#I should try to write more frequently and keep it shorter

[jarofstyles]

Teenage Dirtbag 5

Here we go again! I decided to bring back Fratrry in the rotation. For those of you who didn’t read them yet (or forgot) check out the series masterlist. These updates are shorter so I can get them out somewhat frequently instead of making you wait hehe.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 170+ exclusive writings

Teenage Dirtbag Masterlist

WC- 1.5k

Warnings- asshole H, angst, Y/N putting him in his place as usual

----

Harry knew he should be a bit more cautious when it came to Y/N but… god, how could he not try and push the envelope if it meant her maybe giving into it again? 

The reality of it was that Y/N, a girl who hated his guys most likely, had been the best fuck he’d ever had. She had blown his mind in the literal and metaphorical sense, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Fate had a funny way of working, sure, but he couldn’t be too mad considering he knew their chemistry was too good to push away completely. 

H: what do ya want from the cafe, baby doll? 

Y/N: nothing that you’ve touched. 

Harry smirked at his phone. So predictable, already back with the snarky responses. It worked him up a bit, thinking about how this snarky girl had pleaded for more, kissed him sloppily as his balls smacked against her ass and dragged her nails down his scalp. Such a sweet thing for him that night had gone right to being sour as soon as she left. 

H: ok, so you want me to lick your cake pop. Got it. 

H: it isn’t like we haven’t shared saliva before ;) 

Y/N: yeah, lick on it and then choke . Let me know how that goes so I can cancel our session this afternoon. 

The hope was to bring the sessions here one day. As much as Y/N had disdain towards him, the sparks had flown during sex. She had loved it just as much as he did- he’ll, during their last round she had pushed him on the bed and rode his cock until he was sensitive, her nail marks left on his chest for days. 

H: I’ve got something else you can choke on, baby

Y/N: I will quite literally not show up today, your grades be damned. 

His lips puffed in a pout. He was pushing it, but it was so fun to rile her up. Eventually, he hoped she would give in and like him. See the fun parts of him like other people did- but for now, he would play this game. Cat and mouse… though he wasn’t quite sure which one he was. 

H: fineeee. I’ll be good. 

For now. 

Y/N: please do. It was a mistake and we don’t need to keep bringing it up. 

It was a mistake he very much wanted to repeat, over and over again. 

H: yes, maam. I’ll see you at 2 🫡

Y/N: don’t be late, I’m serious. I have something afterwards and I can’t be late 

H: oooo, a hot date? 

Y/N: yes, actually. So don’t fuck this up or you aren’t getting your full hour. 

His smirk quickly fell. 

She was going on a date? With fucking who? 

That wasn’t in his plans. For some reason, guiltily, he hadn’t anticipated the idea of someone else making a move on the girl he wanted to fuck. Let alone her accepting. She seemed like such an ice queen with him that it led him to forget just how sweet she was to literally everyone else.

It was slightly infuriating, how everyone had nothing but good things to say about her. She was nice and she helped out this person when they moved, she helped plan this persons birthday party, she spotted this person 5 when they went to get coffee… there was no denying everyone else got the sweet parts while all the sourness was reserved for him. 

And yet, he still pushed her. Still played this game and taunted her because how the fuck else was he supposed to get her attention? He was going to have to kick it up a notch.  

——

“Who’s the date with?” He asked in the middle of their session, ignoring the paper in front of him as he looked at her. She was way more dressed up than he’d seen her at a tutoring meet before, a little skirt that brushed her thighs and a little button up tucked into it giving it a sweet but sexy combination that made him a little twitchy. 

In all honesty it had been hard to focus since he seen her today. All he could think about was how those pretty lips had been bitten and swollen from his kisses, how they’d curled around his name so fucking sweetly that it had his cock stirring at the memory. Her perfume was seemingly freshly applied and it was interfering with his brain chemistry or something, because all he wanted to do was throw the books to the side and pull her up to straddle his lap. 

He imagined her hands knocking off his SnapBack, tangling in his hair as she rode his cock right in the secluded part of the library. His hands under her skirt and gripping her plush ass yet again, unbuttoning that little shirt and leaving more marks on her skin. 

Marks he caught a glimpse of as she suddenly looked up at him. 

“His name is Derek.” She cleared her throat. “He asked me out on Monday so I decided to say yes. He’s really nice.” For some reason she looked embarrassed by the information she had divulged, like she hadn’t meant to say all of that. 

That sneaky little minx. 

“Uh huh…” he let his eyes linger on the bruising that was fading but not quite covered by the collar of her shirt. “And what is Derek going to think of this pretty little thing?” 

It was gentle, his knuckle lightly brushing over the mark he remembered sucking during the first round. He knew he had caused some nice little lovebites but that one was still healing, so it was probably a dark one. Fuck, it probably looked hot as fuck when it was first developing. “Suits you, y’know. My marks on your skin. I could put some more there, If you want.” 

He was pushing it and he knew it, getting closer to her as his nose brushed her cheek. She wasn’t pushing him away, so he counted that as a good sign. “I could take you back to my place and I could give you quite a few more. A refresher course because… I highly doubt this guy is gonna be able to make you squirt all over his dick. Which you did with me, twice.” He hummed, letting his fingers fall a bit deeper down the collar of her shirt. “I don’t think he’s going to give you what you need, princess. We already did it once and so we’ll… it would just make sense to do it again. I think we have gotten well enough acquainted that I could do the job.”

He hadn’t seen the cold drink coming. Poured all over his lap and seeping through his shorts, he yelped as the icy liquid  hit his skin. “Oi! What the fuck?” 

“I told you, last time was a one and done for this particular reason, Styles.” She snarled, grabbing her books and hurrying to shove them into her bag. “Because you’d be a fucking pig and see me as a sex object instead of a human being. I’m not some fucking challenge, I’m a girl with feelings and I- I told you, I wasn’t doing it again and it meant it!” 

“Babe- no, I wasn’t suggesting that at all. I’d never say that shit.” He tried to fight, unsure how it had gone south so fast. Apparently, he was shit at reading her cues. Worse than he originally thought. 

“You don’t have to say it. You suggest it. You don’t respect what I say. This is why I was never going to go and do anything with you. Who gives a fuck how hot you are if you’re an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t get his head out of his own ass to see exactly why people don’t like you.” Slinging her bag across her shoulder, she scowled at him. “This isn’t going to work. I’ll find you another tutor. I can deal with your stupid flirting, but throwing what we did in my face? Absolutely the fuck not.”

Harry didn’t have a chance to defend himself, feeling incredibly confused as she ran off. Any call of her name went ignored, the librarian hushing him as he made his way out of the doors but it was too late. She was god knows where. 

Who knew those legs could run so fast?

He was a little pissed that she was assuming he thought of her as some sort of object. He didn’t mean to make her feel any sort of way about it all, not thinking he was throwing it in her face, but apparently she thought so. 

H: Y/N can you please come back???

H: I didn’t mean to upset you 

H: I know I can be a dick and that’s part of our thing but I never thought of you as a sex object and I never would 

H: I didn’t think I was throwing it in your face 

H: can you answer me please????

H: I don’t want a new tutor, I want you :( 

H: y/n, cmon 

H: alright, I’ll try again tomorrow. But we need to talk. Please.

[lilasamaaa]

Miss missing you | Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genres | Angst, Hurt.

Word count | 2.1K

Warnings | Breakup, depressing thoughts, mentions of cheating.

Summary | Reader wakes up the day after her breakup with Charles and reflects on their relationship. Inspired by the song "Miss Missing You" by Fall Out Boy. Author's note | Sorry for being criminally addicted to writing sad things.

Don't panic, no, not yet

The living room shutter is closed. Impenetrable.

She has no idea how long she's been like this, slumped on her couch in the dark, her face irritated by the relentless assault of her tears. Outside, she knows life has gone on without her. She suspects the sun has risen, like every morning. That darkness has given way to light, like every morning. She even heard her neighbors in the hallway, heading to work. Like every morning.

Taking a deep breath, she feels her heart and throat tighten, tears doubling. She didn't even know she had that much water in her body. It's not just an ordinary morning. It's the first of many mornings where she will wake up with her heart in pieces.

I know I'm the one you want to forget

She remembers, a few years ago, listening to Taylor Swift's "Mr. Perfectly Fine" for days on a row. She remembers cursing Joe Jonas, she even remembers feeling so sorry for Taylor. What kind of guy breaks up with his girlfriend over the phone?

Well, Charles, apparently.

She's not stupid, not blind, not even a little naive.

She had felt it coming. Had noticed him slowly drifting away. The calls were less frequent, and the ones she managed to intercept, shorter. She knows there was someone else. Maybe multiple someones. They'd somehow stopped talking about him, about her, about them. They only talked about races, cars, airplane trips. That's the only thing that seemed to keep them together. The only thing that had brought them together in the first place. She, the daughter of the CEO of one of Ferrari's sponsors. Him, the one who wore the suit with the logo printed on it.

Cue all the love to leave my heart, It's time for me to fall apart

She wished her heart would close. She wished she could block his access to it. She wished she could reclaim it, as one might retrieve the keys to an apartment once shared. But that bastard remains wide open. It's almost embarrassing, the way her heart, cruelly empty, hopes to be filled again. To feel his warmth once more. To beat for him again.

Her mind has stopped functioning, but her heart, somehow, hasn't stopped. It keeps beating, selfishly. It keeps her alive. For what? To feel the hurt, the betrayal, the despair? Honestly, it's not worth the effort. The poor thing should have just stopped.

Now you're gone, but I'll be okay, Your hot whiskey eyes have fanned the flame

She's young. She's had flings, but she's always been the one to end them. Charles was her first serious relationship. The only significant one, actually. She didn't think the pain would be so raw, so physical. She feels like she can sense her heart crumbling a little more each time she thinks of him. She feels it in her chest, swelling, taking up space, trying to escape. It wants to leave her body. To break free from this darkened, wounded brain that suffocates it.

She's not against the idea. It can leave. She can function without it. She's almost convinced of it, if that's what it takes to feel alive again. To feel like her again.

Maybe I'll burn a little brighter tonight, Let the fire breathe me back to life

Her heart isn't the first to be broken. Won't be the last.

She's heard stories from friends, from close ones, who've gone through breakups. Today, she feels so foolish for feeling so little concern about those stories back then. She's always been a listening ear, an unwavering support. She's sat in bars, cafés, bedrooms, listening to stories of betrayal and broken promises, and she simply didn't believe it would ever happen to her. As if she were above the laws. Above all that. She remembers listening to tales of broken hearts like children listen to myths of dragons, of wizards, of magic.

That's what it was for her. Fantasy. Something so unreal, so inconceivable.

Even though it hurts, she has sworn to let herself feel everything. The good as well as the bad. She knows that one day, she will look back on this period of her life, and she won't be overwhelmed by sorrow and pain anymore. But today, she has to go through it, let the flames lick her body to better heal her wounds later.

Baby you were my picket fence, I miss missing you, now and then

She'd never introduced a boyfriend to her family. Never envisioned a future with anyone. Never looked at houses with anyone. But with him, she did. A few months ago, while strolling on the hills of Monaco, she'd passed by a gate behind which a stone path led to a discreet little house. She'd fallen in love with the garden bordered by trees and flowers. She'd liked the color of the gate surrounding the property. She'd even found charm in the slightly crooked chimney protruding from the roof. She'd taken a photo of the "For Sale" sign and sent it to Charles. He had responded with a series of emojis (a face with hearts for eyes, sparkles, a star, the rest she can't remember). He had promised to call to set up a visit.

She would never walk down the stone path.

Chlorine kissed, summer skin, I miss missing you, now and then

She's never been drawn to wealth. She was born into it. Penthouses, luxury cars, diamonds hold no charm in her eyes. She's always been searching for more authentic, more simple things.

One summer when Charles had suggested a yacht outing, the lovers had ended up on a poorly patched-up rowboat that was taking on water. The monacan had complained all afternoon, but she still remembers the sensation of lying against him, against his warm, salty skin, alone in the world in their small boat. A feeling that no amount of money could ever buy. A feeling that no amount of money could ever get her back.

Sometimes before it gets better, The darkness gets bigger

What had begun as sweet and innocent had taken a turn.

Times were tough. His job was demanding. Exhausting. She did her best to support him, to show him he could lean on her anytime he needed. He wouldn't talk. Little by little, she was abandoning more and more things from her daily life to dedicate herself to his. His stability. His success. His worries. Sometimes, she felt like she was losing herself, but she knew it was temporary. She thought she would soon get the old Charles back. Even when he started going out late. Even when he started coming home late. Even when he started not coming home at all.

The endless suffering hadn't brought her anything. In fact, it had taken everything from her.

The person that you'd take a bullet for, Is behind the trigger

She knew the signs, had seen them in her own parents. When they ate together, he could go through the entire meal without meeting her gaze. When she placed her hands on his body, he would sometimes shiver. Not the shiver of anticipation from the early days. The kind that suggested he didn't deserve the display of affection.

Her own friends seemed oblivious to the situation. "I ran into Charles yesterday, at the club," "I saw Charles in town with a friend", "Aren't you with Charles today?". Were they trying to pretend everything was fine to protect her? Or were they already distancing themselves from a situation they didn't want to witness?

Oh, we're fading fast, I miss missing you, now and then

She pinpointed the breaking point as her sister's wedding. How ironic, she'd thought. Celebrating love, respect, and unity when I feel none of these things in my own relationship. Charles had arrived late, his hair disheveled, tie slightly askew. She had felt tears burning behind her eyes, had bitten her cheek to hold back from exploding in the middle of the church. She refused to believe that he had done that to her. That he had disrespected her on this day, in this place. Her entire family had cast a glance in her direction, had observed the way Charles had slipped between the guests to sit next to her. Without a glance. Without a touch. Her sister, speech in hand, had taken a few seconds to start. "With you by my side, I know I can face anything," she had started saying to her husband, letting her eyes meet the teary ones of her little sister.

Making eyes at this husk, around my heart, I see through you and we're sitting in the dark

He told her everything, recounted everything to her. From what he felt in the car during a race to his latest argument with his brother. She read him like an open book, could anticipate every word, every gesture, every thought, even. To joke around, she often said she knew him better than she knew herself. Upon reflection, they got together when they were eighteen. Had she even had time to get to know herself, or had she cowardly built herself around him?

The idea of pursuing her life's journey without him terrified her. She didn't know who she was, who she wanted to be. She didn't even know if she liked herself. She sometimes wondered if he knew her as well as she knew him. If he knew her favorite color, her favorite song, her favorite season. She always ended up pushing those somber thoughts away, reminding herself that these concerns were those of a schoolgirl, and got back to her duties. To taking care of him.

So give me your filth, make it rough, Let me, let me, trash your love

She was gentle, with a calm nature, almost maternal.

She never lost her composure, never raised her voice. But she had yelled that day. When they arrived home after the church ceremony. She would never forget, and he probably wouldn't either, how her voice had broken when she had shouted three words, three little words that had been enough to shatter everything. "Who is she?".

She, who admired him so much, who thought of him as a man of the purest and most sincere nature. She had given him a chance to repent. He hadn't seized it, hanging his head low. That day, facing her anger, the pain of a betrayed woman, she'd found him so small that he was almost ridiculous. He hadn't responded, of course. Hadn't said a word.

I will sing to you everyday, If it will take away the pain

She'd stayed. She wasn't sure if love made her do it. Perhaps it was out of habit. Or masochism. But she had stayed, and life had resumed just as it was before, for a few weeks. They had started waking up side by side again, sharing their day over a meal again.

Making love, again. She hadn't even realized they had stopped touching each other, desiring each other. How long had it lasted? A week? A month? Six?

He played the piano in the evening, proclaiming a love strong and indestructible over the keys, letting his fingers glide from white to black, filling the apartment with sounds and colors that had disappeared. Of feelings that had disappeared.

Oh, and I heard you've got it, got it so bad, 'Cause I am the best you'll ever have

She had let herself dream of the life before.

A life where Charles had only touched her, only tasted her. A life where she didn't discreetly grab his phone every night when his breathing indicated he was asleep. A life where she didn't send messages to Carlos at all hours of the day and night to find out where he was, with whom he was when she wasn't there. A life where her sister didn't regularly tell her how worried she was about her, finding her too thin, too stressed, too distracted.

So, she had left. She had left the spare keys he had given her on the dining table. She had fled his apartment and returned to hers, the one she had just planned on returning the keys to the owner, ready to move in permanently with him. She had spent three days alone, spending entire days in the dark. Ignoring the messages and calls of her mother, her father, her sister. Carlos, too.

Baby you were my picket fence,

By the end of the third day, he had finally called, and after three rings, she had picked up.

Neither of them had spoken for several seconds.

Then, he had done it. For the first time in months, he had been honest with her.

"It's not working anymore," he had sighed into the phone. "I can't do it anymore."

She had hung up.

Lain down on the sofa.

Waited for the day to save her from the night.

I miss missing you, now and then,

Now and then.

[ms-demeanor]

Hey! I appreciate your perspective on computer-based things. I think I need to get a laptop and would love your opinion on decent brands. If you don't have an opinion or want to answer please disregard the q.

Context: I'm often on the move and really want something small, light, and that will last a long time. I'm bad about buying new things or taking things to be fixed so ideally it's not something that dies quickly or needs frequent repairs. For a while I used an iPad for this but I need more of a keyboard than tablets have and the shelf life of an iPad is shorter than it should be for the cost. Mine is 7 years old and only works while plugged in... I liked my Macbook Pro I got for college but it's almost 15 years old and given I haven't needed a new one since I don't think spending all that on a Mac makes sense either. I use a gaming PC mostly but I'm going to need to travel a lot more in the upcoming year. I'm ok to spend up a bit since I want it to last.

I think you're going to have to adjust your expectations about the average functional lifespan of electronics. Seven years is a lot to get out of any tablet and fifteen years is way way way above average for a computer.

At work we estimate that the functional lifespan of a laptop will be around five years and the functional life of a desktop will be around seven years; we include upgrades in that lifespan, like adding RAM and storage.

It is not *unusual* to get more than five years out of a laptop or seven years out of a desktop, but if you are a heavy user of anything other than a browser and a word processor, that's about the time when you'll find that the computer feels slow enough to be frustrating. This isn't a hard limit, and it's not something that everyone experiences because people use computers differently, but if you're an artist and you use a drawing program that program will start to feel slow after a while because as updates and patches and drivers have been tweaked for newer devices they've slowly left your device in the dust.

This isn't planned obsolescence, by the way. Computer manufacturers try to "future proof" their devices to a certain extent, but you just can't anticipate certain kinds of changes. Maybe your laptop was manufactured before there were consumer SSDs available so its operating system doesn't take the advantages and limitations of SSDs into account. Maybe your desktop was built for DDR3 RAM and we're now on DDR5 and people aren't writing programs to the standard of the old technology, they're taking advantage of the standards of the new technology.

Since you were able to use your devices comfortably for such a long time, it sounds like you're not a very heavy user and don't need to worry too much about beefing up your specs. However it does sound like you want to keep your computer and use it as long as possible while paying a reasonable price for it (which is good! I think we should all try to extend the lives of our electronic devices as much as possible!).

I actually think you sound like a good match for a Framework laptop.

Framework is a company that makes laptops that are a lot more modular than what's on the market these days. They're mean to be easy to open up for upgrades and sturdy for heavy use. Most of the parts of the laptop are easily replaceable - including the screen - so you can use them for a long time and easily make upgrades that will help the computer feel fresher.

They're a bit more expensive than comparable PCs but much easier to repair if you aren't comfortable opening up your own computer (framework is intentionally built to be easy for people who are non-technical to work on their computers), and they are a LOT less expensive than comparable macs.

I still think you're probably looking at around 7 years of regular use out of a Framework and it won't *break* at that point, it will just. Probably be a bit slow and frustrating. You might not be able to get parts for it after a certain point. You eventually won't be able to upgrade the OS. But that's true of all computers.

I've still got my 2005 macbook. It still turns on, I can still use garage band on it. But it doesn't connect to the internet and uses such an old USB standard that it is extremely slow to transfer data on or off of and it cries and freezes if i try to use photoshop. It's not broken, it's just no longer useful as a daily computer.

What I'm defining as functional here is "Is able to run multiple programs (including at least one browser with 50+ tabs open and two office suites) at the same time for 8-10 hours a day without crashing, freezing, or losing data and restarting is not a major inconvenience."

In those terms, it does sound like you're probably in need of an upgrade (I can't imagine that your current machine is particularly quick) and I think that a framework laptop would suit your needs well.

If you're looking for something somewhat less expensive, you can generally find a decent thinkbook with a 12th or 13th gen i5 processor, 16GB RAM, and a 500GB SSD for around $700-ish, which is the low end of what I think you're going to pay for a decent laptop. I'm reccing lenovo here because I personally like them and have found them to be very easy to crack open for repairs and upgrades. Stick to the thinkbook over the thinkpad because that's the business line and is a bit sturdier and they are designed to be easier to upgrade over time.

Actually, here's a thinkbook with a 12th gen i5, 40GB RAM, and a 1tb SSD for under $700. That's a shockingly good price for that laptop; the reseller OEMGenuine is one I've purchased from many times before for work and I've found them to be reliable, though the reason those specs are so good is because they've added aftermarket parts, so your RAM and SSD won't be under warranty from Lenovo.

For Framework you're looking at at least $1000, but it's easy to plug and play with upgrades so you can start out with lower specs (except processor, don't cheap out on the processor) and upgrade later. The framework is a bit smaller and easier to travel with, but I have a laptop quite similar to the lenovo and it's not a huge pain to move around - it's very light but the 15" screen might be bigger than you're looking for.

If you're willing to spend a little bit more and you're very uninterested in doing your own upgrades and would prefer the most computer you can get for your money right out of the gate, this is a 12th gen i7 thinkpad with 40GB RAM and a 2TB SSD for $1150. (I've not ordered from this reseller before, so maybe check over their terms if you're considering purchasing from them.)

[fumifooms]

Hi I’m currently reading through a bunch of your posts, specifically the Laios based ones since he’s my favorite and I wanted to say the ones I’ve read (The Succubus and Marcile’s smile so far as well as some Laios/Lycion ones) are amazingly written and I love how in depth you go and the manga panels you use as examples, the observations you’ve made as well are some things I’ve never even thought to consider and they’re incredible,

Anyways, I just wanted to say how incredible your writing is and thank you for making such wonderful posts that I’ll continue to read, I also hope to make some Laios and Lycion art because it’s such a rare pair that I love, but regardless have a wonderful day!

Glad to hear it! 😊 I’ve already rewritten the Laios’ succubus analysis once but it’s still one of those analyses old enough that I don’t like anymore and find badly written ironically… I’ve been wanting to make separate posts rephrasing and reframing some things about the topic, summarizing to be way shorter concise and whatnot… The succubi in Dunmeshi and what they say about everyone is one of my favorite topics and I talk about it even privately so frequently that I can’t help but reword things over and over again and always finding new imo slightly better ways to put things… It is a bit of a problem though because I try to keep repeating myself on my different tumblr analyses to a minimum but then there are the topics that I’ll just happily go on a spiel over anytime lol. But yeah right now I’m sort of waiting for the anime to get to that chapter before preparing the wips on it for posting lmao I did condense and explain my favorite complete reading of Laios’ succubus into a summary I’m satisfied with recently, in an 11 tweets thread, link for those curious~

Super looking forward to the laicion omg 🥺 I should share some of my fic wips one of these days, me and a friend lucky-fydraws have been talking about a modern au for a while where they both attend furcons hehe. If I start talking about it now i’ll be here forever though

I can slip in a laicion art wip though hehe… Spoilers for end of manga

I post my art over at @fuumiku though, you might have seen my laicion comic on there Thank you again for the nice words!!! They make my day better :) and make me more motivated haha

[spacexseven]

ALSO since you are a lover of The Chuuya ill do some pathetic subordinate au chuuya stuff too! I'll try to make this one shorter since the dazai one is such a monster.

I think hed kinda do the opposite thing that dazai does- not that he doesnt kiss your ass a LITTLE, he’ll definitely send a bunch of gifts to your house and rush to complete some of your work for you and write you love poems (that he never sends, too embarrassed. probably for the best. his prose tends to go from Suprisingly Sweet to Incredibly Creepy really fast.), but unlike dazai hes pretty attached to his reputation and thus doesn't wanna burn it away by sobbing for you until you finally cave and come hold him, as much as he might like to. to keep up his street cred while still getting you to trust him, he'll have to be more subtle. (he's not subtle at all everyone knows)

I could see his MO being to just kinda. put himself in your space as much as possible. surely, if he just hangs around you and doesnt insult you or anything like that you'll eventually realize hes not that bad? he'll even come and help you with your work, see! nice guy, really! please forget all the shit he used to say to you and that time he choke slammed you into a wall he won't do it again!

he finds himself really wanting to be useful to you. he was a pretty shitty superior, he'll admit that, but there has to be a way to make it up to you! if there's something you want, he'll get it for you. a task that needs doing, he'll complete it. a nuisance that needs to be dealt with, hes your guy. very easy for him to go to the traditional Ill Kill For You yan route here, anyone whose bad to you will know his WRATH. abusive relative? not anymore! cheating ex? bye bye! some fuck harassing you? gone! anyone who hurts his angel has to die, hes put you through enough already as it is.

- 🩹

i love your wonderful brain my friend :>

cw: yandere themes, stalking, implied breaking in + murder

compared to dazai, chuuya's hit by guilt faster, and harder. it takes a great toll on him, but he abhors the idea of anyone knowing that he was feeling broken-hearted and remorseful over some lower-ranking member. so unlike dazai's public (and embarrassing) pleads for forgiveness and lovesickness, chuuya's far more...silent about it. sure, he makes sure you're receiving his gifts, lightens your workload, and watches out for you, even deciding to avenge you in many instances. he's aware of and has long accepted the fact that he will never be recognized for his efforts, never be thanked for his help and he definitely isn't going to win your favor with anything he does, but how can he leave you alone?

of course, everyone else knows. there's whispers amongst the members of black lizard that executive chuuya nakahara personally takes care of anyone who dares utter a single negative word about you, koyou has to deal with chuuya's numerous requests for advice, and even dazai knows that chuuya's become a lovesick little puppy (naturally, he fails to notice the irony).

it's a regular sight now, to see chuuya bent over and scribbling on a piece of paper, before groaning and ripping it to shreds. anyone who manages to put together the strips is able to see what looks to be multiple lines of poetry, quite eloquently written if not for the extreme emotions being expressed in them.

while he avoids meeting with you directly, chuuya can't help but linger. he waits around the corner from your home, hoping to catch a glimpse of you walking by. he stands by the pavement outside the bar you frequent, cigarette in hand, figuring out a way to bump into you and make it look accidental, hopes you'll stop if only to stare for a moment. at least he's not all in your face and annoying you to no end like someone is, and that should score him a few points, right?

and yes, he yearns to be of some use for you, wants to help you in any way possible so that you don't see him as a nuisance and throw him aside forever. and if helping you meant staying behind you and cleaning up, if helping meant exacting revenge in your name, or even if it meant staying out of your way, he'll do it without complaint.

[hannie-dul-set]

— arranged by: member (eldest to youngest) | date (latest to oldest) | type (full-length to drabbles to blurbs). i don’t recommend reading my older works because they’re terrible. still putting them on here for the sake of bookkeeping | last updated: 23.12.18.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. GENERAL WARNINGS. too much swearing, references to/jokes about sex but i will not write smut, an awful amount of secondhand embarrassment, all of the boys are pathetic (check each chapter for specific warnings). WORD COUNT. (currently) 22k.

[monsters don’t hide under the bed] 

LOVE VOMIT.  [n.] — the term when you become too full with your feelings too quickly and too frequently that you end up spitting everything out before even getting the chance to digest. this happens to you more often than you’d like to admit— every quarter, actually, ever since starting college. but what can you do when the prospect of falling in love is just too good to say no to? what can you do when maybe the next desert might actually stay inside your system this time?

or, wherein you fall in love with a different guy every season but fail to notice the one that’s been looking at you the whole year.

PAIRING. choi soobin x  reader (ft. the rest of txt x reader). GENRE. college! au, orgmate! soobin, strangers to friends to lovers, slice of life, romance, humor, mild angst, comfort (no hurt), SLOWBURN, featuring some members of seventeen, enhypen, and le sserafim. WARNINGS. reader is shorter than soobin, swearing, drinking, kissing, unrequited feelings, annoying org jargon. WORD COUNT. 36k.

THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER DRINK BEYOND YOUR LIMITS (OR MAYBE YOU SHOULD?) soobin blacked out one evening and forgot something he shouldn’t have.

PAIRING. choi soobin x reader. GENRE. fluff, humor, lovestruck! soobin, based on the manhwa “daybreaking romance.” WARNINGS. drinking, swearing. WORD COUNT. 1.2k.

모기 / MOGI. in which all of your life, you and beomgyu have been stuck together like glue whether you liked it or not. and as much as you want to change that, life seems to have different plans. 

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment), romance, humor, very light-barely there angst, pining idiots, college! au with flashes to high school, featuring an ensemble of 01z idols. WARNINGS. swearing, many many (fake) death threats, so much secondhand embarrassment, mentions of sex, mentions of blood and gore, the worldly problems of a teenager, mc has anger issues, gossip. WORD COUNT. 14k.

THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF. you don’t buy it when beomgyu keeps trying to make a move on you.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x reader. GENRE. fluff, humor. WARNINGS. swearing, beomgyu is embarrassing. WORD COUNT. 1.6k.

BFF PRO MAX. best friends doing not so best friend things.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x reader. GENRE. fluff, suggestive. WARNINGS. making out. WORD COUNT. 582.

[rockstar! au]

TOMORROW X TOGETHER MASTERLIST. © hannie-dul-set.

[surr3al1sm]

MLYiD scheduling!

Two posts about MLYiD in one day, what am I? It's author or something? Anyways, I have a little question to ask you guys. You see, no matter how much I LOVE writing 10k+ word chapters for you guys, these coming months it's just not going to be a realistic goal anymore. It's going to be the busiest time of the year at the themepark I work at, which means I'm going to have to work a lot and till very late. Meaning I physically will not have enough free time to write such long chapters (nor will I have the energy to). So I have two options for you to pick from. I could: A. Write shorter chapters (like 4-6k or something) and try my absolute hardest to keep posting weekly. Which basically means I will be splitting the chapters I write now in half, or three ways if necessary, not that you're going to get less content. Just more chapters. Although I cannot guarantee that this will be on Saturdays like it is now, and I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to make it every week. You guys will be updated if I don't. B. Continue to write the long of chapters like I do now, but they are going to be way more spread out. Like I'm going to be posting one every 2/3 weeks instead of every week. Also with this I can't even guarantee I'll make it to current MLYiD levels, but I'll try my best.

Vote for which option you'd prefer please! It would really help me decide on what to do.

I really don't think this matters to you guys as much as it does to me, but I'm someone who very much likes to keep a tight mental schedule and who very much likes to stick to that schedule. I would love nothing more than to keep writing as is, but that's just not even remotely possible for me right now due to work. Hopefully this should only apply to July and August though. This also applies to chapter 10, but I honestly already decided to make it shorter so I can give you all a chapter this week.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

remember it once - chapter three

Fandom: The Artful Dodger Pairing: Jack x Belle Rating: T (will change) Chapter: 3 / 7 Word Count: 2900

For today's @dodgerfoxweek prompt: love letters/banter

read on tumblr: one | two

The months are long without her. Jack finds himself softening towards Sneed of all people. Following the lifesaving procedure Jack performed on Belle, Sneed has demonstrated a genuine interest in bettering his basic surgical skills and acquiring the more advanced techniques he lacks. He’s still superior, still snide, still essentially Sneed, but now he listens to Jack’s ideas and, occasionally, compliments him on his successful surgeries.

The number of successful surgeries has been increasing steadily since Belle introduced ether and carbolic acid, and with Sneed cooperating, the two doctors are able to work side by side in the theatre on the same patient. This frequently shortens surgery time, which has manifold resulting benefits: decreased blood loss, reduced risk of death from time spent under anaesthesia, shorter duration for Jack and Sneed to endure each other’s presence. Strangely, the situation has become something akin to… training each other. When Prof goes, the hospital’s power structure should actually change for the better, with two capable surgeons sharing their knowledge. Sneed will be Jack’s reliable right hand, and Jack has dreams of bringing in new doctors who will contribute to the pooling of information rather than existing in competition with one another and risking lives in the process.

Of course, it isn’t a completely smooth partnership. Sneed can be awfully Sneedy at times. Whenever he makes a dig about Jack’s reading, Jack urges him to put his own educated shoulder to the wheel to see if he can find the cure for being an insufferable git. Someone really should, he insists while watching Sneed’s mustache twitch with restrained petulance, in this day and age.

Unless he’s tending to his patients, Jack keeps his evenings for himself. He’s trying not to gamble, not to drink too much (admittedly, “too much” is an inconstant measure), not to say yes to Fagin’s more suspicious plans; anything he claims is “foolproof” is particularly to be avoided. It isn’t exciting, but nothing really is without her.

Just once during the four-month voyage that carries Belle to England, a letter is delivered to Jack. Well, it’s delivered onto another ship, to the postmaster in Port Victory, to Government house, into Fanny’s hands, and she turns up at the hospital—to his initial confusion. Since Fanny escaped marriage to the Lettuce, Jack isn’t aware of any renewed interest in Sneed. He doesn’t understand what she’s doing here. When she says she’s received a letter, he imagines the very worst and feels his face drain of blood, but Fanny launches into a description of Belle’s experiences thus far. By her tone, Jack slowly recognizes that this letter was not followed by a note about Lady Belle Fox’s tragic burial at sea. He exhales. Even though Fanny feels that she’s communicated everything, Jack asks her to read the letter. He wants to hear Belle’s words.

Tell Jack I would write to him if Mother was not watching me like a hawk, Belle writes. I forgive her, only because we have been two months at sea and even the pastimes which were initially the most novel have become dully familiar. Without a full household staff to command—and Father, crucially Father—her attention falls heavily on me. She tells me to do my embroidery and study my Latin instead of the anatomy texts she finds “vulgar” and “revolting.” This is most amusing, considering her own pricked fingers and the seasickness that rears its head whenever she attempts to read for an extended period.

“It sounds dreadful,” Jack remarks, crossing his arms.

“But you were in the Navy!” Fanny protests. “Don’t you love the sea?”

“I didn’t mean the sea.”

She may be willfully ignoring the implication that he was talking about her mother.

It is not recommended that I stand on deck, Fanny reads on, but after I had done it once, I was determined to return. Fanny, it takes the breath from one’s lungs. Blue. Everywhere. To be in constant motion, harvesting the energy of the waves. Some mornings—

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

Jack’s vision had unfocused as he listened, reintroduced to the sea he’d made his career upon through Belle’s eyes. He realizes the question is Fanny’s and blinks.

“Which part?”

“All that dreadful… air! The wet!”

“Keep reading.”

Fanny sulks but lifts the paper once again.

Some mornings, I catch the dawn. The sky is the blackest thing you can imagine, and then, suddenly, the ship and all of us onboard are born into the world. I believe we are hardly real between sunset and sunrise. Colours seem to seep up from the horizon as though the paintings you love so much have been washed in the distant water, fleshy pinks and bitter oranges rise and bleed. It is the most vital thing I have ever seen. I only wish Jack were with me. Tell him, Fanny. I can hardly believe I won’t sail from one shore and meet him at another…

“It becomes a bit… romantic,” Fanny explains, not exactly bashful, but certainly aware that she is privy to something Belle and Jack would ideally keep to themselves. “Would you like to read the rest alone?”

Ah. Then it is uncomfortable.

Before he can speak, Jack watches Fanny’s eyes widen as she recalls the disastrous dinner. She’s about to assume (only because Sneed bloody announced as much) he can’t read. He heads her off, quiet and flushed while he explains that it is difficult, not impossible. Easier when words are written clearly with plenty of space, more difficult when someone’s handwriting is cramped and smudged. He can read. It just takes time, but he will spend time on Belle, he will sit with her letter and focus and squint in order to relieve Fanny of her messenger duties.

“But what about when you want to write back?” Fanny asks, eyes searching but kind.

“I’ll ask—” But who will he ask to correspond with his fiancée on his behalf? Fanny is probably the best choice as she’s keen to support their romance, but she’s nosy. He might (he does) want to say things that only Belle’s eyes will read.

“Oh! I have already thought of something much better!” Fanny gushes. Jack hasn’t yet had the opportunity to suggest a single name.

—

“It is the images that I find so very awful,” Fanny explains, supporting this assertion with a grimace as she pages past an illustration of a grotesquely swollen tongue, “but it was the images Belle seemed to like best, of late.”

She’s installed him in her sister’s room. One of Belle’s medical texts is open on her desk, and the pair of them stand over it in contemplation. The Governor is in town and the household staff are either entirely disinterested in what Lady Fanny and Dr. Dawkins might be doing in Lady Belle’s bedroom or else they don’t care a whit. Even if they did care, Jack thinks, what are they to do about it? Most of them probably can’t read any better than he can, if at all. They certainly won’t be writing to Lady Fox to inform her of the young doctor’s latest misdeed.

“What do you think?” Fanny asks.

“I couldn’t overstate their usefulness,” Jack says, turning a few pages himself. “And I suppose they are things of beauty, when done well.” He traces graceful lines of musculature. “The detail shows an interest in precision and care, which I can certainly relate to.”

“Not of the images themselves,” Fanny complains, closing the volume with sudden petulance. “My idea! Drawing to Belle instead of writing to her!”

“I’m not sure I have your… skill,” he states cautiously, recalling Fanny’s very memorable trees. “Not to mention your instruction. You must have had tutors?”

“I did have one, but he was quite rigid. We had a difference of taste.”

“I see.”

“Have you ever drawn?” she wonders.

“A little,” Jack admits. At last, he removes his hat, setting it on the desk. He brushes a hand through his hair. “We surgeons try to keep notes of our surgeries—successful and not. Often, Hetty will take dictation for me, but if she’s busy, or the procedure’s something I did by feel rather than by sight, it can be easier for me to try to sketch what I remember.”

Fanny smiles encouragingly.

“Try, then.”

This is how he removes his coat and pulls up a chair. It is how he casts his eyes over the pencils and sticks of charcoal, the messy potted watercolours, before reaching out to touch the tools with his fingertips. Jack doesn’t notice when Fanny leaves him to it, but at some point, there is a cup of tea on the desk into which he accidentally dips a brush. He doesn’t realize until he fills his mouth with the chalky flavour of diluted paint.

It's his own palm he’s attempting to represent. He curls and opens his hand, studying the toughened skin. In his mind, he peels back time, scrubs away the callouses to peel back his very skin, remembering his palm ripped open from the ropes on the first ship on which he sailed. Jack sketches the ragged edges of the injury, the glow of abrasion. With a sodden brush, he dips into the red, then swipes across the paper, watching the wound bleed as the water spreads. He wrings some of the water out before applying more paint to the spot, getting the colour rich and real and—

Fanny shrieks from behind him.

“How awful! I mean, excellent.” She smiles in apology. “I wish I had never seen it, and I mean that as the most sincere compliment.”

“I understand. I appreciate your opinion.”

“Do you?” She looks genuinely surprised. “I can see why Belle fancies you.”

It really isn’t his place to tell his fiancée’s sister she should expect more than basic respect from any man she’d hope to marry, so he doesn’t. Fanny is much more assured in the advice she gives to him, offering blunt criticism as she points to different parts of his creation. Not unkind though.

“Again soon?” she asks when she’s done and he’s standing to go, realizing he has paint soaked into the sleeves he didn’t roll up his arms soon enough. Unusual. It’s normally blood there.

Jack nods.

—

While he’s still learning, Belle’s letters begin arriving from London. Fanny dutifully shares each one. Now that Belle has more freedom to write—physical freedom, without her mother looking over her shoulder—each letter contains the sentence “Fanny, stop reading.” Jack appreciates the honesty of Fanny reading this line aloud, though she does also frown at being excluded from the rest.

The rest.

It has to be Fanny who explained, and Jack is grateful for it. The remainder of Belle’s letters are written larger, with spaces between the letters, each word cleanly executed on the page. They’re legible, specifically for him, exactly how he told Fanny a letter would need to be to lessen his struggle.

At last, he has an account of her longing firsthand. She doesn’t speak of the engagement—there is still a risk that Fanny would spy the word, even if she weren’t intentionally snooping—but it’s clear she isn’t only writing to an acquaintance, a friend, a fellow student of the human body. That Belle refers to well enough, perhaps dangerously so, but it’s all in Latin. The switch from one language to another stumps Jack at first, but he learns to watch out for it. In Latin, Belle is both formal and erotic, and Jack finds himself angling her letters away from the eyes of Hetty and Fagin, though neither knows the language. While Belle’s sentences are stiff, the parts of the body she employs Latin to address—parts of his body, and hers, frequently imagined together—evoke visceral memories. The dusty old language can be surprisingly sensual, Jack finds, when Belle writes of skin on skin.

He responds with broken bones, chipped teeth, dislocated jaws—drawings of all the latest cases to pass through his ward, everything Belle’s missing. It’s when he’s replicating the twisting line of stitches he threaded into an elbow the other day that he has the idea to embellish beyond paint; Jack pokes through her belongings (sorry, Belle) until he discovers her embroidery thread. After that, his art becomes vivid in a way that almost astounds him, even as he jabs the needle through the page. He lays a skin-coloured wash on an arm, then raises a blue vein down its length. He adds fibre ribs to open cadavers, creeping lines of red to blood-shot eyes. When he gathers both Fanny’s art supplies and his strength to recreate the surgery he’ll remember for the rest of his days, he brings Belle’s aorta to life in crimson before sewing in the noose that ties it off. I love you, he tries his best to say. I love you all the way through.

—

Dearest Jack,

I must tell you immediately, or with as much immediacy as a letter from Britain to Australia can allow, that my mother and I will be home in Port Victory sooner than we had planned. Therefore, do not suspect me of neglecting our correspondence if you do not hear from me with the regularity to which we have both grown accustomed. I may be boarding a ship within the week. I fear my mother is being overly cautious, but as an earlier departure is to my benefit, I was hardly about to protest. The responsibility for her agitated state is mine, as I will unfold.

I’ve told you of my time at the University College Hospital here in London. As access to the hospital was key to my mother getting me here, she has allowed me to maintain a standing appointment with staff. I have observed so much and taken copious notes. Your letters also inspired me to seek out a young nurse here, who I was told had something of a talent for drawing. I’ve paid her to illustrate my notes, so that we might more easily replicate these new techniques on our patients when I am back.

Though I miss you terribly—you know I do, Jack, do not be too jealous of London’s sick and injured, monopolize my time though they may—there has been so much to learn that I was deeply frustrated by the wave of sickness that suddenly swept the city. Before you leap to chastise my response, yes, I know it was a selfish one. You see, at home, you might have called on me to help mitigate the spread of illness. Here, I am an indulged guest. I may be present at surgeries and question patient doctors, but in the case of an outbreak, I am denied entry. Foolishly, I complained about this to my mother. Rather than commiserate with me over the injustice of my being shut out when I have the time, inclination, and very possibly the skills necessary to help, she determined they were quite right to bar me. A mere two days later, she decided we had better leave them to it and sail for home while our own health is still sound.

This does not mean I have seen nothing, and, Jack, I am not so selfish as to hope this illness reaches Port Victory. It appears to be neither influenza nor typhoid. I may have been able to diagnose it with closer study, but such a thing was denied me. At least these male doctors cannot separate me from my books; I have already begun packing my trunks with all the latest literature. I know you will make time for me so that we can discuss things properly. It is an enormous comfort.

It's been more than half a year since our separation began, yet I doubt you have forgotten what awaits us upon my return. My mother will see how you have flourished in your role as Head Surgeon, and she will know how steadfast our love has been. I believe our engagement has lasted long enough. I long for us to be united in all ways.

Yours across oceans,

Belle

—

The months are slower than ever, but not even Sneed on his crankiest day can bother Jack now. When Prof finally stepped aside, as recognition for his substantial contributions to the health of the colony (To the death rate, more like, Jack thought, but resisted impertinence just this once), he was allowed to maintain his residence in the house meant to be passed between head surgeons. Braced for the worst, Jack was surprised that this didn’t mean he wouldn’t be offered the things his predecessor had enjoyed.

Instead, they built him a new house.

The day he was granted his own bed is still clear in Jack’s mind, the day he was given his own quarters at the hospital even clearer. An entire house is so overwhelming that he puts off moving in. He’s afraid of the strange and terrible objects that will fill it—spoons in the kitchen and settees in the parlour. Innumerable trinkets for Fagin to nick, no doubt. Jack will have to pretend to mind, because the best thing that will be in the house will be Belle. He can’t imagine being concerned about much else.

He takes to strolling down to the dock each morning. On one of them, Belle’s ship comes in.

[soongtypehuman]

Update on Things

It’s been almost 4 months since the craniotomy that removed the tumor that was crushing my brain. The hope was that the surgery would cure the mild to moderate cognitive issues I was dealing with, or at least stop them from progressing. I’m sorry to say that wasn’t the case, and many of the problems have gotten dramatically worse.

I don’t want to go into too much detail, least of all because it’s boring. My short-term memory, ability to read and write, as well as speak fluidly, have all been affected negatively. I’ve just had another EEG to see if the seizures are continuing, and will have another MRI this week to assess the amount of damage to my brain from the tumor that had been affecting it for years and any damage caused by the surgery, and to check for a stroke. It’s a lot of fuckery I don’t have all the answers for yet. Once I have answers, then I can begin a more exacting treatment for the problem(s).

Unfortunately, as I said above, the problems are affecting my ability to write.

Planning and outlining have always been the backbone of my writing process, but even more so now. Everything is slower and requires a lot more concerted effort and lots of revision.

In short, I’m not able to create as quickly as I once could, although I’m hoping that will change eventually with enough rehab and figuring out new ways to work around my setbacks.

Ideally, I’d like to continue posting every Sunday, just as I have for over a year, but I might have to accept the idea that, as far as things go at the moment, I might not be able to use my writing time for both a weekly ficlet while also finding the time, energy, and focus to work on longer fics. For the time being at least, I might have to switch to posting every other week so I can allot more time and attention to the longer fics.

I just don’t know yet and can’t set anything in stone either way.

But I did want to say something about all of this because I was worried people might see me posting less frequently or posting work that isn’t as long as it used to be and think that I’ve gotten lazy or lost interest. That couldn’t be further from the truth. If anything, my love of this series is one of the few things in my life that brings me joy and that I can count on (my most beloved @monotremer being the main source of that), and one of my biggest motivators in rehab is trying to return to being focused and prolific where my writing is concerned. But I also have to accept that some things may never return to the way they were.

In any event, I hope to keep posting work regularly, but hope everyone understands if I’m not always able to do that.

Updates on what’s coming:

I was working on a longer fic to post to the Data/Lore collection today, but didn’t finish it, so there’s a shorter ficlet in the non-explicit Positronic Rivalry collection instead. The D/L fic should be ready to post next Sunday (fingers crossed). And while all that’s happening, I’m still working on the multi-chapter in the main series that got much bigger than I originally intended. It’s slow going, but it’s going, and my hope is that it’ll be ready to post in July.

[themauvesoul]

Sometimes I feel like I am a guy trying to plug a hole in the Hoover dam with my pinky finger. Anyways. Here is what you actually need to know about paragraph length, sentence length, and the like:

Yes, the rule is TECHNICALLY that you’re supposed to start a new paragraph with each new action or thought. However. On a more basic level, a paragraph is just a group of sentences that are conveying the same idea, and there are one million ways to skin that cat. For instance, here is an excerpt from a personal essay I wrote a while back:

Here it is again:

And here it is again:

All of these are technically correct, but they read slightly different. The first one reads faster than the other two, and the ideas in the paragraph blend and bleed together a little more. The middle one is much more measured and even. And the last version reads very slowly and dramatically, with heavy emphasis on certain words and phrases. What makes these three passages read so differently is the length of the paragraphs. Readers tend to pick up the pace during long paragraphs, and slow down quite a bit when they get to shorter paragraphs. Additionally, you’ll notice that the two one-word paragraphs add a TON of emphasis to those words. This is because they’re so visually distinct AND extremely short.

The trick to formatting your paragraphs is NOT following an imprecise rule that is frequently difficult to apply to your own writing. The trick is to vary the length of your paragraphs.

This:

And this:

are both equally annoying. The version without any paragraph breaks goes on and on, and eventually you get tired of reading it. The version with TOO MANY paragraph breaks feels like it’s shouting at you, because every sentence is so important it deserves its own paragraph. Formatting paragraphs is, first and foremost, about including enough variation to keep people interested and paying attention.

And this exact same principle is true of sentence length. If you scroll back up and look at the pic where I put every sentence on its own line, you’ll notice very quickly that there’s a lot of variation there. Some sentences are one word, some are three lines long, and most fall somewhere in the middle. This is intentional. It keeps the reader engaged. If you look closely at this paragraph, you’ll see that I’m doing it in here, too.

The reason for this is identical to why varying your paragraph lengths is a good idea. Long sentences move quickly, short sentences slow the reader’s pace and add emphasis, and medium sentences keep the reader at a comfortable, easy pace. You can use long sentences to add urgency, a sense that time is moving quickly, or a level of confusion as the reader tries to decipher your six line sentence. Short sentences pack a punch. It’s the difference between a freeze frame and an establishing shot. You can use the rhythm and meter of spoken language to help out with this as well. Most people sort of instinctively vary their sentences in length, tone, and emphasis. Nobody irl is speaking to one another in a series of five-word sentences because it sounds robotic and disgusting. If you write in the natural cadence you use in spoken language, you will automatically vary your sentences enough to keep a reader interested.

One thing to note about this is that the emphasis sentence and paragraph lengths create, much like any other fun writing trick, is like cayenne pepper or salt. No emphasis is bland, but too much makes your writing inedible. Figuring out how to season your drafts is a process that you can only complete through experimentation.

This is why you patently SHOULD NOT listen to writing advice that is broad, basic, or positioned as universally applicable. Everybody has their own preferences wrt spice and salt! Two people can look at an identical work of art, and can very easily get into an argument online about whether it’s bland or over seasoned, because they fundamentally have different standards. The best way to improve your writing is to learn how and why the tools in your toolkit work, experiment with them, and show other people the results.

[samanthahirr]

For the meta asks, 1 and 18??

Thanks so much for the questions, silverbrume! Fun Meta Asks for Writers

#1 - my current BIG project is Off the Books (13/21 chapters posted, and I hope to have it finished by year-end!), a 00Q fic that on the surface is about Bond & Q hunting down Silva to get revenge for M’s death, while falling in love along the way. But thematically, it’s about untangling the damage that M’s years of manipulation did to Bond & Q, and getting Bond to admit that he can’t keep repressing-and-ignoring his traumas or trying to convince everyone (including himself) that he’s "fine."

On the shorter side, I’m working on a Riverhouse Remix (which per the rules must remain a mystery until posting). I know which story I'm going to remix, and I know the sequel I want to write for it, but I’m currently trying to puzzle out how much of the original fic I can/should include (as in overlap) in my remix to create a comprehensible, standalone story. An interesting challenge!

And on deck (ha!) is my 00Q merman AU, which I am increasingly excited to write! I’ve got most of an outline written for it, and I’ve decided to stick to a straight-forward, chronological structure instead of experimenting with flashbacks/flashforwards. That means it’ll be 25k minimum (more like 40k...), but I’m coming to terms with another long-fic commitment and a boatload (HA!) of maritime research.

#18 - I love this question about alternative versions of my own stories! I don’t have many alternate versions in my notes because of how much planning I do in advance of writing, but here’s my wildest example:

I originally came up with a loose outline for a fic about aromantic!Q having a bunch of sex with a few different double-0 agents…but I couldn’t see it coming together as an actual “story.” So I took my favorite scene idea from the outline—one in which Q asks Bond to help him shave so he can go down on 003, and Bond shaves Q for her pleasure while she watches, leading directly into a threesome—and I reimagined it as a standalone OT3 fic for The Man from UNCLE fandom (Aftershave). As part of that reimagining, the shaving became Gaby’s request and Napoleon’s challenge/dare, with an emotional arc of Illya overcoming his discomfort with Napoleon’s difficult personality (frequently mocking/teasing Illya) so Illya can admit to them both how deeply he actually trusts Napoleon…and then Illya goes down on Gaby in a threesome with Napoleon.

When I DID decide to develop the aromantic!Q idea into a full story the following year (Touch It, Stroke It, and Undress It), I needed to reimagine that shaving scene into a different kink. I made 003's request be for Q to wax his chest for some corset dress-up instead of shave for cunnilingus, and I wrote a 00Q wax-play scene instead of a shaving threesome. And since I still wanted to hit that threesome beat, I created a brand new threesome for 00Q + Alec as a capstone. 

So in this particular instance, Chapter 6 of Touch It is an alternate universe retelling of Aftershave, which is an alternate universe retelling of a half-written 00Q scene in my notes. Trippy!

[lilac--sun]

Okay I should ACTUALLY start posting more frequently, I had family issues going on but we're all good now<3 (when Nightmares name or NM starts with a purple letter that means it's him uncorrupt)

Dream is naturally an EXTREMELY good aim. He chose the bow as his weapon of choice because he could close his eyes and still hit his target. Not only does this help in battle, this helps in everyday life, he can toss something behind him and make it into a basket/trashcan without even looking.

Every time killer walks into a room he slaps the top of a door like a middle school boy, Dust has joined in on this and they're in the process of getting cross to do it

The entire gang is bilingual with the exception of Dust, he's multilingual. Nightmare speaks Spanish, Killer speaks Arabic, Horror speaks a bit of German Cross speaks French and Dust speaks Sweetish, Norwegian he knows sign language and can write in Greek.

Nightmare is very reserved and quiet, unless you get him drunk. He's a happy and loud drunk, so when the gang got him drunk for the first time they were amazed about how giggly he was, he's also a lightweight which I think is pretty funny so after about 5 drinks he was OUT on the floor

When Dust wants to relax but can't sleep he makes visible 💤💤💤 with his magic so the gang knows he's relaxing (I feel like classic does the same thing tbh)

Nightmares uncorrupt body is still physically trying to keep up. When uncorrupt he looks like a slightly taller 11 year old, when his mind and corruption is thousands of years older

Cross has hundreds of self harm scars all over his body, and he was extremely self conscious of them and REFUSED to let anyone see his bair arms. That was until he trained with killer for the first time and saw that his arms AND legs were covered with scars and literally nobody seemed to mind so he dropped his coat and nobody said a word about it, so he started wearing shorter shirts afterwards.

Error loves being the center of attention all the time 24/7. So when the gang is all together and they don't make him #1 he gets kinda pouty, or hits them with "Why iS nobod-d-d-dy paying atTentiOn to meeee" until someone pays attention to him

Horror loves cheesy romance films just because of how bad they are. He'll sit down and binge like 4 or 5 really bad ones and cry laugh at them until he falls asleep

Nightmare sings in the shower but he'll deny it until the day that he dies

Inks current mood(with or without paints) is directly corresponded with the AU he's creating. It usually ends with copies and copies of a random AU

First time Nightmare called Dream "brother" after the truce, Dream let out so much positivity, NM couldn't be near him for a few hours

[numbknee]

i seek your advice numbknee. i really wanna write my own kyman fics and i have so many ideas for them but i’ve never written a fic before and i’m frightened to dip my toes into it. i’m not a writer, i’ve never written before. like how do you just sit down ans qrite something??? jfkgk i’m so confused, what’s your process or do you have any writing tips? i ask you cuz i love your writing and i look forward to your posts a lot.

That's so awesome, good for you dude!! Writing can be a really fun creative hobby but I totally get where you're coming from. The first fic I ever wrote was for the adventure time fandom 10 years ago (yikes I'm old lol) and I was really scared to post it. I don't remember how exactly I got the courage to finally put it out there but it def feels like diving into the deep end. Just know that everyone has to start somewhere!

The good thing about fanfiction is that it's as "low stakes" as you can probably get when it comes to creative writing. It's not for a job, it's not for any academic assignment, it's just something you do for fun. And I think the culture around fanfiction understands that a lot of writers are amateurs and are generally supportive regardless of your starting level in terms of skill. Personally, I would rather read from an inexperienced writer who's clearly trying their best and has some interesting ideas over a more polished/experienced writer taking themselves too seriously or treating fanfic writing like a competition.

There's no single "correct" way to write, because ultimately you have to do what best suits your own style and preferences. But for me, I generally start out with an idea for a single scene that inspires me and come up with a story around that scene so it fits into a cohesive fic. For example, for my first kyman fic I initially had the idea in my head of Kyle being mesmerized by Cartman dressed in drag and impulsively making a first move on him. I worked backwards from there, so I had to come up with 1) why he was doing drag in the first place, 2) why Kyle would be there watching him, and 3) how they end up alone together so Kyle can make the first move. The last one was the trickiest for me to figure out for some reason, but eventually I came up with the idea of Cartman tripping in his giant heels and injuring himself so Kyle would have to help him inside the house. It was funny but also helped move the plot along.

Planning out the scenes ahead of time like this can help a lot, but also don't be afraid to change things up as you write it out if you think something else works better. Since you have a bunch of your own ideas, start out with the one scene/scenario that inspires you the most and plan it out from there. I'd suggest first writing a shorter one-shot since that's easier to plan for than a longer, multi-chaptered fic. There's a ton of resources online you can find to help with story structure if you're not sure where to start or how to build on your idea. (Like this video about the 6 essential questions of storytelling).

Other logistical things: Make sure you save your work frequently. Spell-check is your friend. If you're not comfortable asking someone to beta-read your fic, use text-to-speech or read it aloud yourself to help catch any mistakes and listen to how sentences flow. I highly recommend using AO3 to publish your work since it has a great tagging system and helps you get visibility because of that, but also ensures your work will stay safe from the whims of corporations destroying/erasing fanworks since it's independently run and funded.

One last thing to keep in mind: it's nice to get positive interaction from the fandom, but ultimately you should write for yourself and your own enjoyment. If you only write seeking the approval of others, you're never going to be happy because you're solely basing your writing's worth on strangers' opinions. There have definitely been fics I've written that didn't get as much interaction as I would have liked, but in the end I was happy I wrote it because it was something I could be proud of having made for myself as my own audience.

Hope this helps! Good luck 👍

[in-flvx]

Hellooooo

I didn't come across a private chef Sirius ask? Or maybe I just missed it but I'm curious since the title is misleading?

I am becoming obsessed with your writing and ideas and just your blog! 👀😍👀😍👀

Hey hey, no there wasn't a Private Chef Sirius ask yet, and I'm super excited that you are interested, bc I love this AU. It let's me work with one of my fav thought experiments: how different would each of the Marauders be, if just one of them hadn't gone to school with the others. The title is a bit misleading bc Sirius ended up not actually working as a chef, but you'll see in the snippet.

The following morning begins with watery coffee, and kisses, bittered from that, in bed. Rubeus tells Sirius that he loves him still, and Sirius buries his face in Rubeus' armpit hair. It smells masculine in a way that Sirius relishes in. The sweet a reminder of the intimacy they shared, forever ago. Masculine and bitter, and sour in the way only alcohol manages to make someone smell. And yet. Rubeus smells like the first harbour Sirius ever knew.

"So, what brings you back to the isles?" Rubeus is wearing his glasses, from just having read the paper, but now looks at Sirius. There is hope in his eyes, that breaks Sirius' heart. Not for you, old man, not for you. "Work, actually. They need a hand at someones summer residence." Rubeus' face falls a little. "When do you start?" Sirius sighs. "Today. Or rather I'll have to arrive today. Not sure if they make me actually start today as well." Rubeus sniffs a little, but instead of protesting, he busies himself with making sandwiches for Sirius, despite Sirius' protests. Not much later, they share a last kiss before Sirius takes his old bike, and takes off.

Another drive through the scottish countryside, shorter this time, brings Sirius to the manor of his new job. It's large. Dark and oppressive, like so many houses of Sirius' childhood. Ivy ranks over the light facade. Natures protest against the building. Trying to strangle it. He can feel himself straighten up, as if his old gouverness had stuck a hat needle between his vertabrae again. With crunching stones, Sirius parks his bike. As he gets up, a stern looking woman stalks towards him. "Mr Black, I suppose?" She asks. Sirius is sure he can hear some of the brogue scottish in her RP. "Hi, yes that's me," Sirius gives back with his friendliest smile. "Minerva McGonagall," she introduces herself, and then continues to admonish Sirius for putting his bike where he had, and to instead park it behind the house. Sirius follows her instructions. "The Potters and their friends will start coming by Saturday. Mr Potter likes to keep company. His friends as well as the mother of his son join him here for the summer," McGonagall explains on the way. "By then you'll find your way around the manor and understand the workings, and routines of this place." Sirius parks his bike in a garage with several limousines and a few less fancy cars, which in all likeliness belong to the staff. "These are the cars you are expected to drive. While we have a chauffeur, you are going to do our shopping, and should one of our Masters require a drive you might have to step in. Everything you'll need for bigger repairs is stored here as well." Sirius nods. The garage is fancier and older than those he worked in so far, though that doesn't have to mean much. "The shack right over there contains Mr Filch's utensils. That is our gardener. He will expect your help frequently, as his old age forbids him from certrain work." Sirius nods along, as McGonagall shows him around. "Mr Slughorn and myself are the heads of our regular staff, but you are not the only newcomer here. All the more important that you don't embarrass us with incompetance or the unwillingness to help. One of our maids only started this week as well, and our new chef will arrive on friday." It starts to rain when they arrive back at the manor. "I understand you have a wide array of skills?" "I should hope so." McGonagall looks at him expectantly. "I'm used to farmwork, understand mechanics, and worked in several kitchens." "You will get to show off all of your varied skills over the summer." McGonagall uses a small key to open the door, and leads Sirius through a badly lit corridor. They cross several staircases which lead to different parts of the house. The very first, right behind the entrance door leads to the living quarters of the staff, as McGonagall explains. Sirius can hear two girls singing a round. Both immediately stop when McGonagall opens the door. The girls jump up in greeting.

[prowerprojects]

Well, who could have predicted what went down between SA2 and now. And I imagine if certain events went differently, we might some things would be way different. Especially when English is telling one story and Japanese telling another. (He wasn't the only character who experienced writing issues, his in particular just became "unfocused" after a while until they started scaling back the cast a bit.)

Hmm, probably would have helped if he had more kids around his age to interact with frequently. Cream slowly faded to the background {to her fans' dismay}, Marine is in Blaze's dimension and good luck finding Charmy interactions. Closest thing now is Sage and that's a mystery for now.

I think his theme song pretty much laid out his aspirations and still holds true for his Frontiers story in both versions of it. Presented differently in it and SA2, but ultimately the same goal: Finding his own style and path. (How far his potential goes really depends on him, so him pushing himself in different ways [and perhaps at times too much] could make him discover more things about him he hadn't before. That, wanting to show his friends his new skills is a good motivator too. xD)

I don't expect a drastic timeskip either; at most it'd probably be a few years. I'm sure they want keep the characters relatively similar-looking in nature if they ever decide on any physical or outfit changes to fit their current story, but not disrupting the iconicness of the designs. It's not the same as making an adaption with a different art direction. (Heh, I actually like the idea of him having a ponytail, to go along with his tails. Like Bark's, but shorter. But I can see them going for stylized models; the Mario crowd has been going nuts over "Wonder".)

In Boom's case, since it was meant to be its own subsection, the characters having designs that distant them from their Modern selves made sense from a marketing standpoint. Mixed on release, warmed up since but not wholly. At least wasn't the early concept art, Sega stomped down hard to get what we got. (It was mainly Knuckles and Sonic that got most of the criticism, with Amy to lesser extent, and Tails having little to none. Heck, some think his Modern self SHOULD have the goggles and toolbelt. Funnily enough, some did like the idea of a bulkier Knuckles, just not top-heavy, and more like his ancestors. And I have seen some scarf/adventure-looking Sonics here and there. And the surprise that was Vector, that leather jacket does suit him.) In any case, making changes isn't easy. Execution matters so much.

Considering that Eggman has a Vtuber model now; that'll likely mean other characters down the line, depending on the topics that pop up. (Though Shadow does feel like he's next. Hoping that his is mainly him and Tails before Sonic inevitably pops in, which is a recurring gag for that series.) But yeah, just a few fun shorts. Nothing crazy.

Yeah, his development from sa1 to sa2 made sense, it's unfortunate that it didn't work out in the long run.

Actually... idk about that. I feel like interacting with the other kids a lot would only highlight how more mature he is compared to them. When with his own friend group of older friends he still comes off as more childish than them. Maybe if they'd leaned into "youngest characters all being friends" from the start, but we'll never know now.

(Though take this with a grain of salt since maybe I also have a bit of resentment over people trying to metaphorically "banish them to the kids table", as if they all need to hang out with each other just because they're the same age.)

Yeah "Believe in myself" is a great theme for Tails and I feel like. You need to listen to it to understand him as a character, though I feel like it fits what he's going through in Frontiers somehow better than sa1? Like, a lot of the stuff mentioned in the song you can't really get from his story in the game itself (or maybe I just. forgot or wasn't paying enough attention). (Though it might also be the case of them writing frontiers and using the song as a baseline for his character and arc, while in sa1 it was probably the opposite)

Maybe they will change up some clothes!(Tails with a little ponytail? Aahhh it would be so cute) (I do agree with those people I wish Tails had goggles and a toolbelt in the mainline series. Maybe not on a permanent basis but at least goggles when he's flying? On the other hand, I do enjoy the main characters all having pretty simple designs. I also agree with Knuckles being bulkier, I like what they did for the movie, it just makes more sense for the type of character he is)

I only brought up Boom as an example of people reacting negatively to the redesigns, and it wasn't even canon.

Man Shadow could give us so much lore. I need the next season of TailsTube now (I can't believe it was a whole season? 4 episodes? Tails you hack) Man I really want some Tails & Omega interactions. I need to know what their relationship is like in canon. Or Cream? You could use Cream for the Chao lore. Aahhhh.

[greenerteacups]

Frequently Asked Questions

Hi! If I’m asked a question more often than sometimes, it’s probably here. Static page also accessible at this link.

When is the next chapter coming out?

I update on Friday mornings, weekly, usually before noon PST. If it’s a Friday and you don’t see an update, it’s either because I’m on a writing break, or we’re in a hiatus between books. Or I've been hit by a car or something.

Do you have social media?

Aside from Tumblr — nope! I’m one of those hermit types. My AO3 account was previously the only place I was active online. I made a Tumblr so I could offer a platform to interact with people who are more comfortable here than in the AO3 comments section (for instance, there’s no anonymity function on AO3; you can log out and comment as a guest, but that’s a lot of work, and then there's not an easy way to check if your question was answered.)

Can I tag you in [thing]?

Yeah! I check back in here every few days, on average, to scope out my inbox and my mentions. If you make something for my fic, I’ll publicize it everywhere, obviously.

Can I bind your fics?

Yep! Carte blanche. I don’t own the copyright for anything I write, so I appreciate the thoughtfulness of people asking, but you can absolutely go ahead and do whatever the hell you want with the text of my fic. Print it, paint it, burn it, bind it, turn it into blackout poetry. Transformative art is human nature. But if you do, please, please, show me! I’ll scream for a thousand years.

Caveat: I’ve seen some people have anxieties about the sale of bound fics for profit, since they’re worried about publishers cracking down on copyright violation and litigating fanfiction. This is tough, because on the one hand, bookbinding can be expensive; on the other hand, selling fic is a violation of copyright, and the only way AO3 is allowed to exist is by authors making precisely $0 from anything they post. (This is why AO3 will boot you immediately if they catch you trying to make money from non-original works on their site — if I so much as drop a PayPal link in the description for Lionheart, the fic will quickly be taken down, and my account could be suspended.) So my stance is: I’m not going to sell my fics; if you bind for personal use, this doesn’t matter, go for it, live deliciously, etc; if you bind to sell, please be careful and discreet as you can. But you have my OK, for what it’s worth.

Can I translate your fics?

Yes, of course.

Will you write other things, besides Lionheart?

Eventually, yeah. Probably nothing longform soon, however. When I’m writing something, I get engrossed in the world and I sort of tunnel-vision onto the project. When Lionheart goes on a hiatus between books, I may pop out and do something else, just to keep my skills sharp and give my mind a break. That’s where shorter pieces like The Climb and SWLITS came from. But I keep my eyes on the prize, as far as what I’m writing, because I pride myself on having finished most (though admittedly, not all) things I’ve ever started on AO3. I hate having unfinished projects  cluttering up my Works page. 

I don’t read WIPs. When will Lionheart be finished/should I read Lionheart?

Listen, I’m not gonna tell anyone how to read fic. If your reading preferences make you happy, then you’re doing it right. And I’ve also been burned by remarkable WIPs that peter out, or die on a cliffhanger, and they just about break my heart. I can’t promise that won’t happen, because I don’t know what life holds in store. I also can’t promise when Lionheart will be finished, because, frankly, I have no idea! As a full-book rewrite, if you look at the current chapter count, and then look at the number of books in the series, then, yeah, it clearly has a long way to go.

But I also know that the Completed Works filter on AO3 is hiding a lot of good fic, and I think people who only read completed stuff are missing out on the real fun of update culture — of reading something serially, the excitement of waiting for the next chapter to drop, looking for clues about long-running puzzles, theorizing in the comments, getting to experience each new hit live. That’s one of the few things about fanfic that you can’t get in a novel, and it’s a real treat. I’d at least give it a try.

Otherwise, here’s what I can tell you: Books 1, 2, 3, and 4 will all be finished. They will have completed endings, and will offer (satisfying, I hope) resolutions to the major conflicts of those stories. And that’s a fact.