#It is an insane process to write these little snippets and try to make them as good as they can be

[jorvikzelda]

the note in the jorvikpov masterdoc next to the prompt/summary for the next one saying July 19th vs. the date on my computer saying 2023-08-06: fight

[brekker-by-brekkerr]

There's no way you can convince me the writing for Eloise in part 2 of season 3 was good.

We're expected to believe that Eloise Bridgerton, who gets so upset about injustices to women, who cares deeply for her friends, would hear about Cressida's issues and be like "hmm yeah sucks to suck."

And people can't say it's because Eloise is only concerned with herself because we've seen her get so upset about the plight of other people, we've seen her going and engaging with conversations outside her circle, we've seen her empathizing with Theo and his circumstances, we've seen her trying to hunt down LW to help Pen back before she knew the truth.

JUST THIS SEASON we saw Eloise go to Cressida's house to check on her because she noticed that she was acting off. So you can't even tell me Eloise doesn't care about her. I feel like the writers are trying to gaslight the viewers in part 2 to thinking Eloise didn't ever care that much about Cressida when WE LITERALLY SAW THAT SHE DID. Cressida even says Eloise was a great friend to her.

Yeah, I understand that Eloise has a lot going on right now, and so to some extent, I could see her not being as present for Cressida as she needs. That happens. But the level to which they made Eloise act like she doesn't care is so insane and is clearly just to prop Pen up.

Eloise heard Cressida tell her about her circumstances so she should understand why she's doing what she's doing.

It just felt like such an insane 180 for Eloise to turn around and suddenly be like "Cressida is a viper" and "our friendship was falling apart anyway" and "I should never have trusted her," when the last thing we saw before part 2 was them BEING GOOD FRIENDS!! And when Cressida hadn't done anything bad, she just claimed to be LW RIGHT AFTER she had explained to Eloise how messed up her circumstances were and that she needed help getting out of them.

I get that the show was going to put Eloise and Pen back together because they have such a clear bias towards her character, but did they have to decimate Creloise in the process? Is Eloise not allowed to have multiple friendships?

Like, Pen can do all these terrible things and cry and be like "sorry about that" and it's fine El and her can be besties everyone will love her and forgive her. But Cressida was sometimes mean (and the show goes to lengths to show us how she became that way, even explicitly spelling it out with her mother's comments about how she raised her to believe in "every woman for herself" AND shows Cressida acknowledging her mistakes and showing true change and growth) and lies about being LW and she's dragged through the dirt, she's "the absolute worst," every single character says awful things about her while we see snippets of her in this dark awful house with her life falling apart and this is supposed to be something we root for?? Literally why. Why even make Cressida sympathetic if this is what you're going to do with her.

It feels so out of pocket for Eloise to be saying Cressida is soo horrible and etc. etc. when we SAW their friendship before. We saw Cressida taking in what Eloise was saying and making changes, we saw Cressida challenging Eloise's beliefs and making Eloise self-reflect. Eloise got a peek into how awful Cressida's home life was and into the kind of good person Cressida could be and that's just suddenly thrown out the window with such little support to back it up.

Even if Creloise just HAD to stop being friends, weren't there better ways of going about it? Couldn't they at least have waited till after the fake LW paper came out bashing the Bridgertons for Eloise to break off the friendship? Yes, that was Cressida's mom writing that, but Eloise wouldn't know that and that would more logically line up with Eloise's random coldness towards her.

Still, why exactly do they have to stop being friends? Why can't Eloise have different kinds of friendships, especially one like hers with Cressida that challenged her, one where they mutually helped each other become better people? I love that Eloise is going to go off on this adventure to Scotland and meet other people but could she not also have retained her friendship with Cressida??

I would have loved to see the Eloise I know and love in part 2 teaming up with Cressida to help her, scheming together, doing everything in her power to help her bestie because that's who she is. That's what we should have seen. Maybe it would take her a second to get there, since she was already wrapped up in the drama with her brother and Pen, but she wouldn't just completely brush off her friend. She would do something.

And I could go on about how messed up it was for the writers to make it pretty clear how bad things have become for Cressida and then make her face the most consequences ever, while Pen gets to ride off into the sunset all happily ever after despite doing things 1000x worse than anything Cressida ever did. I'm actually disgusted.

[seyaryminamoto]

Fic-to-Art #45: Happy Family

In this house we cope with hard times in fics by thinking of better days and brighter futures!

... By which I mean, the prompt for September was "hope" and to my utter surprise, my Patrons chose Happy Family, my story for Underneath Starlit Skies, as what gives them the most hope in these trying times :'D and to be fair, this particular story is about as opposite to what's going on in Gladiator atm as can be, so... makes sense :'D

This was a hilarious story to write and revisit, always makes me smile. It's another rare situation where I actually feel like I mostly managed to translate my vision of this scene, in my head, to what I wound up drawing... I really wanted to make sure all characters felt as active as could be (except for Mai, who didn't really care about how the game turned out or if Azula burned down a net, she was just getting justice for her son xD), and getting the sunset lighting right was also a big priority.

For anyone who didn't read this chapter (if you're in need of a pick-me-up over Gladiator, I absolutely recommend it haha), at this point, Azula, Sokka, Zuko and Katara were teamed up against Mari, Zi (Zuko and Suki's daughters), Hotaru (Sokka and Azula's daughter) and Mai in a kuai ball match, while the rest of the audience sat on the sidelines, enjoying the show. As Mai's joining the team to substitute for her son, Yuudai, resulted in a near-upset, Sokka and Azula decided they needed to get serious to clinch their victory and... well. I suppose the rest is history xD

It was a little bit insane to finish this in like... 3 days. But. Yeah. I did that. I should've posted earlier but I was nightshading and glazing and whatnot, I got busier than intended... but here it is! Hope you guys like it!

If you'd like to be part of the creative process behind these pieces, a $1 pledge is enough to make you eligible for suggesting and voting on prompts, as well as reading Gladiator snippets 6 days before the next chapter is released!

[romirola]

W.I.P. as We Wait for AO3

I wasn’t planning on sharing anything this week from the Power Swap fic I’ve been working on recently, but AO3 is down, so I wanted to put out something as we all wait for its return and support the volunteers defending the site from a malicious attack. (Tagged by @ejunkiet today and @persephotea a few days ago. Thank you, friends!)

This in-progress fic has surpassed 60K and the end is coming soon, but I’ve still got more to write. Until then, please enjoy this snippet and others I’ve posted, which you can find here, here, here, here, here, and here, if you are interested. 

Open tag to all writers to share whatever you’ve got during AO3′s defense. Open tag to all readers to send authors asks about their works/writing/process/anything. No reason that our wait for AO3 has to be a silent one!

“Asher…” Babe quivered, realizing their fangs had dropped. Sam had told Babe that, as an experienced vampire, he had gained enough discipline and self-control. That meant that Babe didn’t have to worry about accidentally losing control, but he had also warned them that hunger wasn’t something a vampire could ignore forever. “I…” Babe wiped the back of their hand across their cheek. “I’m hungry.” 

Asher took their hand to sandwich it between his. “Okay, Babe,” he soothed. He had presumed this would happen; the beta just hadn’t known exactly when. Although it was a relief Babe didn’t have to contend with a newborn’s impulses, Asher knew just how traumatic a vampire’s first feeding could be. “Let’s wake up Sam.” He threw off the covers, ready to spring into action. 

“No!” Babe yanked Asher back to the bed, their vampire strength making it easy to keep Asher in bed. “No, I don’t… I can’t…”

“You can,” Asher answered firmly. “You can’t starve yourself, Babe. I know it’s hard, but it’ll be alright.

Babe shook their head. “The thought of the blood bag makes me want to vomit,” they admitted, utterly embarrassed. “And I don’t want to feed on some stranger. Sam said I’d know how to do it without hurting them, because it’s so ingrained, but I’m scared. And grossed out. And I just want to be back in my own body, with my own eyes, with my own puny little human strength and speed, and be normal!” 

Asher gathered them close, letting Babe tip their head into his scarred chest. “Shhh, it’s okay,” he repeated a few times, gently bringing his hand to their back. “Alright, Babe, I’m here. Here with you. It’s okay.” The sight of his mate crumbling and lamenting their vampiric hunger broke Asher’s heart in two. As much as he wanted to wave his hand and grant his mate’s wish to be human again, he simply didn’t have that capability. Asher didn’t want to force Babe into feeding from a bag or donor, but he knew that it was vital that they fed, lest they risk real illness, if their hunger didn’t eventually drive them insane so that they accidentally hurt someone. He held them tighter, trying to think about what he could do to ease their terrible burden.

It was like a horrific puzzle. Babe was a vampire, and they needed to consume blood. They didn’t want to consume blood via a bag. They didn’t want to drink from a stranger willing to consent to a live feeding. So how else could they consume the blood they needed? What other option was there? 

“You don’t want the bag or a stranger,” Asher repeated once Babe quieted. They reluctantly brought their face up out of his chest to stare into their mate’s face. “That’s fine. You don’t need either.” Asher yanked at the collar of his big, baby-blue T-Shirt to reveal his neck. “Feed on me.” 

[crazylittlejester]

I have been extremely scatterbrained today, so I didn't make as much progress as I wanted, but I did get the first small portion of Fi's origin story in LU EAH AU written.

The main issue I'm having is with the way the plot is working out, Fi has a vibrant personality prior to her sacrifice, and I'm not sure how exactly to approach that because from what I've heard, she's very emotionless in Skyward Sword. I'm trying to use that to my advantage by having her personality be erased on account of her soul being wiped clean as a part of the sacrificial process, but I feel like I'm reverse engineering something here.

As a side note, I'm leaning into the aesthetic of the mythological stories I've read and studied with some of this. Fi's actual birth takes place before this, but she's pretty much born the same way that Aphrodite was, except in Fi's case she comes from a mountain spring instead of the ocean.

Similarly, Ghirahim is spawned around the same time from a volcanic eruption, making them roughly the same age. Technically, they're not siblings, but they have very strong sibling energy.

Another side note, I'm not completely sure how to justify Demise's existence, but I'm toying with the idea that he's either Hylia's brother or spawned into existence because the world couldn't handle the imbalance caused by Hylia's existence without any checks and balances.

As for why he's referred to as "the Jabberwocky," I don't have a good reason for that, except that it sticks to the theme. I'm really just trying to give Hylia and Demise's story the same aesthetic as a fairy tale or mythological story to try and make it blend in with the setting because I don't know what to do with it and this version of Fi is now living in my head rent-free so obviously I have to write it.

Anyway, here's the ~225 words I finished before I got a headache.

Hylia could do many things, but making a soul out of nothing was not one of them. And, unfortunately for her, a soul was exactly what she needed to create the Vorpal Sword. The one thing that could stop the Jabberwocky, either by outright slaying it, or sealing it away between the pages of the world where it would never be able to harm another person. The problem was finding a suitable soul or substitute for one, because there was a stark difference between the properties bestowed upon the souls of mortals and the essence that deities were made of. She herself was very powerful, albeit significantly less potent than Din, Farore, and Nayru were since she was their child in the strange sort of way that divine creation formed secondary deities. But she couldn't very well ask The Golden Goddesses to sacrifice one of themselves, for that would throw the entire world's balance into chaos. Each one was equally valuable to maintaining the precious equilibrium that kept the world in order, even if Nayru was the patron goddess of order and the one whose power was behind the natural laws of the universe. No, she either had to use the soul of a spirit or find enough mortal souls that they would be strong enough together to contain the sort of power that she needed to give Link.

every single time i see an ask from you I get so excited that I finish up everything I’m working on, grab my dog, and go get comfy and cozy somewhere and ask everyone near me to shut up so I can focus because these make my day and i take it very seriously 👁️👁️

MOUNTAIN SPRING AND VOLCANIC ERUPTION!!! I LOVE IT.

OUGH HYLIA’S BROTHER WOULD BE INSANE /pos

THANK YOU FOR THE LITTLE SNIPPET I LOVED IT DUDE YOU’RE COOKING AND IM SO OBSESSED. I LOVE THIS SO MUCH I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE MORE!!!!!

[nitewrighter]

I posted 13,228 times in 2022

That's 428 more posts than 2021!

2,199 posts created (17%)

11,029 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@andthentheywilleatthestars

@telltaletypist

@hotvampireadjacent

@pyropiano

@spacepunksupreme

I tagged 7,507 of my posts in 2022

Only 43% of my posts had no tags

#we queue - 2,700 posts

#overwatch - 243 posts

#dracula daily - 189 posts

#dc - 176 posts

#asoiaf - 175 posts

#spy x family - 154 posts

#fe3h - 154 posts

#dracula - 149 posts

#elden ring - 142 posts

#sw - 104 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#she shouldn’t even fucking have it you can bet your ass that ‘tswift’s plane’ is being used as a selling point for the rich fucks using it

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

hi! is there any chance of you writing a series/more snippets around the cinderella telling you posted a bit ago? i really loved it!

Continuing from this post.

---

The prince is sitting on the steps, his eyes aren't quite focused and he's turning over the glass slipper in his hands. What the hell was that? He's trying to place her face in his memory but everything’s just... fffft. Gone. Blank. He remembers what she said. But even the pitch is weird--it could be any voice.

“Your highness?”

The prince glances over his shoulder at the Captain of the Royal Guard.

“Oh--hey---” the prince blinks a few times.

“...awfully odd, that girl,” the Captain folds his arms.

“I--” the prince draws a breath in through his teeth, “ I need to find her.” 

“Understood,”  the captain of the guard nods, “I’ll send guard details on every road leading out of the palace.”

“What?! No--that’s insane! She’s going to think I’m--No, I can’t approve of that...” the Prince is pressing his fingertips to his forehead, his other hand still gripping the slipper.

“I gotcha,” the guard captain says with a wink, “’Don’t’ send horsemen after her.”

“Did you just--Brad--don’t--no. I said no. No winks. Don’t send any guards after her, I’ll look psychotic.”

“Eh. Little late for that.” Brad the guard captain shrugs.

“What?”

“Well she and her whole carriage slipped past security somehow, and she got into the ball without even being announced by the Master of Ceremonies. That’s a security risk. And she seemed suspiciously chummy with the waitstaff. And if she ditched the party in this much of a hurry, she might’ve taken state secrets or something. So, obviously, I sent the horsemen...” he checks his pocket watch, “3 minutes ago.”

The prince pales. “She just--she said she needed to get home before midnight. I think she has a messed-up family situation, if I make things worse for her...”

“Or maybe she needs to reach a drop off point for whatever she’s stolen.”

 “You don’t know if anything’s missing!”

“Not yet, we don’t.”

“Brad!”

“It’s protocol.”

“Protocol!? I’m the goddamned crown prince! And you’re sending armed guards after the love of my life!”

Brad blinks at him, not really sure how to process that. “Uh...”

“Ig-ignore that. Don’t tell my dad I said that,” the prince pinches the bridge of his nose, “Brad I swear to god, don’t tell my dad I said that. I was panicking and--and--You know how weird he gets about this stuff.”

“Yeah--no--totally, your highness,” Brad looks out over the palace gardens, “Look, we can just say we wanted to make sure she got home safely.... when we catch up with her, I mean.” 

“Send a messenger pigeon telling them to hang back from her actual house--but get her address--maybe I can find a way to--to explain things... figure out what’s going on...” He’s wrapped both hands around the shoe again. 

“That hers?” Brad nods at the slipper.

“...yeah...”

“Love of your life, huh?”

See the full post

7,164 notes - Posted February 1, 2022

#4

Here’s the original thread from Twitter but I want all my followers protesting the recent supreme court decision to stay safe. 

[Image description: A screenshot of a tweet from Rh3t0ric (@avglibsoc) that says ‘In lieu of Roe V Wade being overturned, I’m going to compile a thread of any protest advice I can find’ followed by an infographic illustrating the following:

PROTESTING SAFELY

What to Wear:

-Nondescript, solid color clothing; cover identifying tattoos.

-Goggles & mask

-Heat resistant gloves

-Emergency Contacts written down

-Tie your hair up

What to bring:

-Water for drinking & tear gas

-Snacks

-Cash/change & ID

-Bandages & First Aid supplies

-Washcloth

-Earplugs

-Protest signs

DON’T BRING:

-Cell phone without first turning off Face/Touch ID, going into airplane mode, and disabling data

-Jewelry

-Anything you don’t want to be arrested with

-Contact lenses

/end image description]

15,521 notes - Posted June 24, 2022

#3

38,194 notes - Posted September 8, 2022

#2

I was about to make a post about like... how my family has this lemon tree out front, and one of the funniest things about having a lemon tree is occasionally I’ll be out in front doing whatever and I’ll see someone walking past and quickly grab a lemon off the tree and stuff it in their pockets as quick as they can like they’re shoplifting. 

I was about to make a post about how that’s funny and how, y’know people can have our lemons, it’s not a big deal because the tree pumps them out like gangbusters, but I really can’t make that post without thinking of... them...

50,633 notes - Posted March 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

“The prince just fell in love with Cinderella because of her looks!”

Wrong. Okay, picture this--

So there’s the prince, okay? He’s like, smack dab in the center of the ballroom, and he is like, horrifically aware that this whole ball thing is a result of his dad falling into a panic about the royal lineage or whatever and he’s stuck listening to highborn girl after highborn girl, all lined up, introducing themselves like, “Oh yeah my family’s been a longtime supporter of the crown, and I think you’re cute, *cough* I’ve been told I have child-bearing hips *cough* Who said that? Anyway--” and Princey boy is just smiling through it, he has been the center of attention for entirely too long, he misses his emotional support horse, and is just internally like “Someone please kill me now.” And then... he sees her--This isn’t a love at first sight thing, this is a ‘what the hell is going on over there’ thing, because this girl has not gotten into the Debutante line for a solid 45 minutes. 

She’s just at the hors d’oeuvres table going HAM on the prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, and like, she’s polite about it, she’s happy to move aside for other people grabbing punch and canapes (and she’s really so sweet with the wait staff, it’s kind of cute because they’re like... definitely not used to being acknowledged) but it’s like, “Damn girl, did you not eat today?” and then the prince is kind of stuck with the uncomfortable thought of ‘how many girls starved themselves to fit into a corset for this.’ And then the Prince realizes he’s missed the past 4 Debutante introductions because he’s watching Mystery girl hork down crab rangoons. So he’s like, “Excuse me” and manages to break free from the never-ending parade of girls who will hop on his dick for status.

 And as he’s approaching Mystery Girl, it’s kind of hitting him that something’s not quite natural about her. Not fake, but not quite real. But at the same time this whole evening’s been just a whole circus of people acting fake as hell, so like, someone seeming a little off doesn’t seem bad, necessarily. And he sidles up to her like, “Hi,” and she’s like, “Oh--hey, have you tried the tapenade?” and she points to one of the plates, and at this point, he could hit her with the “You don’t know who I am, do you?” deal or the “Very funny, I see your play” deal, but at this point it occurs to him that, no, he hasn’t had anything to eat throughout this whole damn ball, partially because of being stuck in the debutante parade, partially because of nerves, and there’s something so disarming about the question that he grabs a crostini and she still seems so food-focused that it doesn’t seem possible that this is a play. So they both grab little plates and ditch the party.

She pretty much clears her plate in under two minutes and then has half of his plate, he’s cool with it, mostly he’s just absolutely fascinated listening to her.

See here’s the thing about Cinderella:

1. She doesn’t know he’s the prince. Like yeah, he’s been at the center of the room, but she’s kind of spent half the party eagerly looking around everywhere she’s allowed to go (”Have you seen rose garden? Have you seen the solarium??” further confirmation that she doesn’t know who she’s talking to) and the other half stuffing her face with food. 

2. She assumes she’s never going to see anyone here tonight again, and no one recognizes her, so she has no filter.

So she’s just talking about whatever with this guy. He seems cool. She talks about her friends, who are rats. She makes little outfits for them. Sometimes they bring her little gifts. She is already the coolest person the prince has ever met because of this. She pretty much offhandedly talks about whatever is fucked up about the kingdom that would take his advisors two hours of hemming and hawing and watering down to address. She just says it like it’s nothing, just funky little things she’s observed, and again, she’s not aware that he’s the prince, but it’s still pretty damn bold to bring up at a literal royal ball.

She... seems to have the majority of graces that lots of girls from Respectable Families™ have, but there’s something strange about it, something simultaneously broken and hardened, like the way you can see where ice has thawed and re-frozen. Also the way she talks about her family, and the way she avoids talking about her family-- is raising several red flags, not in the “Oh this is another person trying to take advantage of me” sense, but in the “Oh fuck, something’s gone really wrong and you need help” sense and also lowkey a ‘damn is she even getting fed?’ sense. But he can’t say, ‘Hey, that’s not fucking normal for people to say that to you or treat you that way. We need to get you out of there,’ without sounding crazy himself, so for now, he’s just going to chill, make sure she’s comfortable, and keep enjoying the evening. She’s somehow befriended like 4 of the waitstaff so they’re willing to cover for them while they disappear for a little bit, and they get plenty of time to talk, but eventually it hits her that she hasn’t danced yet and she’s like “Come on! I bet we can make the prince jealous!” and he just bursts out laughing at that like “hell yeah, let’s make the prince jealous. He’s a real asshole.” Like clearly she’s having a good time, so who is he to make it weird? So they head back to the ballroom and they dance. And our girl, Mystery Girl, Cinderella, while they’re dancing, becomes acutely aware that everyone is staring. That doesn’t seem quite right. Like, yeah she’s hot, she knows she’s hot, but at least a good third of the party should still be focused on the prince, right? Where is that guy, anyway?

Oh.

Oh wait.

Oh shit.

And Princey Boy actually picks up on her realization and they whisper argue for like 3 minutes. “Why didn’t you tell me?! Now I feel like a goddamn idiot!” “I dunno it was nice being treated like a normal person” “Well me treating you like a normal person makes me a goddamn felon or something did you consider that?!” “Hey--Hey--it’s cool--you’re cool--I think you’re amazing, and if anyone says shit about you, I can shut it down.” “Well I don’t like that! That’s fucked up!” “I agree. It is fucked up, but I believe in you, and I think you should have a chance, and I’m here to back you up. I know power is fucked up right now. I know. But are you cool with working with me to change that?” And our girl Cindy pauses on that for a couple seconds, because.. she’s just spent hours with this guy and like.. she knows he’s a good guy, she knows he means well, so she’s like, “I don’t know how long I can actually work with you.” and the prince is like “Look, I know your home situation is complicated right now, but I really think we can--”

And then the bell starts ringing.

It’s midnight.

And then she takes off in a panic, and our prince just met the coolest person ever, and like, he’s pretty sure whatever situation they’re headed back to is fucked up, and all he’s got going to find her is a shoe. A shoe. 

94,718 notes - Posted January 29, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[youngster-monster]

i DO live like this and my discord wips are a mess, i have to literally tag names onto the end of them because my writing style makes me not use names for like 300 words so i have to keep shoehorning the characters names in so that i know which snippet it was and it is Awful you would not believe the sheer state of that snippets channel

sometimes rotting is a very necessary part of the creative process!! on occasion you just have to grow moss and become nothing but bones and after a while it’s like Okay i can write now :)

fic writing is so EASY compared to all the context and lore and world building and character growth nd MAN i just wanted to write my silly guys being silly but now i have a doc open to the lore of how gods work so that my stupid guy will make a little more sense!!! what IS this!!!!!! when i write fanfiction i just sit down and recount wow lore to myself for 30 minutes while making beastly noises and then i’m normal again and can write fanfiction!! obviously fic writing is still difficult because of.. the horrors.. but at least i can blame the faults in my fic on blizzard :)

i was about to fight for the honor of my Totally Organized Discord WIPs but then i thought about it and yeah.. yeah. they’re kind of. messy… they all have individual channels and i am too scared to look thru them lest the spirit of my old work come alive to kill me or something

my ships are always so stupidly niche i can almost guarantee you my wip would be the first fic in MONTHS if not EVER for some of these anime fandoms i had one for a ship that didn’t even have a TAG i didn’t even know what to do i was so startled!! on the bright side though by virtue of simply posting a fic it could potentially spur other people to write about it which would be a net gain so… perhaps!

that is so real of you.. i don’t have any right actually i just remembered i used to try to read fanfic on my 3ds and it was terrible it wouldn’t even load the page half the time and i frequently had to mess with the internet because my 3ds hated staying connected to wi-fi

They Are In Character To Me (putting a blanket over canon characterization) in my heart this Is how they are in canon and if you try to tell me otherwise? well uhhhh uh (i explode)

staring in fascination and dread at whatever you're doing with your fic organization. i cannot stress enough how insane it sounds. compels me though

you're 100% right. i don't write i mostly Shamble and Crawl, shedding moss and fungi after myself,

be careful anon. the line between "quick lore to make things make sense" and "oops! all worldbuilding!" is very thin. then again if you go over too much you can just turn the whole thing into a ttrpg campaign for your friends or something :)

independant channels of discord wips 🤝 one gargantuan wip document in your notes app striking the fear of god into the writer's heart at the thought of digging through the damn thing

being the one (1) person to write for a ship is Better Than Drugs actually and you should definitely do it,

[koishua]

oh i love you for rbing hee angsts for me even though they leave a huge impact— yours specifically, for some reason ( im saying this again, vie, drop the secrets ) AND NO IT WASN'T JUST 'OH POOR BOY' FIC i mean maybe, yeah, sort of? but i was having a terrible terrible morning and my intention was to read a cute candle light dinner fic heeseung but who knew you had plans on lighting candles for the reader instead :/

AND THE LONG FIC. i am very intrigued actually, tell me more i think i'm ready to consume more of heeseung on the verge of insanity ( i think we're calling him that every time he's in your fic ) now that i've woken up from a power nap

no bc im trying to look at my fics and i can't find proper dialogue like where are the conversations?? my secret i think is just a crap ton streams of consciousness bye 🚶🚶reader and hee barely ever talk it's just like: here's what's happening in this poor little meow meow's heart and mind. have it, ty and goodbye!!

im sorry for catching you on a bad morning tho ngl ☹️☹️ but also pls 😭😭 that's so funny actually i only have two proper-ish hee fluffs and one's a blind date gone wrong but also right??? and another is just sleepy hee 🚶🚶

the longfic!! yes!! i deleted it and a bunch of others in my bout of fury and annoyance at my writing (more like lack of ability to write actual plot lmao) before i went on that two month writing hiatus so it's gone rip 🤭🤭 but it was something i'd been toying with for so so long like you know that one scene in fever of hee just tired and in bed?? it was inspired by that but instead of horny it was just sadness and sorrow lmao it's actually hilarious how that came to be the more i think about it

it was originally going to start off with that snippet i posted, which was the prologue and it would then spiral into these glimpses at his inability to wake up from this quiet and empty world he'd built for himself in your wake. lots of moments where i was showing him doing and feeling absolutely nothing for weeks on end and just the menial things yada yada and one day the 02z would try to unsuccessfully break his door down so they send a wellness check and whatnot and that's where his healing process began i guess.

it would be rocky and he'd constantly succumb back into his grief bc just like in "second death" he'd become so attached to reader that without them he just wasn't whole enough to function. it'd then go into flashbacks where i was showing everyone how up until then, he had only been living for you and only you. but the boys would take turns crashing at his place and taking him out to places and doing things that would slowly make him return to himself. god there was this one instance where they'd catch him dancing by himself in the candlelight and he was so out of himself that it honestly broke even my heart. they would realize that he kept seeing reader as if they were physically there as a means to cope and it was so heartbreaking i can't begin explaining it to you ugh

eventually the more he started to feel better and the less he started relying on drinking, the more sinister your ghost would become and there would be times where he'd wake up from a dream he had of something nice (other than you at long last) to your ghost just smiling eerily at him from beside his bed, telling him that he was starting to forget about you and how cruel that was of him and that was the first time the boys would ever hear him cry after your departure. the guilt would eat him up alive. logically he knows that you'd want him to be happy and move on but the part in his brain that's so self loathing just makes him see you everywhere so that he never ever forgets about you.

anyhow that's all i had written i think and revisiting it makes me SO want someone to write this out for me 😞😞

[safyresky]

Legit wanna ask you all of these, but I’ll try to be abstemious! (“Try” being the operative word) —

How do you choose which POV to write from?

What’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

How do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

What is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain? 

How do you choose where to end a chapter?

Share a snippet from a WIP (please)

How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

Of the characters you write for, which is your favourite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

Do you have a favourite scene that you’ve written for CS? 

(I’m sorry for asking so many!) 

💜 

Thanks K! I'll be proactive and read more this shit now, lmao

POV: I'm a basic bitch, I go third person always and tend to pick the character who's taking precedence in the scene for perspective! On the rare occasion I go first person, it's because the character (Usually Jacqueline) is breaking the fourth wall to make themselves HEARD and who am I to refuse a muse such as Jacquie? She's in my walls, man. Not even paying rent. Unbelievable.

Common writing tip: Said is dead. Said is NOT dead! It's NOT and I will USE IT and you will find it to be INVISIBLE and the dialogue will SLAP and SAID IS NOT DEAD!

Emotional scenes: I very much do put myself in their shoes at the moment! You should see the faces I make when I write these bad boys lmao. Sometimes I'll pretend to be watching them acted out when walking around and then bc I talk with my hands I look insane to the casual onlooker.

At their heart, most if not all emotional scenes have some basis of my own experiences entwined with them! Not like, direct from Dani, straight to Video Cassette and DVD, but like. I think of situations where I have felt the same and try to describe how I was feelin/pour those moments into it. The only exception to this rule is the Dite Comes Out snippet, which is 100% based on my own experiences when discovering asexuality and trying to talk about it with friends and such!

When writing a villain, what to remember: LMAO GOOD QUESTION! IDK! My first thought is to say to remember that they're people too. Not that I'm out here like SYMPATHIZE WITH YOUR VILLAINS (she says, writing redemption arcs for villains) bc some villains are just ASSHOLES and are MADE that way so you DON'T sympathize with them! Bc they SUCK! What I mean to say is that more often than not I find villains have their own motivations/thoughts, like heroes or other characters, and they think they are in the right, or that what they are working to do is what needs to be done. It's good to remember that, especially when writing scenes and such from their POV. They have motivations and things that drive them

AND! Just bc they think a certain way does NOT mean you do!!!! Get that Anti culture RIGHT OUT OF HERE! GREY IS A COLOUR THAT EXISTS AND WHAT YOU WRITE DOES NOT MEAN THAT YOU ARE INTO AN IDEA/BELIEVE THIS IDEA/WHATEVER. It just means you have a story to tell and by GODS you are GONNA TELL IT

When to end a chapter: I have a process for this and no idea how to explain it except for THE VIBES. Usually if it's a fluffy chapter, I end it on a high note; if it's a plotty chapter, I end it on either A) a reveal or B) a cliffhanger. I definitely prefer ending on like, nice statements that read like a natural end point. This does lead to me on occasion trying to write a smooth little closing paragraph; it's not a bad habit but I think I can absolutely do more natural ends without feeling the need to add a statement that's like "and end chapter", if that makes sense, lol. Practise makes perfect!

Share a snippet: Please enjoy this funny bit from a very self-indulgent wip called "The House That Jacqueline Forgot"

AHEM.

Heading back into the hallway, she bopped her head into the space before the basement. A smaller room, she had had it added on way back when. Hoping to avoid ruining the hardwood floors, she had thought it a good idea to have a mudroom put on the side. It also made the basement entrance less terrifying, given that the house was built in the Limestone City, and as such, the basement was much shorter than you would expect. She wondered if the fireplace downstairs was still in one piece. She’d have to check. And then probably get an HVAC going. Lady knew she’d need it given the hot Ontario summers.  She stopped in front of the door once more, looking up the stairs. It hit her then, all at once: if she wanted to get this house in working order, it was going to be a very long road. And the upstairs would probably be twice as bad as down here!  An overwhelming sense of despair briefly clouded her thoughts as she thought of all the work ahead. She almost sunk down on the floor right then and there, were it not for the four creaks on the stairs outside followed by a loud SNAP, and a very familiar voice swearing.  Whipping around, she pulled back the door to find a large hole in her front porch.  “You've got a hole in your deck,” Jack pointed out nonchalantly. He was leaning on the rail of the portion of the deck overlooking the garden, looking as casual as can be.  “That’s so funny, because moments ago when I got here, that hole wasn’t there.”  “Are you implying that I fell through your deck?” Jack asked, aghast. The railing started to creak below him. He sprung off it like it was actively on fire.  Jacqueline side stepped the hole, standing beside her brother. She picked something off of his lapel. “Yes, I am,” she said, flourishing the piece of worn, red, wood that had escaped Jack's magical clean snap.  “Well, I can’t argue with that,” he said, taking the wood chip and flinging it into the garden.  “What are you doing here?” Jacqueline asked, hopping back inside the house. “I thought you were in the Alps today, storming it up.”  “I was,” Jack said, following her in. “Really enjoying it too, until my lovely stormy walk was disrupted by a wave of despair so intense, I nearly fell down the mountain.”  Jacqueline flushed, looking away. “Sorry. I just had a moment. It’s just…it’s fine. It’s alright.”  “But are you?” Jack asked.  “Eh...” she shrugged, pushing the door open as far as it would go. “I mean. You know. I want to say I’ve seen worse but...I have my work cut out for me,” she said, gesturing to the inside of the house.  Jack let out a low whistle, stepping inside and taking it all in. “Wow.” 

Describing my style: another good question! Idk! I'd say character-driven, for the most part. They all have little arcs and growth to do and the story structure/plot helps achieve this goal!

Fave character to write: Jacqueline's so fucking funny, and I LOVE when Bernard gets sassy. That's always fun to write. Blaise has become a surprising fan favourite (people's responses to him may have swayed me a bit, ESPECIALLY the husbando's love of the "fiery dilf") and I've found myself really enjoying writing him! And the Twins are a fucking RIOT, and lately, when they're on their own with Jack in more emotional moments, they've been surprising the shit out of me. It's been fun! They are so tiny and full of chaos but they care about their siblings so so so much 🥺🥺🥺

Oh, and Adria! Once you all meet her proper, you'll see why she's such a delight >:)

Something I pride myself on in my writing: the convos all sound natural! I literally say them out loud and write them how I'd say them/hear them. Hence the abuse of capitals and lowercase, punctuation, and half italicized words ;)

You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it? Abuse of the semi-colon, evil uncles, horrible puns, and the dialogue reading like MSN in 2007 (see above point)

Do you have a favourite scene that you’ve written for CS? 

SO MANY. AH! My absolute favourites are:

Chapter 11: Blinter, with the chair and the Jack look and the ...you know look the pair of them have

Chapter 22: The window breaking and Blaise being like please tell me that wasn't our kids and Jack yelling SCATTER as the four siblings BOOK it and Blinter side eyes one another like alright, damage control time.

Chapter 16: Autumn and Winter's chat, and Spring and Winter's chat. there's something about the atmosphere of a quiet, dark kitchen while you carefully tidy, the people you love nearby having a riot while you take a moment to yourself, really, really hits. and I like when Winter tells Spring off and then tells her she needs to chill, she's doing okay, really (she being Spring in this case)

Chapter 23: Jack and Jacqueline's whole chat at the Springs, and then Jacquie pushing Jack into the pool and him dragging her into it too lmao. Not to mention the WOULD YOU HELP ME KILL A GUY bit!

I've also got some bangers I've yet to write but am VERY excited to! Chapter 27 especially is gonna be a HIT

thanks for the ask, K! I'm glad you did as many as you did! This has cheered me up SUBSTANTIALLY today 🥰🥰🥰

[satancopilotsmytardis]

7, 9, and 17!

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

I like just being able to make something entirely with words! Whole worlds, histories, feelings! Just made out of strings of letters. I have always been a person who like making things, so writing is a wonderful way of doing so for me.

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

I believe that the energy of living things must be changed in some fundamental way when it leaves the body and I believe that people may not fully understand that process. (I have no fucking clue but sometimes places do be 'spooky' in strange imperceptible ways and I'm open to the possibility that ghosts are the cause.)

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

I have. NINE current WIPS. Thankfully I can group up a good number of them.

I have a bunch of installments in the Mishap series that I'm working on which while looking like nothing more than PWPs, are actually a fun way of exploring emotional intimacy as much as physical intimacy because one of my favorite things to do is discuss the idea of BDSM as a way of exploring vulnerabilities that it might be uncomfortable or frightening to do in other settings.

There's also Bonded, which I am really struggling with. I started writing the series just because I was having fun playing with a lot of silly ideas, but Shattered is much more serious in tone and while I usually love that, and I have a full outline of Shattered as well as outlines for the next two installments as well, I just haven't found the joy in it that I did in the beginning. I really like how chapter 6 wraps up, and it's been torture trying to move on to chapter 7. I don't know when I'll get over that hump, but it's been 3 months and I still haven't managed it yet.

Tumblr prompts, going well enough. Taking this as an opportunity to just write fast(ish) snippets. I often really want to linger and show how relationships develop thoroughly because (and especially with ShigaDabiHawks) I need a believable progression to show how those character could have possibly ended up together when they're at odds with each other's goals. However, for these I'm just going ham and that's a nice little change of pace.

Stalling out on the original piece (shigadabi with the serial numbers filed off because I wanted to use an original fantasy setting I've used for other OC work). Having trouble balancing how to progress the plot without losing the spark between the two characters after a... disagreement.

The Hanahaki piece is my fucking baby right now. Feeling as good about this one as I did about Honeytrap and Grey Area. It's so achingly tender and I love it to absolute bits. I have one area that I'm still trying to make a decision on and thought that the tumblr prompts would be a good way to step back and give it some breathing room after banging out 27k for it in two days. I'm very excited about this one.

And last but not least, the Time Travel fic! I'm enjoying this one too but I'm thinking about it logistically right now and trying to decide if I'm going to make it a multi-chapter or not. I usually don't like to do that because I write very differently for a multi-chap than I do for a one-shot and I much prefer the style of writing for an insanely long one-shot than a multi-chap (yes this may be why Shattered is fucking me up so badly, also why I really hated Playing Favorites by the end), but I'm not sure if it would be too jarring to go from Hawks' POV to Dabi's after minimum of 12K in Hawks' POV, but I need some scenes to be from Dabi's so eeehhhh. I'll figure it out. I like this one, alternate timelines are always fun to play around with and the butterfly effect here is so fucking strong.

I think I'm going to be finishing the Tumblr prompts before going back to the Hanahaki fic, but we'll see! And this is all dependent on me not starting any more pieces in the meantime. Which. Oof.

Thanks for asking!

[sundere1181]

you made your own version of turtles??

tell me everything 👀👀

sorry it took me so long to answer it i WAS gonna put a detailed description of everything here but it got deleted halfway through writing it and i am Too Tired to rewrite it so here's a bunch of different discord snippets ive written abt it + a character list thing.

Donnie: Spotted pond turtle. The oldest. Deaf, uses modified sign language and AAC to communicate. Has the power of foresight. Very powerful visions can cause seizures (not fun) the spots on his shell are often painted purple by Leo.

Leo: River cooter. Middle child #1. Likes to cause trouble for fun and do dangerous things. the artist of the family. Has lightning/electric powers. Speaks fluent Japanese and sign language. 

Mikey: Gulf coast box turtle. Middle child #2. Fire powers. Looks up to Leo a lot and often goes with him on his trips to cause trouble. Punk, wears lots of black and orange. Has a minor crush on Casey (but like who doesnt)

Raph: Albino wood turtle. Youngest child. Short ass mf. Density manipulation (ITS COOL I PROMISE LOOK https://powerlisting.fandom.com/wiki/Density_Manipulation ) . Often doesn't get visibly/verbally angry at his brothers, but does get very obviously violently angry at literally everyone else. (AKA rise raph around his family, 2012 raph with everyone else)

thinking about the fact the Kraang while trying to make the baroque turtles into super soldiers because their robot bodies are weak af gave them like these insane powers so when Splinter adopted them this poor, grieving, traumatized old man had to not only take care of four rambunctious and mischievous turtle babies, he had to take care of  four rambunctious and mischievous turtle babies who could set themselves on fire and walk through walls and short circuit every electronic device in his house just by sneezing, and have prophetic visions. poor guy

like imagine the terrible twos splinter is running around trying to find Raph because its bath time but he keeps walking through sewer walls, he's carrying Mikey but he has to drop him because he spontaneously burst into flames again, Donnie is literally the only one who is in the bath because he knows they're going to watch his favorite movie as a treat afterwards, and Leo read somewhere that electricity powers mean you can possibly read someone's mind, so he's following Splinter around trying to read his mind. and splinters like "How did I get into this situation"

okay so in this vers Splinter and his father had come from Japan (Haven't figured out why yet) and somehow ended up in a sort of rebellion against the kraang (it's just them two trying to thwart their plans) ne day they go in because they heard they're experimenting with some kind of supersoldiers, and they find out that they mutated four teeny tiny helpless baby turtles. So they're like "we gotta save them!!" But in the process they set off a mutagen bomb accidentally which mutates Splinter into the rat (Idk they just had some sopping wet pathetic rat dna in it or something) Splinters dad fucking dies but he manages to escape to the sewers with the turtles and trains them in ninjitsu. However, 15 years later he learns that his father DIDN'T die, he was brainwashed by the kraang and is now the Shredder and he wants to fucking kill them

I am also currently thinking about. newverse karai (Sentient robot)

I wasn't originally going to have voice claims for the baroque boys but then I listened to War! and heard Zach Callison go "What? You didn't know?" And now that's B!Leo's voice claim

the baroque was an artstyle in the late 1400s and as told by this snippet, this fits my turtles in more ways than one; the turtles, who are mutants and therefore not accepted by society and probably would be described by humans as grotesque or ugly or whatever. But they're also elaborate. Leo (who is the artist of the family in this version) cut's his mask tails into little lightning bolts and starches them so they keep their shape. raph is a creamsicle. Mikey is punk (spikes) and also has his mask tails cut into little flames (unstarched, though) and even Donnie has Leo paint the spots on his shell purple

(not a discord snippet, but i havent actually talked about my kraang or bishop in depth yet) in this version, the kraang (who look more like 2012 kraang but arent a hivemind) are still aliens ofc, but thereres these four kraang who are ostracized by their alien society bc theyre kinda pathetic, so they banded together and came to earth in hopes of taking it over and transforming it yadda yadda to prove to the other kraang they arent bitch ass losers. when they get there, however, they meet a cyborg woman with a mysterious past who offers to make them a wonderous mostly robotic army. they agree, not realizing that shes manipulative and insane, and she ends up just taking over their whole thing, the four kraang are kind of just her servants now but she works under their name. (this is bishop, by the way. if rise can make casey a woman than i can make bishop a woman #feminism)

[ectogeo-rebubbles]

Hey! I'm curious, what does your writing process normally look like? So for example how do you come up with ideas and build upon them? Everyone does this differently so I'm curious what this looks like for you! Thanks for entertaining this gay plebian's ask.

Hello, friend, thanks for the ask!!!! <3

I get ideas and inspiration from a ton of places! Main sources: other fanworks (art and fics and amvs and meta and shitposts...), discussions with friends, sitting down and closing my eyes and thinking "hmmmm what would be an extremely silly scenario I could make my faves have to deal with?", trying desperately to sleep and instead having intrusive fic thoughts, rewatching DS9 eps and trying to figure out the absolute minimum that would have to change/occur in order to get any given characters to kiss during or after the events of that episode...

As for the rest of the writing process, it varies a little bit but generally starts with me writing down bullet points about the key details/plot points of the fic (and I gotta do this quick, before I forget!). Then I start writing prose from whatever is the earliest point in the fic that is calling out to me, screaming to be written (and go back and fill in more setup later if it needs it), to get my momentum going. Or sometimes a part of the outline gets a little out of hand and turns into pseudo-prose bc I can't contain my excitement about that one bit, so I start by cleaning that part up and writing that part of the scene out while it's clear in my mind how I want it to go. Often my multichapter fics start with one chapter or moment clearly in my mind, and I have to, like, extrapolate the rest of the plot from there (which I sometimes do not figure out until a few chapters into the fic lmaooo! I cannot recommend highly enough starting a multichapter fic with a solid premise but no idea where the fic will go, and then coming up with the full outline only after you get your bearings by posting a few chapters hahahaha).

As I write, I skip over hard parts or stuff I haven't figured out yet and leave placeholder notes for myself. Then, after I've jumped around and written all the parts I'm excited about (which usually happens at about 75% of the eventual total word count of the fic), begins the less fun task of connecting/rearranging the disparate chunks and editing them for flow, internal consistency, and characterization lol. Well, I shouldn't say less fun, sometimes it's very fun and it can feel like solving a satisfying puzzle, but usually this part is much, much harder for me than the initial drafting stage (but it's usually a necessary step, for me anyway, bc I cannot ever seem to write fics from beginning to end without skipping over stuff, and usually my idea of how things should happen in the fic changes constantly).

Also, woven throughout all of this process is the CRUCIAL step of inundating my friends' DMs with my unhinged fic thoughts, and brainstorming solutions to plotholes/characterization issues with them, and testing out ideas/snippets on them, haha! I LOVE this part of writing tbh, the part where you tell people what you are writing (or simply what you want to write) and they say "bestie you are insane" and egg you on! ^_^ <3

[eluvion]

for the fic writer ask game: 3, 16, 23, 74, 76 (for hope is our four-letter word)? i hope that's not too many lol

love your writing! wishing you joy <3

hi!! this took like a million years so apologies on that!! ive been packing for and moving into college the past few days so i was a little busy but!!!! tysm for the ask love!!!! this did end up like mega long so i put my answers under the cut

3. Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

usually, my fics really start as disconnected snippets in my notes app. i usually sort the notes by fandom, and at some point the snippets kind of amalgamate into something more tangible. then it gets shipped off into a google doc where i basically just work at it (on my computer or my phone) until i have a full fic/chapter. i usually write more emotional scenes on my phone, and it's just a Thing to do in between Real Life Things. then!! once im finished writing i read it over a billion times, read through the dialogue out loud to make sure it sounds natural, and then ask my beta (my beloved @izarie) to edit through. and then after THAT i post it!!

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

right now, i have two main ones that are just sort of revolving around my brain. there's my flinch from roy's pov ted lasso fic, because that made fic me so so sooo insane and sometimes i just cant stop thinking abt scenes where jamie is super inside his own head and what roy is Thinking Abt during that time. here's a bit of that:

Roy wonders, not for the first time, how he kicked Jamie out at the beginning of all this. Jamie had that look on his face—even while he was making Jamie-like complaints and giving Roy shit—like he was going to cry. And Roy just threw his clothes back and forced him to call an Uber and watched him slump around himself from the window. Roy knows better than that. He was raised better than that.  So okay. Maybe Roy gets it, in that context. Jamie holds onto shit that hurts him on the off chance that it will hold him close. And as much as he fucking despises it, that puts him and James Tartt in the same category, that place in Jamie’s head where he keeps the people that could help but choose not to. Roy really doesn’t want to know how many people are in that box.

and a succession post-canon roman-centric fic! it will be like. a little bit ooc just by virtue of having a nice(r) ending because that's how succession Is but you know. this is what i call healing. here's a bit of that:

Kendall’s all teeth. “Fuck you. You're not better. You’ve—you’ve fucking imploded everything you’ve ever done.” “Yeah, ‘cause you're the fuckin’ picture of a success story.” Roman sinks deeper into his seat. Leans into the car window. “Real wolf of fucking Wall Street, getting fucked out of Daddy’s company because you couldn’t play act a real CEO.” Kendall’s hands twitch.  Roman smiles. “What are you gonna do? Hit me about it?”

and also like. forever in my brain is the elektra greek tragedy fic in which i have feelings abt my doomed by the narrative failwife <333

23. Best writing advice for other writers?

i think it was ve schwab who gave the metaphor of a creative well, and that for as much Stuff (art, music, podcasts books, ect) you put in, you get more out. i try to keep my media diet fairly diverse (not just kids shows or serialized tv or classic books, but more of a combination of it all. it really forces me to like. have to break barriers in my mind, as well as like!! keeping audience and tone and all that in my mind while i read/watch/listen.

74. You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

it's hard for me to really place any of the hallmarks of my writing that are super super distinct but!! Time Things are my big tell. ive pretty much always been obsessed with time and like these days there isnt a fic im writing without a big Looking Back component to it. salt pillars and vonnegut and orpheus and lot's wife. iykyk <33

76. Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut of hope is our four-letter word?

i actually do have an extras doc!! it has some yosano and dazai hurt/comfort that i tried v hard to fit into the fic but just didnt fit into the narrative i was telling. here's a snippet of that (usual warnings for dazai-typical suicide attempts):

It’s Yosano that finds him, shivering in the crimson water, watching the blood seep out from his arms.  Yosano opens the door, and she’s more calm than she usually is. She’s a good doctor, infinitely better than Mori, and she knows how much her usual bedside manner would send him spiraling. She eases him out of the water quietly, and gives him a towel.  “Dazai,” she says, stitching the cuts lining his arms. “It wouldn’t have killed me,” he says. “It just nicked a vein.”  She wipes the blood and water away and begins wrapping his usual bandages around his arms. There’s something cold and horrible in him, spreading from his stomach to his bones to every inch of his skin. He wants to rip it all apart, until that emptiness is torn bloody from the rest of him, and that thing, that pain made from scalpel edges and sharper smiles, with all its hooks and too-sweet whispers, to be burned from him, even if it means dying. Especially if it means dying.  Yosano scowls. “Not yet. Dazai…” She doesn’t call him by his first name, because the first time she tried that, when he was in high school and just out of court, he had run, hearing what he always heard at the sound of his first name. Yosano is smart; she learns quickly, and she had found him huddled on a roof and smiled crookedly, offering a hand. 

there was also a chuuya and dazai hurt/comfort scene, kind of loosely based off of the scene intimitopia wrote in the light that the fire would bring chapter 5 where dazai has a panic attack (unintentionally) triggered by poe describing a bloody scene. this is before chuuya and dazai are really close, but chuuya sees dazai leave the room and follows him to the bathroom "to give him back his bag". it was also just one of those scenes that didnt have a place in the final cut and kind of opened a plotline that distracted from the main ones. it also felt a bit too plagiarismy to nick the concept straight from someone else's fic, especially someone in the fandom that i really admire.

i also found this snippet in the extras doc, which i think?? i was going to end with but i couldnt find a natural way to put it in:

“It will get better,” Chuuya decides on, and even though it’s the truth, it’s a shitty truth. He knows how much he hated it when he was a teenager, his whole life in a bag as he traveled from house to house to home. He says it anyway, because there really isn’t anything else he can say, and even if it’s hackneyed, it’s something. “It won’t,” Dazai says predictably. “It doesn’t.” “I didn’t say good,” Chuuya says. “Maybe it’ll never be good. It happens. But it’ll get better.” Dazai sounds doubtful. “It’ll get worse, too.” “Yeah,” Chuuya says, and he reaches for Dazai’s hand, “but that’s when you hold onto the better moments.” Dazai’s hand is always cold, like a reptile, a snake that stayed out of its burrow in the winter and turned icy. Chuuya lets his body heat warm Dazai’s hand, lets it twitch back to something resembling life.  “This is a better moment,” Dazai whispers, and Chuuya isn’t sure if he even meant to say it. Chuuya squeezes Dazai’s hand. “It is.”

i never did get to writing it, and by design the fic doesnt include dazai's backstory. it's a combination of him not being in a place where he wants to tell it to anyone, chuuya not wanting to have to be the person to ask, and yosano and ranpo both knowing that it's not their story to tell. the basics are that dazai was carted around as a half-hostage half-protege of mori's through his childhood. mori was a fairly well known serial killer at the time, and, similar to canon, oda is in the crime world but starting to get out of it. he becomes a very bright spot in dazai's life, being the one person that cared about dazai (in a non-fucked up manipulative way). ango was undercover and ranpo was one of the detectives working the case to get dazai out and mori behind bars. they do eventually, but like canon, not without oda dying. yosano, having been under mori's control in a similar way some years ago, helps them find dazai and eventually legally adopts him. they have their growing pains, and dazai basically becomes a shut-in all throughout high school, but that gets him to where he is at the time of the fic.

i doooo have like. specific ages written down for all of these events somewhere (probably in a notebook) but i dont really remember where

[vidalinav]

Life’s a Beach (1)

I underestimated how long this fic was, so I smashed them together. I will continue just posting snippets and writing it like that (and then smashing them together), but since most of you will already have read it, I will include a bonus scene at the end. My thank you for putting up with my unconventional writing process. 

Summary: Tarquin comes to town and Cassian is jealous. 

~

Cassian doesn’t like when Tarquin visits.  

Never mind the ban from the Summer Court or that at one point, blood rubies pilfer their court. Never mind that Summer crowns him holier than the seas and the sun. Cassian doesn’t like the ease in which he walks. He may not have his usual royal garb, but he glides along the Sidra. The mighty king out for a stroll.  

Nesta looks like his queen.  

His mate is bright and beaming, huffing laughs and smiling wide as she praises his ideas. Cassian has ideas, too.  

But Nesta isn’t interested in his ideas as he follows them around. Nesta just continues smiling. Her skin glows with the sun, the apples of her cheeks turning a pretty shade of apricot as Tarquin notes the dying rays. Are you a poet Tarquin? Cassian wants to ask, but knowing the High Lord, he just might be and Nesta fucking loves poetry.  

Her cheeks remain pink and Cassian resists grabbing her hand and dragging her back to the house. You’ll die of heatstroke; he might say if she protests. But no.  

He won’t.  

He promises to be on his best behavior.  

Even so, Cassian can’t help eyeing buildings as they pass. Just break one, he urges. One and we can ban you from the Night Court. But that might mean, Nesta spending some time in Summer, with her good friend Tarquin, who makes Nesta beam like that, make her cheeks red like that.  

All Cassian sees is red.

All Nesta looks at is Tarquin.  

“You know, I never thought someone as young as you would be so conniving.”

Conniving? Cassian isn’t paying attention, but at the word, he’s ready to deem it insulting enough to fight Tarquin if Nesta so much as gives him a look. But Nesta only listens as Tarquin speaks. Cassian can’t even read her expression. It’s blank as she stares.  

“I admire that quality,” The little high lord says.  

Admire someone else, buddy.  

Nesta only snorts, the words making her laugh.  

The light plays with her eyes as she smirks. They look bluer today. Less silver. Cassian has to think that it has something to do with Tarquin. Tarquin who brings out the blue in Nesta’s eyes, who brings pink to her cheeks. Never mind that it probably has more to do with how bright it is today.  

“You’re too smart,” he remarks, and Cassian wants to roll his eyes. Nesta is too smart, too smart to be hanging around with some pompous flatterer. “No wonder you’re good at this game.”  

“What game?” She asks, lightly, but even Cassian can hear the caution. Her voice slowing as if coaxing an answer from his lips.  

“The game we all play. These situations that have us playing with life whether we want to or not.” Nesta lilts her head curiously, waiting for further explanation and Cassian waits too, because he’s not sure he understands. Tarquin looks like he’d rather not speak of it, but he continues even so.  

“Fae are good at games–invented them really. Court politics, morality, marriage, and bargains. I have to believe you’re good at them. Not just because I’ve seen you, but because I know what Eris offered as soon as he had you in his arms… It’s always the smart ones who win these games–the most clever.”  

Nesta rolls her eyes as if his words offer no great importance, “It’s never the smart ones who win.” She counters. “Not the ones who are strongest or the most magically gifted or the one who smiles the sweetest while she glides across the floor. There is no game that you can win by being the most beautiful person in the room… No game I’d want to play anyways.”  

“Then who does win?” He urges. Tarquin almost sounds desperate for the answer, and Cassian has to wonder if Nesta has woven a spell around him too just as much as Eris.  

“Whoever’s luckiest,” Nesta shrugs simply, “So there’s no point in trying so hard… We all end up in the exact place we were always supposed to be in.”    

She doesn’t sound happy about that either, and something about the tone makes Cassian want to hold her close. Make her remember that it’s a joy to be here. To be together, even if it is with another male who skin beams with the summer sun.

I’m lucky to have you. 

He hopes she knows.  

“Then you’re lucky,” Tarquin notes, “And blessed. You’re blessed and lucky. Smart and clever.” He laughs as if brushing the seriousness off, “Is that why you’re so good at cards? Azriel was moping last night. I thought that had something to do with you.”  

Nesta lifts a casual shoulder, a soft smile playing on her lips. Cassian thinks even that is a play–some move she knows will help her counter his attack. “Azriel loses because he wants to win and it’s easy to win against someone who’s already shown their cards.”  

“Motivations are everything.”  

“Yes,” Nesta nods frankly, “so why are you here?”  

Cassian wants to know, too.  

Actually, Cassian wants to push him into the Sidra and see if pretty fishman can float, but he’ll take Nesta’s verbal spar in any case. If he runs back to the House with his tail between his legs, Cassian will consider it a win for the both of them. His lovely strategist.

But Tarquin doesn’t run. Cassian doesn’t think Tarquin will ever run from Nesta and that simple fact makes him furious. That there is another male in this world who will see Nesta and not balk, who will know Nesta and not grimace.  

Cassian is not the only male who stays. Not for the power or the beauty or the poise, but because underneath all of that is a female who can conquer as much as she can tame. Whose voice sounds like the sea, whose eyes are crystal clear waters, whose mind rages against the tide.  

Tarquin breathes in ocean air.  

Every morning, he fishes on the coast. Every evening, he sleeps to the humming sea. Who would know Nesta better than someone who dreams of waves?  

So, it doesn’t come as any surprise when Tarquin looks to him, as she asks her question. Why are you here?  

“Because I want to know you.”  

A fool’s choice.  

“I’m not foolish enough to claim you,” He adds, “and I’m not foolish enough to think you’ll ever be claimed, even if you have a mate. No offense, Cassian.”

Offense taken.  

“I’m not even foolish enough to think I can even begin to know who you are or what you’ve been through… But when you looked at me that day in the Summer Court, and asked me to help your family, offered me anything that you could give me alone.”  

What? Cassian looks to Nesta, but she promptly ignores him, staring at Pompous Prince Tarquin.  

“I’d never seen anyone want so badly. I wanted to know what that felt like. Know what stirred so deeply in your heart that you looked at me like you’d give me the entire world for just one yes.”  

Tarquin raises a shoulder and Cassian tries not to swallow so loudly. He thinks he might have to shove a fist down his throat to stop his screaming, “You’re a question I keep mulling over and I’ve yet to figure out what the answer is. I don’t even know if I could know the answer if it stared me in the eyes, but I would like to learn. To feel half of what you feel, to learn how to love so truly.”

~

Cassian replays her answer as he sleeps. He goes over it and over it and over it again. At some point, he wakes her up in the middle of the night, shaking her shoulder.  

“Nesta,” he whispers, “Nesta? What did you mean?”

His mate only groans, her brows furrowing, as she burrows further into blankets. Cassian knows he’s playing in dangerous territory, but he can’t stop thinking about. It’s driving him insane.  

“Nesta, what did you mean?”  

He says it once louder, shaking her again. Nesta only juts out her elbow, hitting him in the rib. Cassian holds in the heavy moan as he clutches his chest, and Nesta settles in her sleep.  

Still, Cassian can’t give up now. “When you told Tarquin you’d think about it, what did you mean? Nesta?”  

Cassian grasps her shoulder, shaking her lightly, “Nesta!”  

“What?” Nesta yells, leaning up so fast, she almost hits her head on his chin. “What do you keep yelling about? I’m trying to sleep!”  

Even furious and half-asleep, she looks beautiful. The strap of her nightgown slips down one shoulder, and he trails the movement as if his own fingers push it down. Nesta crosses her arms, and he swallows down the want. Not an appropriate time, Cassian.  

She raises a brow, “Well?”  

“I wanted to talk,” he says simply.  

Nesta looks to the clock on the wall, glaring at him exasperated. “At two in the morning?”  

“Good a time as any.”  

She looks mad that much is true, and Cassian wishes to appease.  

His mate is tired, so he’ll fluff her pillows, rub her shoulders while she relaxes enough to tell him exactly what she means when she tells Tarquin she’ll think about it. As if his I want to get to know you is an offer she can’t refuse.  

But as he fluffs her pillows, Cassian can only think of Tarquin.  

He would have waited to speak to her, prioritizing Nesta’s health over his wants. Just this morning… or yesterday morning, the High Lord of Summer makes sure to ask Nesta if she’s eaten as she reads her book on the couch–a fact he finds rude to say the least–and when she says no, he offers to make breakfast for her. Oh, so generous of him. Never mind that they have a House who cooks their meals.  

Cassian scoffs as he thinks about it. What High Lord plays chef? And who is he to ask if Nesta’s eaten as if his mate isn’t being taken care of?  

He yanks at the pillow, beats at it, punches it. He can’t help but imagine Tarquin’s face. He can see feathers jutting from the cushion, and still he hits. The cloth lays in the cinders on the bed before he stops.  

Nesta sighs at the mess, grabbing one of the pillows from his side, clasping it to her head.  

“What are you doing?” Cassian asks.  

“Hoping I suffocate enough to pass out.”

Her voice is muffled, and he grasps at the pillow. Her hair is a ruffled mess. It splays out on the pillow in waves. Cassian can’t help but breathe at the sight of her and the sound is a sigh of relief.  

She’s his… Or as much as Nesta can be his.  

She chose him.  

Nesta with her matted hair, the side of her cheek pink from where she pushes up against the pillow, her silver nightgown making her skin glow in the light of the moon, chooses him.  

Shouldn’t that be enough?  

Cassian rubs at his face, feeling all too shameful. “I’m sorry. I just–” He takes in their bed, feathers littering the duvet. Suddenly, he feels like a little kid. What was he doing beating a pillow like that? Waking Nesta in the middle of the night? 

“You’re jealous,” Nesta says.  

Her voice echoes in the room, and Cassian frowns at the words. Of course, he’s jealous. That much is obvious. He’s always jealous.  

Nesta is beautiful and powerful and smiles like she grants the sun its light, and males flock to her like moths. Not just any males either but stupid princes and arrogant High Lords and stupid, arrogant Tarquin!

Nesta only grabs at the pillow in his hands, setting it under her head as she closes her eyes. He waits for her to speak, but he can only hear the ticking of the clock, on and on as time passes.  

Nesta doesn’t say a thing.  

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say. You’re jealous and you go back to sleep.”  

The pretty pink of her lips purse, but she doesn’t even open her eyes as she says, “If you were looking for comfort, you shouldn’t have woken me up at two in the morning.”  

Well… damn.  

Cassian settles back at his side, crossing his arms as he stares at the ceiling. He’s one less pillow down, but that doesn’t bother him much. It’s the thoughts that don’t quiet even for a second. Stupid mating bond.  

That thought though has him looking to Nesta. No, he loves that mating bond. He loves her. And even if Tarquin wants to impede himself like a wall between them, Cassian will still love Nesta Archeron.  

He closes his eyes repeating those words as if they’re a lullaby that will let him drift off to sleep. I love Nesta Archeron. I love Nesta Archeron. I love Nesta Archeron.  

The words don’t comfort him even a little.  

But Nesta sets her head on his chest. She tucks herself in to the crook of his arm and Cassian squeezes gently–he tries not to hold on too tight.  

She must sense his surprise. Whether that be from the bond or because Nesta knows him like that back of her hand, he doesn’t know. But she blinks one eye open, looking at him with bright grey and all his fears are assuaged.

“You should hold me since you woke me up.”

Cassian can only blink, nodding his head as she wraps his arms around her, and he settles in. He can hear her heart beating and he can hear her soft breathing and Cassian can go to sleep to this. He can.  

Cassian will hold her until she tells him let go. Cassian will not let go.  

Still… he can’t help it.  

“I bet Tarquin can’t hold you like this.”  

Cassian only gets mouth full of feathers.

~

Tarquin tells Rhys that he’s going to stay for two weeks. During this time, they’ll talk of treaties, draw up some plan of trade, some easy comings and goings of Night Court and Summer Court residences. Cassian tells Rhys that they don’t need a treaty. Throw him out now, he thinks.  

“Is something going on with you?” Rhys asks, leaning back in his chair, ever the High Lord. Cassian is starting to hate High Lords.  

Cassian crosses his arms, grinding his teeth. He’s in the sitting room in the estate. Amren solves a puzzle as if nothing about this meeting is important at all. Mor talks to Feyre by the dining room, gossiping rather than listening to Rhys moan about Tarquin and peace treaties. Nesta, not that she goes to these meetings, is out doing gods know what with Tarquin who wants to view the city.  

Take me to all your favorite places, he says. Cassian rolls his eyes just thinking about the way Nesta’s light up. Bookstores and restaurants and museums. She knows them all. Nesta goes with him, first. Why does Tarquin care? Is he planning on buying a winter house in Velaris?  

Cassian’s blood runs cold at the thought.  

“He’s jealous,” Azriel says, throwing a scroll at Rhys which he easily catches.  

Mor’s head jerks up at the word, even Feyre smirks with interest.  

“No,” Cassian dismisses, but he’s never been a good liar. His voice pitches high and Rhys eyes him with humor, “I… just think that we don’t need Summer Court resources, when we have an abundance of them already.”  

“You’re also banned,” Amren comments helpfully, “I would say that makes you the most biased towards these dealings.”  

“Your boyfriend is from the Summer Court; wouldn’t that make you the most biased?” Mor asks. Amren simply shrugs.  

“I mean have we considered that. That male banned me and now we’re opening our borders?”  

“Our borders have always been open,” Feyre says, not so helpfully. The look she gives him has him sinking in his seat. “Also, you wrecked the central magistrate.” 

“They’ve rebuilt it,” Cassian argues.  

“You mates are all the same,” Amren groans loudly, “She’s not going to fuck Tarquin.”  

“Shut up Amren!”

“That’s the best you can do? I’m sure Tarquin’s more eloquent.”

“Amren,” Feyre says, giving her that motherly reprimanding look. An expression that Cassian supposes comes with the motherhood package.  

It does the trick.

Amren sneers, but she settles back where she sits on the floor, picking at her puzzle. Cassian has the sudden urge to knock the pieces off the table, just for the comment alone.

“Nesta loves you, Cassian,” Feyre says, her voice light and calming. Too bad it doesn’t calm him, and he doesn’t want to talk about this now even if she goads. “What’s there to be jealous of?”  

Cassian already knows this answer. He knows this answer this morning, the other night, the minute summer enters Velaris spring. It’s not that Nesta loves him. Cassian knows Nesta loves him. It’s that he lets his guard down. He forgets the most crucial information of all–

Nesta is easily lovable.  

Sure, she might give a sneer or two at someone who annoys her well enough or beat the living daylights out of someone who threatens those she loves, but Nesta is an easily lovable dork.

She laughs at stupid things and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. She’s a goofball! He swears she knows every book in that library. She absorbs information like a sponge, will rant for hours about everything she learns. Her thoughtfulness knows no bounds. They’ll be off at the market and if she sees something that looks like Gwyn or Emerie or himself or whoever, she has to have it. She has to give it to them. They go to get cinnamon buns and she orders enough for the priestesses. She remembers everyone’s birthday. She learns the name of every patron and their families and their language and their holidays. It’s not hard to love Nesta.  

Who would not love Nesta?  

So yes, he has something to be jealous of.  

“You look stressed,” Mor notes, her eyebrows raising.  

Amren nods, “You look like you’re going to fight someone.”  

“Or puke,” Azriel adds.  

“Just don’t fight Tarquin,” Rhys concludes, “I can’t ban you from the court, but I can certainly make sure you’re away in Illyria while he’s here.”  

“You guys are really supportive, you know that?”

“Well at least we’re not trying to steal you’re girl,” Mor teases.  

“Yet.”  

Cassian gives her a glare, but she only laughs a bright sound.  

“I’ve never seen you jealous,” she says.

“I’m not jealous.”  

Azriel raises a pointed finger, “what about that one time you threw that rock at that window?”  

“Or when you broke that male’s nose,” Rhys suggests.  

Amren rolls her eyes, setting down a piece of her puzzle, “How about the last time we all went to a bar.”  

Mor, Azriel, and Rhys look to each other, contemplating the words. Cassian watches as they nod their heads slowly.  

“Oh yeah.”

“You’re right.”  

“You were jealous then, too.”  

“I was not jealous,” Cassian insists.  

Thankfully, Feyre–sweet Feyre offers him relief. She raises her hands, and Cassian thinks he’s glad to have such a loyal sister-in-law. “Guys, he was not jealous.”  

Thank you, Feyre.  

“He was territorial.”  

The others voice their agreement before Cassian has a chance to speak–to defend himself from this defamation of character.

Not that he can defend himself.  

He remembers that day all too well…

It’s the first Nesta goes to a bar with them. The first time she goes to a bar in a while, and she’s nervous. But she looks beautiful. So damn beautiful that he thinks he might suggest staying in. She has on a black dress with these tiny straps and a necklace that makes him want to trace her neck with his tongue until she’s mewling and soft and pliant. But she’s nervous, so he only kisses her forehead.  

We don’t have to drink he says. I won’t drink either, he promises.  

Cassian turns out to be a bold-faced liar.  

He’s drunk by the time the first band plays. He keeps gobbling down the drinks. Nesta gets them for free. Martinis, vodka sodas, gin, and whiskey. All manners of shots. Every alcohol keeps floating her way. The males seem to think they only need to find the right one. The one Nesta prefers and they take it as a challenge. He remembers asking if she even needed their money all those months ago, and she only shrugs a shoulder. Haughty and much, much too beautiful.  

Nesta offers to send them back, but Cassian gulps them down one by one before she can even call over the waitress. I can take it, he says.  

Once again, Cassian is made a liar.  

They have to carry him out of that bar. At some point, he remembers flying over the city as Rhys and Azriel chase him through the streets.  

The only way they get him down is by Nesta calling for him. An easy trick, he thinks. If they asked him, they should have tried that first. Of course, he answers his mate when she calls.  

When he meets her, crawling back with his wings drooping to the concrete, Nesta only opens her arms as if she wants him to hug her. Cassian hugs her. He… climbs on top of her, really.  

But she combs her fingers through his hair and Cassian hunches over to lay his head on her shoulder and the next thing he knows… he’s lying in bed, a glass of water and some headache powder on the side table.  

She’d hit that nerve in his neck.  

Cassian wants to scoff just thinking about it.  

“Where is Nesta anyway?”  

The question has Cassian grinding his teeth, he can hear the noise in his ears. With fucking Tarquin.  

“She’s out,” he says instead.  

“Out where?”  

“Out to museums,” He lists thinking of all the places Nesta enjoys. “Or picnics.” All the places that Nesta will smile at. “Or restaurants.” All places Nesta will bubble up with laughter, that she’ll blush with glee, that she’ll gaze at wistfully with that bastard Tarquin. “Or maybe romantic boat rides. The one in that fucking swan.”  

Cassian doesn’t even know he grabs on to the throw pillow, but the next thing he knows the cushion is torn in half and the stuffing falls out like billowing snow.  

The others look at him strangely, but it’s Feyre who takes a cautious step towards him, taking the pillow from his hands.  

“And when will they be done?”  

Cassian rolls his eyes, looking to the clock. “I meet them in a half an hour. We’re getting lunch,” he mocks in a voice that doesn’t sound anything like the High Lord of Summer.  

Feyre hums in answer, her eyes widening innocently. Cassian stares in suspicion.  

He watches as the others look to each other, too. Azriel to Mor. Mor to Rhys. Rhys to Feyre. Feyre to Amren. And then all of them look back to him.  

It’s Mor who bounces brightly, “I want to go!”  

“I’m going, too,” Rhys announces.  

Feyre crosses her arms, “You can’t go. I’m going! Someone has to watch the baby.”  

“Let Nuala and Cerridwen watch the baby! I’m supporting my brother.”  

“I’m supporting my sister!”  

“Oh, for cauldron’s sake,” Amren groans, “just bring the boy!”  

Cassian frowns as they start packing up around him, yelling at each other for their coats and… baby carriers.  

Amren only pauses to laugh at the look on his face.  

“It could be worse, you know,” She says, her voice something she probably thinks sounds soft and comforting, “Tarquin could have already made some move. What do males say these days? Oh right, I want to get to know you or something equally as vomit inducing.”  

Cassian simply picks up the throw pillow to his left and screams.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS SCENE 1: 

The evening of their first outing, Cassian can’t button his shirt. He should've taken that as his first sign that things would inevitably go wrong. 

“Are the buttons winning?” Nesta asks lightly. Cassian huffs a curse, hiking the shirt over his head. It gets stuck around his neck and he groans out a response.

Fine, he thinks. I give up. 

Nesta laughs at his slumping shoulders. 

“It’s the wings,” He says, muffled through the cloth. His wings drift up and down as if huffing themselves, showing her that they too are thoroughly annoyed. “This shirt isn’t made for Illyrians.” 

That’s a lie, but Nesta only hums. 

“Well... as much as I like you topless and I do like you topless.” Cassian can feel her hands trailing up his ribs and he squirms at the ticklish touch. “I don’t think it would be appropriate for public outings.” 

“You mean you’d be jealous,” He breaths. Nesta pulls the shirt down, unbuttoning and buttoning it again. His mate makes it seem far too easy, and she smirks up at him when the shirt is fully on. Her lips painted in red. 

The fresh air is cool in his lungs without the noose of dress ware, and he winds his arms around her, breathing in her scent. “All those females looking. Males too. What would you do if they propositioned me?” He urges, holding her closer, bringing her hips to his. “Cassian, Cassian, take me in your arms.”

He dips her low as if they’ve finished some waltz, and lifts her high until her leg is around his waist. That’s when he notices the slit in her gown, running all the way up her thigh. 

“They’ll chase me through the streets, you know. I’m a very hot commodity.” 

Nesta doesn’t even laugh. In fact, she merely lifts her eyes, her expression blank in that very Nesta way of hers.  

She fingers the collar of his shirt and Cassian can’t help but follow her hands. He thinks of every place those fingers can touch. “You wouldn’t be so difficult to catch. All it’d take is some buttons.” 

Cassian roars with laughter and Nesta smiles at that. A small turn of her lips. 

She turns back to the vanity, though he can’t say she’s not already perfect. He’s about to say so too, but that’s when he notices the dress. 

It’s hugs her every curve... the way Cassian only wishes to hug her. The black brings out the gold in her hair, in her sun-kissed skin. There’s a slit, Cassian knows, and tiny, tiny straps. 

Cassian moves towards her without a second thought. How anyone can think when they look at Nesta Archeron, he doesn’t know. He grasps her arms, dipping his head low. He places a reverent kiss on her shoulder and Nesta looks at him through the mirror, blinking up at him with those big, magnificent eyes. 

They’ve never fucked in front of mirror before.  

Cassian makes a note. 

“You know, we can always skip this... thing. Who would even notice if we're gone?” 

“Considering it’s for us, I’d say plenty.” 

She says the words with enough disdain that Cassian frowns at the tone. She  looks away as he catches her eyes.

“Do you not want to go?” He asks, dropping his hands. 

“I want to get this night over with,” she says, with a certain bite that has him backtracking. He runs over the day and all things she can be mad at him for, but he finds nothing, so he doesn’t understand.  

The night is for them. 

To celebrate her more than anyone. There’s been so many celebrations for her these past months as if they’re making up for lost time. Cassian doesn’t mind. Nesta should be celebrated. And Nesta doesn’t seem to mind, though she’s rather quiet during those outings. 

That’s not unusual. 

He used to think Azriel was the most introverted of them all. But Nesta beats him by miles. 

“Why--”

“I just don’t like that we always have these. Why can’t everyone just leave us alone?” 

Cassian stares at her reddening skin. The way her eyes dart back and forth, trying not to look to him. His frown deepens at the way she hides. 

He thought they were past this. 

Cassian is the first person to admit that he doesn’t know Nesta. Not in the way he wants to and Nesta seldom tells him much. But he at least knows her well enough to know that when she gets upset, it’s rarely what she says it is.

So Cassian takes inventory. 

They’re going to a get-together. They’ve done that before. They’re wearing formal clothes. They’ve done that before. They’re meeting the same people. Yes, that’s correct. The only thing that’s different is... the location? 

“You have a problem with the restaurant,” he guesses. 

Nesta merely lies her chin on her palm. 

“It’s new... they have good food... so I hear. It’s got great music, which you like. It’s got a bar,” Cassian’s gaze whips to her, “Is it the bar?” 

Nesta rolls her eyes, but he can see the way her cheeks flush a bright pink. The color softens something inside of him, makes him want to hug her and hold her and get rid of every bad thought in her head. 

The bar. Of course. He sees the way she cringes at alcohol, the way she shifts in her seat when a dinner turns into an after party. She doesn’t even like most of their holidays for that reason, because they all get drunk and she sits in the corner not knowing what to do. Nesta hates being embarrassed.

She can drink if she wants, he tells her, it’s her choice. They won’t judge her for it, he affirms, but... Cassian can’t guarantee that and Nesta knows that’s a lie. Nesta doesn’t even touch liquor. 

Cassian feels his chest start to sink and he must show it on his face, because she scoffs. 

It’s bad enough she doesn’t want to go to the city most days. She’s told him it’s because she’s scared to face who she was, afraid that she’ll be back there soon enough. Cassian can’t reassure her well enough. We can face it together, he says. We can face it all. But it’s been baby steps and these outings are the only times she pushes her limits. 

Cassian shifts her around, laying his hands on her cheeks, rubbing at the heated skin. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want.” 

“I don’t want to be a coward.” 

Cassian shakes his head, “you’re not going to be one if you go and you’re not going to be one if you stay.” 

Nesta sighs, and Cassian kisses her forehead because he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know how to instill in Nesta that she’s the strongest, bravest person he knows. How does he convince her of a truth that’s so obvious?  

She isn’t going to change her mind that much he knows, but damn him if he let’s her wallow alone.  

“I won’t drink,” He offers, “We can play cards, dance a little... I promise I’ll try not to step on your toes again.” 

“I want you to enjoy yourself,” She says, her lips pouting in that way that makes him want to kiss her nose and her cheek and every place that he can touch. “To have fun.” 

“You are fun and I enjoy myself plenty with you.” 

Little does Cassian know that the enjoyment of the night is him knocking back barrels of drinks, stripping to his underwear, and running head first through the streets. 

To be continued... 

~

LOL. This fic is insane. Because not only do you get snippets before you get the final chapter, you get snippets in the final chapters. Snip-ception. 

~

Tagged:  @my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed, @arinbelle, @thewhelk, @daisy-in-danger, @highqueenevankhell, @lovelynesta, @sirendeepity, @champanheandluxxury, @ladynestaarcheron, @moodymelanist, @teagoddess99, @spoilersteph, @angelicvoice19, @bo0kmaster69, @drielecarla, @generalnesta

I think that’s it. Also know that if you asked to be tagged on snippets, I am going to tag you MANY TIME throughout the day... so be cautious about that. 

[nitewrighter]

hi! is there any chance of you writing a series/more snippets around the cinderella telling you posted a bit ago? i really loved it!

Continuing from this post.

---

The prince is sitting on the steps, his eyes aren't quite focused and he's turning over the glass slipper in his hands. What the hell was that? He's trying to place her face in his memory but everything’s just... fffft. Gone. Blank. He remembers what she said. But even the pitch is weird--it could be any voice.

“Your highness?”

The prince glances over his shoulder at the Captain of the Royal Guard.

“Oh--hey---” the prince blinks a few times.

“...awfully odd, that girl,” the Captain folds his arms.

“I--” the prince draws a breath in through his teeth, “ I need to find her.” 

“Understood,”  the captain of the guard nods, “I’ll send guard details on every road leading out of the palace.”

“What?! No--that’s insane! She’s going to think I’m--No, I can’t approve of that...” the Prince is pressing his fingertips to his forehead, his other hand still gripping the slipper.

“I gotcha,” the guard captain says with a wink, “’Don’t’ send horsemen after her.”

“Did you just--Brad--don’t--no. I said no. No winks. Don’t send any guards after her, I’ll look psychotic.”

“Eh. Little late for that.” Brad the guard captain shrugs.

“What?”

“Well she and her whole carriage slipped past security somehow, and she got into the ball without even being announced by the Master of Ceremonies. That’s a security risk. And she seemed suspiciously chummy with the waitstaff. And if she ditched the party in this much of a hurry, she might’ve taken state secrets or something. So, obviously, I sent the horsemen...” he checks his pocket watch, “3 minutes ago.”

The prince pales. “She just--she said she needed to get home before midnight. I think she has a messed-up family situation, if I make things worse for her...”

“Or maybe she needs to reach a drop off point for whatever she’s stolen.”

 “You don’t know if anything’s missing!”

“Not yet, we don’t.”

“Brad!”

“It’s protocol.”

“Protocol!? I’m the goddamned crown prince! And you’re sending armed guards after the love of my life!”

Brad blinks at him, not really sure how to process that. “Uh...”

“Ig-ignore that. Don’t tell my dad I said that,” the prince pinches the bridge of his nose, “Brad I swear to god, don’t tell my dad I said that. I was panicking and--and--You know how weird he gets about this stuff.”

“Yeah--no--totally, your highness,” Brad looks out over the palace gardens, “Look, we can just say we wanted to make sure she got home safely.... when we catch up with her, I mean.” 

“Send a messenger pigeon telling them to hang back from her actual house--but get her address--maybe I can find a way to--to explain things... figure out what’s going on...” He’s wrapped both hands around the shoe again. 

“That hers?” Brad nods at the slipper.

“...yeah...”

“Love of your life, huh?”

“I dunno... she makes clothes for rats. She’s funny. I like her.”

“..Your Highness, did she slip anything into your drink?”

“No! She’s--look, if you talked to her, you’d know. She’s amazing.”

---

Several miles away a massive pumpkin hurtles forward in a stream of sparkles at roughly 25 miles an hour, smacks against the dirt road, once in a burst of sparkles, twice in a smaller burst of sparkles, then three times (no sparkles), and explodes, sending a girl in rags, a dog, and a handful of rats and lizards painfully bouncing across the dirt road in the woods, sticky shards of pumpkin shell tumbling along with them. Cinderella rolls to a stop and moans on the ground, curled protectively around her one remaining slipper. 

“Woah!! Woah--woah! Coming in hot!” the fairy godmother zips in in a flash of sparkles, she looks around, “Everyone okay? No one dead?

Several of the lizards are already slinking into the bush, and the dog and rats are now gently nosing at Cinderella, still curled up, stringy bits of pumpkin and seeds hanging off of her, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Kiddo--” the Fairy godmother drops to one knee and touches her shoulder, “Anything broken?”

Cinderella opens one eye, then glances up, “Godmother?”

“You know you’re really not supposed to be moving at full speed when the spell comes undone...” the fairy godmother bites her thumbnail.

Cinderella just looks at the slipper in her hands. “...I lost one of the slippers,” she whimpers, “I’m sorry.”

“Look--don’t worry about that,” the fairy godmother picks a piece of pumpkin out of Cindy’s hair, “Do you have a concussion?” 

“I... I don’t think so? How would I know?”

“Oh boy--Okay--You know what? We’re just gonna get a good look at you. we’re sitting up--sitting up--”  the fairy godmother helps her to a seated-up position, “Okay--anything broken? Feeling dizzy at all?”

A spackling of dirt and pumpkin juice is sticking all over one side of Cinderella’s face, but she looks down at herself, “N-no--I’m a little bruised but--” she suddenly gags hard, “Oh god--” she slaps her free hand over her mouth and stumbles up to her feet, rushing over to the side of the road and bracing her free hand against a tree to puke.

“Oh shit concussion--” the fairy godmother rushes up next to her and holds her hair back as she keeps puking. The rats and dog trot over, almost as if to offer emotional support as well.

“It’s not--” Cinderella pukes again, “It’s not a con--” she pukes again. “I just--” she pukes again.

“...too much champagne?” the fairy godmother guesses.

 “Oh GOD why did I eat so much?!” Cinderella manages before puking again, now entering that point of puking where you’re half-crying on reflex.

“...no champagne?” the Fairy godmother blinks. Cinderella pukes again. “Woof. Okay that is a lot.”

Cinderella is panting when she finally brings herself up to her full height again, her godmother withdrawing her hands from her hair. “I’m--” She gags and swallows thickly, “I’m good.” She sniffles a little.

“...your body’s not used to that kind of food if you’ve been living on porridge and table scraps, kid,” 

Cinderella sniffles again. “Yeah--I just--It tasted so good and--”she scoffs, ripping off a piece of her skirt to wipe off her mouth and try and smear some of the pumpkin juice-dirt mixture off of her face, “It’s stupid but...” she sighs, “I think I was scared of them taking it away.”

“Kiddo--that’s not stupid. You’re not stupid. I should have been more responsible but I wanted you to have a good night and I was overcompensating for not getting to you sooner, and I ended up kicking you into the deep end and--” The fairy godmother catches herself at the sound of hoofbeats. “Oh shit--hide!”

Cinderella rushes into the road, scoops up her rats in her arms, and whistles to the dog to call him to her side. They all slip into the brush on the side of the road and crouch in the shadows, staying deathly silent as moonlit dapple grays rush past. They wait a minute or two, and another couple horses rush past, their hoofbeats carelessly knocking the pumpkin chunks in the road away. They wait in silence another two minutes. 

“Welp. I guess it’s not a magical night unless you run from the cops at least once,” the Fairy Godmother shrugs.

“The prince...” Cinderella says under her breath.

“The prince--? As in the prince-prince?” the Fairy Godmother perks up.

“I didn’t know he was the prince! I can’t believe how stupid I was! I--” she runs a hand through her hair with distress, “He doesn’t look like his portrait! He doesn’t have a chin in his portrait! And--and now I’ve caused an international incident?? Or something??”

“Nah, he’s in your country, so it’s just a national incident,” the fairy godmother kicks away a broken bit of pumpkin, “Ooh! Did you slap him? Throw your drink on him?”

“What? No--He’s wonderful. He’s kind of shy but he like... tries to play it off, you know? And he’s such a good dancer--like, he made me look like I knew what I was doing, and I really didn’t-- And when he laughs he--” she notices the way her Fairy Godmother is beaming and the way the rats are gently nuzzling against her neck, occasionally picking pumpkin seeds out of her hair to nibble on. Even the dog is staring up at her with those big wet eyes. The night is almost over, she’s covered in rags and bits of pumpkin, and hope is dangerous again. She catches herself and forces a laugh, “I--um...We should get home.” 

“Yeah, looks like the coast is clear,” says the Fairy Godmother.

They walk, briskly and silently at first. There don’t seem to be many other carriages on the road--they must be questioning the guests back at the ball.

“Why don’t you fly?” Cinderella asks.

“I told you, I used up a lot of juice on the dress and the carriage--and making the shoes---shoe--corporeal. I could fly to get myself back, but I don’t have enough juice to get you back. And someone’s gotta get you home safe.”

“Thank you,” Cindy smiles. She pauses. “You said something about... overcompensating, earlier?”

“I just.. wish I helped you sooner,” the fairy godmother fidgets with one of the catkins in her hair.

“...is there a reason why you didn’t?” Cinderella asks, but then she catches herself, “Sorry--I mean, I really am grateful for--”

The fairy godmother flails her hand with a, ‘don’t worry about that’ motion. “Well.. to be honest it took me a long time to... uh... be? Like don’t get me wrong, a hazel tree fed by the tears of a pure-hearted orphan? That’s good magic--that’s powerful magic. But tree magic is... slow. And once I was enough of a ‘me’ to able to see what was going on--I--I wanted to hurt them. The tree was to protect you, you know? So I used to do all the wicked fairy stuff--I’d turn their butter rancid and tie knots in their hair and turn into moths to eat their clothes--but that would just make them treat you worse and give you more work. And I couldn’t do that to you... not when it was your tears that made me. I asked some other fairies for help but and that’s how I got to godmother status but uh... there were some misunderstandings and technically I’m still on probation and--yeah--don’t worry about that--Anyway, after tonight I have to go back into the tree and” she makes a raspberry sound, “Recharge.” She sighs. “And I don’t know how long it’s going to take. I’ve never used this much magic before.”

“Should-should I cry on the tree more? Would that help?’ Cinderella asks a little blankly as they walk. Two of the rats are perched on either shoulder and she’s holding the third almost like an infant. The fourth is on her head, contentedly nibbling a pumpkin seed.

“Oh, no--kid, you can’t force it--Those tears came from grief--from a form of true love--if you did it just for me, that would be transactional and--it’s complicated. Tear magic is very specific.” the fairy godmother huffs a little, “Nah. The tree is strong enough on its own. But bless your heart. I mean you can cry on it if you need to. That’s what it’s there for--but be sure you’re doing it for you and for your mom, okay?”

The lights of Cinderella’s family estate are coming into view.

“Thank you,” Cinderella says again, still turning the glass slipper over in her hands, “This really was the best night of my life.”

“Even with the crash and the puking and the cops coming after us?”

“Mm-hmm.” Cinderella stoops and kisses her fairy godmother on the cheek.

“I knew I liked you,” The fairy godmother smiles, rubbing her cheek. “You hang in there, okay, kid? You’re gonna make it out of this. I just know it.” She gives Cindy a loving little punch on the arm.

“Nngh!” Cinderella’s hand goes over one of her bruises.

“Oh shit, right, the crash.” 

[bxtchforstyles]

Baby

Y/N is a famous singer and when she releases her new song, her boyfriend is nothing but supportive.

(based of the song Baby by Madison Beer)

Warning: none

Word count: 1.5k

gif not mine.

“I just don’t know what to do for the part after the main chorus,” Y/N sighed from where she stood in the soundbooth. 

She had been working on this particular song for quite some time now, for many hours on many different occasions and just felt like she was never going to get in perfect.  

“I think what you have now sounds good, why are you trying to change it?” Her producer, Luke asked. 

Her slim fingers ran through her hair quickly as she sighed, looking at the ceiling that was covered in soundproof padding.

“Doesn’t it just seem a little too…” She pauses, looking for the right word. “Feministic?” 

Luke immediately shook his head at the idea she was presenting. “Y/N, the entire point of the song is to make every girl on the planet feel good about themselves. It’s not meant to just be some sexy song, it also serves a purpose.” 

Before Y/N could reply though, the door to the studio flung open, revealing Harry, holding two coffees in one of his hands. 

“Nooo,” Y/N dragged out dramatically at the sight of her boyfriend, making Harry give her a confusing look. “The song is not done! And no, I’m not showing it to you when it’s not done!” 

Harry chuckled lightly, setting the two cups on the small coffee table that sat in front of the couch that was behind all of the keypads and buttons that controlled the audio recordings. 

 Y/N flung the headphones that had been put over her head off and onto the stand where they usually sat before she opened the door to the soundbooth and walked into the regular studio area. 

“Why can’t I just hear a little snippet of it?” Harry whined, leaning his head back against the couch. 

Y/N sat next to him on the light purple couch, leaning her back against the armrest as she threw her feet into her boyfriend’s lap.

“Yeah, Y/N, I think you should show him a little part of it, maybe he could help you write the rest of it.” 

“No.” She immediately rejected as Harry ran his hands up and down her chins, seeing how obviously stressed she was. “It’s not good enough for your award winning ears yet.” 

“You know I’ve always enjoyed your music more than my own love.” 

He was bluffing. “Ha ha. You are so funny.” 

“Y/N, I’m being serious. I want to hear what you have, let me see if I can help at the part you’re stuck on.” He proceeded to beg to hear it, but Y/N didn’t budge. 

In all honesty, Y/N was just scared that Harry wouldn’t like the song to begin with since it had very clear, and sexual interpretations. She didn’t want him to think that this song was all about sex, so she didn’t want him to hear it until it was completely polished and finished. 

“Can we at least show him to instrumentals at the very beginning?” Luke suggested the compromise, making Harry’s eyes gleam with joy. 

“Yes, Yes!” He seemed very excited. “Please, baby? Just let me hear the beginning.” 

“Fine.” She finally gave in. 

Luke hit play, letting the pretty chords begin to play from the computer. 

“Ooo, I like this.” Harry sighed as the music paused before the vocals came into play. “Was the violin?” 

“Yeah, I thought it sounded really cool. Doesn’t it?”

The only thing Harry could think to do was kiss her on the cheek, “Yes darling, it sounds amazing. I can’t wait to hear the full thing.” 

“Great!” She exclaimed as she got up from the couch, “Because that’s all you get to hear.” 

*******

It wasn’t until a few weeks later when Y/N finally finished that song, and she was still hesitant for Harry to listen to it. 

“Now remember,” She pointed her finger sternly at him as the two of them sat in the studio, “This song is not strictly about sex, I mean it kind  of is, but still, don’t get any ideas.” 

“Love, have you not heard some of the songs I myself have written?” He laughs at her seriousness, only making her glare at him before hitting play. 

The same instrumentals that Y/N had let him listen to a few weeks ago began to play through the overhead speakers as Harry laid his head against Y/N’s shoulder. “I really like this part.” He then sighs. 

She laughed, “Oh just you wait.” 

The lyrics began a few moments later, “Baby, baby, tell me what’s the antidote.” 

His eyes widened at the sound of her voice cutting through the soft instrumentals, beautifully, but also seductively. 

“Wouldn’t text you this late less there's something wrong.” 

Y/N was watching him carefully, not being quite one hundred percent sure if he liked it or not yet. 

She also started singing along quietly, “I look too good to be in the bedroom without someone to touch me like you do.” 

“Holy shit.” He gasped at how amazing the song that his girlfriend had hid from him for so long was. 

Before he knew it, a few lines later the chorus hit. 

“If you wanna be my baby, know I’m gonna drive you mad!” Harry completely lost it at the insane beat drop. 

The rest of the song was still playing in the background, and Harry was still listening intently to the lyrics as he looked at his girlfriend, “Holy fuck, babe! This is so good!” 

“Really? You think so?” 

He was ecstatic for her, “Yes, I think so!” 

They continued listening to the song, and Harry continued to praise her for how amazing she sounded in it. 

“So, now I have a question…” She trailed off once the song was finished. 

Harry looked up at her, “Of course,”

She grabbed his hands as she stood in front of him from where he was sitting “Will you pretty please be in the music video..?”

His eyes widened immediately, not knowing what to say. “What? Is that seriously how you want to announce our relationship?” 

“I mean, we’re going to have to announce it eventually, so why not do it now?”

“I mean…” His voice dwindled, “I’m going to have to talk to Jeff about it, but I don’t think it will be a problem.”

“Yay!” She leaped, wrapping her arms around his neck, his wrapping around her waist immediately after. 

“I’m so excited!” 

“Me too, baby.” He smiled in return. 

******

It was safe to say that the media was not prepared for the relationship of which was Y/N and Harry. Everyone was overly shocked when the song came out, and even more so when the music video came out, featuring Harry. 

Of course there was always going to be a tiny bit of negative comments about anything that celebrities did in the spotlight, the couple expected that. But the amount of immediate support that they gained was completely mind boggling to them, and they couldn’t have felt more grateful. 

All of the fans especially went crazy when they had realized Y/N and Harry went live on instagram as the video first premiered.

“Just so you guys know, Harry hasn’t even seen the completed music video yet!” She yelled over the beginning of the song as the just released video began playing over the big screen of the Tv in the studio. 

Harry only smiled contently as he leaned back in the chair, pulling Y/N’s chair closer to his as he wrapped his arm around both her shoulders. 

By the time the music video had ended, there were over one hundred thousand viewers on the live stream, making Y/N a complete nervous wreck. 

“Okay, guys! We are going to end this live before I completely process how many people are watching this, because once I do, I will have a panic attack.” She tried to play it off as a joke by laughing lightly, but she was completely serious.

“Anyways, thank you guys so much for all of the support and love on Baby, and the music video. We hope that you enjoy it as much as we do. We love you, make sure to look out for the new album coming soon!” 

When Y/N finally ended the live, she let out a sigh of relief as she put her phone back down on the coffee table, basically falling into Harry’s embrace. He kissed her forehead from where he sat, her basically in her lap. 

“I love you, and I’m so proud of you.” He whispered lightly, already feeling Y/N becoming heavier as she began to fall asleep in the chair they were sat in. 

“I love you too, thank you for everything.” She mumbled as he wrapped his arms around her waist. 

“Of course love.”