#I’ll eventually post the fic for this

[thisteaistoosweet]

Felt bad for like not uploading for a while so have like, some vamp Trevor.

Someone said you can’t have LOS lore and Norm Castlevania lore mix and I said fecking bet.

Maybe i can finally get my friend to post her fic.

[blindradiant]

It’s heartbreakingly beautiful that through everything Szeth went through in his life, he never fully let go of the eleven-year-old boy who loved to dance and found free time the most beautiful thing in the world. Even when he got broken and beaten down and ground into a weapon, that boy was still in the deepest parts of him, influencing his emotions and worldview. Even when he was alone and hurting, refusing to believe that he needed help or healing, that boy was inside him, yearning for comfort. And when Kaladin asked Szeth what he wanted and got an honest answer, it was the part of him that still clung to that child that said “I want to stop hurting people. I want to be done.” And when Szeth finally finds peace and a life away from killing and destruction, he can be reunited with that young version of himself again

Don’t mind me. I’m just going to go and cry about this now

[calmlb]

Domestic skk where Dazai gets home later than usual from the agency. It’s not uncommon for him to arrive home after Chuuya when he was working a case, but it definitely wasn’t the norm.

As Dazai slipped off his shoes and coat, he listened for any sounds that may indicate where Chuuya was.

Even though he was pretty sure he already knew.

He padded towards their bedroom and stopped with his hand on the knob. He pressed his ear to the door, listening for familiar, soft snores, but not hearing any.

He quietly slipped into the room, unsurprised to see that the lamp was still on, but not expecting to see Chuuya’s eyes closed.

The redhead was sitting up against the headboard, arms crossed and eyes closed. There was a poetry book on his lap, still open to where he’d been reading.

Dazai felt that fond smile he could never seem to mask play at his lips, and walked closer.

The light of the lamp cast shadows that accentuated the sharp angles of Chuuya’s face. His brown lashes brushed against his strong cheekbones, and a sun-kissed bronze was spread across his upturned nose.

Chuuya was all sharp edges with an unrefined personality. And that’s just how Dazai liked him.

That crudeness that had so grated on his nerves when they first met. That crassness that couldn’t be dulled by nice clothes or Ane-san’s influence.

Chuuya was unapologetically Chuuya— untamable.

Dazai watched as his partner’s brows pinched, and his bow-shaped lips twitched downward before parting.

“What’re you staring at, shitty Dazai?”

Dazai’s smile widened. “Just wondering how long you’re going to keep feigning sleep,” he hummed as he turned away to change into his pajamas.

“Wasn’t sleeping,” Chuuya grumbled, one eye peeking open as Dazai slipped into bed and curled up next to his leg.

Dazai nuzzled into Chuuya’s toned thigh, releasing a contented hum as Chuuya’s hand started carding through his hair.

He felt the rhythmic shift of Chuuya’s body in time with his breathing, and let himself relax knowing he was safe. Secure. Cared for.

Because Chuuya wasn’t all sharp edges. Deep down, there was a layer of kindness to him. Deep enough that it wasn’t immediately apparent.

Deep because it’s part of the foundation of who Chuuya is.

Dazai considers himself one of the lucky ones, getting to witness this kindness firsthand.

Chuuya always waited up for him, no matter how tired he was, or how long of a day he’d had. Some instinct to make sure every member of his pack was accounted for— probably leftover from the sheep.

My loyal dog.

Dazai hid his smile in the fabric of Chuuya’s pajama pants.

“Oi. I can feel you smirking, bastard.” Chuuya stopped his hand to pull on Dazai’s dark waves.

Dazai whined in protest. “Chuuya’s so mean to me.”

Chuuya scoffed, voice rough with the need for sleep. “Right, so mean that I even made you crab for dinner.” He slid down the headboard to lay on his pillow. This way, he was nose to nose with Dazai— hot, toothpaste-fresh breath fanning Dazai’s face and strawberry-blond curls falling into his face. “How awful.”

Dazai lifted a hand to brush the hair out of Chuuya’s eyes, gently tucking it behind his ear. “How awful,” he agreed. “Makes me want to die.”

Those piercing blue eyes stared back at him. “I’ll be the one to kill you. Shitty Dazai.” Chuuya’s threat was punctuated by a long yawn.

Dazai tutted. “Sleepy Chibi.” He grabbed Chuuya’s hand and started massaging soft circles into his palm. Just the way he knew Chuuya loved.

Sure enough, Chuuya let out a content sigh as the last bit of tension seeped out of his body.

“S’nice,” he mumbled as he started drifting off. Dazai merely hummed.

“Such strong hands that carry so much,” he whispered, bringing Chuuya’s knuckles to his face & pressing his lips against them tenderly. “Let me hold this for you.”

Chuuya’s breath evened out, and soft snores filled the space between them. Night after night, that snoring had been Dazai’s white noise, and he bit his lip to restrain the sudden impulse to pinch his partner’s cheeks in an act of cuteness aggression.

Instead, he snuggled up close to the redhead, burying his face in the crook of Chuuya’s neck.

Dazai reached over and turned off the lamp, feeling his heart swell when Chuuya nuzzled his face into Dazai’s hair. He pressed a kiss to his jugular notch, then let the soothing cadence of Chuuya’s snores lull him to sleep.

Dazai version

[iamthetruestrepairman]

see Annie and Troy both had the same sickness of “I base my personality and wants on what other people expect of me” however the difference there is that Troy got someone who accepted him unconditionally and didn’t care if he wasn’t “manly” (straight) enough. I think Annie Deserves an equally peculiar and verging on codependent relationship with her own “girl friend” (cough cough) that she can be equally gay and adorable about. In this essay I will-

[docksidedoner]

i enjoy drawing things that appeal to me and me alone. i like to call this one “estrogen could fix her: the trilogy”

[squidthusiast]

What’s your favorite fic by theashemarie? I want to read her stuff, but I’m so intimidated by how much there is!! Where do I start?

OH ANON HOW I’VE BEEN DYING TO ANSWER THIS ONE!!!!

You’ve opened up THE can of worms my good fellow…

I am so sorry for the person i’m about to become

I’ve actually spent the last couple days making a simplified compilation of Ashe’s works, to make it easier for new readers to visualize them.

It’s the reason why it has taken me some time to answer this haha.

As for my favourite fic…. That’s such an insanely hard question to answer T_T

I’ll put the compilation & my thoughts under the cut to minimize dashboard noise.

(Disclaimer: i’m not a writer so some of the terms I use are from my loose understanding of literature!)

Warning for rambling ahead!!

I tried to make the fomatting as straightforward as possible! If there are any other questions you can drop a comment :)

As for the fav fic stuff:

I don’t think I can have a hard singular favourite of Ashe’s fics, because they’re all different and encompass different themes and vibes and ideas, and fuck man they’re just so good. Ashe has a masters degree in writing and it SHOWS, but also just her writing style & way of developing stories.. it’s so captivating, rich and thoughtful. I love analyzing their work & being rewarded with the amount of detail and effort that is put into it.

Here’s a couple that fucked me up particularly good though, if you must know:

LDR AU | Meet Me on the Rink | And Take Off Your Mask | Simulacrum | Language Barrier

At least two of these majorly impacted my life & mean a whole lot to me because of the themes, topics and characterization in them.

I think one of my favourite things about Ashe’s works is how visceral and raw and real they feel while you read ‘em. There’s a real strong focus on the plot, which makes for a fantastic build up throughout the story. There’s also emphasis on characterization, and by the gods it’s deliciously crafted. The direct and indirect ways in which Ashe portrays the personalities, flaws and motivations of characters… MAN.

A lot of people read fics for a quick hit of fluff or angst, so plot-heavy, meaty fics with a lot of undertones and somewhat unconventional themes can be very different from typical expectations.

Still, I stand by the fact that it’s exactly because of this that Ashe’s work is so refreshing and fascinating to read through, and I strongly encourage everyone to give it a try, especially if you like Off the Hook.

She also has a lot of oneshots and shorter stories that I listed above, if longer ones feel daunting. They’re just as good!!

I’m really grateful that they share all of this work online; creating entails a lot of work, whether it be art, writing, cosplay, etc.

Posting it for free on top of that??? I think we need to appreciate our fic writers more, honestly. They’re a huge pillar in fandom spaces that often goes unnoticed.

That’s my little ramble on the topic, thank you for reading if you went this far!

I hope this helps Anon, and if you need more pointers or thoughts you can hit me up again.

With all that said, big shout out to @theashemarie , this is my big propaganda post for you all to follow her and/or check out their work, and leave her a comment if you enjoy the fics!! I know they appreciate them a lot :)

[alohawhore]

Fics I got percolating (as a preview for those maybe interested but mostly for my own sorting of thoughts)

Actively in progress:

the feel of coolness only water brings - MASH; traphawk; angsty magical realism fic involving selkie lore, finding closure, and lots of weather symbolism

soldier, poet, king (working title) - MASH; houlipiercintyre; canon-divergent high fantasy fic heavily inspired by the chronicles of narnia/dungeons & dragons/etc

how to trap a hawk (working title) - MASH; traphawk; angsty post-canon reconciliation fic with wintertime in crabapple cove, lots of rumination, and what it means to be mentally ill in mid-century America

Ideas that need to be put to paper:

A What Dreams May Come/orpheus tale inspired fic where Hawkeye is Eurydice and both BJ and Trapper are Orpheus

Sci-fi MASH AU where it’s kinda the same but in SPACE

Horror MASH fic of some kind - leaning toward a Malevolent-esque fic where Hawkeye becomes possessed by an entity that steals his sight and good hand, but he keeps the rest of his faculties and no one is (hopefully) the wiser

Time-travel!MASH mostly so I can explore their reaction to the fact the entire exercise in Korea really was pointless and nothing they did resulted in any lasting peace. But also need to see them interact with the Internet. So.

And in the same vein of self-indulgence: a Star Wars/MASH crossover of some kind

[the-rat-k-ing]

he got arrested 😔

[yepmadness]

Yeah so. I gave into the urges. I’ve never felt the need to write fanfic. Ever. But here I am I guess.

I wrote this at midnight soooo, who knows how this is. Just wanted to write John thoughts because he’s my guy—so have this short little piece that I hope other people can enjoy too :)

Fic under the cut: 1.8k words.

The memory of Arthur’s silence will remain more prettifying than his agony, but that doesn’t mean that his pain … his terror as the light and awareness left his eyes—their eyes—is what John was hoping to hear.

He doesn’t know what he was hoping for. Relief? A gasping thank you? Pride in saving him? Would it be foolish to wish that the talisman fixed everything? That he would just be okay? Perhaps it is. He thinks it is. He was never going to have that. It would be unreasonable to think he would get any of that, but any joy of him living, of John fixing this, was ripped away when Arthur opened his mouth. All John wanted was a sound. A single noise, a response, any response to prove the talisman worked. He got that. He should be happy that he got that.

But he isn’t.

And Arthur is silent again.

And the world is dark—but not as dark as it could be.

John does not know what to consider if Arthur didn’t end up in the dark world … when he died. That place was the last thing he wanted for Arthur, and yet, it was always treated as a last resort. Of a sort. Between them, spoken only aloud by Arthur, so long ago now. A place they would end up together in—if they failed. It was not a future he ever wanted, but it was a possibility, even if it was one he despised the thought of. But now he knows that if Arthur dies he does not follow, instead he is left here to deal with the repercussions. To play the marker for lifeless remains, having to have witnessed, and experienced death without a choice. What if there is no place meant for them? Past all of this. He can’t exactly bury Arthur himself, if it came to it, he wouldn’t let him stay dead after all. Graves are a place of permanency, one they do not deserve, because they can be forgotten. Especially here. But John would never forget. He would never abandon him like that.

He would find a way, like today. They are stuck in this together. They both have to make their own path through this, together.

Except his body is no longer a weighted grave for them both, a tomb he would never dare leave, it is breathing. Arthur is alive—and so they are both alive, whatever that may entail. He is tentatively okay. Arthur, is okay. As okay as he can be, as they both can be. What matters is that he is alive—what matters now is keeping him alive.

John has almost lost Arthur more than once, twice, more than three times, and he wasn’t always there to fix it but he has tried to be. He often was. Every moment where Arthur falls, where he becomes immobile and lost to John, he feels himself succumb to a fragility accustomed to human bodies. Accustom to loss and fear. It’s horribly quiet without him. Even so, he saves him, he saves them both—because Arthur trusts him, and he trusts Arthur. He loves Arthur, and he is going to tell him that. He has to tell him that. Even if they both know it, to an extent. This can’t happen again without John making sure he knows it.

But this is never going to happen again.

Because Arthur died this time, and he almost lost everything. John felt the cold stone visage that he left in his absence. There was nothing here without Arthur, more so than just the lack of connection to their body, but the emptiness was staggering. He was alone. Completely and wholly alone in a space meant for two.

He hadn't felt terror like that since Arthur slit his throat before the King—but this was worse. They’ve grown … so much—and John wasn’t there to see the aftermath of his actions back then. This, he was aware of, in every aching moment of uncertainty. This could have been prevented, couldn’t it? They didn't need to go after the talisman, but they did, and John didn’t see her—not until it was too late. It was his words that made her kill him—an appeal made to the wrong person. Arthur wouldn’t have died if made the right decisions. But he always seems to make the wrong ones, no matter how hard he tries, that he and Arthur have in common.

But Arthur is alive again, so why does it still feel like he is grieving?

Arthur wouldn’t have gotten hurt, wouldn’t have died, if John wasn’t here. But John wouldn’t be here, who he is now, without Arthur. Perhaps that would be more demoralizing if Arthur hasn’t so vehemently stated that he doesn’t want to be rid of John, that they are in this together, until they both get what they want … no matter what that may be. Perhaps that is just happiness, in the end, no matter what it looks like. From one harrowing experience to the next, until they may finally rest. Arthur wants him here, in spite of all the pain it causes, and will continue to cause. Because Arthur is his friend, and more than that, but he is his friend.

Arthur might even be … pleased with his actions. That he has found himself, both with him, and all that he has learned for himself. That he knows who he is, in truth, after everything.

Even if he knows who he is now, who he wants to be, who he will always be—he knows he will want Arthur there too. Arthur who has been there for all his mistakes, his achievements, their joy and sorrow. Arthur deserved to be here for this too, but he wasn’t, and maybe that was the push he needed. He used to defend so much of himself to Arthur, expectation after expectation, misstep after misstep. But Arthur also gave him hope, the sanctity of trust, showed him love and sacrifice, and remained alongside him even when that trust was broken. Even if some mistakes can’t be forgiven … They let them rest. Arthur lets it rest, so they can move on, so they can grow.

Is it so wrong to become … whole without him there to witness it? Or is that how it was always meant to be. To be entirely his own, must he first be alone?

He hopes not, it is a terribly bleak thought, besides it can’t be. Not in every single world, even if Kayne said he … doesn’t change much. There must be some place where there is more joy to be held in his ownership of self. A better circumstance that does not lace his pride in one of their darkest moments. In his choosing of hope. In his choosing of Arthur. One that doesn’t extend off of a devastating fear, off of death. He doesn’t know if he would wish to change this, he would have—if Arthur was truly gone—but he isn’t, so he will just have to see how this plays out.

He is going to share everything he said—everything he did, with Arthur. Because he deserves to be a part of it. Because they do this, all of this, together. Because he wouldn’t be here without him. Because together they are whole of two, just like he said, just like he will say.

It’s not as if he will ever fit into the messy expectations of what it means to be human, per say, but he doesn’t need to. All he needs is to perceive himself as what he wants to be—and Arthur’s perception helps to, even if he doesn’t always meet that. Humanity will be whatever he wants it to be. However he defines it to be. A neutral point, in it all. For he is not a piece to be slotted away, but a piece to be shelved along the masses, every individual part given a space of its own, and it is a space he deserves. A space he had long since earned.

A space they both deserve, to play their own key.

Because Arthur is alive—and so is he, in every sense of the word.

He’d panicked, when Arthur lost consciousness again, for a second he thought he had lost him once more. John had been so ready to reach for the talisman for a second time—for he wasn’t going to allow Arthur to leave, not yet, not ever. But he was breathing, albeit raggedly, but he was. John was going to keep his promises, he had to. He was going to take care of this, of him, and they were both going to be okay. Just like the times before this, and everytime that may come after, because Arthur isn’t going to die.

They’re going to get their happy ending, despite what she said, one where Arthur does not end up as a corpse.

An ending where they both know want they want, what they deserve, who they are.

Moving Arthur to the witch’s bed was difficult, to say the least, without exasperating the wound and the subpar stitching ... even if it has improved. John won’t allow it to get any worse—and Yorrick keeps telling him it’s survivable, or that he is more likely to survive anyway. Even so, John periodically checks to make sure Arthur is still breathing, that his heart is still beating.

Arthur is alive. He will stay alive.

He should stop worrying, Yorrick keeps spouting that he is arguably fine. He should stop.

But the reality is that he can’t, and he doubts will for a long while to come.

He is intimately aware of every minuscule movement Arthur makes, of every second of awareness he gains, and he coaxes him back to the present through all of it. A melody of promises, of reaffirming how he feels, telling Arthur everything over and over and over. It doesn’t matter if he is aware of what he says, if he hears him at all, John will repeat his words for as long as they are needed.

John never lets him arrive to the dread of waking up alone, speaking as soon as he stirs and recognition strike, each and every time. They are never going to be alone again, severed or separated, and John tells him that. Because they are whole together.

And eventually, when Arthur finds his speech, a gentle—hoarse voice long since worn by constant yelling born from the suffering of the waking. He repeats back everything John has been telling him through the suffering of uncertainty, of recovery and knowing and fear.

Arthur moves, ever so slightly, before John can protest—and he brushes his hand, John’s hand. It is a little thing, but it is such a stark constant to the stillness he had before. After the pain of it all, this is a relief, a reprieve. Arthur is alive and John can tell he’s weakly smiling, even if that is not something he can see, when he speaks up for the first time in hours.

John isn’t surprised by what he hears, he already knew, after all. They’ve both said it before. But John it is nice to hear regardless, because together, they are whole. A comfort to both him and Arthur both. He does not want to live, to experience life as it was shown to him, without him. He wouldn’t have gotten here without him. Together they are whole. Both their own wills, colliding, and depending on each other. Made by each other.

Arthur is alive.

Arthur is alive and he breaks the one sided silence by saying, “I love you too.”

Perhaps that, for now, is enough.

[were-wolverine]

fic idea i will probably write at some point:

when toph goes after zuko after his terrible introduction (hello, zuko here) he still startles and burns her feet but instead of running away he immediately rushes over and starts fussing over her, picking her up and treating her burns

he lays her down on his bedroll and gets his first aid supplies. he’s kind of an expert at dealing with burns. aside from the obvious, he was often burned during his childhood while training to fight with bending. it was why he was so fond of the dao swords, something he was much better at

he doesn’t realize he’s been talking aloud until the girl (does he know her name yet??) pointedly coughs after he trails off. he shakes the thoughts away and warns her the balm he is about to apply will sting at first.

he surprised when she fists a hand in his shirt, hissing in pain as the medicine does its job. he wraps it and moves onto her other foot, repeating the process. once he’s done, she looks in his direction quizzically

“it’s… numb,” she says, surprised. zuko smiles and explains

“it numbs the pain and heals the burn simultaneously. you should feel better in the morning after a good nights sleep, but you should still reapply it so it stays that way, okay?” he asks. she nods and then seems to debate asking something, before speaking

DISCLAIMER i know nothing about medicinal herbs/balms so this is 100% made up

“the others tried to describe you to me when i asked… pretty much all i got was ‘ponytail jerk with a shaved head and a burn on his face’ and obviously that’s not really a great description…” she trails off. zuko laughs softly

“if it makes you feel better, the ponytail is long gone. my hair is long enough to mostly cover the burn, too…” he replies

she nods thoughtfully before hesitantly lifting her hand towards his face, stopping a few inches away.

“um… you can say no, of course. but if it’s okay, can i touch your face? it’s how i see people,” she explains quietly. zuko flinches back slightly before thinking about it. her hands are so… small. and she hasn’t hurt him (yet).

the last person who touched his face was Uncle, helping zuko apply the burn salve after a bad day (the scar tended to hurt more if he was upset or angry… which was often). he had been so careful, it made zuko feel cherished.

he lets out a breath and agrees

the grin he receives is probably worth his discomfort

he closes his eyes and feels her small hands trace his face. she hums to herself as she maps it out in her head. zuko can feel calluses, likely from her earthbending, and laughs when she runs a hand through his hair, whispering “just checking”

they both quiet once she’s explored his entire face aside from the scar. she seems hesitant, so zuko nods slightly, reassuring her.

he cant really feel the hand tracing his burn. that area has been numb since his father…

he’s used to it. her hand on the other side of his face, keeping his head steady, is grounding and he releases some of the tension that had built in his shoulders when she traced the edge of the scar

she lets out a tiny gasp, and zuko can feel hair being pulled back from his ear- or what’s left of it. the burn had reached the appendage and a bit of his scalp. luckily his long hair was able to easily cover it. thinking back on his days wearing the symbol of the banished, having the entire thing exposed, makes him feel sick.

she finally drops her hands and when zuko opens his eyes (when had he gotten teary?) she’s sitting back across from him.

they sit in thoughtful silence for a while before toph snaps her fingers in recognition

“oh yeah, are your eyes really gold?” she asks

zuko finds it odd that the group had even noticed his eye color, but confirms her question

“cool,” she grins and zuko can’t help but smile back. she eventually scoots over on the bed roll and demands zuko sit next to her (and who is he to say no?)

they spend the next couple of hours talking. zuko finds out toph also comes from high society, and they bond over the stupid rules they were forced to learn and such.

toph doesn’t ask how he got the scar, but she does ask about it.

“can you hear at all in this ear? and are you able to see with this eye?”

he allows her these questions because she’s one of the only people who can understand what it’s like

“not very well, but enough to get by. as for my eye… it’s mostly blurry and i can’t open it past a squint. honestly, everyone was surprised it hadn’t lost all function,” he explains

she studies him thoughtfully before replying

“is that why you have two swords?”

zuko blinks. he hadn’t ever actually thought of it like that, since he was already using them before getting banished. but it makes sense. he shrugs

“maybe subconsciously?” he says, and she laughs at his uncertainty. he can’t help but smile at the sound

[maidenofcrows]

So I’m working on a plotless kanej one shot (that I may or may not finish), and I kinda like this little bit that I’m gonna share with y’all:

… After barely a moment of silence, he laughed. A soft, gentle laugh. The kind that she knew was meant just for her. She’d heard of the Kerch keeping something of their lover’s likeness inside pieces of jewelry. A lock of hair, a penny portrait made by a street vendor, a hand-written note folded on a tiny slip of paper. She thought she would rather store his laugh in one of these lockets and keep it close to her heart always.

Because bottling the other’s laugh and getting drunk on it every night has already been used, I needed to get creative with what Inej thinks of Kaz’s laugh XD I dunno, I just think they’re cute <3

Edit: I did, in fact, finish the thing

[girafficparka]

Gorgeous and actually buff Shepard - check

Flight suit Garrus showing a little sumthin’ sumthin’ extra - check

Talons and claws! - check

Best friends with benefits who are too caught up in their own heads to realize it might be love - also check

Milkywayes (go check out their tumblr- shakarian perfection) is an amazing artist and did this comish for my ao3 fanfic Comparative Anatomy. Thank you love!

Welcome into my brain people - I can’t get these two idiots out of it.

[a-lonely-dunedain]

Serana: I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but my father isn’t exactly a “good person”… even by vampire standards

Tossdir: vampires have standards??

Meneldir: …allegedly.

[sejarcus-archive]

One of them being a vet, the other finding an injured kitten in a bush

[highdefinitions]

ghouls wear whatever masks that were being actively used during their summoning for formal events btw. so like phantom and aurora would wear the masks they wear now. swiss would wear the silver one with the mouth cut out. dew would technically have the choice between two. are you getting what i’m saying? are you walking with me??

[darkwing-katy]

Accidentally wrote something kinda cute and angsty for the Lost Halloween fic prompt a few days ago.

Actually, both of the stories I’ve plucked out of the consciousness of the universe are a bit angsty. I dunno where the heck this came from from, but it’s there, and I really like where both of them are going because we need more Dad!Ben and Kid!Alex fics in the world, but hot damn, as cute as they are, they’re also bittersweet.

My subconscious must be in a weird mood.

Also I’m weird about publishing stuff when I think it’s ready, so it might be the very end of the month before I actually put them on AO3. I like to let my fics marinate before I edit them. Anyone else do this?