d not the 2d shells of people that can be described in singular words/attributes that bastardize them and make them walking caricatures of people (eg; Marlene = lesbian, Mary = pretty, James = sunshine, remus = wolf, and so on) the best art isn't easily palatable! The movies that leave you feeling ill or uncomfortable (in the good way) for lack of a better word are usually some of the best films. I feel like even aside from the racism, sexism and other problems of that sort, this fandom just lacks depth? We gave ourselves full creative power over these characters and bastardized them and it makes me so sad. There are so many smart and deep people in this fandom and I wish their analysis and ideas about the fabdom were he more popular ones instead of the ones that are easy to romanticize. Let's see conflict, not everyone has to be friends, people can be complex and not completely bad or good. Make them have complicated relationships outside of ships. What are the odds of about 13 people (the most popular characters) ALL finding their soul mates in highschool??? Like u can have sm fun exploring these characters but noooooooo. Ok sry for rambling, I'm a yapper. I'll stfu now

no. don’t stfu. never stfu.

you are absolutely right and you really boiled down something i’ve always been frustrated with.

i’m an actor. it’s my JOB to take characters from text, to see words on paper, usually ONLY dialogue and stage directions, and create a person, a fully fleshed person with wants and goals and fears and a soul. it’s my job to use the clues that the canon text provides and make the character pop out of the page, to make them compelling, to make them HUMAN.

if it’s not human, who the fuck cares? i know i sure dont.

i don’t want to read about plastic robots as they go through all the tired, stale tropes. grumpy x sunshine, enemies to lovers, best friends brother. it’s all the same. it’s a formula. it’s spoon feeding. i’m not trying to hate on people who enjoy it but i just can’t imagine being satisfied with that. the barest touch of the surface level when there’s so much if you go deeper. so much more HUMANITY. so much more meaning.

i need grit. i need people with palpable flaws, people who don’t always get what they want falling into their laps when they want it, people who are IN THE WRONG. people who think bad things and do bad things and regret it, people who do bad things and don’t regret it. people who exist messily. people who make me uncomfortable to read about because they’re so like me and i have to face the fact that i’m not perfect.

i don’t want a perfect romanticized story where the little white boy gets rescued by the big muscular casanova. i don’t want a robotic generated formula where the perfectly placed lesbian couple get just enough sentences to be seen so that the author can feel progressive and inclusive and then the lesbians get shoved off and forgotten about forever.

what happened to authenticity? what happened to bringing a piece of your soul to the art you create?

again i’m not trying to tell people how to enjoy fandom. do what you want.

it just personally saddens me how hard it is to find work with that human spark in it. the spark of curiosity, of intrigue, of going deeper than the bare surface level. i love art that makes me think. why does nobody THINK while creating anymore? sometimes i just feel so alone in this, surrounded by plastic when i want to read and write and engage with work that was written with a beating heart so palpable that it can be heard between every word.

i wish fanfics and headcanons and concepts that were created with thought were more popular than they are, instead of the same bland thing being shoved down my throat every second of the day. i constantly get hated on in this fandom for thinking differently than everyone else, but why is individuality an enemy? im starting to think that i get hated on in this fandom for THINKING, period.

does that make sense?

maybe i’m pretentious. it’s highly likely i’m pretentious.

[puckinghischier]

quinn eating you out after you come home from a long day, letting you use him as stress relief

you had been tense from the stress of your workplace all day, your muscles aching all over your body. you were tired, overworked, and ready for a glass of wine and trashy tv.

when quinn saw your state, though? he knew exactly what you needed. he ran you a hot bath—which he joined, of course—rubbing soothing circles into your tight muscles in the warm water. the bath quickly turns into a shower so you can actually feel clean, but quinn won’t allow you to lift a finger. he lathers soap onto your body and massages the products into your hair, nearly lulling you to sleep standing up.

he wraps your body in a fluffy towel as you step out of the warm stream of water, drying your body gently before working on his own. walking into the bedroom to get a fresh set of pajamas, quinn comes up behind you and stops you before you can get the drawer open.

“uh-uh. no clothes yet,” he tsks, pushing your hand away. you look up at him confused.

“quinn, i’m wet and cold, why can’t i get dressed yet? you’re dressed,” you point out his plaid pajama pants, appreciating the lack of a shirt, though.

he smirks at you, grabbing your hands, walking backwards while leading you towards the bed.

“because, your stress free evening isn’t over,” he lets himself fall onto the end of the bed in a sitting position, looking up at you while wiggling the towel off of your body.

once the fabric is on the floor, quinn admires your body standing bare in front of him. he sees the layer of goose-bumps on your skin from the chilly air of the apartment, your taut nipples staring right at him. he reaches around you to take a handfuls of your ass, pushing you towards him.

you instinctively separate your legs to stand on either side of his thighs, feeling his chin graze the skin right above your belly-button. soft, warm puffs of air from his nose hit your cold skin, causing the muscles there to twitch. you look down at him, seeing his soft, grey eyes looking back up at you. a small smile breaks out on his face, the weight of his chin no longer felt on your body as he pulls back barely an inch.

before you can miss the contact, you watch as he touches his lips to the skin, eyes still looking brightly up at you. you toss your head back as you sigh, the feeling of his warm tongue coming out to tease along with the movement of his lips sending shivers through your spine.

you bring your hands up to rest in his unruly curls, their damp softness providing just enough to ground you, worried you’ll float away as he goes from open-mouth kisses to fully just licking your skin.

still looking up at you, even though he can’t see your face, he licks a stripe up and down, from above your navel to dangerously low territory. when you feel his tongue dip to the very bottom of your stomach, your head flies up with a gasp.

you’re met with the sight of quinn smirking up at you, clearly pleased with the reaction. “s’it working?” he asks you, still kneading the flesh of your ass.

“mmmm don’t know, still feel a little stressed,” you respond with a teasing smile, taking your hand and pushing the hair off of his forehead, bringing your hand to rest on the back of his head.

quinn’s shoulders shake lightly, his forehead leaning forward to rest against your stomach now, his hair tickling the sensitive area as he shakes his head back and forth. he pulls back to look up at you once again, eyes bright with amusement.

“well, guess we’ll have to get straight to it then,” he lightly taps your ass, removing his hands as he lays back, now flat on the bed in front of you.

you stand there and stare at him, not sure what he’s doing. his feet are still planted to the floor, his arms now extended at the elbow, hands clasped together to cradle his head as it lays on them. it’s your turn to admire his body. you’ve always loved the toned nature of his abdomen, but loved the fact there’s still somehow a softness to it at the same time even more. you watch the rise and fall of his even, steady breaths, lost in a near trance-like state.

he lifts his head up only enough to look at you, the rest of his body planted firmly against the mattress.

“well…are you gonna come get your stress relief or not?” he asks you, gesturing to his face, then letting his arms drop by his sides.

your stomach jumps at the realization of what he’s insinuating. he watches the fire in your eyes ignite, his lips once again curling into a smirk.

you waste no time crawling onto the bed, resting your knees on either side of his head, lining yourself up to his mouth perfectly.

you hear him take a deep inhale, your scent always driving him crazy.

looking down at him for permission to alleviate the small burn starting in your thighs, you find he’s not even look at your face. his stare is held on your slick core, licking his lips like he’s at an all you can eat. which, in his eyes, he is.

“ready?” you ask him, missing his warm mouth already.

his eyes snap to your face. “stress reliever, at your service,” he responds, not waiting for you to lower yourself to him. with his hands on your ass again, he pushes you down as he raises his head up, wasting no time in burying himself in your folds.

you cry out, his tongue ferociously lapping and sucking at your clit, his large hands massaging your ass once again.

the quick pace of his tongue stuns you to stillness, not realizing you hadn’t moved until quinn starts rocking your body back and forth for you. he slides his tongue up and down your cunt as he did your stomach earlier, his nose bumping and rubbing against your clit deliciously.

your soft pants and his slurping are the only two sounds to be heard in the room, until quinn lets out a low growl as you start grinding down on his face harder.

the vibrations cause a jolt to run through your core, your body leaning forward just enough for his tongue to tease your entrance.

“scoot. up more,” he mumbles against you, guiding you by your ass right where he wanted you.

the feeling of his tongue sliding inside of you draws out a high pitched yelp. he stabs the muscle in and out harshly, loving the feeling of your walls sucking him in as he laps up every drop of your sweetness.

you bring your hands up to toy with your hard nipples, needing to occupy yourself with something before you lose your mind.

you ride his tongue as he continues to grunt and growl into you, feeling every twitch and flick of the thick muscle.

the added stimulation to the sensitive buds on your chest has your release growing faster than you can keep up with. it’s like someone’s blowing up a balloon inside of you, the pressure building and building until it finally-

“quinn!” you cry out, the graze of his teeth against your sensitive flesh being the needle that popped the balloon.

your whole body is bathed in warmth, limbs shaking as he doesn’t let his pace falter, still bringing your body down farther onto his now slick face, making sure not a drop of your honey goes anywhere except his awaiting tongue.

you start to come down from your high, attempting to slow the steady rock of your body, but quinn pushes against your efforts. he keeps your momentum going, tongue still exploring every inch of your now swollen pussy.

“q, i-“ you hiss at the sensitivity, not being able to finish your sentence because of the quick work his tongue is swirling onto your clit.

“one more…you’ve got one more in you, i can feel it,” he commands up into you, going back to work the second the words are out of his mouth.

your whine, already feeling the swirl of another orgasm approaching.

quinn’s assault is only getting more aggressive, now fully nipping at your folds, each little pinch another tick closer to your release.

“close, quinny, so close,” you tell him, breathlessly.

his tongue enters you once again, this time staying buried there, grazing every surface it can find. he brings a hand around to toy with your clit while his tongue is otherwise occupied, opting for small pats instead of fast circles.

the dull, repetitive nature of the pats is what has your second orgasm of the night bursting out of you. you scream quinn’s name like a mantra, nothing else on your mind other than him.

he smirks through your orgasm this round, feeling your walls flutter around him, milking your sticky sweetness from your body like he’s the thirstiest man alive and you were a fresh spring.

after you recover from your second high, you take a few deep breaths, trying to remember how to control your limbs. when you manage to lift a knee off of the bed, quinn’s hand is flying up to force it back down, his tongue still swirling and flicking inside of you.

“quinn, i-i can’t. not-“ you whimper as he presses a finger against your clit and holds it there, applying a constant pressure. “not another one. can’t do it.”

quinn doesn’t let you surrender, however, the one hand still on your ass lifting and coming down in a harsh smack, the sound nearly lost in the symphony of squelches and moans.

he removes his tongue, and mouth, from you long enough to bark out a gruff “three’s the magic number. you’re not done until i say so,” before his tongue is buried in you for a third time tonight.

you almost fall forward, the sensitivity nearly crippling. your body surprises you, though. somehow, without your knowledge, your nerves are already winding up again, ready to explode any second.

between the now smacks on your clit—his soft pats long gone—and his tongue reaching as far into your entrance as possible, you don’t even know how or when, but suddenly your vision goes white and you feel nothing but what can be described as total and complete pleasure coursing through your veins.

quinn is shocked at how easy it was to pull your third release from you, feeling spurts of your sweet juices expel his tongue from your clenching core. he lets the drops glide down his throat, groaning at how amazing you always taste, but especially tonight.

you didn’t even know you screamed until you felt the scratch of your throat, the stars subsiding from your vision as you feel quinn’s tongue gently licking around you, cleaning up every last ounce of liquid from your spent cunt.

he decides you’ve had enough, finally releasing your shaking thighs, letting you lift one over his head and fall back onto the bed to lay beside of him. he turns over onto his side to look at you, always enjoying how pretty you look after an orgasm, much less three.

the rapid rise and fall of your chest starts to slow as you fully come down from the whole experience, turning your head to look at him.

your eyes widen at the sight in front of you.

his face is quite literally dripping with your release. his nose, his mouth, his chin are all covered with your slick juices. he’s leaning on one arm, while the other is being used to ‘clean’ his face.

and by ‘cleaning’ you mean he’s taking a finger across the wet areas, collecting the moisture on his finger before licking it clean and repeating the process.

when he notices you looking over at him, his actions cease and he smiles down at your fucked out state.

“so….you still stressed?”

[katscythe]

[amtrak12]

After a conversation with a friend about this weird trend of fic readers who only want epic length fics (and also what seems to be a massive misunderstanding between parties on terms and their definitions), I went searching for the fandom sources I cut my teeth on. I don't have much bookmarked from those days anymore, but googling got me to this fiction length/terminology breakdown from a Livejournal blog. (Which also has good fandom definitions for other terms like A/N and fanon too, so if you're super new to fandom, go check that out.)

The definitions come from the publishing world (hence the page counts), but fandom and fanfic has always borrowed heavily from official publishing terminology. Flash fiction (aka, anything less than 1k words) is called a 'ficlet' within fandom. We call everything else a fic until it reaches the novella mark -- which may start at 20k words but as synecdochic breaks down on their Dreamwidth blog, there's a lot of overlap between short stories and novella word counts. Because, when you're not constrained by physical page counts, the real dividing line between short stories and novellas are the number of plots and themes you're using. (Seriously, go read their meta on this topic. It's fantastic!) Either way, once you're hitting tens of thousands of words, you're in longfic territory. And then if your fic is even longer than that -- 100k+ like shown in the screenshot above -- it's called an epic fic.

And these terms, longfic and epic, are important because they're used to differentiate these stories from the average fic. Because, at least in the 2000s up until the 2020s, the most common fic lengths you ran into were between 1k-20k words. "Fic" made the reader assume only a few thousand words at most. It's only when you changed the term to drabble or ficlet or longfic that they would realize 'oh this is going to be shorter or longer than normal'.

I don't really understand why that baseline assumption has changed amongst the newer demographics (and maybe amongst some long-running fandom members too?). I've seen a lot of theories and 'tiktokification' complaints, but I honestly don't know what's true. And I don't want to start a fight or even try to change anyone's minds if they are dead set against reading short story length fics. You can do what you want!

Just maybe shift your attitude about it a little bit? Remember that it's a personal preference the same way tropes are, and that one story length isn't better than another. Just like tropes, each story length serves its purpose. Some stories are best told in 1-2k words. Some are best told as 100 word drabbles -- or even a single sentence! And then, yes, some stories do need to be 100k+ in order to be told properly.

But that's not every story. And it shouldn't be expected of fic writers to pad a 1500 word plot into some sprawling epic just because they left it on a cliffhanger. The cliffhanger is probably the point of that fic! Short stories are an entirely separate art form to novels and as such are able to cover different topics than novels can or cover the same topics differently. And that's what makes them special!!

And look at that word count breakdown by genre! That's mainstream publishing standards! Now, go back up there to the definition of a novel and notice that the average published novel is 80k words long.

Let me repeat that:

The average length of a published novel is 80,000 words long.

Could a novel go longer? Sure! And if you're dipping into adult sci-fi or fantasy, absolutely it will be longer! But does your fic need to be longer than the average novel in order to be good? In order for you to feel satisfied when you finish reading it? Why does the length of the fic matter more to you than the content?

idk just some rambling food for thought, but I guess too long, don't read:

~✨~ Every story length is valid ~✨~

It just depends on the plot you have and the structure you want to use to tell it.

[fluideli123]

Sonadow Fic Rec

Okay, before you jump down to the masterpieces listed below, I just wanted to state this:

These authors have given this phenomenal content for free, baked with time and effort. I have never once ignored this, hence why I try and comment on each and every one of these fics. However, my energy and ability to be verbose differs day to day. Some of these fics I have not given proper comments for, despite this, I will be on it the moment I can be. In the time being, (once I am able to find my comments on each of these fics) I will be sharing my adoration for them further in other posts (and most likely link back to this one).

With that being said, please, PLEASE take your time to check each of these fics out. If they're not your cup of tea? Valid! But hands down I have never dedicated myself to making a fic rec like this until now. But I MUST share and spread these works, they are much too dear to me not to, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

(All fics are listed by order saved in my bookmarks, not in the order read)

tangled threads and bite-marked shoulders by @rubyiiiusions

Words: 32,287 | Series | Complete

Shadow hissed in pain. The laser had just grazed him, but it still stung, and he instinctively gripped the wound it left on his arm. “You dare-” He stopped. The laser hadn’t hit him. In fact, it had struck Sonic, right on his lower left arm. So why did his forearm feel like it just got shot? He whipped around, fear climbing up his throat, and he suddenly became hyper-aware of something new. It was like a sixth sense, feeling the confusion that emitted from Sonic’s fur in waves as if it was his own. “What did you do?!” Shadow snarled. or, eggman accidentally soulbinds shadow and sonic, and no one has any idea how to undo it.

Sleepwalking by Tirainy

Words: 22,117 | Complete

'There is a strong arm curled around his torso, the appendage keeping him close to its owner, whose warm breath is ghosting over the back of his neck. Sonic is sure he went to bed alone the previous night, but he isn't worried about the intruder. After all, this isn't the first time this has happened…'

Secret Admirer by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 24,313 | Complete

Sonic understood well what it meant to be loved. He was a world-famous hero, after all; his presence never went unnoticed. For the most part, he lavished in that attention, he soaked it in and encouraged it. But not romantic attention. So, when the blue blur found himself falling in love? Well, the prospect was rather daunting, no matter how easy Amy had made it out to be. So maybe, just maybe, he should just take the easy way out...

Rose Drops Series by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 122,489 | Series | Complete

Love, Intuition, and a little bit of magic ensues as Amy sends Sonic and Shadow on an unforgettable adventure.

Wolfboy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 73,856 | Complete

World-famous monster hunter Shadow the Hedgehog has a job to do. It doesn't take long for the one-shot wonder to realize that this job won't be as simple as he'd expected: a small town, rumors of a lone werewolf, and a handsome, green-eyed, chronically-injured casanova who manages to worm his way into Shadow's heart... What starts off as a simple job turns out to be something much more life-changing.

Blizzard Bedfellows by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 21,294 | Complete

When a rare blizzard takes over the island, Sonic is on the run to make sure a certain angry loner is safe and sound. Y-you know, because...uh that's what heroes do.

We never met but can we have a cup of coffee or something? by @whitejungle

Words: 3,630 | Complete

It's been almost two months since Sonic lost someone he didn't even know, but he can't stop thinking about it.

Clean Slate by nottheweirdest

Words: 155,880 | Complete | Note: Squeal pending and I am cheering you on author!! Whatever you decide I am excited to support you!!

Shadow has lost himself before. He knows what it's like to straddle the line between reality and false memories, but this time, it’s Sonic whose memory has vanished. A premeditated set of circumstances and an accidental injury leave Sonic with no memory of who he is, his life, or more importantly, his painful history with Shadow. It’s up to Shadow to remind the hero who he is in the midst of a global outbreak. It’s a chance for redemption. It’s a chance to right the wrongs of the past. It’s a clean slate.

say i reckon (i love you, for a millisecond) by @redamancering

Words: 30,205 | Complete

There’s a hand on his shoulder, barely making contact. A red gauntlet glows around the wrist. Sonic blinks, the pain having evaporated so fast he feels almost weightless. “Shadow?” Shadow’s breathing heavily. “Problem.” The retrieval of the ancient tech Shadow (and Sonic, in tow) has been sent to uncover takes a turn for the worst. In this case, the “worst” means… becoming physically and inextricably linked to each other. For the foreseeable future. OR: Metaphysical handcuffs, and general gay buffoonery.

Judge my sins, not my feelings by yellothebeeloved

Words: 228,479 | Complete | Note: Possible one-shots pending from the author for the series, I am here to support you author!! What ever you decide I'm here for it!

Maybe he's not meant to touch. It's the newest excuse he thought of in hopes that he could prolong the game a little more; a careful ruse to enjoy the bittersweet torture of seeing the days pass them by, while he pretends he doesn't seek azure blue whenever he's restless. At first, all he wanted to do was watch: but now the desire to touch, to have, to affect is at a point where he's not sure whether reaching for Sonic would truly be fruitless. He wonders that especially when Sonic's eyes light up upon seeing him. When he corners Shadow, when he invades his space and he touches and takes and then excuses it by calling it a fight. Shadow truly wonders then: if only he was brave enough to reach out, what would his grip find? Loose stars or a battle-worn body? Standing up, he glances at Sonic again, whose eyes have now met his own. There's something heavy in the eye contact, something Shadow doesn't dare name. Neither of them say anything, and yet Sonic's eyes move away from him again, like they did. Shadow warps away, hiding from the stars once more.

Child of Prophecy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 139,321 | Completed

On the night the Mobius Castle was ransacked, the Queen received a prophecy. “One of three will not cry; send him down the river, for you can only save your kingdom if he does not grow up royal.”

Coming Home by nottheweirdest

Words: 55,740 | Completed

Shadow's life has been full of mistakes, some worse than others, but admitting his unrequited feelings to Sonic tops the list. He's spent the better part of a decade ruminating on his regret and hiding from feelings he couldn't bear to face. He never thought he'd see Sonic again, and he told himself that was for the best. Until now. At the bequest of his former rival, and in an attempt to finally get closure, Shadow has returned to Central City. The reason? Sonic the Hedgehog is marrying Amy Rose. And Shadow is invited.

[scruncheduppaper]

can’t remember if i saved it or not but that one mouthwashing post i saw that said that “curly rehab aus are ableist” is insane and you guys should really think before you post

[lorax-devito]

Okay but imagine Mike trying to flirt with Will but he has no idea how to bc he basically just kissed El and then she liked him

I mean the girl was okay with them having a sibling relationship ffs

anyway Mike knows he can’t just kiss Will and it’s all said and done so he try’s to flirt with him,it’s horrifying

Will is so confused bc why is his best friend suddenly so interested in going everywhere with him and not El,who keeps pulling him aside with a few of the others as they giggle and Mike goes bright red,it’s weird to him that they aren’t making out constantly like the last time he saw them as a couple especially since they said I love you to each other,I mean that one of the most romantic things to happen to a couple right,they should be all over each other

(I like to head canon that El would force Mike to flirt with Will along with several of the others,Dustin Lucas,Steve and Robin possibly and Nancy and Mike hates it bc it’s so embarrassing but I also like the idea that Mike has this internal conflict and is suffering trying to figure out how the actual fuck he is supposed to seduce William Bylers,his best friend and the most amazing person he has ever known)

basically Mike try’s to flirt with Will using really embarrassing tactics and Wills just like ‘ummm ok you do you ig but the worlds ending and your acting super weird so do you wanna talk about it or….’ and Mike just realised that Will loves him

him

He fell in love with him,the nerdy dnd obsessed geek bc Will is also a dnd obsessed geek and he is just himself just without the internalised homophobia (so s1 and 2 Mike) and then fast forward to love confession and Byler kiss

I can’t physically wait for s5 bc how the flying fuck are the duffers going to make Byler canon bc there are so many ways I can’t decide😭😭😭