#I wrote and am almost finished with a completely unrelated story

[mrspockify]

Legit I just read the latest chapter of Coming Down & then A03 went down and *incoherent screaming*. I'm not sure if my comment went through on there and there's no way for anyone to know right now but just wanted to say it was amazing as usual!!! I'm so stressed about Mario and AO3 being down because the TALK. We are so close to the TALK or are we???? Since you've been so diabolical lately. *distant incoherent screaming that can be heard across the world*

ASKFJAKJD HI YEAH IT WENT THROUGH AND THEN IMMEDIATELY AO3 WENT DOWN AND I COULDNT REPLY, THANK YOU SO MUCH 🩷🩷🩷

I’ve been planning this talk for so goddamn long and every time I think it’s gonna happen I’m like But Wait There’s More :D But I DO think it’s actually gonna happen in the next chapter. I hope.

Unless…

[tacomedli]

rant abt writing and stuff

UUUUUUUUUUUGHHHGHGHGH

i love my book. i love the story i've created, the characters, the vision of it in my head, everything.

but my worldbuilding and plot and such have all changed so MUCH since i started writing it. i'm ok with that, since i have a better idea now of what i want the story to look like, and one day i'll probably go back and change a lot of things to make the cringey, confusing beginning flow a lot better.

here's the problem though:

i'm sharing this story with some irl friends as i write it. so they have to deal with this really shitty first draft that has me figuring things out as i go and changing the setting and time period and whether there's magical elements or not. because it was a modern time period at first! and now it's some weird dystopian steampunk something or other with a fashion style that i see very clearly in my head but i don't even know what year it's from! i see this world so well in my head but i don't know how to describe it in a way that i feel they'll understand! especially since it's changed throughout the story!

i really made this hard for myself. in some ways i wish i could go back now and get rid of some of the things that are bothering me and causing story problems, but that's also really intimidating to think about.

i know if i go back now i'll get all bogged down in the details, and i don't know if i can fully fix everything properly yet when i still don't know what i want the ending to be.

and i'm excited for where i am in the story. i've been on the cusp of these REALLY exciting plot points for so long, and now i'm finally, FINALLY starting to reach them! this is where the good stuff really starts! this is where i can start adding the scenes i wrote ahead of time months and months and even a year ago!

and i know the ones that care will stick with it, and honestly they're following along pretty well. i'm just ashamed at how much it feels like a jumbled mess. i feel like my stress is causing my writing quality to go way down, because the only way i can get myself to actually write is to say "it's okay, let the writing be shitty now, you can always go back and edit it later"

which is technically good advice in general for me, but lately i haven't been going back and editing it before i show it to my friends, so i just feel really bad. normally i love editing but with how jumbled my chapters have been lately (writing scenes out of order and trying to piece them back together, lines of dialogue i like too much and refuse to delete despite them causing problems, not knowing wtf im doing with this plot, etc) it's a nightmare just to think about, so i just. don't.

maybe i should slow down my update schedule. but i'm worried i'll be letting them down, even if only 1-2 reliably read it and leave comments anymore. i'm afraid that if i write completely at my own pace, i won't write at all. and besides, i NEED those few comments to keep me going. to remind me that someone else is actually interested in this book.

so i keep writing this way. "it's a mess right now, they're reading it as a mess right now, but one day, when it's finished, you'll go back and rewrite what you need too."

which is, like, fine. it doens't bother me TOO much, i think venting abt it helps a lot, but i really want to print a couple copies when this is done, but i dont wanna print the shitty version, i wanna print the fixed version. and im worried that i won't actually fix it bc i have at LEAST two other unrelated books that i've promised myself for literal years that i would finish/rewrite, and i think about those almost as much as this one, ie daily

so idk what will happen. i guess i'll cross that bridge when i come to it. anyway i hope i have the energy to edit this current chapter before i update bc my self imposed deadline is coming up very soon and this one's another mess lmao

[dominophile]

I NEED MORE TROLLS APOCALYPSE AU PLS 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Did I hear that right?? The apocalypse au is wanted???

Oh anon you've made my day.

Allow me to add our lovely trigger warnings and then I'll talk a sec!

TW: blood, death, bugs and worms, implied canabilism reference

ok! with that all said and done, let me explain a few things. The bit I wrote about an apocalypse au with my oc is unrelated to this here. Why? Because that was a snippet for funzies, this has plot and lore and rules and I'm not being self indulgent and adding my own characters.

This is a parasite based infection. Worms in specific, like maggots that don't just eat the dead. Sure I could explain the lore better, but I could also just write it into the story itself. :)

also yes, I'm very aware worms isn't a new zombie concept, I'm not claiming rights to the idea of worms creating the undead, but I am writing my own original story about the idea.

Now! Without any further delay, enjoy the read!

The Queen's Demise

Poppy's POV

Poppy holds her breath, hands pressed tight against her mouth. She could hear the heavy, pained breathing nearby. 

She stays completely still as the figure drags themselves past her hiding place behind a large tree. 

A few minutes of silence pass, she's safe. 

Poppy takes a large breath, leaning against the tree. 

"That was close..." She says, calming her nerves down. 

It was only a few days ago that everything was fine. She was happily leading the village without a care in the world. but then...

~

"Queen Poppy! Come quickly!!" A voice yelled, catching Poppy's attention. 

"What's going on, what's wrong?"

The other Troll doesn't have time to answer before screams drown out their voice. 

Poppy looked, seeing her people running around frantically. 

She quickly ran closer. 

"Hey!"

"Stop for a second!"

"What's happening??"

She called to various Trolls running by, but not one seemed willing to stop and explain a thing. 

Then she spotted it. 

Emerging from the bushes was a Troll. But they looked... wrong. 

They were pale, and their eyes seemed almost glazed over. 

Poppy got closer. 

"Hey, are you ok..?" She asked, reaching out carefully to touch the Troll's shoulder gently. 

Upon closer inspection, they had various wounds as well. 

"it hurts..." The Troll murmured. 

"I can call someone, if you need!" She began to remove her hand. "I'm sure someone here knows what to..."

She trailed off as the other Troll looked her in the eyes, leaning closer.

The Troll suddenly falls over and begins coughing violently, blood splattered to the grass below. 

Poppy took a step back, opening her mouth to speak, to tell the Troll in front of her she would go find a doctor and fast. But as she prepared to run, her eyed flickers to the blood, and she froze in place.

Worms. She saw worms. 

Multiple worms were in the splatters below, a few of them making their way towards Poppy. 

"What the..." She can't finish her sentence. The Troll suddenly tackled her to the ground, clawing desperately as if they were the one being attacked. 

They growled, they were speaking their words breaking apart like they haven't quite learned to talk properly, and Poppy couldn't make out what they were actually saying.

"get off!" Poppy yelled, thrashing about helplessly. The Troll on top of her was surprisingly strong. 

Suddenly, the weight is off of her. She looked up quickly. 

"Branch!" She yelled, seeing her boyfriend pinning the Troll to the ground. 

"Poppy, run!" He snapped, freeing one of his hands to grab a sharp wooden stake from his pocket. 

Having that on hand was so... in character. 

"No! You'll get hurt!" 

"I'm fine!" He shoved the stake into the Trolls chest, removing it and stabbing again and again a few times until the body beneath him stopped moving. 

He breathed heavily, standing up. 

Blood splatters decorated his clothes and face. 

Branch turned to Poppy. "See? I know what I'm doing."

Poppy nodded, pulling him away from the body. 

"Hey what are you-?"

"worms.."

"worms?"

"I saw worms.. they coughed them up..."

Branch looked down at the body. Sure enough, inside some of the exposed wounds were little worms that seemed to be digging in and eating away. 

"worms..." He repeated, putting an arm in front of Poppy and backing away. 

"...how did you know I was in danger?" Poppy asked after a moment of silence. 

"Oh, I didn't exactly... I came to find you to tell you... what you already know now, I guess."

"What do you mean?" Poppy looked at him. 

"There are others, Poppy. I found them in the woods by my bunker..."

Poppy stayed silent for a moment before speaking up again. 

"What's... going on Branch...?"

"From what I can tell, these worms are eating them... from inside it seems. Impatient bastards couldn't wait for us to be dead I guess"

Poppy nodded, then froze. "Where is everyone? Dad? Viva??" She looked at Branch desperately. 

"They're fine, don't worry. Viva is helping gather every Troll we're sure isn't infected."

Poppy paused. "So some... aren't getting taken to safety...?"

Branch shook his head. "We don't have much information yet, so we can't risk anything. Any Troll with any symptoms of being sick isn't allowed in."

"this Troll here... they were in so much pain Branch... they didn't know what they were doing...."

Branch sighed. "I'm sorry Poppy. At least they're out of their misery now."

"I guess."

"Come on, let's go tell Vive you're ok, she'll be thrilled. Then we can make a plan to move forward."

"I'll meet up with you, I just need a minute..."

Branch looked like he wanted to protest, but stopped himself. He just nodded and walked off, leaving Poppy alone with the body. 

She waited a moment, collecting her thoughts, before she fell to her knees and cried. 

"I'm so sorry this happened to you..." She whispered. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to help you..."

She wiped her eyes, taking a deep breath. She couldn't break down now. She was queen, she had to do something. 

She knew what she had to do. it was her duty as queen. She stood up, looked at the body one last time, then ran off to find everyone. 

A while had passed, and Poppy had called everyone to attention. Branch had found an empty and safe corner of the village and he gathered everyone there with Viva and Clay's help while John Dory was currently making sure everyone was here and paying attention. 

"Listen up everyone!" Poppy yelled, which caused the murmuring among the crowd to quiet down. 

"as your queen, I know you all want my guidance... but the truth is... I'm not sure what to do."

The murmuring picked up again. 

"but! I promise you all, I'm going to find out!"

Branch looked at her. "Poppy..?"

She kept talking. "I'm going to go and find help. Maybe someone somewhere else has a better idea of what to do, or even a cure!!"

"Poppy no!" Branch yelled, walking over as quickly as he could. "That's a suicide mission, you can't!"

"What choice do I have? I have to keep my people safe!"

"I'm sure we can work something out here! Where I know you're safe!" Branch pleaded, Poppy just sighed. 

"My mind is made up Branch, I'm sorry." She put her hand on his cheek, offering a soft smile. "Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it! Don't you trust me?"

"...I trust you. Just please be careful... I wouldn't know what to do if anything happened to you.."

"I'll be back so quick you won't even miss me! Promise!"

Branch doesn't respond, instead he just handed her a pocket knife. 

"Take this, remember me and stay safe."

She nodded, and walked off to go pack. 

~

Poppy sighs heavily. 

"Hang on a while longer Branch..." She murmurs, standing up fully again. 

Poppy looks around, trying to find anything she recognizes. 

She had decided about a day ago to travel to the Hard Rock Trolls. That tribe thrived in danger, so she thought they could help, plus she had friends there. 

She was just a little lost right now. She had been in her own thoughts for a while now, and hardly paying attention to where she was going. Now she wasn't sure where she was. 

So she keeps walking. She's bound to find something soon, right? 

But an hour passes. Nothing. 

Another hour goes by, still nothing. 

She's completely lost. 

With a groan she dramatically falls backwards into the ground. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, just trying to clear her mind. 

But she's scared. She's alone and scared. She's always relied on having her friends around, but no she had no one. 

She was going to die out here in the woods, tired and alone and-

"Poppy...?"

She jolts up, looking around. 

"wh- who said that??"

Poppy's eyes fall on... another Troll? A very familiar looking Troll actually. 

"...Creek?"

The other Troll lights up a little, walking closer.

"yes! I'm so glad you haven't forgotten about me!"

Poppy huffs, standing up and stepping back. 

"Creek, you betrayed us. You sold out literally the whole village!"

She looks him over quickly. Same old Creek, except... more tattered. His hair's a mess and he's covered in various cuts and scars and he seems pale. His left arm is hastily wrapped in leaves as well. 

"I know, and I'm sorry! Very sorry! But I mean you no harm now, honest."

Poppy wants to protest, but what choice does she really have? Creek probably knows this part of the woods, right? He can help her get out and get help for her village. 

"Ok Creek. We're on the same side I guess..."

"...are we?"

"Well, yeah! The infection..? The worms..??"

"I can't say I've heard of it..." 

Poppy stares at him, tilting her head to the side slightly. Before she can ask anything he speaks again. 

"hey... you'll help me, won't you Poppy...? You've always been so good at helping..." He trails off, like he's not really sure what he's going on about. 

"What's the problem...?" She asks cautiously, stepping closer to him. 

"It hurts... so much..."

She feels her heart sink. 

"w-what? What hurts...?"

"everything... You're... helping me.... right?" He smiles, but it feels wrong. He reaches his arm out towards her, and the loosely wrapped leaves fall off. 

Poppy's eyes widen. Worms. His arm almost halfway up is eaten down to the bone and is infested with worms. 

"No.. no no no..!" She backs away, with every step she takes, Creek takes one as well. 

Creek's smile drops. 

"Please Poppy... it hurts.... I can feel them inside me..." He pleads. 

"I'm sorry. I'll come back for you soon, but I need to get help for the village first." She whispers before taking off. She doesn't know or care what direction she's going, she just knows she has to flee. 

Poppy doesn't look back to see if Creek is even following, that's too risky. 

She runs and runs, until she trips, sending her tumbling down a hill. 

She stays on the ground at the bottom, the shock slowly dying. Then she feels a sharp pain in her ankle.

Poppy sits up to look at it, it's already bruising and hurts to touch. 

"What do I do what do I do..!" She asks herself, feeling her heart racing. She's so lost in her panic that she doesn't hear the leaves rustling behind her. She doesn't notice the figure creeping up towards her... until it's on top of her. 

Without thinking she kicks at it with her non injured leg. 

"Help... me..." 

"Creek!" She gasps. "Please just- get off me and let me go! Please!"

"But... I can feel them under my skin...in my head... Poppy they want you too... not just me... let them in Poppy..." his words melt together and his claws dig into her flesh, drawing blood. 

"Please stop...!" Poppy cries, but Creek doesn't even seem to hear her anymore. She feels some of the worms from his arm clumsily fall onto her body and she tenses up.  Creek just stares at her, eyes blank. He's still alive, but he's not himself anymore. That much she can tell.

"Creek please, I don't want to hurt you...!" Poppy looks up at him desperately. To no avail. 

Creek holds still, very still, staring Poppy down, then he lunges at her, fangs bared. 

She acts quick, grabbing the knife Branch gave her and plunging it into Creek's chest. He yelps and falls backwards. 

"Poppy...!"

Poppy grabs him and stabs again, and again, and again. Over and over until he stops struggling and falls silent. 

She sits back, breathing heavily and tears falling from her eyes. 

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry" She sobs. She never wanted to take a life. Ever. Even an infected one. She went on this journey to find help and hopefully a cure... now she's done the opposite. No one deserves that, not even Creek.

She hugs her knees to her chest, ignoring the pain that shoots through her ankle when she does so. 

She just sits there and cries. 

She's distracted and her vision is blurry. So much so that she doesn't notice Creek's body pull itself up off the ground and clumsily drag itself over. 

She doesn't notice, until it's too late, and she feels his teeth sink deep into her flesh. 

Art by me

[kevin-the-bruyne]

I think another one of my asks got eaten... D= It just was kind of an idea of combining what I wrote and the fun idea you wrote together. (And the idea about the awkwardness of Wen and Alan being in a friend group together cause of their new boyfriends.) But no matter! Your tasty angst-filled idea you wrote is gold! It's amazing the range you have, considering you wrote the masterpiece that is the Boner fic. On a completely unrelated side note you don't need to worry about, is your ao3 mm_nami?

it didn't get eaten! I have it lol I am hoarding it for the time being because of two reasons:

1) I loved it so much that I wanted to give you a present in return. i started writing an AK drabble after the trailer came out and I thought to give it to you. Since I can't gift it directly in ao3 I wanted to respond to the ask with it. 2) I am thinking about it lol - so it inspired me quite a lot (like for AK in general) and the part where Alan moves in with Kaipa so Kaipa can take care of him but that also means he's around Jim and Wen sometimes is bouncing around in my head (i guess thats why its called a plotbunny LOL). I started writing part 2 of my AK fic almost immediately after releasing the 1st part (whispered secrets that is) and I work on it in regular intervals but nothing i do is quite right and its been so many months already. There is a part where Kaipa essentially moves in with Alan after his confrontation with Jim but now your ask is making me consider whether it should be the other way around. I'm hoping I can get the drabble finished and answer in a day or 2 and btw if you decide to write that fic I will 100% beta for you - i try not to write stories from people's detailed headcanons because ideas are about the only thing i have to contribute so i dont want to start stealing them LOL but I can tell you I'm very inspired by it so maybe fun things will happen

if by tasty angst filled idea you mean the offgun being meddlesome elder gays and causing a rift between firstkhao one then lskdskjfhjksdh im glad you like it - I have like 10 FK wips atm (including a side chapter for the boner fic LOL). I still have hope that I'll finish one of them before I start writing my 11th (my joexjimbae is also on the backburner for this reason) thank you again for being so kind about my writing 🤧 i jump from one extreme of nonsense comedy to the other of high angst and never land anywhere in between 🤣 i assume you made a typo but yes indeed i am mm_nani

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Disclosed

Pairing: Bakugou x reader x Kirishima

Warnings: Like, two sex jokes? Nothing that crazy. Once again, gay, bi and poly as fuck. Oh and language too.

Author’s note:

So uh, I guess this ends the saga of Little Secret. I’m still doing Kiribaku fics, but I guess I just had a bit of a theme going here in this trilogy. I tried to focus more on Eijirou in this one since he kind of got pushed to the side a bit in the other two stories. Little Secret had more of y/n’s omniscience, while Big Secret was more Bakugou driven (big brain hehe).

You can probably ignore the ending of this since it’s really really cheesy and it was the only thing I could think of at the time I wrote it (I think this is another one of my fics that I finished at 3 am or something).

Anyhow, I’d say this is my favorite part of the trilogy in some ways! It’s super soft and fluffy, and I really like how I wrote it out. I seriously hope you enjoy it!

I love you guys!

-Sugar

☆*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*☆.☆*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*☆

As much as Kirishima loved being a hero, honestly, he loved his days off more.

He watched from in front of the counter as you amicably bickered with Bakugou, bustling around the kitchen still in your respective pajamas.

"I'm just saying we could have something other than cinnamon rolls for breakfast," the blond man pouted, tailing you as you walked from the fridge to the oven.

"It'll be fun," you said. "Geez, we don't have to keep up with that hero diet you set up every day. It's our day off, let me have my sugar and carbs."

Bakugou began to grumble something about the amount of chemicals that were probably in the pre-made pastry dough, but you paid him no heed. The little cheerful beeping tones of the oven sounded through the room as you set the temperature.

"How long is that going to take?" Kirishima asked.

"Like half an hour," you said. "Need a snack 'til then? We need to eat these oranges before they go bad."

"Sure, I'll take one." You tossed the orange fruit to him, which he caught easily and began to peel.

"You want one, 'Tsuki?"

Bakugou grumbled a "Fine" and you handed him his, taking a third for yourself.

Normally, you may have been able to wait until the sweet pastry rolls were done, but instead you'd spent the last two hours very slowly waking up and cuddling in bed.

As per usual, Katsuki had woken up first, letting his eyes adjust to the warm tones the room had taken on with the rising of the sun. He remembered today was his day off, and a final bout of tension left his shoulders. His back had previously been pressed against Eijirou's, but now he decided to turn himself over to face him. Peeking through scarcely opened lids, Bakugou glimpsed your form on the other side of Kirishima, scarcely visible as you snuggled into his chest. Bakugou allowed himself something he only saved in silent, private moments like this: a smile. Just a small one, barely even lifting the side of his mouth. But he couldn't help it. The sight of his perfect boyfriend and girlfriend fast asleep in each others' arms brought him such an overwhelming feeling of compersion, he simply couldn't help himself.

Bakugou draped an arm over Kirishima's side, rubbing at your forearm with gentle strokes of his fingers. You hummed in your sleep, pushing yourself even closer into the red-haired man holding you. The blond breathed in Eijirou's heavy, musky scent, letting it flood his nose and instill a sense of unparalleled calm over himself.

The shifting motions on either side of him caused Eijirou to begin to blink his own eyes open, shedding the foggy haze of sleep from his mind. Dreams from his previous night's rest danced and fleeted at the edges of his memory, before they were ultimately discarded and lost to the unrelenting abyss that is abandoned remembrance. He felt warm. Warm, and comfortable, and happy, and perfect.

Eijirou noticed the steady movement of the arm placed over him, signaling that Bakugou was awake. You, on the other hand, slept on; eyes lightly closed, lips parted with breath, gently clasping the front of his shirt. Kirishima slowly pressed a kiss to your forehead, followed by another and then another.

His soft lips combined with the soothing motions of Katsuki's hand finally brought you smoothly out of your slumber, groaning a bit in your consciousness.

"You two awake yet?" Bakugou's voice sounded from over Kirishima's broad shoulders. It was a little gruffer than usual from sleep and it made you smile.

"Yeah," Kirishima answered for you, meeting your (E/C) orbs with his own.

You pulled your arm from under Bakugou's hand, moving it until your fingers were able to intertwine and lock with his over Eijirou's side. He felt safe under your loving union, tying yourselves together over him so the three of you became one unit.

That was how your morning had started. For a long time, the three of you laid there, chatting in low tones as you and Katsuki snuggled into either side of Eijirou, who later turned to lie on his back to tuck each of you under an arm. The experience was nothing other than peaceful, the three of you content to simply lay in each others' presence.

Ever since that one fateful afternoon nearly two years ago, your lives could scarcely have improved more. Inviting Bakugou into your relationship was the best decision you'd made, and now here you were. The three of you had graduated from UA and begun your lives as heroes; Eijirou still worked as an indispensable sidekick under Fatgum, while Bakugou was still in the process of getting a hero agency of his own off the ground. But today was a day you had settled on to spend completely together, and it was all going just wonderfully.

Somehow, the idea had gotten into your head that you'd make cinnamon rolls for breakfast, so once you and your boyfriends eventually crawled out of bed, you set about fulfilling the urge.

Kirishima popped another orange slice into his mouth, watching you absentmindedly as you pulled out everything you would need. Which, to say, wasn't much, seeing as you were simply baking them from a can. As you pulled out the pan and cooking spray, Eijirou's red eyes flicked over to Bakugou, who had removed the cardboard tube from the fridge again. The redhead fought back a smirk as he watched his shared boyfriend scowl at the ingredients, thinking back to his almost monthly 'your body is a temple and you should treat it as such' lectures he'd give the two of you.

You caught sight of him as well, striding towards him and plucking the container from his hands. Bakugou started grumbling again, turning and exiting the kitchen to presumably go get dressed or something.

Kirishima took the opportunity to come up behind you as you popped the cardboard cylinder open, letting the preformed dough puff up as it met the air. His arm wrapped loosely around your waist as he bent a little to place his head on your shoulder. "Need help with anything?" he asked.

"No, thanks," you said, taking the unbaked rolls and filling your pre-sprayed pan.

He hummed and straightened, moving so he could lean against the counter. He noticed your orange next to him, partially peeled and abandoned. Taking one of the remaining slices from his own, he held it out towards you. "Hey, babe."

You turned and caught sight of it, smiling as you took the little slice between your teeth. You pulled it into your mouth as he pushed from his end, and you began to chew. "Mmm, that one's good."

Eijirou grinned back in agreement and ate the last slice. He reached for your abandoned one, working his nails beneath the pliable peel. "So what made you buy cinnamon rolls? Other than the fact that they're delicious, that is."

"Cold nostalgia," you said, tweaking the dough in the filled pan so it looked right. "I saw them at the store and thought to myself, 'Hey, I remember eating those. I could totally make them myself. Tasty.' Also I thought you might like them. We can all share." You picked up the pan in one hand and carried it to the oven, checking that it was the right temperature and sliding them in.

"I'm not sure about Katsuki," Eijirou said, picking some of the white fibers off another orange slice. "He didn't seem too thrilled."

"Meh," you said, fingers tapping out twenty-seven minutes on the oven timer, bringing more happy beeps to your ears. "If he doesn't eat any of them, there's just more for us, I guess. But you know how he is. You think he'll crack in front of us or wait until we leave?"

Eijirou smiled as you walked back to him, running your hands up his sides affectionately as you grinned up at him. "I'll bet one of us will find him having one in the middle of the night," he wagered.

"You're on," you giggled, swiping another orange slice from him.

"Hey! I would have given you some if you had asked, you know."

"Oops." You slid the slice slowly into your mouth, keeping your eyes on his own. A burst of sweet citric juice filled your mouth as you bit down, and you shut your eyes for a second just to fully enjoy it.

The sensation of a finger poking at your nose caused your lids to flutter open. Your eyes crossed to look at the offending digit, rolling back up and focusing on Eijirou's face.

"Bep," he said, the note accompanying his action.

You booped his nose in unhostile revenge, beginning to giggle as a mini-war began. Eijirou used the pad of his pointer finger to jab lightly at your face, making a new sound effect with each one. You had the advantage since both of your hands were free; tapping both your index fingers on his torso, face, and shoulders.

"Boop."

"Beep."

"Bap."

Bakugou shuffled back into the kitchen and watched your cheerful assaults on one another, both his cheeks and his heart warming at the sound of your giggles. "What the hell are you two doing?"

"Being in love," Eijirou said, proceeding to poke at your cheek. "Get over here, Katsu."

Bakugou just tched and wandered over to the oven to look at the baking rolls. "Dumbasses."

"Better hurry up, 'Tsuki," you said, stepping closer to Eijirou. "Or else you're going to miss out on the kisses."

"Oooooh-," Kirishima drew out for a second before your lips met his. He reciprocated, noting how you both shared the same orange-citrus taste. Out of curiosity, he peeked his eyes open to meet Bakugou's.

The blond man scowled, finally stomping over to you. "Fine. But I'm going in the middle." He wedged himself between you two.

"Yay!" Your arms wound around his slim waist, resting just above his hips. Your lips attached themselves to the base of Bakugou's neck, while Kirishima smooched at his mouth. It was quiet and sweet for a moment, each partaking in another's lips until you were satisfied, swapping positions when necessary.

You separated from Bakugou, running your thumb over his cheekbone for a moment as you looked into his eyes. He'd gotten better about asking for and receiving affection over the years you'd been dating, but it still brought warmth crashing through your system every time.

"Eiji Baby?" you asked, keeping your eyes on Bakugou.

"Yeah?"

"How much time is left on the oven?"

Kirishima glanced up at the glowing digits. "Eighteen minutes."

You hummed. "I'll get started on the icing for my rolls."

"Our rolls," Eijirou corrected, grinning at your over-the-shoulder eye roll you gave him as you made your way to the pantry to grab some powdered sugar.

Bakugou had the same reaction as you, tsking under his breath and moving to lean against the counter next to Kirishima. His position wasn't held long however, since you soon returned with your bag of sugar and the carton of milk, shooing them away so you could use the space. You pulled down a bowl and poured in some sugar and milk, beginning to mix it into a thick liquid with a spoon.

"Need a taste tester?" Kirishima asked hopefully.

"Eiji, this is pure sugar."

He glanced back at the ingredients. "Yeah."

There was something undeniably satisfying about watching the powder mix with the milk, going from fine and crumbly and turning into a sweet liquid mixture to later be drizzled over your pastries.

Maybe it was the motions of your hand as you manipulated the spoon. Maybe it was the ambiance of the room, surrounded by the two men you loved and planned to spend the rest of your life with. Either way, the song that had quietly been thrumming at the back of your mind wandered to the front, and the next thing you knew, you were humming.

Bakugou and Kirishima looked up at the sound of your voice, small smiles spreading their lips. Eijirou recognized the tune you were quietly singing to yourself, quickly adding his voice to your own. Your cheeks heated when you met his eyes, yet you continued to hum along with him. For a moment, you were both content with hitting the notes (or at least, trying to in some people's cases) wordlessly. But then you came upon the chorus, and it was as though you simultaneously reached a shared agreement that it should be belted out properly.

"S'GONNA TAKE A LOT TO DRAG ME AWAY FROM YOUUUU! THERE'S NOTHING THAT A HUNDRED MEN OR MORE COULD EVER DO! I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AFRICAAAA—"

Bakugou watched you with an expression of general disgust and confusion. This was an act, of course, for the most part. He could never quite get used to the spontaneous concerts you both would occasionally throw, singing whatever obnoxious song that came to your minds. You probably only had one brain cell between you two, and it was a tossup of who got it for the day. But there was something about it that made his heart stir and his neck prickle. Maybe it was the absolute glow about Kirishima as he threw back his head to belt out lyrics. Maybe it was the way you had taken the spoon out of the icing bowl, singing at it as if it were a microphone. Bakugou would die before he ever joined in, but he never objected to watching.

The moment the song finished, you started on another. Kirishima turned to you as a new idea struck you. You lifted your hands to a sort of air guitar, playing a bit of the intro to the song in your head before beginning to sing again:

"We're no strangers to love. You know the rules, and so do I~"

Kirishima smiled, liking the way you thought. He admired your sense of humor and how well you went along with goofing off with him. The redhead let you sing the first verse, dancing around the kitchen space from him to Bakugou, looking at each of them as you sang some of the lyrics and wiggling your eyebrows.

It wasn't long before Eijirou jumped in again, joining you as you sang to Katsuki. "Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and, desert you~"

Eijirou took your spoon as you rocked out on your personal invisible guitar, going to town on chords that didn't exist.

Bakugou fought down the butterflies swarming in his stomach at the sight of you two having fun. You would lean against him and grin up into his face from one side, while Kirishima draped an arm over his shoulders and passionately sang into your spoon. Katsuki noticed that some of the icing had dripped down onto his hand, but the redhead seemed to not have noticed.

You paused to giggle at Kirishima, who started taking the song as seriously as he could. His eyes were squeezed shut, fist curled into a ball as he drew out some of the lyrics as though it were so much more than an old-timey memed love song. You let your voice fade as he did his own thing, only offering it as further back up vocals. Eventually, he reached the final reiteration of the chorus, and let himself riff on the final lines as a finisher. When he was done, he opened his eyes, finding that he had even kneeled down on the floor a little in his passion. He stood and grinned, and you enthusiastically applauded his performance.

"That was for you, babes!" he said, pointing at his small audience of two.

Bakugou scoffed, but you could hear how it was a little choked from how cute he had found it. The liar. Both you and Eijirou could see how his cheeks had changed a few shades darker right in front of you.

Kirishima strolled confidently back up to you, swooping each of you into an arm and kissing Katsuki full on the lips without warning. Bakugou's eyes widened at the contact, cheeks burning even more than before. Eijirou pulled back with a satisfying smack of his lips, diving in to give you the same treatment. As per usual, you were more receptive to the kiss, more than happy to throw your arms around his neck and partake in his lips.

"Enjoy the song, there?" you teased once you pulled back, tracing your fingers under his jawline.

"Hell yeah!" Eijirou flashed those perfect sharp little teeth of his in yet another heart-stopping grin. Did he have any idea what that smile did to both Bakugou and you? He had to know it turned your hearts to pure hot chocolate, right?

"Got a song rec, Bakubabe?" you asked, turning to your blond boyfriend. "You mustn't be excluded from our concert on this fine morning."

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Doesn't matter anyway because your shit rolls are almost done."

You glanced at the oven timer, which was, in fact, counting down the seconds until it went off. "Ha ha ha! My children!"

You slid out of Eijirou's hold to grab your oven mitt out of its drawer. The oven went off with a drawn-out beep the moment you stepped up to it, cracking the door open and taking a peek inside. A wonderful smell hit you in the face along with a gust of hot air, and the sight of six perfectly golden cinnamon rolls greeted you.

"Look at them!" you said as you pulled them out with your mitted hand. You turned off the oven and canceled the timer before walking back to the counter to let the pan cool.

"Can I ice them?" Eijirou asked, coming up behind you to get a good look.

"Not yet. They have to cool first."

"Aww, man."

You pulled out a new spoon to use for frosting, since the previous one had been breathed all over. Next you began to clear off the counter, picking up any pieces of orange peel abandoned from breakfast.

Kirishima leaned against the counter again, taking a deep breath of the cinnamon roll smell that had flooded the kitchen. "I love it when you bake, (Y/N)," he said. "It's so much fun. The kitchen smells great, everything always tastes great—"

"Always?" you asked skeptically with a smirk.

"I guess there was that one time," he admitted. "That was—that was probably not a very good idea."

"If it weren't for me," Bakugou cut in, "you would have burned the whole house down."

"An artist must experiment with her craft." You flipped your hair a bit, turning back to your kitchen maintenance. There wasn't much to do. Between both yours and Bakugou's preference for a neat house, your counters usually stayed pretty clear.

Eijirou glanced at the bowl of icing, dipping the tip of his finger into the white mixture. "You know what this looks like?"

"No," you and Bakugou said at the same time firmly, understanding what he meant immediately.

"Shot down," Eijirou said. "You're right, that wasn't that good."

You putzed for another minute, finally hovering your hand over the cooling pan. "That should be good enough."

You had Eijirou harden the tips of his fingers to hold the pan as you began moving the rolls out onto a plate. He started humming again as you drove the spatula under the baked goods.

"Seriously?" Bakugou asked, having inched closer to watch. "Again with the singing?"

"I've got a song in my manly, chivalrous heart," Kirishima said, turning to grin at him. "Can't help it. I'm in the zone."

"I'm liking this zone," you said. "It's fun."

You pushed the icing bowl to Eijirou and took out another spoon for yourself, dipping it in and allowing the sugary liquid to drizzle over the golden brown confections. Kirishima did the same on his own, still humming the tune of Be A Man from Mulan and nodding his head to the individual notes. You danced along with him, moving your hips to his favorite Disney song.

Kirishima's eyes wandered down to your swaying movements. You really did wear those shorts nicely.

You jumped at the sensation of a large hand gently grabbing at your butt. Turning, you saw Eijirou's slight smile on his lips. "Eiji?"

"What?"

"Didn't you get enough last night?"

Kirishima shrugged, finally removing his hand. "Can't a man admire his woman's perfect body?"

You rolled your eyes, tapping the sugar-coated spoon to his nose.

He blinked at the cold sticky sensation, going cross-eyed in an attempt to look at the drop of icing. "Yeah, I probably deserved that."

You smirked and rolled your eyes as you went back to icing your cinnamon rolls, watching Eijirou out of the corner of your eye. He was trying to figure out if his tongue was long enough to lick it off the tip of his nose, but so far, of course, he was having difficulties.

"Idiot," Bakugou said, taking Kirishima's chin and turning his face to his. He captured the sweet white droplet between his lips and swiped his tongue over it.

Kirishima's eyes widened at the gesture. "Katsuki?"

"What?" Bakugou shot him a teasing grin. "You had something on your face."

You chuckled at the two of them, tearing off a roll from the bunch. Eijirou noticed your action and took one for himself, cheeks a little pinker than usual. Bakugou watched as you both bit down.

Eijirou bounced a little on his toes as he chewed the sweet bread. "So good!"

You smiled and nodded in agreement. "Mhm!"

Bakugou looked from you to Kirishima, then to the plate of warm rolls.

"Sure you don't want one, Katsuki?" you asked. "They're pretty good."

The blond sighed, finally grabbing a roll for himself. "It's too late to be cooking breakfast now."

"He cracked!" you said, turning your gaze to Kirishima.

"Did not." Bakugou aggressively took a large bite out of his cinnamon roll.

"You said you weren't going to have any." You cocked your head at him, taking another bite of your own.

"Did I?" Bakugou smirked at you and licked a bit of frosting off his lip.

You thought back for a moment. Maybe he hadn't. He'd certainly acted like it though. 

"Well, do you like it?" you prodded.

"Sure." Bakugou shrugged and examined the cross-section of his roll. "Probably would have been better if you'd actually made it yourself."

You folded your arms. "Too much work. I wanted a cinnamon roll and they had them in the store. Simple as throwing them in the oven."

"But the preservatives," he argued.

"But my lacking baking skills. Besides, now I'll live forever."

"Hah? That's not how that works, dumbass."

"Well, I think they're perfect." Eijirou cut in. He put an arm around you and Katsuki and pulled you into either side of him. "You've got the spice—" he kissed Katsuki on his cheek, "—and you've got the sugar." He kissed your cheek.

"What the fuck, Shitty Hair."

"I'm not always sugar," you half-heartedly protested, snorting a little at his cheesiness and ignoring Bakugou.

Eijirou paused for a second, considering. "Yeah, okay. But . . . my metaphor."

"Your metaphor is stupid."

You swatted at Katsuki. "Oh, shut up. What are you in this situation, Eiji?"

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"Hmm . . . maybe you tie us together," you said, beginning to run your fingertips over his forearm. "Roll us up tight in your arms."

Both Kirishima and Bakugou blinked at you for a moment, cheeks dusted a shade darker than normal.

"So we're a cinnamon roll?" Kirishima asked.

"Ye—"

"I AM NOT A CINNAMON ROLL!" Katsuki shuffled against Eijirou's arm without really trying to get away.

"I think you are," you said. "What do you say, Eiji? He's an adorable smol bean—"

"No."

"—too precious for this world—"

"NO."

"—protecc at all costs—"

Bakugou threw the remaining third of his cinnamon roll at you, and it bounced off your head onto the floor.

"HEY—!"

He slipped out of Kirishima's arm for real this time, making an advance towards you. You ducked out of the redhead's hold too, running off to the living room.

"I PUT MY HEART AND SOUL INTO THOSE ROLLS, KATSUKI!" you called behind you.

"Sure."

"JUST ADMIT YOU'RE MY PRECIOUS BABY CINNAMON ROLL."

"Never!"

Eijirou listened to the sounds of his partners chasing each other through the house. Finishing off his morning treat, he smiled, thinking about how lucky he was to have the two of you. You no longer hid anything from each other, and everything was laid out in the open. Your futures were bright, and Kirishima knew in his heart that you'd forever be happy as long as you were together. From now on, your feelings would remain disclosed.

☆*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*☆.☆*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*☆

[Big Secret]

[Little Secret]

Taglist: @loxbbg @runrabbitrun3 @basicaegyo @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @pyrofanatic @sendhelpimstupid @sokkasangel @xoxopam4

[rose7420]

"You're going to be just fine, I promise."

This is a background story that relates to a previous prompt I wrote found here, it's called "I'm not that scary am I?"

The black nighttime sky shone with no stars, almost as if it were mourning the situation Y/n had found herself in. Y/n had been hungry for days. Her stomach growled insisting she should eat something but that was the problem.

She had nothing to eat.

Being a borrower was a tough and deadly life. Borrowers were tiny beings who were forced to scavenge for food and supplies since humans could not coexist with them due to the bigger beings’ greedy nature. Humans towered over them like skyscrapers, their steps vibrated the very floor they stood upon and their deafening voices tortured their eardrums.

Her growling stomach wasn’t the only problem she dealt with either. Rain down pored onto her, the head-sized drops falling onto her painfully, weighing her down with each step she took through this filthy alleyway. Two weeks ago she had been kicked out by her fellow clan of borrowers. They claimed she was not quick enough, not skilled enough, and not clever enough to be a part of their group. They forced her out into the fearsome, gigantic outside world named New York. She flinched at the memories of close encounters with the soles of bone-crushing shoes and formidable creatures that saw her as prey.

She only wore a thin long-sleeved shirt with matching pants, and a threadbare coat to go along. Her shoes were worn to the sole, as she was able to feel every pebble under her step each step sending excruciating pain in her soles. She shivered so violently she had tripped over her trembling legs. She had found no shelter since she had been evicted and only the crumbs of a dropped bagel that she had managed to grab onto before a hungry crow had torn it away from her hands with its sharp beak then flying away. That had been a week ago.

Oh, how she envied birds at this current moment. To have wings and fly out of this miserable weather.

Her head ached with agonizing pain, what she figured to be the effect of the lack of food.

She cursed as she tripped in an ankle-deep puddle, soaking her clothes entirely right into her already chilled bones. She caught herself with her arms, scraping her hands and knees. As she stood she lifted her palms under her face groaning at the sight of blood. Infection would spread quickly if she did not get out of this muck and properly bandage herself. Seeing that she was already soaked and no shelter would help at this point she gave up in trying to find cover and settled her back against a stone wall sinking down to the wet ground.

Fatigue caught up with her now as the adrenaline in her system cleared, all the aching in her body greeting her painfully. She groaned again. Then the ground started shaking with tremors.

Humans. She thought.

Panicking she pushed up to her feet with her arms. Or at least she tried to. But her arms were so shaky and tired there was no hope. She watched with wide, frightened eyes as the human approached; their heavy footsteps juddering her form. The human appeared to be male as far as she could tell, dark hair was matted to his head from the rain, and his pale skin shone in the black stormy night. His shoe swung into view, and then the other. Each step equalling twenty of hers, the unaware shoes crushing pebbles that were microscopic to the wearer.

Y/n whimpered from the unnerving sight.

And the towering male looked downwards to locate the sound. Locking eyes on her pathetic form.

She whimpered as he crouched down, his skyscraper body folding into a three-story building in a matter of seconds. She tried desperately to move, run just something but her limbs refused to cooperate with her commands. She was totally screwed. Life was a bitch.

Loki had been walking towards the tower after a trip to his favored bookstore. His mind was clear and he relished the feeling of cool raindrops upon his face as he slightly tilted it upwards. He had picked up dinner on the way back, finding nothing in the kitchen at the tower appealing to consume. Mortal food was so drab but he had taken a liking to an Italian cuisine: chicken parmesan. As an unexpected discovery at an Italian restaurant, he had found the dish very pleasing, so much in fact he was now what mortals called a regular customer. He held the to-go bag as he walked mindful not to swing it. Turning into an alleyway; a shortcut he had found weeks ago, he looked down at his loafers, stylish he would say. He sported his usual daywear consisting of a white button-up shirt, pairing it with a black suit jacket and pants. He had not expected it to rain however and his entire outfit was soaked completely. Yet his shoes were dear to him and he preferred to keep them in good condition. Then he heard a tiny whimpering. Had he not been focusing on his surroundings he would have never noticed the faint sound. His searching eyes landed upon a small, humanlike form curled into the wall. His curious nature urged him to get a closer look. So he did.

He crouched down and his breath caught in his throat. He set the plastic bag down on the ground forgetting it momentarily.

A tiny girl, he would guess to be smaller than his forefinger huddled against the wall. He watched her pitiful attempts to stand with shaky legs collapsing back into the puddle she sat in. He moved closer and she shook her head quickly. He ignored her reluctance, reaching forward to pinch her waist. He could feel every tiny line of her rib, he noticed her thin arms and legs that were thinner than twigs. He cringed as he remembered how ungrateful he was for the plentiful amount of food at the tower, yet this small one was practically starving.

But her skin…

It was ice cold to the touch. If he hadn’t known better he’d think she was part Jotun.

Pain rushed through his heart, to only think how long the little thing had been out here all alone in the unrelenting rain. Her clothes were soaked through and she shook with fierce shivers.

He needed to warm her or she might possibly die from hypothermia.

“Oh, my Little Dove.” He said softly looking down upon her tiny curled form. Her limbs shifted feebly as if she was trying to escape. He imagined she had not the strength to do so.

He held her to his chest with one hand and grabbed the bag with the other.

“You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

Once arriving in his room he set the bag down and removed her drenched clothes with a swipe of his hand replacing them with a grey hooded jacket and matching lounge pants. He wrapped her carefully in as many blankets of her size as possible holding her to his chest. Her head nodded off once again as it had the entire walk here so he gently nudged her chin keeping her head upright, reminding her to stay awake. He held her close for what felt like forever until she shifted causing him to release his hold slightly. She looked around with drowsy, tired eyes falling upon him. She leaned against his curled fingers seeming to trust him suddenly.

“Do you want something to eat Little One?” She nodded with heaviness and patiently waited for food. He set her down upon a pillow and conjured a dinner plate her size loading it with the Italian dish. She took a cautious bite and her eyes lit up in what he assumed to be her first bit of food in weeks. The entire plate was gone in five minutes. She asked for more but he knew not to expand her stomach too quickly knowing it would make her very sick. Her head drooped in sadness and she unconsciously rubbed her shrunken belly. Loki winced at the miserable action. She rose from her pile of blankets. He extended his hand for her to climb into but as she walked he noticed a limp in her steps.

“Are you hurt Little One?” He asked.

She looked up at him with those big (Y/E/C) eyes and nodded meekly.

“What’s wrong?”

“M-my feet hurt.”

“Oh” Is all he said, and he plucked her up as he had before. She sat down in his palm and he pinched her ankle delicately to inspect her foot.

He blanched at the painful sight.

The sole of her foot was bleeding, cuts, and scrapes caused by poorly made shoes.

He looked down to his own feet, thankful for the supportive footwear. The other foot upon inspection was the same, he admired the strength of the small girl. How she had survived this far he’d never know.

“Let’s get that fixed shall we?”

By the time he finished bandaging her foot, she was asleep. A full stomach and a warm place to sleep were enough for this small one to be grateful for. And so he released her upon his chest retrieving her blankets and draping each one carefully upon her body.

They’d figure out what they were going to do in the morning but for now, they would sleep.

[vgriffindor]

aMusketeer Fanfic Master Post

Calling all Musketeers! We’re all in need of a serious dose of our favourites, amirite? I’ve seen a few queries floating around lately asking for some great Muskie fanfic recommendations. I thought I’d do 20 weekly posts, each with a different theme, and ask for your help! There are a ton of great Muskie fics out there, let’s help each other discover them.

How this works: For each theme, please give me your TOP recommendation. It can be a one-shot or multiple chapters, complete or still a WIP, your own or some one else’s, just shout about that one fic that fits the theme and you want people to READ! Reblog to spread the word, with your recommendation and tag me @vgriffindor, or DM your recommendation so that I can post it! I’ll keep each theme as a pinned post up/keep adding to it for the entire week.

Week #2: AUs

It sure is fun to place these four in a different world, and see how they react! Whether it’s the quiet heaven of a bookstore, the flirty, caffeinated vibes of a coffee shop, the perfume of a flower shop, the hard-bitten reality of a detective bureau, or just about anything else you can think of, the boys seem to handle whatever universe we throw at them with their trademark personalities and humour intact.

Midsomer Musketeers by Suzie_Shooter: Exactly what you think and want this to be, when you combine the Musketeers and Midsomer Murders. 

Fraternité et Égalité by BazinMousqueton: Clever, funny, sexy and gorgeously written modern AU in an architectural firm’s office. Slash, but not explicit, almost everyone is bi, and the whole thing is perfection.

(Below is all due to the hard work and enthusiastic response from @animanightmate! Thank you, you are awesome!)

E: yeah, you got me by cherryfeather - modern au graduation party oone-shot with a game of spin the bottle that gets angsty with forthcoming farewells and then very fulfilling indeed.

T: Chapter 10 of the collection of unrelated shorts (very short) His Smile Me Draws, His Frown Drives Me Away by akathecentimetre is entitled  In Goodly Colors Gloriously Arrayed and is a modern au where the lads are working for the Sûreté in Paris (though it’s never confirmed precisely as what) and it’s basically a series of three (the original Inseparables) character studies as they get used to being Responsible Adults. No filth... well, apart from Aramis’s feet...

G: Fancy is a very short modern au short by AnathemaDevice about the cats owned by (or owning) the various season three characters. Includes one of the most beautiful word-sketches of Sylvie I’ve yet read.

E: Mis Adventures by Doom Canary is an utterly filthy, modern British police au short featuring a trans male character that blew my mind in the best ways. If there’s a plot, I blinked and missed it.

T: born like a vapor by mellyflori is - and I can’t believe I’m typing this - a modern au where two of the Four are genies (yep, you read that correctly). It is utterly, unforgettably gorgeous, and just works. Angsty and charming, and has one of the most elegant solutions I’ve seen for “what happens with Constance?” The world-building is done so well it’s almost seamless, and I’m weak for that kind of thing.

T: Brand New Start is a short modern office au by potentiality_26 from Constance’s perspective and is melancholy, sweet, and vivid. OT3 but nothing graphic.

E: One in Ten Thousand by breathtaken is a novel-length modern soul bonds au that, as usual with her, subverts the trope and delves deep into the psyche of an intensely depressed Athos who was in no way prepared to meet his soulmate. It’s hard going at times, but utterly beautiful and very hot.

M: my heart upon my sleeve by cherryfeather is a novel-length modern Shakespearean actors au and I avoided it for ages because the synopsis was written in a deliberately tabloid style and I assumed the whole thing was like that. It is not - it is the most elegant, eloquent, literally tear-tugging bit of angst and mutual pining I’ve ever encountered, and takes in: hurt/comfort, Only One Bed, and friends-to-lovers tropes along the way. Basically, if they were a character in the first two seasons of the original, she finds a place for them in this gorgeous work.

E: The Humbling River (author unknown) is the only A/B/O fic that I will ever recommend, ever. This short is canon era, but I guess it still counts as au? I fell into it accidentally, but it was written so well that I didn’t care about the premise.

E: Une histoire de bleu by ceeturnalia is long. A 100k word modern day au where the lads are security specialists for a private firm in Paris. It is vividly stark and lushly compassionate in one go, and also explores a developing D/s relationship in great detail, so if that’s not your bag, that’s the main core of the story. And it’s handled so well that I have zero hesitation in recommending it, even though that in itself is not really my thing. It’s just so very, very good and, even at that length, still manages to be very tightly written.

M: Death in Waiting by Suzie_shooter is your actual 1920s country house murder mystery with all our favs (seasons 1 and 2 anyway) in a short-novel-length interbellum piece of Upstairs-Downstairs only of course there’s lots of forbidden sex all over the place, and a genuinely gasp-inducing (at least in me) set of reveals.

M: Still Waters by evilmaniclaugh is a modern office au with a twist. It’s porn with a plot (and a great deal of angst), and is startlingly hilarious in places (for good reasons, I promise).

M: Gentlemen of the Road by Suzie_shooter is a highwayman au set, from my vague enough understanding of the descriptions, about 100 years or so after the canon era. As usual for S_s, it’s Athos/Porthos pairing, from the perspective of Porthos, and I keep coming back to it, for the humour, the story, and the sex. Bonus points for Ninon and Rochefort showing up, and our brief glimpses of d’Artagnan being an utter little shit.

M: Mise en place by breathtaken is a short series featuring season 3 characters as chefs. And it’s stunningly beautiful, intimately told from a conflicted Constance’s perspective (something I’m utterly weak for) and I want there to be more because dammit - food and polyamory and found family and so many of my favourite things and I wish she was going to write more and aaaaah. Anyway, everyone is bi and kinky and I am so there for that...

I have so many of these, but I’m going to leave it here while I retain any shred of sanity or dignity, and finish by telling you about my own only (so far) modern au, entitled Summoned (rated M), set in modern-day Cambridge, UK, complete with references to Brexit and climate change, and a detailed depiction of the Fitzwilliam Museum. The MacGuffin is a museum anti-heist. Or is it reincarnation? Or music? Or synaesthesia? WHO KNOWS?! Anyway, it’s 75k+ words of conversations, misunderstandings, music, musings, museum architecture, poetry, stolen kisses, awkward flirting, and confusing flashbacks. There is one extended explicit sex scene and the rest is more along the lines of innuendo and a great deal of heated kissing. And I wrote it in about fives weeks and am rather proud of it, actually.

[fostersffff]

Robot Carnival Review

When I first started my blu-ray collecting kick, Discotek was hyping up their release of Memories, an anthology movie organized by Akira’s Katsuhiro Otomo. While doing research on it, I saw it was recommended in the company of Robot Carnival, another anthology movie Otomo was involved with, with more animators and thus individual shorts, and a unifying theme of “robots”. As a robot enjoyer, I figured I couldn’t go wrong with this, and I was right! This was a joy from start to finish, where even the weakest segment still had plenty to offer. If this sounds like it might be up your alley, it’s available to stream for free on RetroCrush and YouTube!

Additional note before I get into talking about each short individually: with the exception of Cloud, the music for every short was composed by Joe Hisaishi, who has way more range as a composer than I would’ve ever expected, considering I knew him exclusively as the Studio Ghibli composer. Additional additional note: I watched the anthology in the original Japanese order, the version on RetroCrush and YouTube uses an alternate order from the international release.

Opening/Ending (Katsuhiro Otomo, creator of Akira and Atsuko Fukushima, key animator on dozens of anime projects, including Akira) - A mobile fortress (literally the above Robot Carnival logo) traverses a post-apocalyptic wasteland, bringing death and destruction wherever it goes. The Opening sets the bar for what you should expect going forward in terms of production values, and the Ending is a nice send off for the whole thing, but I don’t really have much else to say about these shorts.

Franken’s Gears (Koji Morimoto, Director of Memories: Magnetic Rose) - A mad scientist attempts to bring their robot to life, succeeds horribly. I think of all the shorts in this movie, this one has the most impressive mechanical animation. The whole thing takes places in the scientist’s lab, and the emphasis really is on all of the ways the environment is struggling to bring the robot to life, to the point that once it does so, it begins to crumble and break apart. But the animation on the scientist himself is also really charming; the way he moves almost makes him look gooey, which is apt because my sister pointed out he was probably designed after a snail, what with the big orb on his back.

Deprive (Hidetoshi Omori, Animation Director for Char’s Counterattack) - A super android has to mamoru his imouto from an invading alien robot army. One of my favorite shorts in the anthology, this was an entire action movie expertly condensed down into not even ten minutes, complete with an awesome soundtrack. I’d actually go so far as to call this one perfect for what it is, but it’s not much more than that.

Presence (Yasuyomi Umetsu, Character Designer and Chief Animation Director of Megazone 23 Part II) - A man builds an android for companionship, and he gets more than he bargained for. Longest piece in the compilation by a mile, and the first one with voice acting. Despite enjoying some of the other shorts more, I think I would call Presence the “centerpiece” of this anthology, as it’s definitely the most story-rich. It even has some prescient worldbuilding: the people of this setting do not see robots as sentient beings, which is shown right at the start when a bunch of kids knock the head off of an android and play with it while absolutely no one in the crowded plaza reacts. This sets the tone for the main character’s interactions with his creation, and provide additional context for the things he does besides the obvious explanations.

This was also the first short where I noticed something off about the animation, where it seemed to animate too well in for certain movements. As it turns out I was right; the liner notes explain that the director was using this project to experiment, and he would animate different movements on different frame counts. It’s not terrible, but it is a little distracting to see how smoothly something like a simple head turn will animate while more complex motions look more standard. Also, unrelated but fun coincidence: the liner notes also explain a reference in the script to a story called Daddy Long Legs, about an orphan girl who receives funding from a wealthy philanthropist she never meets, which explains a reference that went over my head Yakuza: Like a Dragon.

Star Light Angel (Hiroyuki Kitazume, Character Designer and Animation Director for Mobile Suit Gundam ZZ and Char’s Counterattack) - What could have been the most effective piece of robosexual propaganda ever made: a girl and her friend are at Tokyo Disneyland ROBOT WANDERLAND and are having a wonderful time, until she discovers that her boyfriend is cheating on her, at which point she retreat into the park and winds up on a virtual reality ride. Meanwhile, a robot performer attempts to find her and return the locket she dropped while she ran past him. This is tied for my favorite, alongside Deprive, because I’m a big sucker for romance and the main song for the short is so perfect for the content. I was also delighted to find the explanation for this short was that Kitazume, who’s work up to this point was all mecha anime like Aura Battler Dunbine and Zeta Gundam, really wanted to try to flex with character expressions, and it came through brilliantly as the range and level of facial expressions was the first thing I really took notice of in this. Funny enough, though, Kitazume also apparently said he considers this and Deprive to be the weakest pieces of the anthology, and I suppose he’s right in that they have the least meat on their bones and are also probably the least technically impressive, but still: my two favorites!

Cloud (Mao Lamdo, a prolific animator on many projects, but probably best known for this) - A robotic boy wanders past a series of ever-changing clouds. Cloud is definitely a stand-out short for a number of reasons, from the way its animated to the incredibly tangential connection to the “robot” theme, and to be perfectly honest I got a lot more out of it after I read the liner notes. The short was adapted from a self-published book Mao Lamdo had written years prior that had nothing to do with robots, and his interpretation of the short and the change to making the main character a robot was that it represented his frustration with the trend in the anime industry at the time trending towards a being obsessed with the mechanical world, while he still preferred to draw and animate nature. As I mentioned at the top, this is also the only short to not have music composed by Joe Hisaishi, instead the piece used is by Isaku Fujita, and as far as I can tell, this is his only credit. Still, it’s a good credit to have; Lamdo said the song evoked the idea of having a conversation with God and asking the big questions, which I can completely see.

Strange Tales of Meiji Machine Culture: “The Westerner’s Invasion” (Hiroyuki Kitakubo, Director of the JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure OVA and Golden Boy) A terrible steampunk mech invades a Japanese town, and is warded off by a team of youths piloting their own terrible steampunk mech. I watched this one with the English dub first and then again in Japanese because it’s been a fuckin’ minute since I heard a dub this racist, complete with changing r’s to l’s and vice versa, only to be cracked across the skull by what I am certain was a Japanese man doing his very best to phonetically read English in the Japanese version. In spite of that, though, this is easily the funniest short for all the right reasons, and it kinda clicked once I found out that the director was also responsible for Golden Boy; it’s that exact kind of humor, complete with a protagonist who could very well be Kintaro Ue’s ancestor.

Chicken Man and Red Neck, a.k.a. Nightmare (Takeshi Nakamura, director of Catnapped! The Movie) - A robotic magician wreaks havoc on a city by transforming everything in sight into robotic monsters, and a vagrant gets caught up in the chaos. I initially wrote down “this one has the energy of a Don Bluth movie, particularly In the Dark of the Night from Anastasia”, although the liner notes say he actually was inspired by Night on Bald Mountain, which is definitely a more flattering inspiration and more accurate, to boot. I think of all the shorts in this anthology, this one gets the prizes for “best overall animation” and “best use of robots”, and it also has the most intense PS1 RPG sounding music, which once again speaks to Joe Hisaishi’s talent as a composer for doing that a full decade before the PS1 even existed. Also, fun trivia, the director turned down an offer from Hayao Miyazaki to be animation director on Castle in the Sky to make this, which… was maybe not the best career move, but still this was a terrific short and I’m glad to have it.

Again, the movie is easily accessible for free streaming, and I’d heartily recommend you check it out if you haven’t already. But if you’re into collecting physical media, the blu-ray is crammed full of tons of goodies, including the liner notes I’ve referenced, art galleries for each segment, and a lot of other production materials. Discotek also announced they’re doing a 4k UHD release of this soon, which won’t include all the extras due to the way UHD discs work, but I gotta be honest, this would be worth double dipping for if the resolution bump is noticeable enough.

[an-aura-about-you]

One Little Push

I don’t even know why they let me write fanfiction because I’m just gonna do stuff like this. And I started this during ptonic week, which is SUPPOSED to be a celebration of platonic friendships in Princess Tutu. (I then wrote about 40 pages to catalog my media collection so this has been put off about as long as it can be.) That said, I’ve gotten this as done as I want to get it, so let’s post it. Warnings in the tags.

Autor spends so much of his time thinking. So much that it’s become an art, staying up three days in a row with nothing but his thoughts. It’s getting to the point that he can do it without trying. He can do it when he doesn’t want to. He can’t sleep at night.

He pushes his cuff out of the way and checks the time. The train isn’t late, but it sure feels like it with how crowded the platform is. He even gets an elbow jab to the back, only just managing to catch himself before he runs into Fakir.

“Do you mind?!” Autor throws over his shoulder. “You aren’t the only one trying to stand here.”

It does little good. It’s hard to tell who’s who with so many bodies pressed together. It could have been anyone.

He resumes waiting for the train, letting his thoughts stab at his brain. They’re only going part of the way together, Autor to meet with his father in a nearby city and Fakir to go on past that to meet with a publisher taken with his fairy tales. It’s disgusting. He’d probably vomit if he had managed to eat anything.

If it wasn’t for him, Fakir wouldn’t know anything of their lineage. About their gift. Fakir wouldn’t be squandering Autor’s inheritance on fairy tales if he had just kept his big mouth shut. It’s all he’s been able to think about for weeks. He forces his jaw to loosen when he realizes he’s grinding his teeth.

The train whistle blows in the distance.

The crowd shifts, forcing Autor even closer to Fakir and the end of the platform.

What if Fakir wasn’t here? he asks from the cold edges of his mind. Everything could be mine if Fakir wasn’t here.

Is it really that simple? He can still write his own stories. They might not take the same shape, but he can still change the world with his words.

The train chugs closer to the station.

Maybe my stories aren’t shaping reality because Fakir is here. This has gone too far.

The crowd shifts again as the train whistle blares loud and clear.

He has too much influence. He’s too dangerous.

For the first time in a long time, Autor stops thinking completely and pushes Fakir in front of the train.

Everything after that happens too fast.

Whoever had elbowed Autor before shoves into him at the same moment, making things look plausibly accidental. Autor sucks in a breath at Fakir’s terrified scream of realization, instinct demanding that he try to hold on to the man he just pushed. Fakir’s hand grips Autor’s arm, but there’s enough shock at the whole thing that he doesn’t try gripping Fakir back. He blinks at the moment of impact, and his arm jerks along for a horrifying second until the force of the train detaches Fakir’s arm from the rest of his remains.

Autor wrenches the dead man’s arm off of him in fright and joins in as the entire station erupts in screams of panic. His unrelenting exhaustion makes for good tears, and he doesn’t try to stop them. His heart constricts, but it does so around a cold, black pit of satisfaction.

---

Autor’s default expression is pretty dour, and it serves him well at the funeral. Or as well as it can surrounded by so many people crying over a mostly empty casket. Even Autor’s parents, his own parents. Did they even know him outside of a classmate Autor’s brought to visit a couple of times? Are they even aware that he’s family?

Everyone is understanding about Autor’s mask of numb shock. No one else in this gathering was there when it happened. No one besides him saw Fakir’s last moments. They’re not picturing a disembodied arm clinging to their sleeve, can barely even imagine it the way he can see it.

Best of all, they’re understanding about the fact that he might not want to talk about it. It’s perfect.

---

“I was wondering when I’d meet a grandson who truly took after me.”

Autor rubs at his eyes, unsure if he’s dreaming or just meditating. He’s never heard that voice before, and yet he instantly knows who it is.

“Quick, brutal, and straight out of a tragedy,” Drosselmeyer says as he steps out of the dark corner of the room, each word holding the affection of an indulgent grandfather and hands together as though he’s going to applaud at any moment. “And you did it all on your own. I couldn’t be prouder, Autor.”

He presses his mouth into an unsure line and says, “I want you to be proud of me for my writing.”

“As long as you write what you know, I’m sure I will be.”

---

“Autor, I want you to put your writing on hold.”

Autor looks from his work to his mother, only slightly bemused by her request at the moment. “What?”

“Please, stop writing,” she says.

“For how long?”

“Indefinitely.” Lore holds up a hand. “Please, I know it’s a lot to ask, but things have changed.”

He puts his quill down. “They haven’t changed that much, Mother, which makes it more important for me to write.”

“Not when the changes might be caused by the Bookmen,” she counters, her mouth pressing into a line. “Don’t be reckless, Autor.”

He turns in his chair towards her. “I’m not naive. The Bookmen are always going to be a-”

“Autor, stop and think about it!” Lore insists, taking hold of his shoulders. “Fakir’s death might not have been an accident! What if the same thing happens to you?”

Autor stares at her, mouth agape in protest but not making a sound. What can he tell her?

“I’ve already asked your father to take it into consideration,” she continues in his silence. “You know how he is, being more prone to storyspinning the way he uses it. He’s even thinking about retiring.”

“What?!” he replies to the news, getting to his feet and disoriented from suddenly being at the same level as his mother. “Surely Father would be all right.”

“That’s just it: we don’t know,” Lore says, squeezing his shoulders. “We don’t know what they’re going to do or if they’re even behind it. If it is them, it’s not the first time they’ve considered doing whatever it takes to stop a storyspinner. It’s not even the first time they considered killing Fakir if they were the ones responsible for his death.”

“It was an accident,” Autor says, but he closes his mouth right after.

“I know you didn’t mean to, but whoever shoved into you might have had other intent. You might have been hit by that train yourself if whoever was behind you thought they could get away with it.”

Lore pulls him into a tight hug, doing her best to restrain a sob as she does.

“I just don’t- don’t want to lose my family,” she tells him, her voice hitching in the middle.

Autor gingerly puts his arms around her, doing his best to keep the bile from what he plans to do down. “Mother, do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then trust in what I choose to do.”

“But-”

“Mutti,” he interrupts, squeezing her a little. “I know you don’t want me to be reckless. I promise I won’t be. Do you trust that?”

He can hear her swallow as she thinks about it.

“Yes,” she answers.

“Thank you,” he says, hoping the words don’t sound as dry and brittle as they feel in his mouth.

---

“So nice to see you again, grandson.”

Autor gasps and whips his head to look behind. His hair is loose, and he has to take his glasses off to attempt fixing it. He doesn’t bother with fixing anything else like his loosened cravat, his sleeves slipping from their rolled up state, or the ink stains on his his hands. “Drosselmeyer!”

“You looked like you were having trouble,” he says, idly picking up a page from Autor’s disheveled stack of writing. “Not writer’s block, is it?”

“It’s not working!” Autor replies, snatching the paper back. “Please, I need to keep my attempts in order.”

Drosselmeyer tsks at him. “Now how am I supposed to help if I can’t read it?” He takes Autor’s work up again and looks it over. The more he reads, the more he shakes his head. “Oh Autor, did you really think you’d be able to influence all of Goldkrone like that in your first worthwhile attempt at storyspinning? And all because you still have some thread of yourself that can’t let your mother know what you really are.” He drops it on the desk again. “You really should just start smaller and concentrate on her.”

“And make myself more suspicious by having her memory the only one altered? I have more brains than that.”

“Even so, most of the town already thinks it was an accident without you trying to rewrite it in everyone’s minds. Why waste time trying to get away with a murder you’ve already gotten away with?”

Autor frantically shakes his head. “If it’s not an accident, a complete accident, then she might stop my writing! I have to write! Surely you understand that I have to write!”

He grins wide. “Of course I understand that. If you’re having that much trouble with it actually happening, why don’t I help you?”

“Please,” he answers without hesitation, almost before Drosselmeyer could finish his offer.

Drosselmeyer covers Autor’s eyes with a gloved hand. (Or perhaps just a glove as he doesn’t see a wrist.)  “Then close your eyes, and I’ll take it from here.”

---

Autor can write in his sleep.

Every writer’s dream has become his reality. All he has to do is sit at his desk, take up his quill, and he’s gone. When he comes back, the story is there. It’s as if the story wrote itself. He’s blacking out for longer and longer. Autor can’t stay awake when he writes.

---

Logos strokes his beard in contemplation, a look Autor’s often seen his father wear when he’s turning the words over in his head. Like all blood relations of Drosselmeyer, he knows just how important it is to choose your words carefully, even more so with how he’s chosen to use their gift. It itches at Autor, prickles the back of his head. Whatever he wants to tell him apparently couldn’t wait until dinner, couldn’t be said around his mother.

He sighs against his hand and says, “Autor, I understand there are different ways to process trauma, but your mother and I think it might be time for you to speak to someone about what happened. Professionally.”

Autor frowns in befuddlement. “What? Therapy?”

Logos nods. “We won’t force you to go. We know that won’t do any good. But ever since the accident with Fakir, you’ve been less present. All you seem to do is write about what happened.”

Autor sits up straight, back stiff as a board. “You’ve read it?”

“Autor, you’ve left seventeen versions of the same story littering the office. It was inevitable.” He leans forward. “Writing to get it out isn’t a problem by itself, but now that it’s the only thing you’re doing at all, it’s becoming a problem. And besides that, you need to grasp the limits of what we can do.” He shakes his head once. “You can rewrite the accident a thousand times if you like, but you won’t be able to use our abilities to change what happened. Don’t blame yourself for Fakir being gone.”

Autor makes a reflexive sound that he thinks is a laugh but might sound like a sob and covers his mouth. Even he’s not sure which one it was.

Whatever it was, Logos doesn’t find the noise surprising or out of place. “Your mother and I have found a good doctor, and we both think you should at least meet her.”

“You think I’m crazy,” Autor says, dropping his hand away from his mouth.

Logos looks at him as though he had just been slapped. “I think you’re hurting. And we just want to find some way to help you.”

Autor gets to his feet and holds his arms out in a helpless shrug. “And what would I tell the doctor? Make her a confidant to our storyspinning? You seem to think that’s what I’m doing. Why don’t we just tell the whole city? The Bookmen already know anyway, so what’s a few more people in on it? We’ve really thought this through.”

Logos likewise stands, still a good head taller than his son. “Why are you acting like I’m stupid? I know you’re writing a story, but you can’t do storyspinning on the past. You have to move forward for change, and you’re stuck.”

He gives Logos an incredulous look. He can tell, but he’s still acting like Autor’s innocent? He thinks back to all of the times he’s heard his father sing, trying to recall if he can tell when storyspinning is taking place or not. Is it something he just has to develop? With that thought, the truth of the matter crashes into him and he bolts out of the room.

---

Autor locks himself in the office, hands over his mouth and fingers meeting over the bridge of his nose.

“Back to work, I see,” Drosselmeyer says.

“I’m not a storyspinner,” Autor responds.

“Oh, you are. A weak little thing, but that doesn’t matter. A quill is a quill, a hand is a hand.”

“You’re using me.”

“You’re using me, grandson,” Drosselmeyer retorts, though his tone is surprisingly jovial. “I may be giving it more influence than you can manage, but the stories are all you. Not that I mind for now since they’re my favorite genre.”

“They’re not my stories if I don’t know what I’m writing.”

“We didn’t set any terms, grandson. If this is going to be a problem, then we can end our partnership.”

Before anything could be said, a hand from behind grabs Autor and he knows nothing else.

[eloarei]

1, 2, 3, 7, 9, 13, 17, 23 (some of these are random and some aren't)

Thanks for the many questions, Socks! Sorry I didn’t answer them earlier; I decided answering asks on mobile sucks.  ALSO, this is going to be super long haha sorry.  1.  Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?       Well, my most current project is one I just started brainstorming. It’s (hopefully gonna be) a Fallout 3 series, with my latest fic being the starting point. LW/Fawkes is a ship I liked immediately when I played the series some years ago, but I never got around to writing for it, probably in part because there’s already a super good longfic about them, and I just didn’t think there was much else I could say. But my LW is different from Choco’s LW, and lately I wanted to start something self-indulgent. Although I have enough ideas for this to maybe be a single 30k fic, I’m choosing to do a series of shortfics instead, so that I’m not burdening myself with another long project. Fic series are great in that way, because it’s basically complete with every new fic.       On top of that, I have... probably 3 other things I want to make significant progress on this year. First is another Fallout fic: Same Heart. I’ve posted 8 chapters already and have almost 2 more done, but due to the slow-build nature of it (and my tagging) I don’t expect to have almost any readers until at least chapter 10 (when the ship characters finally meet). I’d like to at least get that far this year.       A project I’d love to finish by fall is the unreleased “The Wilderness”, a Venom zombie AU that I started for NaNoWriMo 2 years ago. It’s about 55% written, and my goal is to have as much of it done as possible before the sequel movie comes out. If it’s not done by then, I still plan to post whatever I have.       And lastly-ish, my novel... thing. Rogue. I’m in the process of editing it, although I’ve taken kind of a break lately. And as soon as I’m done with the edits and can get a couple of people to read it (just so they can tell me if certain parts are stupid and need changed) I plan to start the next book in the series... which will probably end up being book #1, actually, if I do them modern-era chronologically. It’s... gonna be a process. ^^;  2.  Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project.       In my upcoming FO3 fic series, I’m honestly just kind of weirdly looking forward to... how do I put this? Exploring my own vaguely-traumatic experiences through fic. I’ll always do a happy ending, if possible, but before we get there I really want to run these two through the ringer of... being given something they were led to believe was impossible, being judged for it, having it taken away, and then being told “well maybe it’s for the best”.       When it comes to future projects, I guess I’m really excited about writing the new Rogue book. “Reaper”, I guess, is its unimaginative working title. I’m anxious about it, because I thought Rogue had some really deeply emotional scenes, and I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to accomplish that as well with this new one, simply because the characters don’t have the same level of desperation about each other. I need to figure out what’s unique about their dynamic and push that. I guess I’m looking forward to the challenge.  3.  What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)       Hmm gosh. Technically there’s a scene in the later chapters of Mobius that I already wrote, but it wouldn’t take place until probably chapter 3 or later, and I just lost all steam on that fic, sadly. But every time I poke through my notes I make myself cry reading it. It’s a scene where one character knows it’s going to be the last time he sees the person he loves most, and he can’t explain his pain to anyone. I really just want to get there so I can see if it makes other people cry like babies haha.       But on a completely unrelated note, there’s also this ZADR fic I started writing in like 2009, and I absolutely didn’t want to do the work to get to the fun middle scenes, but basically it was an AU where young adult Dib went to live/work in the thriving multi-species space community, where he’s... I dunno, studying alien biology I think?, and he ends up with Zim as a roommate. The scenes I really wanted to write were about the two of them getting into like a bar fight with some tough types, and Zim gets his pak ripped off/damaged in the process, and Dib has to sort of take care of him through a horrible fever. But then it turns out that the pak was not a life-support system like they thought, but actually a growth inhibitor so they (the people in charge of the Irkens) could choose who became the Tallest (the leaders). (And also it hindered reproduction, etc.) So basically the two of them accidentally start to unravel a galactic conspiracy which also involves corruption in the Earth government, etc, and Zim gets taller but spoiler alert, he still doesn’t get tall enough to challenge the Tallest lol. Sadly, I doubt I’ll ever actually write that fic. Sounds like too much effort lol.  7.  What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?       That’s such a hard question. Ummm. How do I put any of that into words? ...I think one of the things about my writing is that a lot of the time nothing really happens in a scene, and the story mostly focuses on a character thinking. Like, enough happens so there’s something for them to think about, but I think I tend to put a lot of emphasis on POV character’s thoughts, to the point of sometimes seeming stream-of-consciousness. I’ve been told that this makes my stories feel alive though? So I think it appeals to some people, though I’m sure others would find such stories boring.       Oh also, somewhat along these lines, I like to add commentary that is only somewhat relevant, usually in parenthesis at the end of a sentence or paragraph. (Honestly, it’s not unusual to see one in every paragraph if I’m writing something slightly humorous.)  9.  Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?      I would LOVE to write primarily longfics! However, I just don’t have the time or energy for it, and I don’t write fast enough. So I end up with a lot of oneshots under 10k. I had to challenge myself to learn to write short things though, and then it’s really about writing something short, not about writing a specific story.       Generally, I’m both pantster and plotter. I tend to write the first chapter/few scenes/maybe as much as 10k, just by the seat of my pants. After that, I look at what I’ve got and write out a plot to continue from there. Plotting everything out before I start just doesn’t work for me, but if I try “pantsing” anything longer than 15k I know I’m gonna have an absolute torturous hell of a time.  13.  Do you share your writing online? (Drop a link!) Do you have projects you’ve kept just for yourself?      Lol I think anyone who’s reading this knows I share my stuff online. Primarily on my AO3, though there’s some other stuff floating around here on tumblr too.  Most of the time if I keep something to myself it’s only because it’s not finish enough to share. So, sure, there’s plenty of that, but the goal is always to share it eventually. If I ever get around to finishing a novel, those will probably be the only things I don’t just post online. (Though I do post most of my OC stuff currently.)  17.  Do you think readers perceive your work - or you - differently to you? What do you think would surprise your readers about your writing or your motivations?       I think that inevitably my readers will always perceive me and my writing a bit differently than I do. That’s just... interacting with people. Nobody knows you entirely. However, I am as open and honest in my writing as possible, and I actually think that reading my fic is the best way to get to know me. I like to hope that I am an open book to anyone who has read many of my words. =] While you may not know the details of my life, I think you would have a good insight into my personality.    23.  What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?       Like... my oldest fic/story that I’ve never written or posted? Not counting stuff I’ve consciously abandoned (things from middle school, mostly), my original fic series, “Damsel and Company in Distress” aka DamselCo. is definitely my oldest story. I think I started fiddling with it in 2006-- which makes it pretty disappointing that it’s gotten next to nowhere. XD; But the story is my baby, and it’s been my baby for so long that anyone who’s followed me ever is probably at least vaguely familiar with a few of the characters.  Now maybe one day I’ll actually give it the attention it deserves, though I’m sure it’ll need significant revamping. After all, a lot has changed in 14+ years. Ideas that were new and subversive then are probably already stale. 

[chrisbbaegopayo]

Hold Your Breath (Stray Kids: Stalker AU) ➻ Prologue

Genre: Thriller, Angst, Gore, Mystery, Suspense Characters: Stray Kids, OCs Word Count: 2.4k Warning: This story will contain elements of gore, on- and off-screen abuse, torture, mental illness, and stalking. It will feature themes that are not suitable for all ages, readers discretion is advised. Each chapter will have its own specific warning.

The story takes place in the main character's third year of university. The prologue will detail information before the story takes place.

Chapters: Premise | 01 Prologue | 02 Chapter one | 03 Chapter two | Chapter three (part 1) | Chapter three (part 2)

------

The day had gone completely how she expected—a roster of classes, school work, and downtime. Her mundane life, for lack of a better word, was ordinarily plain. When classes end, she would find herself in a deep pit of homework. When the weekends rolled by, and when all her school work had been done and filed, she would marathon her favourite movies on Netflix. Oftentimes, she would be in the company of her best friend, Jisung, and the two would tackle her long and seemingly endless list of need-to-watch television shows and films.

Her life was as ordinary as it could get, and she wouldn't have it any other way. The school year had started off without a hitch, and with her organized lifestyle, graduation didn't seem too far away nor impossible. Her first year at the university came as fast as passed, followed by her second year, which flew past her just as fast. She maintained her average all throughout her academic career and was an overall great student. She enjoyed her classes almost as much as her teachers appreciated her as a student.

However, what she didn’t account for was the introduction of random gifts that had found themselves in her locker that she rented, and although a kind gesture, the sender seemed quite persistent. She had never used any of the presents she was given and opened a couple before she left them inside her locker altogether. The first one arrived a year prior, during exams, at first, she thought it was her friends, but upon opening the presents, she quickly scratched that out considering how unrelated it was to her school life.

She also asked some classmates if they had seen the person who placed the presents in her locker, but no one had seen anything of the sort. After that, friends often teased her for it, all in good fun, of course. Supposed that she did laugh along with them, part of her felt a little unsettled by the entire ordeal. However, she chalked that up to mere paranoia and brushed it off.

Days had passed since she received her first present and for a long time, it had been radio silence. And then the week after that, she received another present. It seemed innocent enough, just lying there inside her locker, waiting for her to open it. She thought about it for a moment but decided against it. It would wait until she finished classes.

The present had been innocent enough like she had thought, and like the previous present that she had received, she made sure she never used it, preferring to keep it at the back of her locker. The present never harboured any malicious intent end it was just like any other present that people would receive, but the unsettling undertone of the presents bothered her nonetheless.

The presents just kept on coming every single week and she kept on having to open them and storing them in the back of her locker every week as it came. She never noticed a pattern in the present, until one day, one of the presents was accompanied by a letter.

It was the most unsettling letter she had ever received.

The content of the letter read as follows:

“You blew my mind ever since I laid my eyes on you. Some things need not be said, but I think it’s plainly obvious that I am very taken by you, your appearance, and your soul. But, as every gift I endowed you with goes unnoticed, untouched, and uncared for, it stands to reason that you don’t feel the same…

...but no matter, I’ll make you mine. But in the meantime, I’ll continue to shower you with gifts all the same, hopefully, you’ll come to love them as much as I love you.”

Every word seemed heavy in her mind, her heart pace quickened as she realized what she had been reading. It wasn’t just some regular letter from a secret admirer, this was written wÇith intent. She wasn’t sure whether the person who wrote this letter would act upon his words, but one thing was for sure, it wasn’t normal.

This guy wasn’t normal.

But at the same time, she didn’t need to invoke this guy’s ire just because of a hunch. Perhaps someone was pulling a prank on her, and decided to go with some really creepy prose. She wasn’t going to sit idly and let whatever happen just happen—that was how people die during creepy horror movies—she would be on alert, and at the same time, keep others from being involved in this. Plus, if her friends saw this, they would either report this or maybe tease her because, look, such bad prose. Who wrote this anyway? Someone obviously spent a little too long watching creepy stalker movies or something—although that would account to teasing the guy who wrote it, not really her—but regardless.

Hence.

She would put this at the back of her locker, like the rest of her gifts from him. She hoped that someone just randomly chose her as the victim of a bad prank and nothing more—trying to elicit a response from her. If it was, it was an elaborate one and hopefully, after this creepy letter, she would go about her normal life.

Little did she know that while she was a victim, this would be no prank, and the presents would just keep coming, as the letter suggested. Despite that, though, her life had been rather blissful, and the presents would only be limited to her school life. Everything else was still her sanctuary, and only she would know of the entire ordeal. She would still go about her every day seemingly unaffected by this new addition in her life because she didn’t know for certain whether it would develop into a problem she couldn’t handle.

Regardless, she never told anyone, not even her best friend. It’s her problem—no one else’s.

And true to the letter, the presents kept on coming, and coming, and coming. It bothered her and wore her down seeing her locked filled with presents every week. They weren’t cheap presents either, they looked like they might have cost the person a pretty dime or two—money that could have been spent on other things, not on her, knowing that she would never use them properly.

She decided to write her own little letter as a way to tackle the buildup of things she didn’t use. In which she told the sender to stop leaving her presents as it was a little too much—obviously, calling it a little seemed like an understatement as it was quite clear that the abundance of wrapped boxes because a major portion of what hogged up her space, leaving her with little room to maneuver through her own things previously-stored in there.

Hopefully, the person would get the message and let up the excessive gift-giving, and maybe even put an end to this entire silly ordeal—of course, only she would call it silly—she crossed her fingers and hoped for the best, as it really was the only thing she could do at this point.

She tore a page from her notebook and wrote, “whoever has been sending me gifts, please stop. While I appreciate the sentiment, it’s a little too much.”

She stared at the note she just wrote, and for a long time, wasn’t sure whether it would come off as strange or even rude. In the end, she contributed her anxiety to overthinking. She would leave the little note in her locker for next time the gift-bearer left something in her locker. She folded the note in half, and then in half again, and on the front-facing surface, she wrote, “to my anonymous gift-bearer.”

She felt a little silly about having to do this. It’s like she was asking for more interaction from the anonymous gift-bearer. However, what was done was done, and she wouldn’t twist herself into a mess thinking about it further. It was a step in the right direction, she hoped.

With that thought, she closed the door on her locker and then left. Hopefully, tomorrow would be a better day and she wouldn’t have to deal with a reply. Or more presents. Both would be great, together.

Her dubbed “anonymous gift-bearer” never got her note.

Her friends discovered her note the day after during one of their routine debriefing sessions in the mornings. The curiosity was almost immediate as she tried to stop her friends from taking it, but was unable to do so. There was a moment of silence and suspense after her friends glanced through the note, and she wanted to hide. The last thing she wanted to do was to make her problem everyone else’s problem.

Her friends looked up from the note, the concern deeply evident on their faces, and it wasn’t one of those superficial expressions—their deep disturbance embedded within the looks of concerns, to varying degrees spread across each other her friends’ faces. It was official, if she didn’t defuse the situation immediately, they would start some form of intervention. And she did not need an intervention at this point in time. She was never really that good with lying under pressure—she was worried that she would say the wrong things at the wrong time. If she knew what her friends were capable of, they’d hire bodyguards or something.

Okay, not that extreme. They would probably bug the door, put a hidden camera in there. But then again, none of them were ever tech-savvy enough to deal with this kind of thing.

That wasn’t the point here, obviously.

The bottom line was that she didn’t need her friends to become needlessly worried about something that might just turn out to be some stupid prank that some kid did for fun. Regardless, she’d rather deal with this situation herself than to involve her friends. And should this be some malicious intent—if that letter from the gift-bearer was any indication—it would put her friends in harm’s way.

There was no way she could do that.

“It’s nothing,” she began confidently, as she hoped that her voice would be strong enough to put any concern away.

“Don’t worry.”

That did little to dissuade their concern, and the wary stares only turned grimmer. This was not what she wanted.

“Really, really, I have it under control. I’m pretty sure it’s a bad prank.” She tried again, although this time, the confidence seemed to waver.

That response seemed to be the one to put her friends at ease, although the worrying stares did not part their ways with her friends’ faces. It was still there, although they seemed a little more satisfied with her answer this time. However, her relief was short-lived as the friend who stood in front of her spoke up, still clearly on edge.

“Look, I respect your need to do this by yourself,” her friend said, “and I get that you’re trying to only contain the mess, because honestly if I know one thing about you, it’s that you hate to cause trouble for other people. But this is a hell of a problem is you have to physically write a note to this creepy stalker of yours. Or secret admirer, if we’re using kid-friendly terms, and trust me, this doesn’t even feel like it would be…”

There were a few chuckles.

“What I’m trying to say here is: if this guy or whatever he or she is, has to be lulled to his or her senses through your writing a letter, or in this case, a note, then this is far beyond what you should be handling yourself. But if you want to do it this way, then fine, but don’t forget that we’re also here if you need us to deal with some really douchey guy who has a really bad taste,” she said. That got a few nods in agreement.

“I guess we could see how this turns out—we’ll play it by ear, this one,” she finished.

Another friend spoke up, curiosity fueled this one, “just curious, what else did this person send you?”

She froze up and tried to calm her nerves. She could not show her friends that threatening letter. That would send them over the edge. No, no, no, no, no.

“Nothing. Just presents,” she quickly replied. She was hopeful it did okay to satiate that curiosity. “Really. Just not school-related gifts, I mean, honestly.”

If her friends were put-off by her answer, they didn’t voice it. But it was darn evident on their faces. And she was thankful they didn’t pursue that path of questioning.

“Come on, let’s head home? Ice cream on the way home?” She asked, trying to lighten up the mood. Her friends agreed.

She sighed—one hurdle crossed, time for round two.

At the same time, she did little to really analyze the situation. Her kind nature only put more strain on herself as a result, and her eagerness to keep her own problems to herself only solidified her future interactions with her so-called gift-bearer. Though if she had told her friends, the situation might have gone very differently.

She might have just guaranteed that her path crossed with her secret admirer.

The seconds were ticking past like a bomb on a timer, and every second that passed by was like a second forward towards her very own undoing. She knew what it seemed like in the movies, she knew how it went, but yet, what would she have done differently to discourage her admirer?

Her words had already left a mark. The note was never delivered, and the gift-bearer never got the message. The note disappeared after a while, and while she assumed that the gift-bearer had taken it. Her assumptions were well-grounded, but she never got a reply, nor did the gifts seem any less frequent for the next few days. A bitter feeling welled up inside of her, and she thought it would be best to just ignore it altogether.

She didn’t even open the packages for the next few presents. She pretended not to see them and pretended that they don’t exist. It wasn’t like the school would be able to set up some hidden cameras that would catch the perpetrator red-handed. The school wasn’t rich by any means, and any attempts at reporting anything would end up being waved away—she knew this, and she figured that the gift-bearer knew that as well.

However, things seemed to have let up after a few months as the presents became less frequent. The semester came to an unsatisfying end, and she couldn’t help but sigh in relief—if anything, she would be glad to know that the gift-sessions would come to an end, she hoped.

But it didn't, she would come to learn. It was the beginning of her descent to hell.

--------

Sorry for the long hiatus, I sorta just disappeared. However, this is the beginning of this fic—the one I wrote a premise to a long time ago (read: a year ago). Please stay tuned every week for updates!

[slashers-hell]

NSFW Frank Morrison x male reader please.

Sorry for letting you wait. I unintentionally wrote a lot. I wanted to keep this all headcanon, but I made a little story instead. I hope you are fine with that. >.

An Unusual Encounter

Pairing: Frank Morrison x male readerDisclaimer: NSFW │Violence│Bad EndingNote: English isn’t my mother tongue, and I haven’t written many stories in this language, so please excuse my mistakes.

You didn’t like to be in trials. It was way too hectic, andsometimes, you felt as though everybody but you belonged there. Onthe other hand, engineering… That had always been your passion. Ifanyone were to look into your old notebooks from high school, theywould quickly realise your writings were messy and unorganised.However, the notes on the corners of the pages... they were unrelated to thetopic at hand and incredibly articulate and well-thought-out in regards to engineering. You simply loved working on machines, and evenwhen there were no machines around, you spend time thinking aboutmachines.

The frantic scream of a Survivor jolted you out of yourdaydreaming.

Sweat was dropping down from your temples; your clothes were covered inmud. You were kneeling on the ground, pebbles scraping on your legs,while you finished your third generator. Trials wentalways like this—the other Survivors kept the Killer occupied,whereas you spend most of the time doing the dirty work for them and poweringup all the generators. Given you weren’t exceptionally fast norphysically dexterous enough to trick Killers into losing track ofyou, you preferred playing immersed, using the thick fog or theall-consuming darkness to blend in with your surroundings. If onlythis match would have went as well as usual, you thought to yourself. 

One Survivor after another was falling victim to the hands of theunknown Killer, and the lump in your throat grew stronger by thesecond. Unable to swallow, your heart wanted to burst out of yourchest. The Killer’s presence was closer than ever; you felt their energy creeping up your back. You knew you couldn’t slip up now;you had to get up and run. So you followed your own instinct and letthe wind carry you. Not once did you dare to look back. To your luck,the hatch was merely a few metres away from you; its ambient soundattracting your attention. A sigh of relief escaped your lips, and youproceeded to jump into the buzzing blackness. Your eyes met with thestranger’s dirt-covered mask. In this moment, you understood youmade a fatal mistake. Perhaps if you had looked away, he wouldn’t have been able to remember your face.

But it was too late.

                                                         ✖✖ ✖ 

Frank hated losing. In fact, he despised it so much; it tended toeat up his mind. That day, he swore he would find you again and crushyou. Frank wanted you. Frank wanted you dead. Because Frank neverlost. And if Frank lost, it was due to the will of The Entity. Butyou escaped him so easily, and that was completely unacceptable forhim. Frank was aware of his capability, of his velocity, his brutestrength… he was nearly unbeatable. Dealing with failure was out ofthe question. His fragile ego wouldn’t allow him to acceptdefeat—especially because he was convinced you had pure luck. Histhoughts were plagued with you. In trials, Frank began to make moremistakes, putting himself unwillingly at a disadvantage. And he couldn’tstop blaming you for it.

                                                         ✖✖ ✖ 

Despite your past confidence, you hoped you wouldn’tcross paths with the masked stranger again. Something about his appearance let you tremble in fear. Every single timeyou entered a new trial, you prayed it wouldn’t be him. Unbeknownstto you, this time, you weren’t so lucky. The Entity had spawned youeerily close to him to feed off of your despair. When you finallymanaged to enter the Realm, you had to blink a couple of times beforeyour perception went back to normal. You knew this haunting place; themoss-covered, rundown chapel surrounded by gloomy fog was all toofamiliar to you. At first, however, the round passed fairly smooth. Youfinished two generators without being spotted by the Killer. Thoughyou almost had slipped up when a brutal scream of a female Survivorpierced through the night air, presumably from Feng Min. Butyou refused to let yourself be put off by that. 

With your iron will,you continued to work on the generator in front of you until yourheart suddenly started to beat out of control, warning you of what was tocome. Before you risked to be detected, you had hidden behind a rock thatbarely offered you cover. Only once did you dare to look back at the generator. Whatyou saw let your blood freeze in your veins. The hooded stranger waskicking the generator you were earlier working on, the mask sportinga creepy grin and a single splatter of fresh blood. You wonderedwhose blood that was. Your limbs felt weak; your entire body beganto shake. Forcefully, you attempted to catch your last breath,covering your mouth with one hand in order to stifle any possiblenoise that could betray your position to the Killer. Your eyeswidened in fear as he came closer to you. At one point, he was noteven a stone’s throw away. 

His distressing presence was lying heavily onyour back. You wanted to run for your life. Though he left, and a feeling of ease overcame you. He didn’t see you, and you couldn’t have beenmore glad. Reassured, you worked your way up to another generator close by. A smile paved its way to your face as you wererepairing the machine. But you were interrupted again. Just like afew minutes ago, your heart started to beat uncontrollably. You sawFeng Min swiftly vaulting over a window next to you, making a loudnoise and alerting the masked man of both of your positions.Desperately, you tried to stay calm and decided to hide behind thegenerator. It didn’t take five seconds, and the Killer had already arrived, looking around and searching for Survivors. He left. You sighed.

Shit.

How wrong you were.

He stopped still in his movement and took two steps backwithout turning around. Then, he moved his head to the side in order to face you. Taken by shock, you stumbled back. Before youwere able to collect yourself, a burst of adrenaline had filled yourbody, and you headed out of there as fast as you could. You feltanger in every single bone of your body, but it wasn’t your anger. Itwas the anger of the masked stranger. So you ran and yourlungs began to strain. You didn’t care. You just wanted him tolose sight of you. When a pallet presented itself to you, you had no other choice but to use it.

Albeit the fact you weren’t used toplaying like this, you had to do it. You had to do it now. For the sake of your life. Taking matters into your own hands, you anticipatedhis next move, and in the right moment, you stunned him with thepallet. He let out a pained wail but proceeded to easily vault thepallet less than five seconds later. He was on your back again,wielding his knife, and just as you managed toreach the next pallet, he grabbed you by the back of your shirt anddragged you on the muddy ground. You watched him in fear as hisbloody knife came crushing down on you.

“Wait! Please!” It was a desperate attempt, but itwas an attempt. You were aware he wouldn’t bother to stop in hisaction... that this could never work. That it was time for you to faceyour fate and die. You closed your eyes, estimating how much it wouldtake for you to bleed out in front of Father Campbell’s Chapel.

Nothing happened.

Nothing… happened?

You opened your eyes in confusion. The masked stranger had crossedhis arms, tilting his head to one side, impatiently rocking back andforth. “So…” he said in a deep and manly tone. “What’s the matter? Playing coward now?”

To claim you were surprised was an understatement. What lead him tospare you? Why was he willing to listen to you? Or was this all a deliberate plan? 

“I… I actually didn’t think this far.” You really didn’tthink this far.

He groaned, shaking his head in dismissal. “See, you’re acoward. Barely half a man, thinking you could outsmart me.” Hishead went down as if he was pointing at the ground. “And yet, youare lying on your back for me, begging me to spare your life... Youare truly weak.”

The more he belittled you, the angrier you grew. You wanted toattack him back; you wanted to jump up and start swinging at him. Butyou didn’t. Instead, you sat there, following his every move with a frightened expression on your face, unable to utter a word. And now, you weren’t sure if he was actually checking you out. No, you musthave imagined that. This guy was most definitely heterosexual. Thatwas clear, and you surely weren’t attracted to man either.

Yes, you experimented with a couple of them back in your high school days,but that was all there was. And since last year, you had your eyes on thefantastic Claudette. So you didn’t care that he was seemingly…hungry for you. That was probably the best word to describe his weird behaviour. And besides, you couldn’t even see his eyes. Maybe hejust thought about the best course of action to take in order to killyou fast. You clenched your fists and finally managed to answer himwith an equally condescending tone.

“I am not a coward! You are!”You knew it was a bad idea to provoke him, although your counter was what a child would come up with. However, your body didn’twant to move. And if you should die here, you preferred dying with abang instead of dying without somewhatdefending yourself.

“Say that again. I fucking dare you!” He directed his knife atyou.

“Sure. I will…” You breathed in. “You… are… a coward…”You breathed out. You started cackling. At least you had a bit of fun in a dire situation. No matterwhat would happen from now on, it was all worth it for thatone-liner.

The Killer grabbed you by your throat, lifting you up above theground. He was surprisingly strong for someone so scrawny, you notedas he mercilessly pushed you back on the ground.

“I’ll fuck you up!” He had a slightCanadian accent, you realised. Awesome, you thought to yourself. You wouldn’t only die; you would die by the hands of a Canadian. You started to cackle again. Maybe that was your coping mechanism.

“Do it,” you dared him.

It was as though everything slowed down. You stiffened,having a hard time swallowing, your Adam’s apple was dancing under yourskin. You turned your attention away from the stranger, lookingdirectly at the chapel’s imposing coloured glass. You bit yourlower lip. You were nervous. So nervous. You despised being intrials, but…

You felt the Killer’s hand on your back, just above thewaistband of your trousers, and a shiver vibrated through your limbs.You couldn’t do anything but enjoy the stranger’s warm touch onthe surprisingly sensitive area of your body. The masked man leanedover you, being now uncomfortably close to you. With one hand, heslowly pushed up his mask so that his lips were exposed. They werefull, luscious… and so pink, a single scar on top of them.

He even smelled nice.

“Don’t move…” Itwas merely a small gesture, but it almost made you experiencenear-death when the stranger conquered your neck with his mouth. Youcouldn’t tell; however, you were pretty sure he was leaving hickeys all over yourneck the way he brutally forced himself on you. He pushed youslightly against the pallet that welcomed you with its cold.Unfortunately, you weren’t able to blame the pallet for thegoosebumps covering your skin. The stranger’s hand was possessivelyplaced on your backside. And you couldn’t deny that you somehowloved it.

“Did anyone ever tellyou how obviously you stare?”

You shook your head, andyour cheeks began to blush. You couldn’t pretend that the chillingnight air was the reason why you went red. He exposed you. And youwere embarrassed. “Or do you only stareat me that way?”

“No, I…” you beganbut were quickly interrupted. 

“Too bad. I thought I wasspecial.” He proceeded to move his hand southwards, zipping up yourtrousers whilst he rubbed his knee repeatedly between the inside of your thighs. “You need me, don’t you?” You could detect arousal inhis voice.

“I don’t need you,” you moaned. “I never needed you.”

Lies.

You were lying.

And he knew.

He pressed his lips against yours with vigour, taking you hostageinto the passionate kiss that followed. His tongue forced itsway into your mouth, and you gladly responded to him with yours. Allthe while his hands were creeping around your crotch area, pulling outyour sex from your underwear---as if he couldn’t wait to make you orgasm by his own hands. Now, it was far too late to hide your visibleerection. He began to moan into the kiss when he realised how hardyou were for him, his breath feeling hot on your lips.

“Since the day I have met you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”His voice had a sudden rasp to it.

You completely gave yourself into his tight grip around yourlength, too aroused to think straight. He wasn’t oblivious to thefact how far he was able to push you by simply holding your cockin his hand. Gradually, he moved his hand up and down your sex,torturing you with every move. The slower he went, the more you hopedto cum all over his fingers. But seeing you helpless in front of himlead the stranger to continue in his slow approach.

“Tell me how much you want to cum for me,” he ordered you.

“I would hate nothing more right now...”

“Good to know.” A sense of satisfaction was in his tone.

He started working heavier on you, his hand moving faster, again and again. Sometimes, he would stop and softlystroke the sensitive head of your cock with his thumb until littledrops of pre-ejaculate emitted from it. You gasped in bliss,closing your eyes and taking in the ecstasy of the moment. You hopedfor the sweet release the masked stranger was knowingly withholdingfrom you.

“Mmm, too easy,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you. 

His strokes became more rapid; his grip tighter. Up and down, he wouldn’t stop. You saw little stars in front of your eyes, and your moans grew louder until your thick streaksof cum covered his entire hand. An explosion in front of you with no end toit. You didn’t experience an orgasm this satisfying in a long time.

“Fuck, that was good,” you exclaimed out of breath.

The Killer licked his cum-covered fingers as he watched you zip upyour trousers. He put his mask back into place and stood up. Hedidn’t move as he continued to observe you. You hadn’t put much thought to it and attempted to lift yourself up with thepalms of your hands. The air was forced out of your lungs when heruthlessly kicked you back into place. You let out a groan, watching him in confusion. Then, you realised what was going on. Hehad no intention of sparing your life to begin with. Thatwas all a deliberate plan of his. He wanted to humiliate you, to makeyou his bitch. Before you could even catch your breath, he hit youwith his knife to the stomach and blood gushed out of your mouth aseverything around you went black.

“See you in hell.”

                                                               ✖ 

[himluv]

As ever, the year is flying by, slipping through our fingers all the time. There’s your dose of ABBA. Although that’s a damn sad song to be the anthem of the first six months. Moving on!

Yearly Goals Completed

Finish Tavi rough draft

I finished this back in May, which somehow feels like FOREVER ago, and I’m doing everything in my power to ignore it. I need that distance before I begin editing it in September.

2019 Word Count (so far): 80,744

That’s it so far. Granted, that’s a big one. I wrote a book y’all. That’s a task and a half. Blog-wise, here are some numbers:

This is the 64th post on the blog this year, making for an average of 2.2 posts per week. That’s on track for my goal of publishing two posts/week for the year. Hurray!

As of this writing, the blog has seen just over 45k words, which is in addition to the almost 81k of fiction I’ve written this year.

The blog currently has 562 followers, which continues to amaze me. Thanks for reading!

Speaking of reading, how’s that going this year? My goal is 70 titles, which is the highest goal I’ve ever had. I’ve read 36 titles this year, which Goodreads says is “On Track!”, so there’s that! I really don’t know if I’ll eke out this goal, and I’m not even sure I want to. My policy is, if I surpass my goal I have to up the next year’s goal. My dudes, I don’t think I can read more than 70 books in a year.

What about publishing? How’s that going in 2019? Well, I’ve submitted stories 19 times. I’ve had 4 personal rejections, the rest were form. That’s not as much as I’d hope, but the response times were VERY slow through the spring. This is a tough category to quantify because so much of it is out of my hands. The only true metric for my productivity is my own doggedness. The turnaround time between rejections and submitting again. Those are things I’m in control of. And in those areas, I’d say I’m doing well. The rejections hurt less, even the personal ones, and my turnaround times are almost immediate. Stories don’t languish in my files, waiting for me to feel up to submitting them again. They go out right away. So that’s good.

Unrelated to reading and writing, I have gone on eight hikes so far this year! I’ve really loved getting outdoors and being more active. It’s motivated me to walk more during the week and to even hit the gym on occasion when I’m feeling restless. So I’d call that a major benefit.

2019 – Remaining Priorities

Finish Santa Sarita

Revise Cards

Publish SOMETHING!

Publish two blog posts/week

Read 70 titles.

So… that’s a lot of stuff. The last two, as discussed, I’m on track for. Thank goodness. But the rest? Well, let’s break it down.

Santa Sarita is my giant Mass Effect Andromeda fanfic series, which I started back in April of 2017. It was supposed to be single oneshot, which then turned into several multi-chapter fics and a oneshot collection. Well over 250k words later, I’m working(?) on the last fic in the series. I wanted to finish it this year. Honestly? I have no idea if that will happen. I’ve barely looked at it and am currently utterly uninspired and lack motivation to work on it at all.

Cards is my second novel ever, inspired by the blend of a Wild West setting with magic that I’d read in Brandon Sanderson’s Alloy of Law. Still one of my favorite books, by the way. I finished it in the spring of 2014, right before I got married. I have never gone back to read it, and at this point I’m sort of afraid to do so. Because I know it will be a complete rewrite, just like The Steel Armada was. It deals with some really heavy themes of racism and oppression and while my intentions were good, I WAS NOT equipped to handle them back in 2014. I am afraid of what waits for me in those pages. And, I’ll be honest, I don’t think I’m really equipped to handle those themes today either. I don’t know. The story I set out to tell may not be mine to tell. There’s a lot of rethinking and attention required for this book and I’m not sure I’ll have the time or skills to devote to it in the last half of this year.

Publish something… I knew when I made this a goal that it was risky. It’s something I have absolutely no control over. All I can do is submit, submit, submit until something sticks. I’ve had some really close calls this year, but so far, nothing’s landed. I can’t really do anything about that, except carry on. Good thing I am one stubborn chick.

Other Things To Do

Revise Exodus: Descent

There aren’t a lot of paying markets for novellas, but a few of them are open this fall and I want Exodus ready to go when the time comes.

Decide on a NaNoWriMo project

I have no idea what the hell I’ll be working on come November. Maybe finishing Santa Sarita? It’s a possibility. I’ll have family in town from out of state for the holiday, so I need to take that into consideration as well.

Keep writing

I have plenty of short story ideas, and who knows when a novel idea will pop up? Or you know, I could finish my giant fantasy series. That’s always an option.

More hikes

I’ve loved my outdoor time this year and hope to continue as long as weather permits.

That’s the year so far and the months yet to come. I don’t have much of a vision for the last half of the year, mainly because I have no idea what my daily life will look like in the coming months. Being unemployed has really thrown a wrench in my routines and my goals. Who knew?

  BZ

2019 Status Update – Something, Something ABBA lyrics… As ever, the year is flying by, slipping through our fingers all the time. There's your dose of ABBA.

[an-anonymous-friend]

Fanfic author asks

I was tagged by @yszarin thank you so much ^_^

Author Name:

TheDogPotato

Fandoms You Write For:

Just Whitechapel. Maybe I'll someday dare to expand and write for another fandom I like.

Where You Post:

AO3

Most Popular Oneshot:

Now that you know - When DI Norroy steps in to take over a case from the Whitechapel team, she reveals a bit too much about Kent’s feelings for Chandler.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story:

Cold - Kent is psychic and he has to convince Chandler that he's the only one who can stop Louise Iver

Favourite Story You Wrote:

Now that you know. I'm still super happy with that one. Also really happy with my newest fic Fatigue is Clouding your Judgment which was just supposed to be a lil self-indulgent angst fic but then grew as I wrote on it. 

Story You Were Nervous to Post:

I'm always somewhat nervous but I guess the ones I was most nervous to post were the last couple of chapters of Between Friendship and Duty, cause I hadn't updated in ages and had thought of abandoning it cause I just had no outline when I started writing it 3½ years prior to finishing it and it's a mess, but someone asked me if it'd ever be finished so I wrote an ending. I am unsatisfied with the work as a whole but there are bits and pieces in it that I really like, so updating it and possibly bringing more readers to it was a bit daunting.

How Do You Pick Your Titles:

They're almost always the last thing I come up with frantically trying to figure out what on earth would fit with the content of the story.

Do You Outline:

Yes! The above mentioned story at least taught me to outline my stories so I know basically what I want out of them and what stuff could or should happen in it and when. Sometimes that poses a problem like my wip where I know why it makes sense to make it a case fic but then leave it to my future self to figure out how to do that.

How Many of Your Stories are complete:

The 11 I've posted on AO3 are all complete, but there's some very incomplete stuff on my computer.

In-Progress:

The case fic, a ficlet and the one that's supposed to come after the case fic.

Coming Soon:

Probably nothing since I gotta figure that case fic out before I can post that and the one to come after that. Maybe I'll write smth unrelated (as has already happened twice where I was supposed to work on it) in the meantime.  

Do You Accept Prompts:

I would yeah, but given that I can apparently only write Kent-centric stories, it's very limited what could be prompted I guess. But yeah if it was a prompt I was comfortable with I would try to write something. 

Upcoming Story You’re the Most Excited For:

I'm just excited to one day finish that case fic :P

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions

@tutselutse, @oddwriter and anyone who sees this and wants to do it

[sundaynightnovels]

11/11/11

So i’ve been tagged by @elizabethsyson for the 11 question tags! Your answers are all so insightful and thoughtful, they were really fun to read!  Rules: Answer 11 questions. Come up with 11 new questions. Tag 11 people. Anyway, the 11 questions I’ve answered: 1.  Which of your characters would you most enjoy getting coffee with? i’m a really awkward person if i don’t know you well, so i need someone who’s just really comfortable to be around and who’ll be able to break the ice, so i’m thinking... probably Zhen. i mean there’s no such thing as awkwardness with her because she’s just so chill and laidback and she can talk a lot (of nonsense), so she’ll probably just break the ice with that first. there’s a high chance she might try to run out on the bill though... so i gotta watch for that. okay, who am i kidding? she WILL run out on the bill and i WILL get scammed but like, fine. that’s a fate i will have to accept. 2. Whose name took you the longest to be sure of? Teng?? HAHA because what kind of a name is teng anyway??? like... it could mean rattan, which is ridiculous, and while it is also a commonly used word in a chinese name, you don’t usually see it on its own, and if given nicknames, the person probably wouldn’t ask someone to call them as ‘teng’ on its own. so yea! it’s kinda weird, but i think it’s endearing in a way that exactly fits teng as a character. 3. Do you already know the ending of your wip? yup! 4. If your main characters were animals, what would they be? omGGGGgg this is going to take up all of my brain cells once again. ummMMmm. okay. okay. uh. zhen would be a squirrel???? she hoards things (probably) & she is opportunistic. like, if she sees a potential for her to get free things, she will go for it, and then she’ll hide it from everyone else because she’s selfish like that (but the hoard eventually gets discovered and she’s forced to share like a kid at a playground) shou would be an owl, probably. i answered in an ask that if he was a god, he’d likely be a god of the moon, and owls are very close to that. he’s also intelligent and intuitive and full of wisdom, just that you have to uncover it from the heaps of trash he piles on them all. lu would be a cat. he wants food, all the time. he wants attention too, but not like, deliberately. he’s not going to beg you for it, he’s classy that way. he’s pretty independent too, and he’s street smart. he just stays with you when he prefers the comfort of home. yu(f) would be an ox. she is really resilient and diligent, and she doesn’t mind working hard (in fact, that’s all she really cares about... or is it?). She’s also really hot-tempered too and she can flare up at the smallest things, and she’s also as bull-headed as an ox. she can get really stubborn about things and it’s frustratingly difficult to pull her out of it. ren would be a bee (fine, it’s not an animal, let me be!). he’s a hard worker and he’s diligent and she works not just for herself, but for everyone, but often his hard work is overlooked and people just take advantage of him and he knows it, but he doesn’t mind it. he’d rather it, in fact.  jun is probably a red fox. he tends to be rather solitary, even if he interacts with a lot of people, and it’s difficult to really understand who he is or what he’s thinking. he’s also really intelligent and playful, which makes his snarky comments on you especially painful because he makes it clever. just ignoring him would be the best thing to do! teng would be, obviously, as referenced so many times, a bear. he’s like a mother bear! he’s territorial and he’s loving and caring and deeply protective of people who he cares about! he’s also very accepting of others though, and while he appears fierce and brash on the outside, he’s just a huge softy on the inside. another possible animal for him would be the elephant! jia would be a horse. she’s fiery and independent and passionate and full of zest. she’s also really honest and frank, and she’s always ready to take action, like you know things are gonna get done when jia’s around. she’s just that reliable. (i’m sorry, i can’t find an appropriate animal for yu(m) as of yet) 5. What’s the theme song of your wip? i’ve answered this here!  6. What’s your wip’s colour scheme? oh no i’m not good at colours or things like that. i guess the most i can say is probably bluish and like, salmon pink-ish and sunset-yellow-ish?? i don’t even know! 7. What first inspired this wip? OKAY. so there’s this story / tale in chinese folklore about something called the peach blossom springs , which is about this guy who kinda accidentally followed a river to a spring, and then found this utopia land where people kinda led like the perfect, ideal existence without any knowledge of the turmoil going on in the outside world.  there’s also this other thing in mythology about the yellow springs (not the one in ohio), whereby this spring would lead to the underworld or something like that? and so i was like hmMMMmmmm can you imagine the dichotomy between these two? what if someone was in search of the peach blossom springs but what they found was instead this pathway to hell  (i actually wrote a completely unrelated short story about that, which... isn’t the best, yknow, but i had a little bit of fun with it) so yea! that was literally the premise of my wip! it’s not explicitly mentioned anywhere in my wip and you’ve gotta do a lot of inferences for it, but this inspiration is still kinda, sorta there if you squint. so yeah!  8. What style of illustrations would you want for it if you could hire any artist? i would like the artist to be me and i would like to be able to draw.  9. Which of your characters would be the least vs most freaked out to find out they’re fictional? HA. most of them wouldn’t be freaked out at all. with how everything has been going for them, they’re most likely just gonna go like ‘well, this might as well happen’. or maybe even ‘of course this must be it’. jun and zhen in particular would be so done with it. they’re not even in the least bit freaked out (in fact, jun probably knows a little bit about it since... well, he likes to give self-referential jokes) teng’s probably the only one who’d be the most freaked out, but by then no one really cares about his reaction. 10. Which of your characters could get away with robbing a bank? Why? oh, almost all of them. shou wouldn’t do it, but if he did, he’d annoy the police officers into letting him go. zhen would be able to find so many goddamn loopholes in everything and talking to her is like going through inception 10x in one day. like, you don’t even know what is right and what is wrong or what is up and what is down. you don’t know anything anymore. & lu would be right there being her biggest sycophant. jun would legit be able to get away with robbing a bank. you probably won’t even know he did it. you won’t even suspect him. everyone else around him is a huge suspect though, because he will pin it on them all.  jia would be hella good too, like if her mind’s set on a heist, she’s gonna do a heist and it’s gonna be done brilliantly and if she wants it to be a huge media spectacle, she’s going to be able to pull it off without getting caught. she goes all in man, what can i tell you? 11. Which of your characters would be the worst to interact with on tumblr? so many of them.  teng would be one of those blogs you block immediately on sight because all his posts are about loneliness and wanting to search for love and things like that.  you don’t even want to look at shou’s mess. lu will be unnecessarily aggressive to everything and anything he sees. you post a photo of food? GIVE IT TO ME YOU HEARTLESS ASSHOLE OF AN ADULT WHAT’S THE POINT OF HAVING A JOB AND EARNING MONEY IF YOU WON’T GIVE FOOD TO A KID??!!! jun would be terrible. imagine that he has a writeblr. imagine that he has the greatest, most thought-provoking, most imaginative and never-before-thought-of premise that you could’ve possibly seen on this site. it is beautiful. the first lines that he has posted are magnificent. you want more -- nay, you clamour for more! it is all that is sustaining you in this life! yea, you know what’s gonna happen. he’s gonna tempt you with all that sweet fruit and he’s not gonna log on again. like, ever. maybe once in five years to dangle another juicy bit, and then he’s out.  he’s the worst. block him at all costs.

okay!! i’m going to try my hand at giving 11 questions this time, and they are: 1) which of your OCs will survive in a zombie apocalypse and why? 2) which of your OCs will be the most successful in life (you can define what success is)? 3) who would you love to hang out with in a theme park? 4) if your OCs had a tumblr blog, what would their theme / blog content be? 5) which scene has been the most difficult to write, and why? 6) what are your OCs thoughts on politics (in general)? 7) what do your OCs think about sparkling water? 8) how often does your writing follow your plan for it (does it go according to what you’ve planned out, or does it branch out often? do you not have any plans at all?)? 9) use three words to describe your wip’s ending (even if you haven’t written it yet!) 10) what are the three most important elements in your wip? 11) what would be your first reaction / action to finishing your wip (if you have one draft written, imagine this for your final draft!)?  okay i’m tagging @brynwrites @inked-waves @inexorableblob @aslanwrites @surroundedbypearls @insearchof-solace @inkpot-dreamer @vhum @latechickadee @focusdumbass @cawolters remember, there’s no pressure to do it, & if you want to do it, you can just take your time with it as well! <3

[prorevenge]

Contractor abandons project mid-way, resulting in damages. Tries to go off the grid. But I found him and now he's paying me every penny.

This is a bit of a long one so I will try to keep some details out that aren't necessary to the story but if I am happy to answer questions if something isn't clear. This whole story takes place over the course of a year, Appx Dec 2016 into Dec 2017, and through March this year.

So the story begins with my needing to hire a contractor to repair damage to a pole barn that I was constructing on our property. The structure was partially done when a storm hit and the structure had substantial damage. So, we bid a few contractors and the guy that seemed to be the best one (who was actually a referral from a friend), we signed a contract and he started work within a week. We had also signed with him to complete the structure after the insurance portion was completed because his crew could do this much more efficiently and a better job than we could do ourselves (which is what we were originally doing).

His crew completes the insurance portion of the job, but then abandons the project just before starting the rest of it. No call, no email, nothing. I called and texted, and not one of my contact points was ever returned. At this point it was late December, and we thought maybe he and his crew had holiday plans but would resume right after. Then another windstorm hit and his crew hadn't braced the partially-completed structure correctly....and it almost collapsed again.

I tried for 2 weeks to find him. I even drove out to the address on the contract we signed. Which ended up being a house on a rural road, next town over. I knocked on the door, seeing his car there. No one answered. I stopped by this house several different times, trying to catch him. The last few times, his car was no longer there but the work truck of another company was. Wanting to know if he owned the house, I pulled up the tax records for it in the county it was in. Name on the house was not registered to him. So, sounds like he rented or at least was staying with a friend. The company info on the truck was registered to someone unrelated and not on the tax records. The tax records showed that the actual taxpayer of the property lived elsewhere. Here where I live, the property owner name is listed and if they do not actually live at that property (such as in using it for an investment), their address that would have the actual tax bill sent to is also on there.

Given that knowledge, I pulled the court records for him to see if maybe he had been recently arrested or if there was any other info. What I found was about 30 years of driving offenses, including a lot of DUI/DWI charges, and other records. At this point I figured he was long gone and being as I hadn't paid out any money to him for work that was not complete, I would just move on. At least until the structural engineer I hired to assess the damage to the work that was done, stated that the structure had to be started over on that part, and the building materials that the contractor had left scattered around the jobsite were also unusable due to being left improperly stored. I had hoped that the structure could just be pulled back into place and re-secured but I was told this is not the case.

So began the bigger drama and my determination to find him. So far, his negligence has cost $1200 for a structural engineer opinion (our insurance company paid for a 2nd opinion because they didn't like what ours said), $2500 for insurance deductible to the newest contractor hired to repair the exact damage that happened 3 months prior, and $7,000 in materials that his insurance company refused to cover or pay for, and my insurance policy on the project did not cover either. The adjuster for his insurance company said that he was able to locate the contractor but refused to give up any information for him directly.

That and the fact that the project wasn't finished had detriment to my farm and boarding business because two of my pastures that were connected to where the building was sitting, couldn't be used. This limited my ability to use natural pasture grass in summer months by rotating pastures for each herd, and had to purchase hay, which gets quite expensive.

By the time the building was completed, and I could get my pastures back to normal, I had losses of over $14,000. Because I didn't know where he now lived, I used the only address I had for him to file for small claims court, which here has a limit of $15,000. The court documents I served came back undeliverable. This meant that I was kind of stuck because a court date cannot be scheduled until all parties are properly served. But how do I find an address for someone who doesn't seem to register to any particular address directly?

Time was still on my side as this was still early-mid last year. So I kept a watch on social media for anything with his name, which was a VERY unique one. If there was another man of the same name within this state, within even the same metro area, it was unlikely because of how unique the name was. Then one day this past fall, after google searching the name again, there it was: his Facebook page. His name hadn't shown up before on FB with several searches. Not sure why this was the case. Even better, all his settings were set to public. I could see everything he wrote about. Including his recent commitment to stay sober earlier in 2017 (just after he abandoned my project), and... his employer's name! He had posted a pic of him on a jobsite and someone asked where he worked now. He named the place. So a quick google search and voila! Got an address to serve him court papers to. So I re-filed with the new-found address. But I still needed a home address to enforce the judgement once I won the case.

So what did I do? Seeing that he was listed as 'single' in his page, I used a fake FB profile that I originally had in use to test various features I enable on pages that I start up under my real profile. Truthfully, i only used that profile for that purpose to make sure the settings I put in place truly work. But now it would serve another purpose. Getting this guy to give me all the information I needed, playing on his being middle aged and single.

To create my alter ego, I found a website of a cute blonde lady in her 40's (so as to not be too young for him, since he was around mid-40's himself), and just yanked pics. I only set one to the profile photo, and would use the rest if he asked for more. I changed all the pics in the profile to look like it was a typical page of the average mid-40's female.

Holy crap did this work... and it worked so well. I used some information I found on his page to strike up a conversation about stuff stolen out of his work truck in the alley behind his house (big clue!) and it was reported to the city police dept (he named the city, so another big clue).

So, using this information, and telling him I had grown up in the same area, I got him to give me a general area where he lived. Keeping conversation cool like "is the pizza joint still there? They've been around forever" etc so he wouldn't get suspicious. Thank goodness for Google Maps giving me a better idea of that area so I could talk about it like i did in fact grow up there. In reality, I have only ever been in that city twice, and other times drove through on the way to somewhere else.

I was able to narrow down the area he talked about, and using that info, I pulled the police report records from that city. There were 3 reports done within the same area on that same day he reported. So... using that information, I pulled the county tax records to see who owned the houses. I found 3 houses within that area that could possibly be rentals since the owner name and taxpayer billing address did not match. This could be a long-shot to find the person, but I didn't have anything to lose by searching. Just as I was about to call the homeowners to see of anyone by the name of the contractor rented from them, he posts some info on his page that made the calls completely unnecessary. He posted the name of his roommate in a status update, who I then check out the profile of. The profile lists the roommate's landscaping business. A quick google search of that business name and BINGO... his state business registration address matched 1 of the 3 addresses I suspected to be the rental house.

So now I have his home address. He had already been served at his employer's address for the court date. Fast forward to the court date. He didn't show up, which I suspected he wouldn't so I got default judgement. Between serving him papers and the court date passing, the FB profile I was using to talk to him was helpful in getting info out of him about his life, his job situation, how much he made per hour (me feigning knowledge about what construction trades paid), and the fact that he was looking at changing employers. He even told me the name of that employer. So I was armed with info, should he decide to not work with me.

He played right into my hands. Once I got the official judgement from the small claims court win, I decided to contact him myself on FB using messenger. I sat down and wrote out a whole paragraph to him, first typing it on Word so that I could print it out and edit it, and have my husband read it as well.

I wrote that while I was angry at him, I was going to give him ONE chance to work a deal with me, rather than using our state dept of revenue play collection officer for me. I hate dealing with our state dept of revenue. They make the IRS look like Sunday school teachers. But...if it came down to that I would, and they would start garnishing his wages, and here they take 25% of each paycheck after taxes, and have the person's employer do it for them, and then send it to me. However, I hate letting the state be the middle-man because they just complicate things. But I told him straight out that if he refused to work with me directly, I would go to that extreme. I told him that I know he's an addict and has had struggles in the past. I told him that knowing he has had struggles, I was willing to work with him directly and give him an opportunity to offer a monthly payment amount that works for him and his budget, rather than have the state decide the amount for him.

To shorten this up... he replied, agreed, signed (and had notarized) a monthly payment agreement, complete with a list of manual labor tasks that he could use in place of a payment or two to help with some projects on my farm.

TL;DR Contractor ditched a project, resulting in significant financial damages that I could not recover via insurance. Used social media and my intimate knowledge of how to use public records to find people, along with a fake FB profile that appealed to his lonely side. Ended up finding him after over a year, and used my knowledge and rights of the court system to get him to pay me monthly rather than garnishing his wages, which I had every right to do. So far so good and it is nice having that payment show up every month.

(source) (story by Meschugena)