#I’m working on kind of a *secret* project and it’s been really inspiring

[messy-crisantemo]

🎼 ?

(Incase it hasn’t already been asked)

Oh! So my favorite music to draw to right now. I’ve been pretty obsessed with Nimona’s soundtrack lately, it’s so cool!

[kiwriteswords]

congrats on your 2k 🎉

for missing scene Monday, could we get bearded Hotch's new gf he met on his secret assignment in Pakistan?? I'll leave it to you if you want to extend it back to the US and the BAU team!!

Just begging for anything with bearded Hotch and yes this was inspired by your 2k celebration gif choices ❤️ love ya!

Let It Be [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||Main Masterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 8k|| AN: Thank you so much for sending this request so early for day one! I was able to get a head start on this last week, and I really love how it turned out!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, canon-divergent, beard!hotch, canon-typical themes, hurt/comfort, banter, Hotch in Pakistan, non!BAU reader, kinda left tbc?

Summary: Hotch meets you on assignment in Pakistan, and you're exactly what he was looking for...someone who's just there without pushing.

The sun was relentless, bearing down on the barren expanse surrounding the base. Sweat collected under your tactical gear, but you barely noticed. It was the kind of heat that stripped away all distractions, leaving you focused on the mission ahead--or at least trying to be.

You adjusted the strap of your duffel bag and glanced around the bustling camp. This wasn’t your first special operations assignment, but the tension in the air felt different here. Heavier. 

It could have just been you dragging the weight of unresolved emotions halfway across the world, or it could have been the stakes of the mission--a dangerous operation involving an international terrorist cell that required precision, discretion, and teamwork between agencies not known for always getting along.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

The voice was deep, cutting through the camp noise. You turned and found yourself face to face with a tall man, his sharp features etched into a permanent state of seriousness. His gaze was steady, and his presence commanded attention without effort.

“That’s me,” you replied, clipped but polite.

He stepped closer, extending a hand. “Aaron Hotchner, unit chief for the BAU.”

The name was familiar. You had read the reports and heard the stories--his work on high-profile cases, his leadership, and his reputation for being unflinchingly methodical. You shook his hand, noting the firm grip and how it matched the intensity in his dark eyes.

“Special Agent Y/L/N, CIA Directorate of Operations,” you said, introducing yourself with the same straightforward efficiency. “Behavioral analyst and covert operations specialist.”

His brow shifted slightly, just enough for you to notice. He nodded, acknowledging your credentials with a quiet respect.

“Briefing starts in five,” he said, his tone all business. Then he turned and walked away, leaving you with the distinct impression that there was more to him than the stoic exterior he projected. You had worked with people like him before--people who carried their burdens in silence--but something about the weight in his eyes made you wonder if he had brought his own ghosts to this mission, much like you had.

….

The first few days were a blur of briefings, strategy sessions, and late nights poring over intel. You didn’t interact much with Hotch beyond the occasional exchange of information, but you caught yourself noticing him. The way he carried himself--calm and composed, but with an edge of tension that never seemed to leave him. You recognized it because you felt it, too.

As you reviewed reports in the command tent one night, he walked in, filling the space. He set a folder on the table and glanced at you.

“You’ve been here for hours,” he said, not a question but an observation.

You shrugged, keeping your focus on the documents in front of you. “So have you.”

“I’m used to it,” he replied, his tone neutral.

“So am I.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, he pulled out a chair and sat across from you, his gaze steady.

“It’s easier to keep busy,” he said quietly as if he was sharing a truth he rarely voiced.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. There was something there--something raw and unspoken. You wanted to ask what he was running from, but you didn’t. You weren’t ready to share your own truths, so you didn’t ask for his.

….

The nights were the hardest. The quiet gave your mind too much room to wander, dredging up memories you’d rather forget. One evening, you found yourself outside, staring at the vast expanse of desert under a blanket of stars. You didn’t expect company, but the sound of footsteps behind you made you turn.

It was Hotch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

He shook his head, stepping closer until he was standing beside you.

“Me neither,” you admitted.

For a while, you just stood there, the silence between you feeling strangely comfortable.

“I read your file,” he said eventually, his tone careful.

You glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Did you now?”

“You’ve handled some difficult assignments. Made a name for yourself.”

There was no arrogance in his words; it was just observation.

“Guess you could say I have a knack for throwing myself into the fire,” you replied. Something flashed across his face like he was going to respond with something, but he didn’t.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but his presence was steady, almost calming.

“Why are you really here?” you asked, breaking the quiet. Nobody in their right mind would have volunteered for this unless they either A) had nobody to go home to at night, or B) were trying to forget about something else. You could tell by the small photo Hotch carried around of, presumably, his son it wasn’t option A.

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low, almost reluctant. “Because it’s easier than being back home.”

You nodded, understanding more than you cared to admit. “Yeah. Same.”

He glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “What are you running from?”

You hesitated, the question hitting too close to home. “A mistake. One I don’t want to repeat.”

He didn’t press for details, and you were grateful. Instead, he said, “Sometimes running is the only way to keep moving.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if you agreed.

……

As the mission dragged on, the weight of it started to press down on both of you. You began to notice how Hotch avoided certain topics, not that personal topics frequently came up. You noticed how his eyes darkened when the name "Prentiss" came up from the communication specialist on the special ops team.

You didn’t ask--he didn’t offer--but the pieces slowly started to come together. You had to be living under a rock in this field not to have heard about the major loss the BAU took this past year.

One night, after another tense meeting, you found yourselves in the makeshift kitchen, both reaching for the last cup of coffee.

“You take it,” you said, stepping back.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“I insist. I’ve had worse days.”

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of understanding. “I doubt that.”

You smirked, the slightest crack in your guarded exterior. “Careful, Hotchner. That almost sounded like empathy.”

His lips twitched--the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him. “Don’t get used to it.”

….

A sudden sandstorm sent the entire team scrambling for cover. The wind howled outside the command tent, shaking the canvas walls as you huddled with Hotch and two other agents.

“Typical,” you muttered, brushing sand off your gear. “Mission’s hard enough without Mother Nature making it worse.”

Hotch sat across from you, his expression unreadable as he tightened the straps on his vest. He was scruffier than he was when you first arrived. It wasn’t a bad look, but you brushed down that thought.

“You’ve been through worse,” he said matter-of-factly, not a question but a statement.

You let out a short laugh. “Don’t give me too much credit, Hotchner. I’m not invincible.”

“No one is,” he replied, his tone softer than you expected. “But you’re resilient. I can see that.”

The compliment, if you could call it that, caught you off guard. You didn’t reply, unsure how to. Instead, you focused on the storm outside, the roar of the wind drowning out everything else.

But later, when the storm passed, and you stepped out into the eerily quiet desert, you found yourself glancing at Hotch. He met your gaze for a moment, and something unspoken passed between you--a mutual respect, a shared understanding.

….

It was late, and the compound was finally quiet. You were seated at a makeshift table, cleaning your sidearm, when Hotch approached with two cups of coffee.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said as he set one down in front of you.

“I doubt that,” he replied, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

You took a sip, wincing at the bitter taste. “God, this is terrible.”

“It’s coffee,” he said with a small shrug as if that explained everything.

You glanced at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Do you ever lighten up, Hotchner?”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “On occasion.”

“Define ‘occasion.’”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze drifting to the weapon in your hands. “When it’s earned,” he said finally.

It was a cryptic response, but it made you smile anyway. “Well, I’ll consider this progress.”

He sat with you in silence, but it was comfortable. The company was more needed than either of you realized.

….

The day had been relentless, the kind that left your muscles aching and your mind frayed at the edges. You had lost count of how many hours you’d been awake--thirty, maybe forty. Every bone in your body screamed for rest, but the tension from the mission had settled into your chest, making sleep impossible.

You found yourself outside the command tent, slumping onto an old crate with a half-empty water bottle in your hand. The distant hum of generators buzzed like a white noise machine, masking the desert’s eerie quiet.

Hotch appeared a few minutes later, wordlessly lowering himself onto the crate beside you. His presence, steady as always, should have been comforting, but tonight it only made the lump in your throat harder to ignore.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You told yourself you liked the silence, but the truth was, it gave your thoughts too much room to spiral. Your chest felt tight, and despite the coolness of the night, your face burned with exhaustion-fueled frustration.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your mouth before you could stop them.

Hotch turned his head toward you, his face unreadable but his attention sharp. “Why do you say that?”

You let out a shaky breath, staring out into the endless darkness of the desert. “Because I’m running. I didn’t know what else to do.” You hesitated, feeling the weight of your own admission. “I thought putting space between me and...everything would help, but maybe it just makes it worse.”

The words sat heavy in the air, and you instantly regretted saying them. You felt exposed, as though admitting it aloud would make it all the more real. Your hands fidgeted with the bottle, and you kept your gaze fixed ahead, unwilling to meet his.

You thought about the way your life had pretty much unraveled around you back at home. If it wasn’t for work, you’re not sure you’d still be standing on your two feet. Here you could be the strong, independent person you aspired to be. At home, you were heartbroken without an end in sight. 

The silence stretched long enough that you thought he wouldn’t respond. But then, in that low, even voice of his, he said, “It doesn’t make it worse. It just makes it...quieter. And sometimes quiet is all you can handle.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the quiet vulnerability in his tone. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, distant and heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“Is that why you’re here?” you asked softly, the rawness in your voice betraying how fragile you felt.

He nodded, barely perceptible, his gaze never leaving the horizon. “I thought being here might help me make sense of things. But some things…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing. “Some things don’t have answers.”

There was something about the way he said it--not defensive, not self-pitying, just honest. It broke through the dam inside you, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you might cry.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat tightening. The weight of his answer settled between you, tangible and heavy, yet somehow reassuring.

For the first time, the silence felt like a shared space rather than an empty one. You didn’t push for more. You couldn’t, not with your emotions already threatening to overflow. But as the desert night pressed in around you, you realized you didn’t need to.

Whatever walls you both had built were starting to crumble, and neither of you seemed inclined to stop it.

…..

The air in the abandoned warehouse was stifling, thick with the smell of rust and dust. You moved carefully, your weapon drawn and your eyes scanning every shadow. Hotch was just behind you, silent but steady, his presence grounding you in the tense atmosphere.

The intel had been solid: a potential threat against the local embassy was being planned here, and your team had been tasked with gathering evidence. But now, as you crept deeper into the maze of crates and machinery, something felt off. The place was too quiet.

A faint creak made you freeze. You glanced back at Hotch, and he gave a subtle nod, his dark eyes sharp with focus. He gestured for you to take the left while he veered right. You obeyed without question, trusting his instincts as much as your own.

You edged around a stack of crates, your pulse quickening. The sound came again--a faint shuffle, followed by a whisper of movement. You tightened your grip on your weapon, adrenaline flooding your system.

Then everything exploded at once.

A figure lunged from the shadows, slamming into you with enough force to knock you off balance. Your weapon clattered to the floor as you struggled against the assailant, their grip bruising as they tried to pin you down.

“Agent Y/L/N!” Hotch’s voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline.

You twisted, freeing one arm, and drove your elbow into the attacker’s side. They grunted, loosening their grip just enough for you to push them off. But before you could retrieve your weapon, another figure appeared, this one heading straight for Hotch.

“Behind you!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet.

Hotch spun just in time, deflecting the attacker’s blow and delivering a calculated strike that sent them stumbling. But the odds were quickly stacking against you--more figures emerged from the shadows, their movements coordinated and purposeful.

“Fall back!” Hotch ordered, his voice calm but commanding.

You grabbed your weapon and fell into step beside him as the two of you retreated toward the exit. The sound of footsteps echoed behind you, growing louder with each passing second.

“We’re not going to make it out clean,” you said, your voice tight as you scanned for cover.

Hotch’s jaw clenched. “We don’t have to. We just need to slow them down.”

He pointed to a stack of crates near the exit, and you understood immediately. You fired a few shots, not aiming to hit but to force your pursuers to take cover. Then, together, you pushed the nearest crate, toppling it over and creating a barricade that bought you a few precious seconds.

“Go!” Hotch barked, motioning for you to move ahead.

“No way,” you snapped, falling into position beside him. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

His gaze flicked to you, something unspoken passing between you. It wasn’t the time for arguments, so he didn’t push it.

The two of you moved as one, covering each other as you navigated the narrow corridors toward the exit. Your heart pounded in your ears, but you didn’t let it distract you. Hotch’s steady presence was all you focused on, his calm precision a stark contrast to the chaos around you.

Finally, you burst into the open air, the sounds of shouting and gunfire fading behind you. You didn’t stop running until you reached the safety of the extraction point, where reinforcements were waiting.

You doubled over, hands on your knees as you caught your breath. Hotch was beside you, his breathing heavy but controlled.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

You nodded, straightening up. “Yeah. You?”

“I’ve been worse,” he replied, a faint flicker of dry humor in his tone.

You couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “That’s one way to bond, I guess.”

Hotch glanced at you, and for the first time since the mission began, you saw something close to a smile on his face. It was brief, but it was real.

“Good work out there,” he said simply.

“Right back at you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

In that moment, you realized just how much you trusted him--not just as a colleague, but as someone who had your back, no matter what. And from the way he looked at you, you had the feeling he felt the same.

….

The day had been unusually quiet. The base hummed with its usual activity, but the weight in the air seemed heavier that day. You had noticed it the moment you walked into the briefing room. Hotch had been there, as he always was, but there was something off.

His usual sharp focus felt dulled, his replies curt even for his standards. He spent more time staring at his tablet than actually reading it, and the lines etched into his face seemed deeper somehow.

You weren’t a profiler, but you didn’t need to be to know something was wrong.

Now, hours later, you found him alone in the makeshift command tent, the harsh glow of a desk lamp illuminating the strain on his features. He was seated, elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of him, staring at a map as if willing it to make sense.

“You’re still at it?” you asked gently, stepping inside.

His head lifted slightly, but he didn’t look at you. “There’s a lot to prepare for.”

“There always is,” you replied, pulling up a chair across from him. ���But it’s late. You should take a break.”

“I can’t afford to.”

The edge in his voice wasn’t aimed at you, but it still made you hesitate. You considered leaving him to his work, but something kept you there.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the tense quiet. “What’s going on?”

He finally looked up, his dark eyes shadowed by something heavy. For a moment, you thought he might tell you, but then his expression hardened, his walls slamming back into place.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, his tone measured but distant.

You didn’t believe him, not for a second. But you also knew better than to push.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “You’re allowed to have off days, you know. Even you.”

His lips twitched, almost a humorless smile. “I don’t have the time for that.”

“You’re human,” you countered, your tone steady but not pressing. “It’s not a luxury. It’s just...life.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze dropping back to the table. But his hands, usually so still, were fidgeting now--his fingers twisting the edge of the map absentmindedly.

You let the silence settle between you, giving him space. After a few minutes, you stood and moved toward the coffee pot in the corner of the tent. You poured two cups, setting one down in front of him without a word before returning to your seat.

Hotch stared at the cup for a moment before picking it up, cradling it in his hands like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment.

“It’s fine,” he said abruptly, almost as if he was telling it to himself, though his tone betrayed him. “I just--” He stopped, shaking his head as if to dismiss whatever he’d been about to say.

“You don’t have to explain,” you said quietly, your voice steady. “We all have those days.”

He let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “This one feels heavier.”

You didn’t know what he was carrying--something about him always felt impenetrable, as though he kept the world at arm’s length. But you didn’t need to know the specifics to recognize the weight he was under.

“You’re allowed to let it feel heavy,” you said after a moment, watching his reaction carefully.

Hotch’s hand tightened around the coffee cup, the faintest flicker of vulnerability flashing across his face before his walls went back up. “I shouldn’t let it distract me,” he muttered.

You leaned forward, resting your arms on the table. “Maybe letting yourself feel it for five minutes wouldn’t be a distraction. Maybe it’d just be human.”

He didn’t respond, but his jaw shifted as though he was grinding his teeth. His silence didn’t bother you--it was enough to just sit there, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

After a while, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not digging,” he said, finally looking at you. His gaze softened just enough to make your chest ache. “For just...being here.”

You offered a small smile, reaching across the table and resting your hand lightly over his. It wasn’t much, but the way his shoulders relaxed told you it was enough.

“I’ve got your back,” you said simply. “Whatever it is, you’re not alone.”

Hotch nodded, his grip tightening briefly on the cup before setting it down. He didn’t say anything else, but the tension in the room felt lighter somehow.

The two of you sat there in silence, the night pressing in around you. And while the weight of whatever he was carrying didn’t disappear, you could tell it didn’t feel quite so unbearable anymore.

…

The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, reflecting off the shallow, winding river that cut through the barren terrain. You adjusted your gear, sweat dripping down your temple as you followed Hotch’s lead. The mission had gone sideways--nothing catastrophic, but the extraction point was now miles further than planned, and the only route was straight through the rocky riverbed.

“Watch your step,” Hotch warned as he leaped from one jagged boulder to another. His movements were precise, practiced, but you could tell the exhaustion of the day was catching up with him.

“I was planning to fall flat on my face,” you replied, the edge of sarcasm in your voice lighthearted enough to soften the tension.

His lips twitched, that almost-smile you’d grown accustomed to. “Let’s avoid that.”

The river wasn’t deep, but the current was deceptively strong. The rocks were uneven; some were slick with moss, and others were barely stable. The whole setup was a sprained ankle--or worse--waiting to happen.

You made it halfway across before your boot slipped on a loose stone, your footing completely giving out beneath you. You stumbled, and the weight of your gear made it impossible to regain your balance.

Before you could hit the water, a substantial hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you upright. The force of it brought you chest-to-chest with Hotch, his grip firm and steady.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and close, his breath warm against your temple.

“Yeah,” you managed, your own breath catching as you looked up at him. His face was inches from yours, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you.

His dark eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering in them--concern, maybe, or something deeper. He didn’t let go right away, his hand lingering on your arm as though he needed to make sure you were truly steady.

“I told you to watch your step,” he said finally, his tone softer than usual. His words did not match the gentleness in his tone.

“And I told you I was planning to fall,” you shot back, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a wry smile.

His lips twitched again, but this time, it felt closer to a real smile. His hand slipped away reluctantly, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he stepped back.

“Let’s keep moving,” he said, his voice all business again, though you caught the slight shift in his expression--something unguarded, fleeting, but unmistakably there.

…

The day’s trek had left you both bone-weary, but the setting sun brought with it a chill that seeped into your skin. The fire crackled low between you as you sat on overturned crates, the glow casting flickering shadows over the rocky outcrop that served as your makeshift camp for the night.

You had stripped down to your undershirt, your jacket drying on a nearby rock after the river crossing. Hotch sat across from you, rolling his stiff shoulders and rubbing his neck, his usual stoicism slightly cracked by the day’s exhaustion.

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” you commented, watching him massage the tension from his muscles.

“So will you,” he replied, his eyes flicking to your bruised forearm from the earlier stumble.

“I bounce back quickly,” you said lightly. “You, on the other hand, might want to consider a hot bath.”

His lips quirked, and he shook his head. “I’ll add that to the list of luxuries I’m missing out on.”

“Right after edible food,” you added, holding up the protein bar you’d been gnawing on. “This is basically punishment.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rare, and it made your chest tighten unexpectedly. You leaned back slightly, letting the warmth of the fire and the rare ease of the moment settle over you.

“You’re not always so serious, are you?” you asked, half-teasing but genuinely curious.

Hotch glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “Depends on the company.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the lines of exhaustion and something deeper--something you couldn’t quite name but felt pulled toward.

“Well,” you said finally, breaking the tension with a small smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on you before he nodded slightly. “You should.”

The fire had long since burned down to embers, but neither of you had moved. The quiet was comfortable now, a shared understanding that didn’t need words.

“You’re different,” Hotch said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. His tone was thoughtful, not heavy, but it made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t expect.

“Different how?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t push,” he said simply. “Most people do. They want something, even if they don’t say it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening at the vulnerability in his words. “Maybe I just know what it’s like to need space.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze dropping to the glowing embers. “It’s rare,” he said quietly. “And...appreciated.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you realized with a startling clarity that you didn’t want this moment to end. The mission, the chaos, the fleeting moments of quiet connection--they’d all built to this, and you weren’t ready to let it go.

You didn’t say anything, but you shifted closer, just enough that your knee brushed against his. He didn’t move away, and the warmth of his presence felt like an anchor in the cool desert night.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. But when he finally looked at you, the guarded distance in his eyes had softened, replaced by something you couldn’t name but felt deeply.

“Get some rest,” he said eventually, his voice low but gentle. “Tomorrow will come too soon.”

You nodded, standing and brushing the dust from your pants. But as you turned to leave, you paused, glancing back at him. “Good night, Hotch.”

“Good night,” he replied, his gaze following you as you walked away.

And for the first time since this mission began, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time--something you weren’t sure you could name but couldn’t deny was there.

…..

The air in the base felt heavier than usual. The usual hum of activity buzzed in the background, but your focus was locked on the figure in front of you--Aaron Hotchner, standing by the transport vehicle, his duffel slung over his shoulder. A stark contrast to how he had shown up so long ago. Now, slimmer and with a face full of facial hair.

You hadn’t expected the mission to end like this--not with him leaving before it was over. The news had come down hours ago: he had been called back stateside. No explanation, no warning. Just orders.

“Something urgent?” you asked, keeping your tone steady even as you struggled to meet his eyes.

He nodded, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight, a tell you’d come to recognize. “I have to return to Quantico. The team needs me.”

Of course, they do, you thought. You had known from the beginning that this wasn’t his world. His world was back home, leading the BAU, carrying burdens most people couldn’t fathom. Still, the abruptness of his departure left a hollow ache in your chest that you hadn’t prepared for.

You stepped closer, your arms crossed, not out of defiance but to keep yourself grounded. “We’ll manage here,” you said, the words feeling both true and hollow.

Hotch’s gaze flicked to you, his dark eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “You will,” he said, his voice low. “You’re good at this.”

A faint, humorless laugh escaped you. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was,” he replied, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips before it disappeared.

The silence between you was heavy, filled with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. You weren’t naive. Whatever had brought him here was bigger than the mission, bigger than you. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch him leave.

“Will you be back?” you asked finally, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Hotch hesitated, his gaze shifting to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I don’t know.”

The honesty in his answer hit harder than you expected.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and nodded. “Well, in case you don’t…you know, good luck, Hotch.”

He studied you for a moment, as if committing your face to memory. Then, to your surprise, he stepped closer. His hand reached out, resting lightly on your arm.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For everything.”

The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you, but you didn’t pull away. “For what?”

“For being here. For making this easier,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You searched his eyes, the words catching in your throat. Instead of speaking, you reached up and squeezed his hand where it rested on your arm, the small gesture saying more than words could.

His hand lingered for a moment before he pulled back, his professional mask sliding into place once more.

“They’re waiting for me,” he said, his voice steady but distant.

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Go. They need you more than we do.”

He hesitated again, his eyes flicking to yours one last time. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely audible.

And then he turned and climbed into the vehicle. You stood there, watching as it pulled away, the ache in your chest growing heavier with each passing second.

When the dust finally settled, and the vehicle disappeared from sight, you let out a shaky breath, the reality of his absence sinking in.

You hadn’t expected this assignment to change anything. But now, as you stood alone under the relentless desert sun, you realized just how much it had--and how much he had.

You weren’t sure how you’d get over missing him the way you felt the minute he left your side. 

…

The harsh glow of the tent's fluorescent light was a poor substitute for the sun. You rubbed your temples, trying to chase away the dull ache that had settled behind your eyes after hours of pouring over intel. The mission dragged on, one step forward and two steps back, and you were beginning to feel the weight of it pressing down on you.

The faint crackle of the comm system startled you, drawing your attention to the communications officer stationed at the other end of the tent. His head tilted, listening intently before he turned and called out, “Y/L/N, secure line for you. Priority channel.”

You blinked, confusion flashing across your face. Secure lines weren’t uncommon, but they were usually pre-arranged. Rising from your chair, you crossed the tent, curiosity buzzing in the back of your mind.

When you picked up the headset, the officer handed you a notepad with a string of verification codes scrawled across it. “Verify the code,” he instructed.

You input the code into the secure terminal, and after a moment, the line cleared. “This is Y/L/N,” you said cautiously.

There was a beat of silence, then a familiar voice. “It’s Hotch.”

Back in Quantico, Hotch leaned back in his chair, his fingers gripping the phone tighter than necessary. The bullpen below his office was dim and quiet--most of the team had left for the night, but the stillness did little to ease the weight pressing on him.

The fallout from the Ian Doyle case was still reverberating through the BAU. Emily’s return had blindsided the team, and though he had tried to justify the deception, the cracks in their trust were impossible to ignore. Strauss’s scrutiny had sharpened, and his every decision seemed to be under a magnifying glass.

He hadn’t called to talk about any of that. He couldn’t.

But the familiar tension in his chest--the suffocating combination of guilt, stress, and isolation--had driven him to dial the secure line. He wasn’t even sure you’d pick up, but when your voice filtered through the line, steady and sure, it was like a knot in his chest loosened.

You straightened instinctively, surprise rippling through you. “Hotch,” you repeated, unable to keep the astonishment from your tone. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“You’re not…no,” you assured him, leaning against the edge of the table. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough for you to sense the weight behind it. “I just wanted to check-in. See how things are going on your end.”

You frowned slightly, his words not matching the tension you could hear in his voice. “Things are...as expected. Slow, frustrating, and complicated. But manageable.”

“Good,” he said, the word clipped, almost distracted.

You weren’t a profiler, but the exhaustion in his tone was unmistakable. He sounded like a man carrying too many burdens, with no room to set them down.

“You sound tired,” you said gently, knowing better than to pry.

He let out a soft exhale, the kind that felt heavier than it should. “It’s been a long few weeks,” he admitted, though his words felt like an understatement.

Hotch closed his eyes for a moment, your voice cutting through the static in his mind. He could still see the look on Morgan’s face when Emily had walked into the room, the betrayal simmering under the surface. He could hear the edge in Strauss’s tone as she grilled him about his decision to keep the team in the dark.

But here, with you, there was no judgment. No interrogation.

“You’re taking care of yourself, right?” you asked, keeping your tone light but genuine.

A soft scoff met your ears. “I’m trying,” he replied, the words carrying a note of dry humor.

You smiled faintly, leaning back against the table. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

His silence stretched again, but this time it felt less heavy. You knew he wasn’t the type to reach out without a reason, but you also knew he wouldn’t say more than he wanted to. And you weren’t going to push.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

You blinked. “For what?”

“For picking up,” he said simply. “For not asking.”

Your chest tightened slightly at the honesty in his tone. “Of course,” you replied softly. “You don’t have to explain anything, Hotch. You know that.”

For a fleeting moment, Hotch considered telling you. About Emily. About the team’s trust--or lack of it. But the words felt too heavy…too complicated to put into the space between you. He didn’t want to drag you into the mess, especially not when you had your own mission to worry about.

And yet, knowing you were there, steady and unwavering, brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in weeks.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the faint hum of the secure line filling the silence. Despite the distance between you, the connection felt tangible--grounding.

“I should let you get back to work,” he said finally, although his voice sounded reluctant.

“Yeah,” you agreed, even though you didn’t want the call to end. “But Hotch...don’t wait so long to call next time, okay?”

There was a pause, then a quiet, almost imperceptible, “Okay.”

And then the line disconnected, leaving you standing there with the headset in hand and a heaviness in your chest you hadn’t felt in weeks.

Across the ocean, Hotch set the phone down, his hand lingering on the receiver. For the first time in days, the storm inside him felt a little less suffocating. And though he couldn’t explain why, he knew that calling you had been the right choice.

….

Throughout the remainder of your mission in Pakistan, Hotch’s calls came sporadically, never announced, and always brief. Each time the secure line connected, his voice carried a steadiness that seemed to ease the tension that surrounded you. The conversations were simple--updates on the mission, quiet exchanges about the weather, or mutual remarks about the relentless grind of your respective work.

Yet, beneath the surface, those calls meant more. 

They weren’t about the words exchanged but the connection that had grown between you. Somehow, through the static of secure lines and the distance of continents, you felt you knew him intimately. 

Not in the way of shared stories or confessions, but in the quiet understanding of someone who had seen the same kind of pain.

Hotch never spoke about what weighed on him, and you never pressed. He didn’t need to. The heaviness in his tone, the pauses that lingered too long--they told you everything you needed to know. And you, in turn, found comfort in the silence he offered, in the unspoken acknowledgment of your own burdens.

It was a strange closeness, one that felt both fragile and unbreakable. You knew so much about each other, and yet nothing at all. He never asked about what had driven you to this mission, and you never asked about the strain you could hear in his voice. Yet, you understood each other in a way that words couldn’t capture.

In those stolen moments on the phone, it didn’t matter that the world outside was relentless. It didn’t matter that neither of you could put your pain into words. What mattered was that, for a few fleeting minutes, you weren’t alone. And somehow, that was enough.

It was those moments that patched up the pain in your chest, almost making you forget about the heartbreak you left at home. The failed relationships, the loneliness…you wondered how it would continue on--or if it would continue on once you were back home. You hoped. 

…..

The bullpen at the BAU was its usual hive of activity, with agents moving between desks, typing up reports, and chatting quietly between tasks. But today, there was an undercurrent of curiosity rippling through the team--one that centered on Hotch.

Seated at her desk, Garcia spun her chair toward Morgan, a playful smirk on her lips. “Alright, Derek, spill. What’s with the boss man and those secretive phone calls he’s been making?”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “What makes you think I know anything, Baby Girl?”

Garcia raised a skeptical brow, gesturing dramatically toward Hotch’s office. “Because every time he steps in there and picks up that phone, he looks...different. Like, not his usual stressed-out-because-the-world-is-burning look. It’s something else.”

JJ, passing by with a file, paused to join the conversation. “You’re not wrong,” she said thoughtfully. “I noticed it, too. He’s been...quieter lately. More introspective. Not that Hotch is ever exactly chatty, but it’s different.”

Rossi appeared from behind them, holding his ever-present coffee mug. “And you’re all assuming that a few phone calls mean he’s seeing someone?” His tone was teasing, but there was genuine curiosity behind it.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be the craziest thing,” Morgan replied with a shrug. “The man deserves a little happiness. Maybe he finally found someone who gets him.”

Reid, seated nearby with his tablet, looked up. “It could be related to the fallout from the Doyle case. He might be reaching out to someone for professional advice or support.”

Garcia shook her head dramatically. “Oh, boy-wonder, that’s far too clinical. This is Hotch we’re talking about. If he’s calling someone regularly, it’s personal.”

JJ frowned slightly, leaning against her desk. “Whoever it is, I just hope they’re good for him. After everything with Haley, and now the strain with the team...he needs someone who can be there for him.”

Rossi took a sip of his coffee, his gaze flicking toward Hotch’s closed office door. “Maybe it’s not about what they say. Sometimes, it’s just about having someone who listens. God knows that man doesn’t let anyone in easily.”

The group fell into a contemplative silence, their gazes drifting toward the office where Hotch was currently on a call. Inside, his expression was characteristically composed, but the slight relaxation of his shoulders and the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed something softer.

Morgan broke the silence first, smirking. “Well, whoever this mystery caller is, they’ve got our fearless leader smiling. I say we let him have this one.”

Garcia gasped dramatically, clasping her hands together. “Smiling? You saw him smile? Oh, this is bigger than I thought.”

JJ and Rossi exchanged amused glances, and even Reid couldn’t suppress a small smile at Garcia’s theatrics. But beneath the playful banter, the team shared a collective hope--that whoever was on the other end of those calls was helping their stoic leader carry at least some of the weight on his shoulders.

….

Hotch sat in his office, the low hum of activity in the bullpen barely reaching his ears. His personal phone buzzed on the desk beside him, an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen. He frowned, picking it up cautiously. It wasn’t often he got calls from unlisted numbers on this line.

“Aaron Hotchner,” he answered, his tone brisk.

“Well, that’s formal. Do you always answer like you’re being interrogated?”

His breath caught, the familiar voice pulling a genuine, if fleeting, smile to his face. “Agent Y/L/N. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you teased. “Just because I’m not in Pakistan doesn’t mean I’ve vanished. I still exist, contrary to popular belief.”

“Good to know,” he replied, leaning back slightly in his chair. “I heard you finished the mission. Back stateside?”

“For now,” you said, your tone carrying the same measured ease he remembered. “It’s just a pit stop, though. The CIA doesn’t let its covert operatives sit idle for too long.”

“Sounds familiar,” he said, the faintest trace of humor in his voice. “How’s it feel to be back?”

“Strange,” you admitted. “Like I’m not entirely here, you know? You get that, don’t you?”

He did. More than he cared to admit. 

“I do,” he said simply, his voice low.

“And you?” you asked, your voice softening. “How’s the BAU treating you?”

He hesitated, the weight of recent weeks pressing heavily on his chest. The fallout from the Doyle case, Emily’s return, the team’s shaken trust--it all simmered just beneath the surface. But he wasn’t ready to unpack that. Not now.

“Still busy,” he said instead, his voice even. “But you know how it is. Work doesn’t stop.”

“I do,” you replied, a knowing edge to your tone. “Sounds like you’re carrying more than just case files, though.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his grip tightening slightly on the phone. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said finally.

“You always say that,” you said, a note of fond exasperation in your voice. “I’m starting to think it’s your catchphrase.”

“I don’t have catchphrases,” he replied, his lips twitching in the faintest of smiles.

“Sure you don’t,” you shot back. “Next, you’ll tell me you don’t ever crack a smile.”

“That’s a rare occurrence,” he said, his tone lighter.

“Well, I must be one of the lucky few then because I swear I’ve seen it.”

The warmth in your voice caught him off guard, but he didn’t mind it. Not one bit. “You’re in a unique position.”

“Unique, huh?” you teased. “You make it sound so exclusive.”

“It is,” he admitted, his voice softening. “Not many people see past the job.”

Your tone matched his now, the playfulness giving way to something more sincere. “That’s because the job is easier to focus on. It’s harder to look past it.”

He let out a quiet sigh, nodding even though you couldn’t see him. “You’re not wrong.”

The call buzzed with a quiet warmth neither of you acknowledged outright, but both felt. Hotch leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a breath. He stared at the phone in his hand, debating whether to say what had been sitting in the back of his mind.

"So, this call," he said, his voice measured but holding a thread of something lighter. "Official business, or are you just checking up on me?"

"Can't it be both?" you asked, your teasing tone doing exactly what you intended--it made him relax, even if just a little.

He let out a soft laugh, surprising himself. "I suppose it can."

"I don’t know," you said, your voice playful. "Can it?"

He hesitated just a moment before admitting, “I actually thought about calling you too; I wanted to see how you were doing. And…I guess I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

The silence between you settled softly, comfortable, and filled with an understanding neither of you needed to articulate.

“Well, I’m doing okay,” you said finally, your tone calm. “Work’s the same. Chaos, classified details, long hours. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” he replied, the weight of shared experience clear in his voice. “Too familiar.”

“And you?” you asked gently, your tone softening. “How are you, Hotch? Really?”

He hesitated again, the instinct to protect himself battling against the trust he felt when speaking to you. “I’m…I’m managing,” he said at last, quieter than before. “But it’s...been a lot.”

You didn’t push. You never did. That was one of the things he appreciated most. 

“Well,” you said, the warmth returning to your voice, “if you ever feel like you need to step away from saving the world, give me a call. I’ve got plenty of experience in chaos management.”

He let out another rare, quiet laugh. “I might take you up on that.”

“Good,” you said lightly. “Don’t be a stranger, Hotch.”

He let the words settle, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t sure what prompted him, but before the conversation could end, he spoke again.

“Actually,” he started, his voice betraying a hint of nerves that even he couldn’t suppress, “have you ever thought about meeting up?” The question lingered, and he immediately wondered if he had overstepped. “I mean, if your schedule allows it,” he added, his tone faltering slightly. “I know how demanding your work is.”

You paused, clearly caught off guard. “Meeting up?” you repeated, a smile audible in your tone. “You mean in person?”

“Yes,” he said quickly before he could second-guess himself. “I just thought…you’ve been a consistent voice through everything, and…” He trailed off, realizing he didn’t know how to explain it without giving too much away. “It would be nice to catch up.”

“I think that sounds...great,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now. “Though I should warn you, Hotchner, I’m still terrible at small talk.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he replied, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Well,” you teased, “I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried.”

“Flattered,” he said, surprising himself again with the sincerity in his tone.

The brief pause that followed carried an unspoken weight, a quiet understanding of the connection that had been building between you since the mission in Pakistan. Neither of you said it outright, but it was there, tangible in the way you lingered on the call longer than necessary.

“I’ll check my schedule,” you said lightly, breaking the silence. “But don’t think I won’t hold you to this.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he replied, his voice steadier now.

When the call ended, Hotch sat back, his thoughts circling the conversation. He realized that while he still didn’t know the full scope of your personal life or if there was someone waiting for you back home, he felt compelled to try--to find out, to see where this connection might lead. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself the thought of something beyond the weight he carried every day.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

tumblr.com/emdeerm insert-that-spiderman-meme

based on this prompt and the amazing fanfic "Wait I'm a Cartoon Over Here?!"

Ahem Damian flopped onto his bed, exhausted after having had to clean the bat litter once more, as per Alfred's instruction. However, that exhaustion was punctuated by an underlying satisfaction. Despite everything, he and Richard had succeeded. They made contact with Team Phantom (part of him felt dizzy and giddy at the notion, but he'd impale anyone who'd suggest it) and managed to keep Father and the others from combusting at the notion of their existence. Phantom had sworn up and down to never expose their identities, knowing just how important they are. ("You were my hero since I was 7, I'd rather eat Dash's underwear again than betray your trust!") If only he knew...

Speaking of whom, Damian clamped his hands of his ears as the girlish squealing in this room entered a fever pitch. He was starting to regret allowing Kent to enter the Manor while team Phantom were visiting.

"DANNY DANNY DANNY DANNY DANNY I'M SUCH A HUGE FAN OF YOU CAN YOU PLEASE SIGN THIS AND THIS AND THIS AND-" Damian could've sworn that's the spiel Jonathan had opened with about twenty minutes ago. Fenton, for his part, was doing his best to withstand the onslaught of super-powered pre-teen fandom.

He'd never be caught dead doing something so... debased. So petty and pointless as to gawk at a fictional character. He, the blood son of the Bat and his future successor.

"Come on Damian, aren't you excited too?" His heart rate spiked. Blast. How quickly could he break into Father's kryptonite vault...

"You sure you wanna mess him with right now? He really looks like he could kill you, and I read the issue where he tried to murder Tim."

Damian prickled, even felt a hint of shame knowing that Fenton knew just as much about him as he did, how shameful. No not shameful at all, why would he care about someone who probably wasn't even real. Damian moved to sit up and shot Jonathan the deadliest glare he could muster, an expression copy-pasted right off his Father's Batglare.

Jonathan, for his part, cowered behind Fenton. "You'd do well to keep remain silent, Kent, before I remind you that your life is as fragile as a dying rat." He all but spat out. However, instead of cowering further, Jonathan's lips curled into a devious expression.

Fenton's head bounced between the two. "Maybe this personal arc hasn't been published yet..." He muttered.

"Hey Danny..." Jonathan began, hesitantly. This could not be happening. Damian grabbed the nearest katana and lunged. However, his efforts were made fruitless as he passed through the duo like they weren't there. Dammit! "I know this is kind of embarassing, but we put in a lot of work and you're like my number two inspiration after my dad and we don't know how long you'll be here so., but you gotta keep this a total secret, like a total secret, you can't tell anyone."

Jonathan reached into his backpack. Damian swung his sword again. Anything, anything to prevent the inevitable. If this were allowed to happen, his life would be forfeit. Curse his hero this hero for being so overpowered. Where was the lipstick laser when you needed it? Or the fenton thermos? or the anti-creep stick, or anything?!

However, just as Jonathan was about to retrieve the forbidden contraband, a fist flew out and blew him away. "Woah what is this?" Exclaimed one Danielle Phantom. It was at that moment that Damian knew, there was nothing more that could be done.

~~~~~

Danielle rifled through the pages of the comic book that Jon was about to pull out (which, btw, was amazing! Danny might be into Nightwing and Martian Manhunter, but she could not count the number of nights she'd dreamt of flying with the Super Sons. Basically she was never gonna wash that fist again anyway) and was shocked to find the contents. "Yo Danny, have you seen this??"

Her template/brother/cousin/dad (his status is in a weird gray area at the moment) leaned over, eyes widening too.

For within her hands was the latest issue of the celebrated fancomic, the Secret Adventures of Danny Phantom, which circulated around this universe's social media forums and the schoolyards of Metropolis and Gotham. Danielle flipped through pages upon pages of lovingly hand-drawn panels.

"I didn't know we were a comic, too! I've never looked that cool before." Danny said, nothing the cover art.

"I dont think this is official, i mean, whatever official canon means these days. Look, there's no logo from the channel our cartoon's on."

"I can't believe I have fans who know enough about me to make a fancomic." Danny groaned.

"Oh shut up, Danny. you don't see me getting any fanart." Dani teased, until she reached the beautiful two-page spread of her, Robin and Superboy swooping in to save Danny from the GiW. Special attention was placed by the artist on her hair, and the unnatural glow of her ghostly eyes. Overall it was a very flattering picture. the real Dani's jaw dropped.

Danny turned to the gaping Jon, and the limp Damian, both of whose faces were drained of colour, looking even more dead than himself on a cold day. Realisation dawned inside of him. "Wait, did you guys make this?"

His interoogation could not continue furhter before Dani squealed with excitement. She phased out of the bedroom door in an instant before anyone could react, yelling in excitement about this amazing fancomic that Damian and Jon had made, like it was fate... Her voice was followed by one Dick Grayon's comment on Damian's evolving artstyle, before more joined the chorus. As for Damian? He rolled for 60d6 psychic damage, took 300, and lost the wlil to live. Jon was not far behind.

[ink-flavored]

Get to Know Your Moots Writeblr Interview

This looked fun, and I love answering lists of questions

Tagging: @foxys-fantasy-tales @noblebs @ceph-the-ghost-writer @auntdarth @damageinkorporated @srjacksin @wyked-ao3 @alesseia and anyone else who wants to do it!

Blank Questions for those who join me!

-

On the Tumblr Writing Community

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/Writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

I’ve been on Tumblr since 2014, but I didn’t make this writeblr sideblog until 2019.

What led you to create it?

Mainly because I crave organization, and I felt weird posting my fanfiction to a blog where I didn’t really talk about writing. Plus, I didn’t feel like anyone on my main would have been interested in hearing me talk about my original writing either, and even if they were, it would have been drowned in everything else I reblogged. I wanted to have a place that was 100% dedicated to writing to keep my blog topics more organized.

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

I love talking about writing, for one, but I also love how many varied ideas you see in this community. There are SO MANY incredible WIPs waiting to be discovered here, of any genre you can think of, featuring ideas that make you salivate. The world-building some of you people have going on is fucking amazing, and I’m eating it.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

I love talking about stories, including yours! Come say hello if you feel at all inclined to!

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

More people going crazy and/or stupid about their own stuff. Be your own biggest fan, and others will follow!

The kinds of writing I always enjoy seeing more of, in general, though: poetry (literally any kind of poetry), fantasy (high & urban), sci-fi (hard & soft), crime (bonus points if set during the Prohibition), romance, erotica (bonus points if kinky), detailed world-building (bonus points for fiddly politics, more bonus points if it’s inspired by other cultures than the generic European template), and any of these things in combination with each other!

What tips/advice do you have for someone who made a Writeblr today?

Reblog other people’s work if you want them to reblog yours, always send someone an ask if you reblog an ask game from them, don’t be afraid to self-reblog no matter how annoying you think it is, but most importantly, do whatever you want forever. Have fun.

Lots more under the cut!

WIP it Good

Which Works-in-Progress (WIPs) or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

Mainly my [currently untitled] urban fantasy anthologies and Pride & Justice. My anthologies are getting outlined for my own make-shift “write as much as you can” challenge I’m doing in parallel to NaNo this year, and I’m basically always thinking about P&J at all times whether I like it or not.

How long have you been working on them?

My anthologies are only officially around… a year or two old, probably? I had the initial impetus to start them ages ago (like, closer to 4 or 5 years ago), but didn’t start working on them as an actual project until relatively recently. Hell, I didn’t have the idea for an erotic urban fantasy anthology until December 2023!!

As for Pride & Justice, it will celebrate its second birthday on August 9th! It’s the only WIP I have such a specific date for, since it originally started as a fanfic I did for AUgust2022.

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

For my anthologies, I’ve always loved urban fantasy, but pretty much all the urban fantasy I could find growing up was lacking in some way (to me). Either the fantasy elements were pasted onto our already existing world—usually “in secret” or with some other excuse to keep the “regular people” from finding out—or it was a genuine fantasy world with more advanced technology, but always a detective story. Seriously, what’s with urban fantasy and detective thrillers? They’re cool, but there’s so many of them…

I craved something closer to a “slice of life” urban fantasy—what would a fantasy world with our current level of technology and manufacturing actually look like? How would people live, what would a city be like, how would things like magic change what a sufficiently advanced culture looks like? And then, of course, the crazy magical sex????? That’s the logic I’m working from with both my anthologies, a sort of “what-if” combined with a slice-of-life peek into urban fantasy lives.

For P&J it’s a lot simpler: the fanfiction I wrote simply didn’t want to be a fanfiction. It wanted to be something bigger, more original, with more room to breathe. I gave it permission to be itself.

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

All of the time. Forever. If I am thinking about something, it’s probably my WIPs.

When someone asks the dreaded, “What do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

I reflexively answer “fantasy, and I dabble in sci-fi and contemporary fiction.” Sometimes I clarify I write both high and urban fantasy, because most people assume high fantasy. I usually also mention I write poetry, and sometimes I’ll mention my Magnet Monday schtick.

What do you want to say (if it’s different from what you do say)?

Well, if people could get really cool about me saying “fantasy romance and erotica” that would be neat. I think we’re still a little ways off from other people’s reactions not being 1) smiling stiffly but politely before changing the subject or 2) making a rude face before changing the subject.

Let’s Rotate Blorbos

Name any characters you created.  Side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

List them all? We’d be here a while.

I have an OC Roulette that I spin when I need to pick a character at random for whatever reason, so I’ll just list the ones currently on it:  Pride, Justice, Kindness, Ollie, Sofia, Dante, Honesty, Lust, Xinya, Yu-Qi, Jao, Han Lao, Sita Zhai, Asim, Mira, Cahaya, Priscilla, Henry, Yvonne, Harlan, Hayden, Lenora, Teconia, Seraph, Park, Jamie, Kiran. And the OC Roulette list will surely expand as I come up with more blorbos.

Who’s the most unhinged?

It depends on how you define unhinged, I guess? Yu-Qi could be considered unhinged because she’s a God-Dragon who does not care much what you think of her and does literally whatever she wants, whenever she wants. Priscilla enjoys violence to a suspicious degree, to the point where her husband just sighs and shrugs about it. Honesty is an Evangelical Christian angel with the one and only mission to carry out God’s Word. Take your pick, really.

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Can I just blanket say “the protagonists”? Generally, I use the POV characters for a reason, and it’s because I find them the most comfortable to write. I very rarely write multi-POV stories, and when I do switch POVs, it’s usually for one very significant part that the regular POV character isn’t present for or something. So—Pride, Xinya, Asim, Priscilla, etc.

Do you ever cringe at them?

Honestly, not really. Sometimes I get nervous about people accusing me of self-inserting or whatever, but then I remember that those people are stupid and lame. Of course my characters are going to be at least a little like me—I created them. Some will be more similar than others, but I put a little bit of myself into everything I write, including the characters. And even if they were self-inserts, who cares? I can do whatever I want, and don’t need to cater to pissants.

How much control do you feel you have over your characters?  AKA, do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

They fly off the handle sometimes. The most persistent example is from The God-Dragon’s Wife, which was supposed to be about a monogamous couple, but a prominent side character started hassling me to make it a polycule so she could join in. I am now rethinking the entire plot to see if I can make it work.

In general, though, I feel like my characters exist somewhere in between “totally under my control” and “completely unrestrained.” I can drop a character into a scenario and act them through it, and there are absolutely times where I go “nah that’s out of character,” and have to change something. But for the most part, it’s like… observation. If I have a good handle on a character’s personality, arc, and motivations, I can just watch. Wow, look at ‘em go…

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? And do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? For example, as Asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on AO3, etc.

YEAH!!!!! ALWAYS AND FOREVER!!!!!!

Honestly, no preferred medium for questions. Send me an ask, reply in a post, DM me, message me on Discord (if you have it), leave a comment on my website, whatever. I love talking about my characters, and if you also want to talk to me about my characters, well that means I love you too.

On Writeblr Engagement

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account? Do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? Do you follow based on WIPs, or vibes?

Usually I scope out a blog and see if their WIPs are interesting enough for me to want to see regularly on my dash. Sometimes I’ll see a post from someone looking for other blogs that post [x] genre or [y] content, and if they match up with what I do, I’ll skim their intros (if they have them). I don’t like horror, so I’m not gonna follow people who only post horror stuff. I really like fantasy, so I’m more inclined to follow people who post fantasy stuff. If I see a particularly interesting WIP, I’ll follow the person even if it’s not the kind of thing I normally read. It all depends!

What makes you decide against following?

Genres I don’t like to read and my personal squicks, usually. Maybe the WIPs didn’t grab me. Some writeblr blogs are also people’s main blogs where they post a lot of other non-writing things, and I usually don’t follow those since I’m here for the writing first and foremost.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

Sometimes! Usually it’s my mutuals who talk to me the most, so I interact with them the most. As a general rule though, if you talk to me, I’m gonna talk to you back, no matter what our following status is.

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

If I know enough about them, yeah! I have plenty of other people’s OCs floating around in my brain from time to time, especially if they’re a regular occurrence on my dash.

[thegrimygrim]

Starting my new blog off with the stupidest take ever because I’ve seen a few posts that inspired me to write some thoughts out

I’m surprised all of the nonsensical straight woman Y/N fanfics of Leon portray him as this macho man who’s all dominant and rude or as this little soft baby who pretends he’s strong but he’s not or whatever when since the dawn of time Capcom has been portraying him as a bit of a dummy loser.

Like, idk, maybe I’m just projecting but Leon reads to me as the kind of guy who’s a straight up pathetically annoying nerd when it comes to certain media or… anything. He quotes movies often, brings shows up often, all of the stupid shit he did in Vendetta, every last Avengers-Level-Backflip or landing pose he has done, the bitchy complaining and action hero one-liners, the list goes on.

He’s so painfully a geek loser and he does so much unnecessary shit in every single piece of media he shows up in and idk, I’m surprised people are so worked up about him not because of this but just because of how he looks.

I don’t really think I have a point here, I’m just saying shit. It’s just wild that he’s either ‘dominant bad boy’ or ‘secret uwu soft boy’ and not ‘fucking loser who will talk your ear off about symbolism while watching a movie’ to most people who say they adore him.

Not saying any of this in a rude way btw, I’m just talking. If anybody stumbles upon this give me your take :]

Loser counter: 3

[prettyflyshyguy]

Anyway here's wonderwall. I'm trying to start the new year off strong. Already feel sad its been a week and I've barely accomplished this. But that's the kind of negative talk that's so 2023. I'm throwing it in the bin. We focusing on personal achievements only.

I've been writing tonight! It's been fun! I'm still trying to get into the groove and struggling with the age old issue of whenever I hit a 'blank' I just stop working on the project, opting to wait for the stroke of inspiration to hit. This isn't helpful, and means I don't work through the issue. So 2023. Fuck that noise.

I'm still building my confidence back after having it a bit crushed last year, so no ETA on the final chapter of the main C Virus Fic, but you'll probably see some other mini projects pop up. Less stressful, helps me practice for the big stuff.

Anyway the song "Talking in your Sleep" has had me at gunpoint for 2 hours and I'm really happy with this interaction so here's a taster under the cut.

Chris and Leon attend a meeting with a Big Pharma client post-incident cleanup and they can't handle the heat of corporate talk.

Something had felt off about the job from the minute he set boots on the ground outside the factory. Chris had assured him that it’d be smooth, he’d done it a hundred times before, there shouldn’t be any issues. It was a C-Virus outbreak for sure, but not the normal kind. Valhanian was working on vaccines and preventative medication, blockers for the immune system that could quickly and effectively obliterate the virus or prevent it from even gaining a hold on the system. The most common form was the standard strains that had a very similar effect on humans as the T-Virus did, which they were lead to believe was the main focus of the factory - manufacturing and R&D for the ‘zombie’ strains. 

What they found waiting for them was most certainly not the standard C-Virus infected humans. 

Chris had brushed it off at the time, claiming that with how volatile the virus was, he wasn’t surprised that something had gone wrong and there were chrysalid variants in the facility.

Nothing’s without risk, something must have gone wrong, it’s not like we haven’t handled this sort of thing before.

Leon knew that there was no way in hell that a company with that much money in the game of vaccines would fuck around and find out - risking everything in the process. But it wasn’t worth arguing with Chris, he insisted that it wasn’t his job to worry about the science team’s side of things and that ‘Rebecca will figure it out.’ 

Chris was ever the optimist on his good days. Leon had seen too much to trust any corporation that invested in the field of medicine. You don’t get fission without fusion, and anyone who claimed that advancements in bio-organic warfare had no links to advancements in medicine, was a fool or a liar. Most likely both. 

Of course something went wrong on the job, sure he’d had a little ‘mutation’ incident, but Rebecca’s drugs worked a treat, they just took a while to fully kick in. 

“I don’t know what this is or what you’re trying to do, we don’t employ BOWs, whatever you’re trying to claim is unfounded.”

No no no you dumbass, don’t give it to them Chris!

“Mr. Redfield I’m just being thorough. You’re no stranger to the industry, and I’m sure you understand we are very conscious and concerned about protecting our trade secrets. Incidents like this are of a high concern to us as the entire reason we brought the BSAA in to assist us was to stop a B.O.W incident.”

Chris glanced briefly at the BSAA staff seated around him, and Leon. Fear and panic in his eyes, crying for help silently. He knew who was in the photograph and could only lie about it for so long before the game was given away.

Leon cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the sharks.

“Ms Harker I can assure you that Chris is just as shocked as you are, and that the BSAA operates at the highest level of-”

“Thank you for your assurance, Mr Kennedy, but I believe you are not a member of the BSAA is that correct?” her full attention snapped to Leon, her eyes looked predatory.

“Yes, I’m temporarily assigned to assist them in operations regarding the C-Virus as I have first hand experience with it that has proven invaluable in us combatting further outbreaks.”

“I don’t doubt that Mr. Kennedy. I’m aware of your reputation and high standing. Our country has a lot to thank you for.” 

He shivered. There was no kindness in her tone.

“I just wish to express my concerns, as the security footage doesn’t lie.”

Leon digged his fingers into his thigh, scrunching the fabric of the chinos, his hands hidden under the table. 

“Trust is critical to any operation as I’m sure everyone in this room is well aware. How can we trust the BSAA after seeing this? How can you trust yourselves?”

Chris began to speak, being swiftly interrupted by Harker’s shrill tone.

“Have you considered that there may be individuals laying dormantly infected, unbeknownst to the world?

Leon bit down on his tongue. 

“Perhaps there’s an infected individual sitting in this room with us right now.”

The colour drained from Chris’s face.

“Perhaps it's someone not within the BSAA.”

Leon felt the eyes of every member of the meeting shift to look at him.

[rcreveal]

Maggie's Nana's Valentine Birthday

Summary:

Crowley goes to find out why Nina is trying to ditch on Maggie's Nana's Valentine's birthday party. Inspired by Sendarya's Writer's Prompt Group willowmaid's comment that they are the kind of friends that drink together and call each other names.

Work Text:

“Wot are you doing in here?” 

Nina looked over into a black shirt, black jacket, and up past some jewelry into Crowley’s dark sunglasses.  She caught a glimpse of orange as he looked over the top of them, taking in the state of her.

“I’m drinking, you prat.  What does it look like I’m doing,” replied Nina, taking another sip of red wine.

Grabbing a chair out from under a patron who miraculously just got up at the next table, Crowley spins it around and flops into it, chin on the back as he straddles it at her table.

“Thank you, Ms. Obvious.  Why are you drinking alone in the Dirty Donkey on Valentine’s Day?” persisted Crowley, “Why aren’t you with Maggie?”

“Why would I be with Maggie?  Why won’t any of you stop shipping me and Maggie?  Especially Maggie!!” Nina shakes her fists and glares down at her phone.  Then glares at Crowley as he deftly swats away her hands and snatches the phone from under her nose.

Eyebrows nonchalantly raised as he reads Maggie’s text thread, with sunglasses on in the dim bar, Crowley asks, “And you aren’t accompanying Maggie to her grandmother’s birthday celebration tonight because…?” 

“Because I’m drunk. See!?” she waves at herself.

“Please.  You call this self-sabotaging behavior?  You barely walked 3 feet from all our businesses.  Plus, I can easily make you not drunk,” Crowley leaned to the side and made a little gesture.

“Hey! I spent good money to get drunk on that wine!” Nina barked, unwelcomely sober.

Crowley wrinkled his nose, sniffing the glass and finishing off her drink before she can grab it back, “You call this worthy of a fit-of-pique drunk?  Maybe on the third bottle…”

Nina pointed at him with her eyes narrowed, “We found you drinking hand sanitizer after Mr Fell left.”

“Pfft. Yah, after I drank all the alcohol on this side of town,” replies Crowley calmly, not to be deterred,  “Now, why don’t you want to go to Maggie’s grandmother’s birthday party tonight.  Really. You already come to movie night together.  You’ve met her family.”

Crowley looked at Nina’s aggressively flat stare. “You’ve been ducking out of meeting her family,” Crowley continues in the same fact-stating tone.

“Yeah! Obviously! And I’m not going to meet them now at an intimate, quiet little family get together for a 98 year old woman!” huffs Nina.  "I'm way to rough for what her family's like!"

Crowley started to laugh, “Quiet?” he hooted, “Little?” he snorted, “Intimate, well, only if she has her wily ways with Aziraphale, but that’s why I’m coming.” Head to the side he says, "Too rough?  I don't think so."

Nina stops looking like she’s weighing whether or not she'll get banned from the pub if she were to haul off and punch Crowley, “What are you talking about? We’re talking about the same thing? Maggie’s Nana’s 98th birthday party, right?”

“Yeah! Obviously!” parroted Crowley, “But it’s a huge affair, family, friends, random young men she chats up in the produce aisle.  Everyone makes her favorite cocktails and drinks them before she insists on showing them how to do the jitterbug.  Aziraphale swears that she and Maggie’s mother have a secret code to get him close enough so she can pinch his bottom.  It’s the first year I’ve been invited, I can’t wait to hear her tell embarrassing stories about Aziraphale!  So come on, I need someone to help pick out the chocolates and cocktail fixings,” Crowley stands up, winks at her, and rather genteelly offers the crook of his arm.

Nina is grinning at the thought of watching Mr Fell trying to avoid the advances of a 98 year old and hearing the old woman's embarrassing stories.  Then a truly wicked grin crosses her face as she stands up and takes Crowley’s elbow as they start to wade through the bar crowd together.  

“So, it was just an ulterior motive to get me to come and pick out the treats for you, huh?” she’s still grinning like the cat that ate the canary when they make it to the pavement.

Crowley looks over at her side-eyed, a little pleased smirk on his face, “I am a demon, you know,” he says, snapping the Bentley’s car doors open.

“Yeah, wonder what kind of embarrassing stories she’ll have about you?” grins Nina.

“Gie in th’ car, woman!!!” roars Crowley, while Nina guffaws.

[winter-dayz]

Bringer of Death

Pairing: Shin Yuna x Reader Mummy AU; Inspired by The Mummy (1999) Genre: Angst; Fluff Words: 3278 Warnings: implied major character death; implied suicide; strong language

Masterlist | Fictober Masterpost

Taglist:  @soobin-chois

This was your chance. This expedition would cement your place with the company’s excavation team. It was your shot to be taken seriously—to be seen as a real archaeologist and not a junior bookkeeper.

You made it to the dig site without much fanfare, a recently uncovered tomb that had just barely been breached. The original finders’ team gave up the excavation, opening the site to bids with historical societies. Your company won the bid, but since the more senior archaeologists were working on several other big projects across Egypt, China, Peru, and Mexico, you were tasked with the small, newly opened excavation.

As you trekked down the steep, crumbling stone stairs to the tomb’s entrance, you passed by the few remaining archaeologists from the original team. You nodded to them politely, skirting past, but were stopped short by a hand wrapping around your wrist.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you…” The last man in the small group whispered harshly. He looked up to his team members, all of whom glanced at you before rapidly looking away. They refused to meet your confused eyes.

You nodded politely, again, and had to yank your wrist from his tight grasp. “I think I’ll be fine with a few bones and dust. It should be a simple excavation, really.”

It really should. Why this team had chosen to give up a brand new find baffled everyone at your company, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. This could be your big break.

“I’m tellin’ you, girlie. There’s something in that tomb. Something that don’t want us messin’ with it.” He gritted out. His eyes were wild, and as he reached to grab your arm again, you hustled down several more steps.

“Well, if I get turned into a mummy. You’ll be the first one I’m coming after.” You spat back at the aggressive man.

🎃

Contrary to what that man had warned you about, the tomb seemed to be mostly empty. Honestly, it was no wonder your company managed to snag the bid for so low.

After descending the stairs, an archway opened into a large empty stone room. There were two rooms off of the main room, filled with dust and grime. There were a few pedestals as if items were meant to be displayed, but there weren’t any actual artifacts. Maybe the previous team had looted them…

So, what was the point of this job, anyway? You were hoping this would’ve been your big breakthrough, but it was so barren, there wasn’t really anything to work with.

You meandered through the desolate rooms anyway, inspecting the stone work. Based on the uneven amounts of dust on the pedestals, it did seem that there used to be something perched on them, but it had still been many, many years since those items would’ve been stolen so it hadn’t been the original team like you’d previously thought. More likely raiders from a few decades ago at least.

What really threw you for a loop was one wall in the main room. You could swear you heard shuffling and felt a breeze behind a small section. You leaned in, noticing again how the grime on the stones seemed uneven, and pushed on those bricks.

A click. A rumble. The wall slid up.

Now this was the kind of thing you were hoping for. A secret room? It was just like The Mummy. Maybe you really would find something “scary” in a hidden room and that crazed man from before would’ve been proven right. It’d at least be more exciting than the dust you had been observing so far.

You wandered through the secret passage, which seemed to slope at a gentle downwards spiral. Eventually, you saw the flickering of candles through an open archway. You had no time to wonder who would be keeping the candles lit though when as soon as you crossed the arch’s threshold, you found yourself staring into the eyes of a woman.

She sat, straight and confident, upon a throne at the back of the room.

Around her neck were layers and layers of expensive looking chains and jeweled talisman necklaces; even her clothing seemed to be of the quality of linens and silks you couldn’t find just anywhere. Between the two of you laid a large, majestic sarcophagus. Vases, gems, silver and gold all laid about, overflowing around the room. And the kicker? Everything looked pristine. Not a speck of dirt, dust, or grime on anything. Even the stonework and murals on the walls looked as fresh as the day they would’ve been created.

The woman, young and beautiful, kept her big, round eyes narrowed on you as you took in the state of your surroundings with obvious confusion. She was a bit pale, which was understandable if she’d been trapped in this tomb since the previous team left—which had to be the only way she was here, right?

“Who are you? What are you doing in my domain?” The strange woman demanded, finally breaking your engrossment of everything.

Your eyes wide and head tilted in confusion. What were you doing here, no, what was she doing here? You assumed she must’ve been trapped and abandoned by the previous team, but then… How did she even get into this room? It had been sealed by a secret wall. The stones you had pressed to uncover it had been undisturbed. Also, if she had been abandoned accidentally, why didn’t she seem scared or hungry? Why was she just as luxurious and pristine as everything else in the room, despite the rest of the tomb being so dirty? 

You finally found your words through the endless stream of questions racking your brain. “My name is Y/N. I’m an archaeologist.”

“Speak plainly, peasant.” The woman kept her eyes narrowed and tilted her chin up to look at you down her nose. “What is your purpose here?”

How much more “plain” could you speak? Didn’t she know what an archaeologist is? “I…” You hesitated to find your wording, “I’m like a librarian.”

“Are you here to steal from me?”

“No!” You shouted, appalled. While some companies took things from archaeological digs to sell to museums or rich snobs, yours did not. It worked to document the history and culture before returning the items to a pristine, preserved condition that remained with the original country.  “I’m a scholar, not a treasure hunter.”

“So you have come here to study?”

“Um… yeah.” This was insane. Maybe you actually should’ve listened to that man’s warnings.

“What year is it? I am surprised by a woman scholar.” What year is it? My god, how long had she been trapped? You flinched but told her the date regardless. “Ah, well I’m glad to see humans have progressed.”

She stood from her throne and bowed politely. “I am Shin Yuna. This is my tomb.”

Holy shit. It really is like The Mummy.

🎃

To say you believed Yuna was the owner of the tomb would’ve been a gross misconception.

After being welcomed in by someone claiming to be a thousands-year-old woman, you acted politely and kept a six foot distance at all times, only gazing over the objects and not even truly studying anything.

You left early that day with the excuse that you didn’t have proper equipment.

And then the rug was ripped out from under you when you dug into the town’s local history and the country’s governmental archives.

Shin Yuna was the most revered princess in the country’s history… From 2000 years ago. Despite it not being a woman’s place at the time, she was a fierce warrior and intelligent scholar. The texts spoke of her love for crafting clothes and storytelling as well. She was an all-around enlightened and beloved woman of the area.

Unfortunately, she was killed in a surprise attack on one of the villages she had been visiting. She died protecting the children and mothers during the raid.

To show their admiration and deep grief at the loss of their princess, it was said the country performed a ritual when burying her in the tomb. She was put to rest with great treasures and supposed magical items to help her move on peacefully if she felt her duty was completed; however if Yuna’s spirit felt she had not accomplished enough, she would rise again to lead her people once more.

And it seemed to have worked.

As did the seal on the door to protect her ritual burial… Just, maybe that seal had worked a bit too well, since she hadn’t left her tomb in 2000 years.

Which definitely showed when you came back around to start working.

Yuna was insatiable for knowledge, and for days on end while you were carefully observing and cataloging the items in the tomb, she would ask questions. She wanted to know all about how the world had changed, evolved, and adapted. She wanted to know about how her country had blossomed. She wanted to know the things you had seen when you had traveled, the kinds of art and fashion in style throughout the centuries. She wanted to know if stories were still being told about her villages… which is when you had to disappoint her and tell her that, until recently when her tomb had been discovered, no one widespread had really known much of her people.

She hated that. It put her in a bad mood, and she began sulking.

You kinda hated that. Yuna, for essentially a mummy and immortal woman who had been trapped for an unimaginable amount of time, was such a bubbly person. To see her upset didn’t sit right with you, but there wasn’t much you thought you could do to fix it.

Until one afternoon it boiled over when you began actually moving items around to see the smaller artifacts.

“You can’t just go rifling through my things!” Yuna shouted, more of a whine than in anger, following closely behind you as you carefully moved a vase. “Have you no respect for the dead?”

You sighed, “Yuna, it’s literally my job. I have to catalog what has been discovered. Look, I’m being extremely careful and respectful. ” You added a muttered, “You’re not even really dead,” under your breath.

Yuna huffed, her cute lips pouting. Cute? Well… yes, she did look rather cute pouting like that even if you wish she wasn’t so upset recently… “Why do you even need to do that?” She mumbled through cute, pouty lips.

“So that we can teach and learn from your history.”

Her eyes brightened, and her lips split into a big grin. It was such a simple thing to you, just a part of your job. But, apparently, it was just the right thing to pull Yuna out of her funk. “You’ll tell stories about me and my people? Okay, then rifle away!”

Fuck, she’s adorable.

🎃

Something of a friendship blossomed between you and the former princess. Although, neither of you could deny the obvious attraction that grew as well.

You didn’t think “flirting” was a thing when Yuna was properly alive, but she was damn good at it, regardless.

You, on the other hand, were awkward. Like a little bird trying to impress, you brought her modern-day gifts and things to try. When she expressed her fascination with your manicure, you brought her nail polishes in all different colors to try. She loved the soft, subtle pinks the most. When you had an extra long day planned, you went and got pizzas. She didn’t need to eat, but she appreciated the new flavors anyway. When she talked about how much she used to love to sew and try new clothes, you brought her magazines. She had really loved your talks about art and fashion before so when she saw pictures, she was ecstatic.

And you… You felt a certain amount of pride in having brought such a big smile to such a beautiful face. You felt a warmth in your belly at the way her hand would gently caress your shoulder in thanks for a gift. You felt a dizziness when she would stand just a little bit closer to you and exchange stories and knowledge…

🎃

“Death is only the beginning…” You whispered out, polishing the stone.

Yuna looked up from where she was painting her nails. “Hm? What did you say, precious?”

You blushed, still unused to the nickname she had adopted for you, looking over your shoulder to the beautiful woman. She met your eyes with a playful glint. Even when you turned away, you knew she was watching you work. “Oh nothing… I was just reading the inscription on your sarcophagus. It’s a bit ominous, don’t you think?”

When you looked back to her, after she remained silent for a moment, you caught her shrugging nonchalantly. “I was trying to be optimistic, actually. Hopes for the afterlife to be paradise and all that.”

“Well, it kind of sounds foreboding.”

“Well, yeah, it was to stop tomb raiders too. They need to think there’s a curse here,” Yuna giggled softly.

“Curse, my ass.” You mumbled getting back to work.

Your new… friend might be a mummy. Magic might be real. But you’d be damned if you thought anything in this place was cursed.

Yuna paused in her painting, hopping down from where she perched on the throne and coming to lean against the sarcophagus. “You don’t believe in curses?”

“I didn’t say that. You’re real and alive… Kind of… So I’m sure curses are too. But, I can’t find it in me to believe that you would’ve actually cursed anything here.” You paused, pulling off your gloves. “Your plan to make outsiders believe this place is cursed is working, though, you know. I was at a bar one town over the other night, and this guy was so insistent to warn me away. ‘There is a creature in those depths. The Bringer of Death. It will never eat. Never sleep. Never stop.’ A superstitious drunk if I’ve ever seen one. He definitely didn’t believe that the tomb was a couple empty, dirty rooms like I countered with.”

Yuna and you tried to stare each other down but easily broke into giggles. You leaned against the sarcophagus, which you’re sure would make your boss spiral into a fit if they saw, and nudged her playfully.

Eventually, she sighed out, “Well, I am no man, and I care not for ‘bringing death,’ but that drunkard was right that I cannot sleep or eat. A shame too, I really enjoyed that pizza you brought me, precious.”

🎃

You don’t really know how you got here.

Logically, it made sense. Yuna and you had been dancing around each other, making heart eyes, for days.

But you hadn’t fathomed it would culminate in her soft lips against yours.

She held you firmly, despite her gentle disposition, refusing to let you move away for even a second to breathe. One hand grasped your waist, teasing to inch south and caress your backside, while the other trailed up your own arm. Her nails grazed lightly, soothingly, against your bare flesh and sent chills up your spine in the most pleasurable way.

You really couldn’t believe this was happening.

Yuna finally pulled away, only a hair’s breadth, to allow you to gasp in oxygen. You sighed as she ran her nose along yours, both of you with fluttering eyes and small smiles. Her grasp on you didn’t falter; one hand holding your waist firmly, the other now cupping your neck sweetly.

“Jesus, princess,” You spoke softly, leaning your forehead to hers. “You literally stole my breath away.”

Yuna hummed and rubbed her nose back and forth against yours affectionately. “If I could have it my way, I’d steal all of you and keep you here forever, precious.”

You both giggled, but yours trailed off as one of her talisman necklaces caught your eye.

It was mesmerizing, and you pulled away a bit further to get a better view. Your own hand, of which both had been wrapped around Yuna’s neck, trailed down to lift the stone.

“This amulet… There are legends about it…” You finally spoke again, still breathless. Both from the kiss and from the beautiful, opalescent gem resting between the two of your chests.

“Oh, really?” Yuna asked, sounding distracted. She would always indulge in your stories though, even if she was obviously eyeing your lips and thinking of other things. “Like what?”

“It’s rumored to have the power to bring the dead to life. I’ve heard, recently actually, of a treasure hunter searching for it. He wants to resurrect his wife.”

“We’ll make sure that we don’t bring anyone back from the dead then…” Yuna kissed your cheek, seeing the way you tilted your head at her in teasing disbelief. “Okay, well anyone else.” She smiled smally.

🎃

“The hunter you spoke of. He broke into the tomb last night.”

That was the last thing you wanted to be greeted with. “What!? Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Did he steal the amulet?”

“Thankfully, he did not discover the hidden door to this sanctum. Both I and the amulet are safe for now… The powers bestowed on me through these talismans allow me to see who crosses the threshold and inflict whatever hallucination and emotion I deem fit. When you first entered, your aura felt safe. Hungry, which I now know was for knowledge, but safe.” Yuna smiled at you, before it fell into a scowl. “This man, though… His aura felt like those that were here before you. Greedy, selfish, dark. Like them, I used my abilities to inflict a foreboding feeling of doom and death and hallucinations of the shadows enclosing. His resolve was stronger than theirs had been, I fear.”

“What do we need to do, princess?”

She smiled again, this time wistfully. “Not we… I.” Yuna removed the opalescent talisman from her neck. “You will take the unenchanted and non-magical artifacts with you today. I know you finished cataloging days ago anyway… I want you to tell stories about me and my people. I want everyone to know that the people of this country descend from a resilient ancestry full of magic and ferocity and brilliance. I want the little girls, especially, to know they can be a warrior and a scholar.” She breathed, her eyes watery. “You will do this. You will tell these stories and be successful and alive. And I will destroy this amulet and collapse the tomb. I will die along with this dangerous magic, but I will die having completed my duty in keeping my people safe.”

Your eyes widened, full of tears, at her words. “I don’t want to lose you! You’re… you’re my friend, princess.”

Yuna sniffled, holding back her own sobs with a joke, “Well, you cannot stay. I’m almost positive that would kill you. Lack of air and all…” She leaned in slowly to kiss the tear tracks from your cheeks. “Besides, it would get dull rather quickly when I am put to eternal rest.”

You nodded, slowly packing up your things. Yuna had taken the liberty to stack the artifacts into your wagon before you even arrived. “I’m going to miss you…”

“I’m sorry it must end this way, but I did enjoy our brief time together.” Yuna took off one of her other precious necklaces, clasping it around your neck before you left the chamber. “I guess I did turn out to be the Bringer of Death… Just, it is my own.”

[yukastraeza]

I have a weird feeling about something. My heart beats are aberrant. My eyes unfocus over the textbook open on my study table . It's strange that only today, we learnt about Cardiac Arrhythmias, also known as heart palpitations, which I’m currently experiencing. But these definitely aren't medical. That's for sure. I decide to go get some fresh air outside, hoping it will relax me, before my breathing gets worse. It did. I took the opposite road and walked down to the 24/7 hour convenience store. It was the kind of night that sent chills down your spine. I picked up a few supplies, contemplating if I brought enough money to pay. After paying, I threw the items carelessly into the cloth bag I had with me. I walked in a rush to get back to my room from the icy breeze, I had enough relaxation. 

Right when I took a turn towards my building, I bumped into a tall figure, my bag slipped from my shoulder and fell on the ground. It's a man, probably in his late twenties. I haven't seen him before. We say sorry at the same time and move in opposite directions. I turned back to look at him and found him already looking at me with a confused look on his face, but  I decided to proceed walking. 

I lock the doors and go back to study, the pages were flipped due to the wind and had landed on a random page. I turn back to today's lesson. But I find a black envelope instead. It looks suspicious, I wonder how it could have come in. I do not want to touch it, but I'm tempted to. I give it an experimental pat with my index finger. I wait. Nothing. I slowly take it in my hands and open the envelope. 

I've read it. It's utterly ridiculous. Couldn't be, could it? 

I'm an undergraduate medical student at St.Carmel University of Medicine. I'm passionate about being a doctor and researching various fields in medicine. I'm really grateful for Professor Fletcher. My dad's good friend, the reason I got into this university. His innovative approach and research on cytology. He has currently submitted his protocol on stem cells that will cure any cytic disease. He has been my biggest guide and motivation throughout my life and academics as well. His erudite and experienced self commanded respect from any age. I'm proud to be one of his assistants on this confidential project - Cytofletcher72. It's a vaccine that cures majority of the cell diseases

His goal is to help the world with his innovation in medicine and treat diseases like Parkinson's, Alzheimer's, Leukemia and various other forms of cell disease with Cytofletcher72. And my goal is to assist as much as I can, to his project, and work on my own in the near future.

But this letter, it claims the opposite. This person has also signed her name as Romilda Spinnet. Is someone playing a prank? Or is it paranormal activity? I'm not afraid of those, if this person thinks living alone would scare me. I wonder if I should report it to the police or Professor Fletcher.

-----------------------

Dearest Romilda,

I'm proud of you for trying your best right now. You will succeed, for instance, well in my instance, you have. This letter is from twenty years in the future. But I'm afraid you're sided with the wrong person right now. He might be your inspiration, but he's a villain. People are dying because of him.I can't mention more in this letter, in case it's read by someone else. I want you to watch him for a few days. Ever wondered why the secret formula is secret? The future of this world is in your hands and you need help, you can't do this alone. The help will approach you, and please don’t deny it. We’ll try sending you more letters like these, to guide you. Please.

Love,

Romilda 

-----------------------

Who does she mean by “we”. What's going on? Professor Fletcher? I have so many questions. I put on my jacket and lock the door again. I'm leaving to Dr. Fletchers lab. I notice someone standing out the door and immediately switch to defence mode. I jut my elbow hard into their stomach, but my wrists are gripped hard even before contacting skin. It is the guy who bumped into me an hour ago, he's holding a keychain. It's mine. I check my pockets for it, but he hands it out for me.

“It is yours, you dropped it.”, he nodded his head, “I got a letter too, We’ll have to work together. It involves lives. We need to make a plan soon, but you can't expose yourself now. Also, I wanna know what my future self saw in you, maybe the personality.”, he smirked, tapping his chin.

 I hate him already, I was bombarded with information, but turns out his letter contained more information. Apparently, behind the façade of respect, Dr. Fletcher has a thing for greed and deceit. In the future, he has built trust and reputation over his Cytofletcher26 and it spread worldwide. But everyone who has taken the preventive vaccine started developing new diseases. And now, the blame is on Andrew Jose. This guy right here, my partner. Our mission is to change the future. And to do that, we need evidence. As the shadows of doubts ring bells in my head, each thought of hidden information makes it uncertain and more inevitable, I decide to embark on uncovering the mystery with Andrew and our journey to save the future.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Here's Week 3!! @hayalienn

[keepmeinmind-01]

For the WIP ask game 📖✨: 2, 3, 4, 8, 9, and 15 because I am nosy and they all sound so good!

thank you for asking :D

2 - dark!theseus and chemical brainwashing

So this is actually the one that I’m furthest along with because I’ve been working on outlining it for the last week! My only issue is that it’s pretty dark overall and was partly fuelled by my PMS, so I’ll probably need to work on it in bursts, because I get so emotionally invested when I write LOL. I don’t know how much this is “spoilers”, but I feel like on AO3, the tagging system kind of means you know everything up front, so I can give a fair bit of detail? But potential spoilers I suppose, haha?

The premise is that, at one of Grindelwald’s rallies, Leta joins him and Theseus follows her. They both get through the flames, although Theseus gets a little singed, but when it comes to fully integrating into Grindelwald’s ranks, Theseus starts to have doubts. He talks to Leta about running away and Grindelwald finds out, separates them, and uses a mixture of magic and chemical tools to brainwash and control Theseus. Theseus becomes pretty evil, and he and Newt cross paths several times on opposite sides. To be honest, I think it would be a bittersweet ending, but maybe happy given what came before LOL. But everyone would live - Leta and Theseus would be facing trials, potentially, and Theseus would be hugely destabilised and damaged from his experience - and Newt is also there as they try and figure out where to go next.

It takes a few of the plot bunnies I have for kmim and never wrote in (like Grindelwald trying to break Theseus’s “moral crown”, drug use, one of Theseus or Newt temporarily becoming dark) and moves them somewhere else so I’m not tempted to put them into an already busy plot 💀 It’s also darker, dialled up sibling angst but also, Leta is alive! Which I love and want to try and make the most of, so I need to make sure she has her flowers in the outline. Grindelwald is downright horrible in this one xd

3 - thesival war

I think a while ago I posted my complicated backstory for how Theseus and Percival met during the war, and I wanted to make this into a 5 times X happened and one time it didn’t fic. I’ve been trying to squeeze it into that structure and it’s not been working, so it’ll probably just be a normal layout.

It will start with Theseus in Ypres, then cover Theseus getting taken as a Prisoner of War, which is when he does magic (some on purpose in the fight around a village, some accidental when interrogated). Percival is an observer, a MACUSA Auror keeping an eye on the war, while Theseus has enlisted as a Muggle. So Percival tries to rescue Theseus before he ruins the Statue, which is a close call but they both get out. Then they both slowly make their way to Ukraine through a mixture of joining groups in the trenches and fighting/travelling as a pair, because that’s where Percival has been summoned for the dragon project. And then in Ukraine is where the spark really kicks off.

Then, which would be the “one time,” we go to FBAWTFT present day, which is when Theseus and Leta get a telegram Newt has been executed. Then, they also get the reveal Grindelwald was impersonating Percival. I think I might end with Theseus going to MACUSA and giving them a piece of his mind for nearly losing his brother and actually losing his (slightly more than) friend.

4 - newt’s abusive marriage

So @creative-girl and I were talking about this, inspired by Hamilton, and it was very much her idea! It would be what it says on the tin, possibly with Percy as the bad guy. Theseus chats to Percy at a party but ends up introducing him and Newt. The marriage between Newt and Percival turns sour but Newt keeps it a secret and becomes trapped and withdrawn. Some kind of reveal means Theseus comes in during one of the one-sided “fights” and intervenes, and then it would be fluffy after that. I feel like I tend to make Theseus the hurt party rather than Newt (this is actually an active consideration I have for kmim where I’m making sure it balances out LMAO) and I think the comfort afterwards could be really sweet.

8 - making out as cover

Very much what it says on the tin. I have a rough draft of this one. Percival and Theseus are on an assignment, they’re griping with one another, they’re meant to be watching a spot from their alleyway. They get spotted, and because they’re near a bar, Percival instantly kisses Theseus as cover. And when their cover is safe again (I.e., the people go or whatever, detective semantics) they’re like “okay hang on…” hahah

9 - Bunty and Lally!!

I love f/f ships with all my heart and yet the pieces of media I’m interested in rarely have them (other than Overwatch), so I thought it would be sweet to try. I saw it as perhaps modern AU, perhaps not, where both are a little younger. Lally is a barista in a coffee shop and Bunty is an awkward apprentice. Quite classic flirting and mixed signals where Bunty works up the courage to give the confident Lally a compliment. It could end after they swap numbers, or maybe they can actually go on a coffee date too. Maybe Bunty is quite shy or closeted and Lally is super confident and relaxed, and it could create quite a nice dynamic. So pretty wholesome.

15 - Lally/Seraphina

Inspired by your comment! This one is one of the least fleshed out ones and I added it into the middle of the list rather than the bottom like an organised person. I think there’s so much potential here and it could maybe be something set in MACUSA’s office buildings. Seraphina is like this reserved, cold authority figure and Lally is a rebellious, snarky, and warm academic. I think they could bond over their shared intelligence, maybe there’s some project Lally has to consult on that means they see a lot of one another. I think they both have quite strong personalities and once the spark caught, would both go after it.

so yeah!! thanks for asking, i loved writing out everything ahahaha <3

[jokers-bat]

Every Joker and Batman Fic Idea I Have

I’m currently working on other projects but here’s what’s been buzzing in my mind lately!

None of these have titles or plots right now so:

2004 Batman Thingy

Takes place after the episode where Batman goes into Joker’s mind. Dr. Strange decides to keep exploring with Joker’s mind and it quickly becomes a form of mental and psychological abuse. Batman finds out but by then Joker’s mind is so broken he has amnesia. He brings him to Wayne mansion to help him recover only for Joker and Bruce to form a friendship that is later tested when Joker’s memories start returning. (Angst, hurt/comfort, possibly redemption and romance)

Joker’s Sisters

This is partly inspired by the Jack Stauber’s Opal short. Joker has two younger sisters who he left behinds when he became the Joker. Depending on the story, Ruth and Emily either believe their brother is dead or Ruth knows the truth but made a deal to keep it a secret from Emily as long as Joker never involves them in his crimes or does anything that could potentially harm them (I’ll post drawings of them sometime).

High School AU

Imagine if Bruce were a typical student at a school for troubled and traumatized youth. Though he puts on a cold and standoffish exterior, he feels lonely in this new school but with classmates like John, a class clown who everyone calls Joker, Selina who rescues and takes care of stray cats, and Ozzy who pushes everyone away, Bruce finds he’s not alone in this cruel world. (Basically a fic where Batman befriends all his enemies in a high school setting 😆)

And I really want to try a post apocalyptic society kind of fic too but the idea keeps changing. 😅

[deathbyoctopi]

So now, for the fic ask game.

F - I - M - N & S - T

As general asks.

And then as for D, I'd love your answer for "Phantom Threat" and/or "A Comedy of Yi City Errors". If not a Playlist than I'd be really curious to know how you came up with the story idea or what inspired you to write it.

I'd also just in general be interested in anything you'd like to share about one of your fics that no one has commented on so far but that you just want to gush about ☺️

D. A playlist associated with Phantom Threat or A comedy of Yi City errors?

Ever since university, whenever I have to concentrate and work hard on a project I listen to the same video of The Legend of Zelda relaxing music <3 It’s so engraved in my brain that it’s become like white noise for me, but it really does help. I doubt it has any impact on what I write, though, bc it’s the same music either for fluff, smut, angst or reports on the strengths and weaknesses of a nations macroeconomics XD

F. Share a snippet form one of your favourite dialogue scenes and why you’re proud of it

This bit from Phantom Threat:

“Silence! That he should be tainted by a piece of filth like you… You will pay for what you’ve done to him!” “And what do you know about what I’ve done with him? Hmm?” Daozhang’s not going to like this, he knows, but he’d prefer very much to still be alive to apologize later. And he’s enjoying himself too much to stop now. “What do you know of our nights together? This place can get so fucking cold, you know… Can you picture it, Song Zichen-daozhang? How he shivers in my arms, how I pin him down and spread him up, how I fuck him into the mattress until his voice is hoarse from screaming…” “Be quiet!” shouts Song Lan, and Xue Yang is almost certain he saw his hand shake in rage for a split second. “You beast! You lowliest scum–” “Oh, he wants it, too! He asks for it, begs for it! You should hear the sounds he makes." "I said, be quiet!" "And he’s so good with his hands… He draws them all over my body, touches everywhere because he wants to see me, because some ungrateful bastard stole his eyes!”

I really like the whole exchange between Xue Yang and Song Lan, when the latter was just going for the kill but Xue Yang keeps goading him into engaging in the conversation, because “Talk brings thoughts, which bring distractions, which bring mistakes.” Song Lan has always been the better swordsman, properly trained, so Xue Yang has to play dirty… so of course he TALKS dirty about him and Xiao Xingchen! Moreso, it stings more because (as Song Lan suspects/fears) he’s being completely honest! Plus, xuxiao is in a situation here where they’ve shared their secrets and are happy together, so Xue Yang’s trying to control himself not to kill Song Lan because he knows it would upset daozhang.

And he also knows talking this kind of filth will also upset him, but it’s not fatal and he can always apologize <3 I love the sweet dynamics they share in this fic… And the stinger: Xue Yang’s teasing did shake Song Lan up, but what really manages to break his concentration is the last line, his GUILT, when he stresses out that if Xiao Xingchen is so tactile with him is because he has no eyes to see… That really kicks Song Lan in the most vulnerable part of his soul. I’m very proud of that bit, I feel it reflects very well on each character’s personality and I love them so much…! ^-^

I. A guilty pleasure (writing or reading) Is it guilty, to want my favourite characters to suffer as much as possible? ^^U

M. Any premises you want to tackle

So much xuexiao swimming in my brain ///^W^/// And I want fluff and happiness for them, either within canon (three years to explore!) or after the Reveal, and living peacefully and happy together… BUT I also like trauma and pain, which is why I have been simmering in a very nasty idea I don’t think I’ll ever have the time or skill to write properly… Having Xue yang attacking Baixue and blinding Song Lan was just STEP 1 of his Evil Plan™️, the next one is following him up his mountain and massacring the hell out of all his shidis and shimeis. Maybe (surely) Baoshan Sanren would kick his ass to his next reencanation, but she could be out in a grocery run or very busy with song Lan’s eye surgery, but regardless I want her telling Xiao Xingchen “see?? THAT’S why I didn’t want you back, bringing your outside-world bullshit with you!” It would certainly destroy Xiao Xingchen, I feel bad for him already XD

N. Fic you want someone to write or finish for you?

Quite honestly, I want someone to write a sitcom-style story with The cloud Recesses in the previous generation of cultivator’s time. The young adventures of Cangse Sanren, Lan Qiren, Madam Yu, Jin Guangshan… and of course, Clan Leader Yao! In that vein, I’d love a retelling of The Untamed in a Lady Whistledown-style narration, as if Nie Huaisang had his own rumour-and-scandal little clandestine magazine ^w^

S. Fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Subtle power dynamics (the kick comes from the ambiguity, so I find a student-teacher or captain-officer situation much more interesting than a master-slave, which is very obvious and in-your-face pun VERY MUCH intended “There’s only one bed”, “A is hurt in places only B can help bandage”, and any other such tropes that lead to a situation of intimacy between two characters in early stages of attraction, when either don’t think they like the other yet.

T. Fandom tropes you can’t stand?

Miscommunication. If it’s justified by the narrative, it’s ok… but I’m so tired of seeing the character’s keep secrets for no reason as a cheap way to create tension and drama. And it runs rampant in c-dramas, which I find exhausting

Other random things to share:

My absolute otp, and the one to get me in writing fanfic, is xuexiao and I doubt that will change in the foreseeable future. However, lately someone (NOT looking at you @foxyyaoguai ) got me into jadecest, and I’m enjoying a lot that particular side of the mdzs navy. Lan ships are elegant and very hot, so I’ve written quite a bit in this direction, but I will come back to our ramshackle little boat of pain and candy and secrets ^-^ <3 Sometimes the titles are very self-explanatory, but sometimes I have no idea what to call them and I choose a verse of the latest song I have stuck in my head, that vaguely resonates with the fic or the characters. This is the case, for example, of To carry a bit of yesterday “Phantom thread” was the working title for my nameless fic, that had the sole purpose of filling a void in my xuexiao anthology (what if song lan gets to Yi City and xiao Xingchen already knows about Xue Yang, AND XUE YANG KNOWS HE KNOWS???) I had a fic with the first half of the premise, but not the second, so the game was limping a bit with a nonsensical continuity error. So I just made a fic up to fill that blank. It was the first original fic I wrote, and it remains one of my favourites… But there, the title was “phantom thread” because it was a story thread that was missing, and it ended with “Phantom threat” because of the sense Song Lan has during all that story that he is being threatened by Xue Yang, which turns out not to be true.

Final thing, and that’s more a matter of (lack of) self discipline… I barely ever revise or even re-read my fics before publishing them. AFTER, yes, frantically, and I try to edit as much typos and errors as fast as possible… and I keep editing on the go, when I’m in the train or at odd hours at work, because I love rereading my stuff once it’s out in the open and I have a mini heart-attack every time I see a mistake.

[self-critical-automaton]

Tagged by @translesbiantheo (thanks for thinking of me! Hope you enjoy my far too wordy answers!) Questions are: Last Song, Last Show, Currently Watching, Currently Reading, and Current Obsession. I’ve put it all under a readmore cut because I tend to wax lyrical and I don’t want to gum up peoples dashes, but if you see this please do click through and have a look.

Last Song: People are answering this as meaning ‘To what song did you most recently listen?’, to which the answer is probably: one of the unreleased songs from the Protomen’s as-yet-unreleased third album, ‘Act III’. Most likely ‘NO WAY BACK’, a major fave, but I’ve been listening them a bunch while working and it might be ‘The Fight’, which has been released as a single.

They’re kind of  hard band to describe, because all elevator-pitches make them sound like a joke: In short, they’re a band who wrote a rock opera (very) loosely based on the videogame series ‘Megaman’, and have spent about twenty years touring to perform assorted bits of it along with covers of iconic heavy metal / prog rock songs. I have little respect for other members of the surprisingly popular ‘videogame themed novelty band’ genre, but the thing is that... they’re really fucking good? Like, very actually good. They’re about the music, rather than the game, or the novelty, to the point where the fact it’s themed after fucking Megaman is almost an albatross around their necks. I tend to gush about the performances (and amazing range- one is a classically trained opera singer, the other sings both sides of a duet) of their two lead vocalists, but their guitarists are the secret MVPs, melting face with heavy metal melodies. And their lyrics and storytelling-via-lyrics, and aestheic... Well, I guess I like all of it. They care deeply about their project and have a deep knowledge of and love for both their music and the music that inspires them.

I’m very fond of that heavy metal/ prog rock era and tbh they’re not so much nailing a pastiche as they are genuinely keeping something beautiful alive. They have fun, but there is no sense of irony whatsoever to their work or their performances, no feeling that they have to ‘wink at it or we’ll be cringe’; their original songs are heartfelt and their lead singers belt them out like their hearts are breaking right there on stage. No one else does it like them.

Plus, they have an amazing stage presence which blows their (now decades old) studio albums out of the water. I saw them live in london and it was the best night of my life, and pretty much the only reason I haven't yet died of postcovid syndrome is my will to see them live again. Sadly, there are very few decent recordings of their live shows. Last Show: Oh, right, there was more than one question. I recently watched Revolutionary Girl Utena, and had strong feelings about it, but I’m now a little too distant form it to unpack them here. I also started watching Serial Experiments Lain and Haibane Renmei, both of which I drifted away from mid-season. This says more about my postcovid brain damage than it does about the quality of the shows, to be clear: I can see why wey are both beloved. I intend to go finish them and then move on to more cornerstones of my fave era of anime. Currently Watching: I feel like I should talk about YouTube or something here, but mostly I’ve been watching tv. I decided to give the Wire ago, as my watch-through of the Sopranos with my flatmate stalled out. We really need to pick that back up... Season one of the wire I felt had something special. It had real willingness to draw parallels between urban gangs and the police, to showcase the brutality, hypocracy, and deceptiveness of police forces right alongside the lives of those forced into crime, and most importantly it had a rare empathy for it’s criminal characters. The direction and writing were also great, and I can see why it’s one of the great touchstones of prestige tv. Also, there was a groundedness to the characters and their personal problems (and a refusal to sermonize or get moralistic about those problems) that I found delightful. Season two abandoned much of that, feeling more like an ordinary copaganda-filled police procedural, and also suffered a general loss of quality in filmmaking terms. Anyway, I’m midway into season three now, and it’s been much closer in tone to the original. It’s not as good, and I think this is yet another example of ‘a tight, focused work turned out profitable, spin up the infinite money-engines to make more of it forever’, but unlike S2 it is at least a worthy tonal and structural sequel. Currently Reading: I have straight answer to this one lmao: Ringworld, by Larry Niven. I have a deep and lasting interest (of what you might call the ‘autistic amateur historian’ variety) in 'nerd subcutlures and community history’, in especially that of sci-fi and the Fantasy one into which it split. As a part of that, and also because it’s my own literary interest, I used to read a lot of modern and classic fantasy and sci fi. Post-covid, however, I’m not able to read much, so much like with anime I’ve been trying to get myself to catch up on missed touchstones. Hence, Ringworld. It’s proving an interesting read, partly because of how hard the science  was (for the standards of seventies sci-fi), but also because of how different the general style was back then. I’m mostly enjoying it a lot, but it does occasionally blindside me with something astonishingly of-its-era like a casual rape joke from the protagonist to an ally. Next I’d like to get into rereading my collected volumes of Clairmont’s run as writer on the x-men comics, after having read John Allison’s recent fan-comic throwback to the era. I mention this (in addition to it being yet another special interest of mine) because of an odd tangential relation: In the 70s Clairmont introduced Kitty Pride as a new viewpoint character for teens reading the comics, so he wrote her as a nerd, and so she mentions a lot of nerdy cultural touchstones of the era. Her best friend, Ilyana Rasputin, develops the mutant power to teleport via circles of light, which Kitty names ‘stepping discs’ after the teleportation technology in Niven’s Ringworld, of which she was a fan. Current Obsession: Continuing the theme of ‘the history of nerd culture and it’s branching subculture communities’, I’ve been thinking a lot about OSR tabletop RPGs. These are ‘Old School Renaissance’, or ‘Old School Revival’, games, pert of a movement to recapture the ‘mom’s basement’ days of roleplaying games. Lighter systems than some, a focus on action, puzzles, and dungeoneering. Some are new systems designed to fulfill those design goals, but others are heavily based on actual roleplay systems from the 70s themselves. I’ve been reading system rulebooks and adventure modules for fun for a couple weeks now, haha. I used to love GMing tabletop RPGs, and I have wanted for ages to run a series of experimental mini-campaigns, trying out many systems with a rotation of players. I’m pleased to say I’ve actually put this into practice now, and I’m two weeks into a campaign using Black Hack rules. Others I want to try are: Torchbearer (which has a focus on hardcore survival), MÖRK BORG (Which is very rules light and focused on brutal dark-fantasy a la BERSERK or Dark Souls), Old School Essentials (Which is basically a more organised remake of the AD&D your dad might have played in the 80s), Dungeon World (which uses the very modern story-game style Powered by the Apocalypse system), and several more. Once I’ve tried a bunch out, I’m probably going to run a hexcrawl or maybe a west-marches type game, and if the mini-cmapigns thing worked for me I’ll branch out into non-OSR systems that I feel like trying. I have a huge folder of RPGs I always wanted to run but could never get around to. If you want into the player pool for these mini-campaigns, send me a message and let me know. It can be a reward for having read this far ;) Passing it on to: @girl-like-substance @expertpedestrian @tinytachyon @lancelought @acrylicpainting

[kaliawai512-v2]

Hey!

I’m trying to develop my own writing skills, but I am a little baby in the world of writing so I’m seeking help and I think your writing is really cool and it makes me happy. So I found my way here.

But I just wanted to ask if you could tell me anything about your writing process? Like how you work with drafts, plotting, editing and how you manage the time/motivation to write so much holy cow! Also how long have you been writing consistantly?

Okay that’s a lot of questions at once, sorry. 😂

Anyway I hope you enjoy your day! ;)

Hiya!!

Aww, thank you so much! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing, and thank you for leaving such kind comments <3 Absolutely, I’m happy to share my experience! Sorry that this is a veeeeeeeery long reply XD

I don’t have a super-neat process for managing drafts. When I get an idea for a story, I jot it down, but I try not to force it. I let it sit in the back of my head and it will either develop or fade into oblivion. If I’ve got enough ideas that it seems like it could make a full story, I start organizing it into scenes and/or chapters (depending on the length). There will often be some “blanks” in between major events, and I fill those in as I get inspiration.

Once I’ve got at least a mostly complete outline, I start writing. And this is where I’m a massive weirdo: I write completely out of order. I’ll write a bit of a scene in Chapter 17 and then a snippet in Chapter 1, and oh, now I figured out how the final chapter will end so I’m writing that now, and then a bit in Chapter 6 … you get the picture XD This process probably won’t work for most people, but I’ve been doing it for around ten years now (yes, I am a Tumblr grandma) and it works great for me - even though it does lead to a bit more editing down the line.

I don’t edit at all as I go, and I try not to start editing until I’m at least a good ways through writing. When I am ready to edit, I read everything out loud - this helps me catch things I might not miss and helps me get a sense for what “sounds” right on the sentence level. It also wears down my voice a bit, so I don’t edit a ton at once.

And I’m flattered you think so highly of my motivation!! But I have a secret to share … I don’t write consistently - at least not in the long run XD If I’m working toward a specific goal, then I try to write fairly consistently (I also love NaNoWriMo). But I find that if I have to force myself to write over and over, then it’s worth questioning whether I’m having fun with the project. Every project has its tough parts, and sometimes you just have to power through if you want to see the end product. But there’s no glory in just tormenting yourself all the time - especially when you’re writing fanfic.

Lately, I write at least 500 words daily - sometimes up to 5-6k. But this is a writing binge. Prior to this February, I hadn’t written consistently in around six months. And before that binge, a lot longer. Why? I have a lot going on in my life. Writing is one of my passions, and at the moment, purely done for fun - and that’s not a bad thing! My creativity in various areas comes and goes, and I’ve learned to accept when it wanes and just do other things for a while. It always comes back eventually.

But the biggest piece of advice I can give you is: figure out what YOU like. Because your goals aren’t mine, and your life isn’t mine! I hope that my experience will offer you something (and questions are ALWAYS welcome <3) but you should always do what works best for you. Absolutely reach out to lots of writers and get their takes, but don’t take any piece of writing advice without a grain of salt. As far as I’m concerned, there are no hard-fast rules in writing.

Have fun with writing, give yourself space to practice on projects you enjoy, and if you can, keep the pressure low! I wish you all the best in your journey and I know you’re going to make amazing things <3

Hope you have a great day as well! :D

[freedfromthegalactichivemind]

The Gray Kind

She-Ra fanfiction  Mild shipping.  Catradora, Entrapdak, others hinted at / mentioned.  Characters: Adora, Catra, Bow, Glimmer, Scorpia, Entrapta, Hordak, Horde Clones  Genres: Slice of Life, Comedy. Post-canon.   Rating: PG / Teen, just because Catra uses a few naughty no-no words as a treat.  Inspired by: A trip to see my family across the country and a visit to get some takeout from a hole in the wall that I grew up with.   Summary: Adora is nostalgic for a few things - small things - from the Horde.  She finds herself missing ration bars, of all things, and seeks out the secret to their lost recipe.   Also on Ao3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/46812565

The Gray Kind Adora picked at her plate of food at the royal table.  It was laid out with a fancy gelatin, beautiful fruits cut into fancy heart and star shapes, delicate cured meats and cheeses and delightful, fluffy biscuits. This was not normal for her, to pick rather than scarf and her friends noticed.   “What’s wrong with you?” Catra asked through a mouthful of ham and biscuit.  Glimmer gave her a glare from across the table.  Catra had never had the best table-manners and, then again, neither had Adora.  People who’d been raised in the Horde encountering good food for the first time tended to be none too delicate in their devouring.  Catra got, perhaps, a special pass just because everyone was glad that she was navigating basic morals and learning how to live a life not based on conquest.  She was also fairly new to eating at the royal table after spending the last year and a half in encampments working on rebuilding projects as per her reformation guidelines and being used to soldier’s mess-tents, where eating food quickly took priority to eating it delicately.   Adora knew better and had learned to be dainty enough for the Queen’s guards and dignitaries, but she’d never been this dainty before.   “Oh, nothing,” Adora tried to deflect.   “We haven’t seen you pick at a plate like this since we fighting the Galactic Horde!” Bow pointed out.  “Please tell us what’s wrong. We’re your friends.”   “I promise I wasn’t in the kitchen this time!” Glimmer joked, holding up her hands.   Adora took a little bite of a star-shaped white fruit and looked wistful.  “It’s wonderful, really, but I’ve just gotten to thinking how much I miss ration bars.” Everyone’s eyes went wide.   “Huh?” Glimmer half-yelped.  “Are you insulting Chef’s cooking?  If so, I’ve got to know, I mean… she’s not going to be happy if she’s off her game.”   “Are you sick?” Catra asked.  “Seriously, Adora, do you have a fever?”   “No, the food’s great!” Adora assured, “As always!  It’s better than I could ask for!  It’s just… I guess I’m feeling nostalgic…or something.”   “For the Horde?” said Bow, incredulous.   “A little,” Adora admitted.  She gave Catra a demure glance.  “I mean, the best part of being in the Horde is right here, but…” “It was terrible.” Catra huffed.   “Not always!”   “All we did was train.  Or sneak off somewhere and had to worry about getting caught doing ‘unauthorized activities.’  Things could fly under Hordak’s lack-of-nose but not a lot got past Shadow Weaver.  It was dismal and stinky…”   “Says the person who wanted to rule it,” Glimmer noted, snarkily.   “We’re all allowed to be young and stupid, right?”  Catra held her upper arms uncomfortably.  “Let’s… not bring this up.”   “Besides,” Glimmer added, “It’s not like you can’t go back, it’s just different now, better!  New Scorpioni is lush and green because of the She-Ra magic and the safe release of the Heart of Etheria!  I bet we can find all of your old make-out spots and revisit them and they’ll look a lot better now!”   Adora looked at her boots, her face going absolutely red at the joke about “make-out spots.”  Catra’s fur was puffed up.   “It’s not really that,” Adora said after a pause.  “It’s just… have you ever gotten a taste for something and you haven’t had it in a long time?  I haven’t had a ration bar in forever!  They were hearty and filling…” “And bland.  And weird,”  Catra added. “Good riddance!” “I thought you liked actual food!” Bow questioned.   “I do! I do!  I love it!” Adora said, holding her hands up.  “You know me!  I deplete the ice cream stocks almost as bad as Mermista!  It’s just… you know… I guess I’m a little tired of… fancy.”   “This isn’t fancy!” Glimmer retorted. “This is a pretty basic dinner. You were right beside me at my coronation, and at the Primefall ceremony and…” “I know, this is everyday, but it’s still ‘fancy’ to me.  It always has been.”   “I know!” Bow gasped, “It’s the party-thing all over again!  You had to get used to parties!  You didn’t even know what they were!”   “Pheh, Adora’s such a square,” Catra teased. “Always by the book, we could barely get her into anything contraband because she believed in the Horde’s mission to save the people of the planet from the eeeeevil princesses.  But… yeah… we didn’t do a lot of fun stuff in the Horde except beating each other up.  I still can’t believe you’re nostalgic for the food, though!  How can that even…be a thing?”   Catra stuffed another meat-laden biscuit into her mouth.  She munched and swallowed it down dramatically.   “The stuff was objectively garbage.” “I know, right?”  Adora said sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.  “But they had just the right amount of salt on them… and that red sauce that Commander Cobalt made sometimes – I don’t know it was made from, where he got it or what it even was, but it was perfect with the gray ones! It even made the brown ones taste better!”   “They were nutrition, not pleasure,” Catra reminded.   “Yeah… but… I kind of miss some things from… what used to be home.”   ____________________________ Later that night, Catra was hanging up her daytime clothes while Adora was washing her face in the bathroom sink of their private chambers.   “Do you really miss the Horde?”  Catra asked, “I don’t miss anything about it. Everything about it was miserable – except maybe when I took over and got to push ol’ Hordak around.  I have to admit, that was kind of fun.  But… you know… it’s hard for me to be nostalgic when the only reason I was there was because I got dumped off there in a box and Shadow Weaver only let you ‘keep’ me because you thought I was a kitten.”   “You are a kitten,”  Adora said, turning around with a cheeky grin.  

“But I grew up. Surprised the hell out of everyone that I wasn’t the species they thought I was.  We’re free now. We aren’t following anyone’s orders, living in fear anymore and we get to eat what we like.  Why would you want anything else?”  

“Just a flavor I miss,” Adora said, shirking on a sheer white nightgown over her underclothes.  Whether it, or they, would stay on the entire night was up to them. Catra was giving Adora a frisky smile while Adora was giving Catra a tired one.  Maybe it was going to be just one of those “cuddle and talk” nights.  

Catra sighed as she sat down on their bed. The tip of her tail lashed with a tremor of agitation.  “To tell the truth,” she admitted.  “I kind of miss them, too.”  

“Heh, really?” Adora asked.  

“Maybe not the brown ones.  The green ones were a little better.  The gray ones… were actually kind of good – especially with that weird sauce.  The stuff was just a little bit spicy, not too much.  I don’t know if it would go with anything else!  It was just perfect with the bars – they somehow, SOMEHOW worked! I swear, Adora!  The people here in Bright Moon just put cream sauce and their fancy berry jams on everything… If I never see a béchamel again, It’ll be too soon!”  

Adora softly laughed.  “I know they’ll never understand it!  Horde-food is, as you said, just ‘objectively bad.’  The most cost-effective ingredients…reconstituted whatsit!  We could have been eating a bunch of bugs for all we know!”  

“I have to keep up appearances, you know,” Catra said, her ears drooping.  “Sparkles and Arrow Boy and the staff and the citizens all accept you and whatever quirks you have because you’re She-Ra.  I screwed up in a way I can never come back from, so I can’t talk about missing anything about the Horde.  I have to be polite and eat their food and just get used to being all…civilized, I guess.”  She turned away when Adora sat down next to her.  “I’m still only here because I’m your pet.”  

“I wouldn’t say that.  You did a lot…in the end, I mean… fighting Prime.  You were the key to his downfall – you and I and all of our friends. Don’t ever forget that. I would not be here without you.”  

“It doesn’t really make up for the damage I caused up until then.  And… if Entrapta is to be believed, even fuckin’ Hordak helped to take down Prime and you don’t see anyone inviting him over for tea.”    

“He wouldn’t come,” Adora offered.  “I actually invited him once.  Entrapta said he wasn’t feeling well.”  

They sat in silence until Catra turned back to Adora.  “I feel like I have to try so hard… so they don’t feel like I’m a threat anymore, I mean.”

“You don’t have to try as hard as you think you do,” Adora offered.  She cupped Catra’s cheek and ran a thumb over it.  She ran the tips of her fingers up to touch the back of her ear in just the way that Catra liked.  

“Maybe we can take a trip to visit Scorpia and see if she knows anything about our old crappy food,”  Catra said.  “It would be just like her to keep making the junk.”  

“It’s been a long day,”  Adora replied with a frisky smile.  “I think we should both go to bed.”  

____________________________________

 “I’m afraid we don’t have the technology anymore,” Scorpia said as she, Catra and Adora walked in the shade.  “Those machines all broke down when the vines got up in them and no one’s bothered to fix them.”  

Various people milled about. Many carried or carted construction-supplies as even over one year after Primefall, there was quite a lot of repair to be done, as well as new building of infrastructure and housing as people moved into the former Fright Zone.  Gardeners in big floppy sun-hats trimmed vines and bushes – and not all of them had metal shears. Some had claws. Scoriponi people who’d been scattered throughout Etheria were returning to their ancient homeland under the rule of their ex-soldier-Princess (although Scorpia would be the last to say that she really ruled the land, the Princess-stuff being new to her.  She billed herself more like a loose organizer with something of a Force Captain’s ways, still).  Ex Horde-soldiers that both Catra and Adora recognized seemed to be making a good life for themselves here.  There were even a few clones.  

“Do you know the old recipes, at least?” Adora implored.

“Nope! Can’t say that I do!  Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have some of my special tea?  Or crumpets? Perfuma taught me how to make great crumpets.  Oh! And Entrapta’s kitchen staff taught me a recipe for these miniature scones! They’re just wonderful!”  

“Nah,” Catra said, pointing a teasing finger at Adora.  “Blondie here is really hankering for some old school straight-up garbage-food.”  

“Do you know where Commander Cobalt got off to, at least?” Adora asked.  “We need something from him, too.”  

“The last I saw him, he and Captain Grizzlor were going to make a new life for themselves in the Crimson Waste – they were going to try to open up a bar or something.”  

“We like what you’ve done with the place,” Adora offered.  

“I’m not sure it’s what my family had when I was too little to remember…before the Horde.”  Scorpia was sheepish.  She rubbed the back of her neck with her right claw.  “I’m trying, though… and making it our own.  We’re keeping most of the growth here, trying to make it into gardens.  Perfuma and I kind of…have extended visits with each other?  I don’t really like living out of a tent or in a tree-hollow in Plumeria, I’m more of an indoor-gal, so it’s kind of a compromise.”  

Catra held an arm and lashed her tail. “I can’t say that I’m not still getting used to the Bright Moon lifestyle, either.”  

“Yeah… it can be a little much,” Adora admitted.  “It’s why we’re getting a bit nostalgic.”

“For crap,” Catra asserted.

“Yeah…for crap…I guess,” Adora conceded.

“You could try asking Hordak,” Scorpia suggested.  “He invented the ration bars, so he’d know all about them!”  

Catra turned on her heel and put herself into a position to walk straight back to the skiff that she and Adora had come in on. “Nope!”  

________________________________________

 Adora found herself alone on the dark mountain trail leading up to the Crypto Castle in Dryl.  She was bound and determined to find answers, even as Catra was content to forget about it and go back to cream sauces and berry jams over smoked river-fish and delicate cured meats.  

Being greeted by robots did feel unnatural and being greeted by clones almost as much so – each face essentially the same, save for how many new eye colors and hair colors they were now displaying. As uncanny as they were by their left-of-standard-humanoid nature, the clones in settlement in Dryl made Adora smile. They were very warm to her, welcoming. They were experimenting with a wide variety of clothing – trousers, dresses, big weird hats with feathers…sandals with socks.  They’d developed a variety of little quirks, somewhat exaggerated in each individual expressly to stand out – as individuals.  They certainly were developing their own culture apart from their collective past quite rapidly and Adora had never before seen people so full of what seemed to be a collective joy.  

They were free now and they reveled in it.

A lovely spacebat with eyes that had gone a warm light brown named Acorn escorted Adora inside.  “Oh, and you might want to duck now,” he casually said after several minutes as they walked along.    

At that moment, Adora sensed a disturbance in the air and heard a “Whoosh!”  Acorn grabbed her shoulder and they ducked down just as a blade swept past their heads, parting a hair at the very top of Adora’s head.  Her eyes were wide and her teeth were clenched.  

“Entrapta has disabled most of the castle traps,” Acorn tried to assure her, “but a few parts of the security system are still armed.  We’ve all gotten to know which ones and where by now, but guests need a little help.”  

“Um… thank you… Mr. Acorn,” Adora squeaked out.

“ADORA!”  

That loud, nasal voice could only belong to one person.  Entrapta slipped down out of the ceiling and ambulated on her hair to greet her in the front hall. “I’m so glad you’re here!  Will you do a She-Ra transformation for me up in my lab?  I wanted to run some more tests…”  

“Um…” Adora said awkwardly, penting her index fingers together.  “Believe it or not, I’m actually here to see Hordak.”  

“Oh, I’ll tell him right away!”  

________________________________

 “If this is about the prosthetics-project, tell the Queen that we are still working out some critical errors in the cybernetics.”  

Hordak stood with his back to her.  His armored arms were crossed.  He stood over a table upon which was what appeared to be an artificial arm composed of a kind of material somewhat resembling First Ones’ crystalline.  It had a gap in the middle, composed of an independently-swiveling radius and ulna.

“And the Salineas water-purification machines should be ready in a month’s time if Mermista’s engineers decide to actually follow our blueprints instead of insisting upon their stubborn continuance to be suspicious of us.  Let it be known that Entrapta’s brilliance more than makes up for my… war criminal inclinations.  I will go back to that kingdom in chains once again if it would assure the populace of my contrition…”  

“I’m not here for any of that,” Adora said with an anxious, insincere laugh.  “I am here asking after a recipe.”  

“A recipe?”  Hordak turned around, his ears perking up with utter incredulousness. “You may wish to speak with Baker regarding your request.  I have barely begun to understand…food.”  

“He loves mangoes!”  Entrapta chimed.  She stuck her face in her tablet and let her fingers slide over it. “We’ve got some more heavy-ore to trade if Plumeria is interested in sending us more fruit and seeds and tree-saplings!  The bats are just wild about fruit! And Dryl has many new subjects to keep fed now that they’re weaning off the amniotic fluid! Any kind! It doesn’t matter!  Did you know that they can even eat berries that are poisonous to us?  I had a panic when Wrongie got into some nightshade, but he was just fine!”  

“Ration bars,” Adora asked, ignoring Entrapta’s tangent and looking Hordak straight in his deep red eyes.  “I want to learn how to make the old Horde ration bars.”  

“Ration bars?”  Hordak asked, “Whatever for?  Does not Bright Moon already have a nutrition program for their army?  Are you planning another interstellar journey and require something easy to store?”  

“Okay, this is going to sound weird, but here goes…”  Adora caught her breath.  “I kind of miss the taste of them?”  

Hordak snorted.  His ears went sideways.  

“Do you also wish to know the makings of Galactic Horde amniotic fluid?” he sarcastically inquired.  

“No, no,” Adora said, holding her hands up, “That’s fine.  It’s just… I got so used to eating the bars as a kid that I sort of miss them now that I haven’t had them in a long time?”  

“And I thought that once one discovered flavor that one was never supposed to go back,” Hordak said, turning around again, tinkering with the arm on the table.  “As you wish.  I will share the components of the bars.  No doubt you will find yourself disappointed in them all over again.”  

“Thank you, sir.”  

“I am no longer a sir or a lord,” Hordak reminded her.  “I am merely a failed conqueror, a defective clone, a war criminal making pitiful attempts at atonement and… Entrapta’s.”  

Hordak grabbed a tablet off a shelf and pressed several places on the screen with casual clawed fingers.  “Ah, yes, here it is.  Brown, green and gray.  Each had a base of common grains – generally wheat and barley, whatever we took from annexed farmlands.  Vegetal components consisted of sea grasses harvested by the Horde navy and freshwater algal blooms, spirulina and the like… Ah, yes… a protein component of various insects that infested the Fright Zone – pest control and nutrition all in one. Imp couldn’t control all of the pests on his own as much as he liked to try…”  

“Insects?”  Adora made a face.  

“Four-footed livestock animals were thrown into the mix when we were able, but yes,” Hordak said with a nod, not looking away from the pad, “Insects were the most reliable resource.  I assure you that they were thoroughly cleansed and cooked so that the ones found in the sewers would not infect the soldiers with any of the diseases that the planetary natives are so prone to in regards to contact with waste and the creatures that happen to live in it.”  

Adora made another, more wrinkled up face.

“Tell me that sewer-bugs weren’t in the gray ones…” she pleaded with a wince.  

“We tended to source the higher quality gray mix from annexed farmland.  Most of it was made of what you would call…what is it again?  The curled-furred especially stupid animals?  Mutton? And the eggs of the common domestic birds?”

“Yep!” Entrapta chimed.  

Adora breathed a sigh of relief.  King Micah had been trying to impress upon her the joys of insects as cuisine, but she had yet to take to it – and even he eschewed the idea of the spindly-legged crawly brown sewer-scuttlers.  

At least one thing she’d liked to eat in the past – her favorite kind of bar – was made of something decent.  

“Oh, and myself,” Hordak added.  

“Huh?”  Adora asked.  

Hordak set the pad down on the worktable and regarded her with a straight face.  He gestured to his chest.  “Myself,” he repeated.  

“I…am afraid that I do not understand?”  

“The gray bars provided an extra nutrient-boost to the troops.  A part of their component was a cloned matrix of my own cells.”  

Adora’s jaw dropped in horror.  

Hordak smiled wickedly as he tugged at one of the thigh-slits of his tabard-dress.  Entrapta grinned ear to ear.  “Remember, Entrapta, how I showed you the harvest-point? Right here, from a small sample of my right thigh-muscle.”

“Well, those thighs are your best feature other than your brain!”  

Hordak smacked his thigh playfully (for Entrapta) and put down his dress.  His ears were perked and he had an undeniable sharp-toothed grin at Adora’s discomfort.

“Oh, dear moons, I know what you taste like…”

“He’s quite a snack, isn’t he?”  Entrapta said, sidling up to the spacebat and wrapping a tail of hair around his waist.  

“I…know…what…you…taste…like…”  

“Not truly,” Hordak said.  “The treatment necessary to foster vat-growth rendered out any flavor you might find in conventional meat.  It should come as no surprise to you.  Clone-components made up a significant portion of our amniotic fluid.”  Hordak’s ears tipped back and he looked ceilingward, thoughtful.  “What used to be ‘waste-management’ and ‘humanoid-resources’ in space is something we have since rejected in regards to a newfound respect for personhood, but I cannot say that I had these qualms back when I ran the Etherian Horde.”  

“I’ve…eaten you…or some of you…”  

“I am afraid so, Adora.”  

“Adora?” Entrapta asked in concern, “You look a little green…”  

_____________________________________

In the end, Adora somehow tracked down the recipe for Commander Cobalt’s special sauce – a mix of tomato and peppers with a few stray seasonings thrown in (all vegetation-based).  

She found out that it was quite good with fried potatoes and with crispy fried fish.  

Adora was content to never eat a gray ration bar again.  

__________________________

END.

[folkloristico]

For the writing ask 👀

10. Top three favourite fic tropes.

21. Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what's your secret?

29. What's the hardest thing about writing?

And finally

33. Give your writing a compliment.

Hi, thank you for the ask!

10. Top three favorite fic tropes

Hurt/Comfort, both emotional and physical – chef’s kiss if it’s both

I just love so much when characters are there for each other no matter what. Works both in relation to romance and in Gen fics, imo. 

2. Family 

I love all kinds of family bonds but Mother-Daughter relationships and Sister-Sister relationships are the best stuff! (No wonder I’m so much into Daphne and Marion)

Found-family as well <3

3. Enemies-to-lovers

But… I’m kinda picky when it comes to it. Some people seem to have a bland interpretation of the word ‘enemies’. Like, if they’re just bickering, that’s not enemies to lovers. Even if one of them is the mean bully and the other one is the victim, well… that’s not enemies-to-lovers. Enemies-to-lovers almost never works in a modern, non-fantasy setting, imo. It doesn’t help when they fall in love too quickly either. I think a good example in Winx Club would be Bloom/Valtor, though I personally dislike the ship because it deflects too much from my headcanons and personal preferences. (No hate whatsoever to people who like the ship.)

21. Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what’s your secret?

Yeah, that almost never happens. The only time I get close to guessing how long my story will be is when I’m writing a OS based entirely on the inspiration of the moment, which would be, when I write down something in only one sitting and I know it’ll be 3k words at best. But that rarely happens these days as I tend to be working on longer projects, and even as I outline, I keep it generic enough so I can have room for improvement. So if my original prediction is, idk, 50k words, it ends up being twice as longer. (Based on a true story.)

29. What’s the hardest thing about writing?

… Does writing count?

Nvm. I guess being consistent is a big deal for me. I’m trying to get better because there’s this WIP I really want to finish by the end of the year, but sometimes even writing 100 words feels like a huge ton of work.

I’m also having some troubles with fight scenes. Sadly, I need them badly these days so I’m trying to get better. Let’s see how that goes.

33. Give your writing a compliment.

Oh no.

I wouldn’t really know tbh because I tend to be very critical of what I write. I’ve been told I’m good enough at depicting my characters’ emotions through introspection, so there’s that.