#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

[keepmycandleburning]

My favorite HP fanfics of all time:

#1: Beautiful Sleepyhead by Phantomato. Thoros Nott/Voldemort, 24k words, E. I also highly recommend reading Interlude in First and Oily Water from this series. This is the only fic I couldn't even guess how many times I've read it. It's so unspeakably beautiful, beyond words to me, the relationship these two characters have, the characterization of Voldemort and his professional and domestic lives, the strikingly beautifully written and raw erotica, the intense humanity of all of it. I recommend reading everything with Thoros/Voldemort. I'll read them anywhere and doing anything. In general I consider Phantomato the best writer I've ever read in my entire life, in any context and in any genre. The way they use words is not the way other people use words. Reading their writing changes the way I think. You make me need to write @phantomato I LOVE YOU

#2: Immortal Misconceptions by PinsandKneazles. Bellatrix/Voldemort, 3.4k, M. Bellatrix and Voldemort try to conceive Delphini. This is so so so so fucking funny. Genuinely one of the funniest things I've ever seen. I can't even look at this right now without scream laughing. Every line of this is laugh out loud worthy and it doesn't ever get any less funny even if you read it 20 times.

#3: The Warrior and the Snake by Lady_Escapist. Bellatrix/Voldemort, 150k, M. My favorite Bellamort fic (ignore the above...), and goes through the whole story of both wars which I adore. Lady_Escapist writes the best characterized Voldemort I've ever read, who speaks and acts and thinks like he does in canon, and he has an intensely complex relationship with Bellatrix that feels so incredibly believable, and so compelling. The chemistry between them is palpable. The type of story that impacts your view of the series when you read it.

#4: Dissonance by Metalomagnetic. Abraxas Malfoy/Tom Riddle, 17k, E, underage warning. Beautiful use of words, such evocative language, really feels like it's written in the real HP universe, and some of the most well-written sex I've ever read. It's really impressive to me how complex and individual and human these characters are in so few words. Metalomagnetic is another person who knows how to use words in a way most writers can't do. @metalomagnetic I LOVE YOU

#5: Scylla and Charybdis by Asenora. Snape/Voldemort, 44k, E. Transcendent experience of Snape and his relationship with Voldemort, woven together like a web interconnected through time. Delicious little Bellamort bits. Another brilliant writer who has a way with words I can barely fathom. Have never forgotten the description of Rodolphus's face as aquiline. @saintsenara I LOVE YOU

#6: Self-Worship by Phantomato. Diary Tom Riddle/real Tom Riddle, 21k, E. The diary horcrux gets a body, and there's only one bed... As brilliantly written as anything of theirs. So real, so visceral.

and:

Stop all the clocks by Metalomagnetic. Rodolphus/Voldemort, 9k, M. Rodolphus's POV of his intense adoration and devotion to Voldemort. Amazing writing of a Death Eater's love for the Dark Lord.

Penitence. Lucius/Voldemort, 810 words, E, non-con warning. Lucius has to suck Voldemort's dick in front of a ton of Death Eaters. So good.

Holiday by Phantomato. Thoros Nott/Voldemort, 23k, E. Fake engagement, you know what happens.

Other Women and of Purer Blood by Asenora. Narcissa/Snape, 7.7k, E. Super well-written, beautiful descriptions and narrative, so many compelling ideas, and an insane sex scene.

The Black Family Shield in Malfoy Manor by FelixPhial. Draco/Narcissa, 8.2k, E, non-con warning and maybe underage. Draco and Narcissa have to have passionate sex in front of all the Death Eaters and Voldemort.

Child, Witch, and Lord by missmarianne. Bellatrix/Voldemort, 7.6k, teen & up. Delphini's intentional conception process and Voldemort's thoughts on it. The best recreation of Voldemort internal monologue I've ever read.

Lord of the Manor by jadiss. Lucius/Snape, 3.2k, E. Little snippets on their relationship, from Hogwarts to death.

The Chronicles by yletylyf. 11k, M. Snape's experience as a double agent. Valuable ideas on canon plot and Snape's relationship with Voldemort. And a delicious little Bellamort moment. @yletylyf

A phantom pain by RiddleRedCoats. Bellatrix/Voldemort, 4.2k, general. Voldemort returns, finds out Bellatrix died in Azkaban, looks for her everywhere.

Real by deslea. Bellatrix & Rodolphus, 2.6k, M. The last scene of this has stuck with me among the most of any scene from any fic I've read.

Innocence by hervissa. 717 words, teen & up. Lucius finds out about Bellatrix & Voldemort. Really well-written and so funny, will never forget Lucius's reaction to the aftershave line.

a learning experience by Laeveteinn. Tom Riddle/Hepzibah Smith, 9k, teen & up. 'Hepzibah Smith is an acquired taste. Slowly but surely, Tom finds himself acquiring it.'

Adtitulo by jazminesays. Draco/Voldemort, Abraxas Malfoy/Voldemort, 144k, E, underage warning and probably non-con warning. Voldemort had a love affair with Abraxas in his youth and has Draco pretend to be Abraxas. I've read only the first half of this, not the Drarry. I love the relationships between the Slytherins, particularly Draco and Pansy, and their little traditions and human qualities and calling the alcove Candyland.

surrogate by 8623S44. Bellatrix/Voldemort, 179k, E. I need to reread this. One of the first fics I saved on AO3 and one I've always thought of as one of my favorites. What I remember most is the Voldemort POV rewrites of the scenes from Deathly Hallows. Full story of the first and second wars I think, but non-chronological.

Beauty and the Beast by Metalomagnetic. Bellatrix/Voldemort, 21k, M. One of the first fics I saved, and I have this labeled as a favorite, need to reread.

[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!!!!!

[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 😞😞

[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)

[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

[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.” 

[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. 

[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.” 

[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

[finitevariety]

sup this is me off anon (pirouettes) thank you so much for the reply!! and the snippets slash drafts especially were very yummy. its cool how seeing how like, rigorous the process is because it definitely feels super controlled while writing. and you want to talk more about your specific writing style that would be cool as fuck!! the two things that jump most at me when I read your fics were 1) dialogue and 2) the metaphors. how does all of that get formed?

hiiii

thank you! I feel like my writing process is less rigorous than the only way that I can get to a finished product. I have to sit and think for ages before things even begin to come together.

re: writing style, here are some rambling thoughts (and more screenshots lol):

It's so interesting to hear you pick out dialogue because I think particularly for fic I've been lucky--for example, I once got a comment that complimented me on using particularly Minnesotan phrasing for a Tom thing, when in fact it was a stray turn of phrase from my home country/area which happened to overlap with Minnesotan speech patterns.

Like I said earlier, dialogue is something that tends to come pretty quickly in the drafting process! Like, I just got through the first section of a chapter that was killing me because I wanted to show Tom thinking about shit without him really knowing what he was thinking about, so I had to meander around what he's doing, seeing, remembering, etc. instead of actually talking to anyone in the present. With dialogue scenes (including sex scenes, which for me are fairly dialogue-rich) it's so much easier to communicate someone's thoughts because they are also communicating.

For example, this is from a doc that is probably the next thing I want to write after bold and forth on (after a break for writing some original stuff for fun). I haven't touched it since I did my original 'stream of consciousness' plotting, but I bet when I write this in full the finished speech will be very similar to this:

Looking at it now, I can see some parts which are lazy--the 'paid a damn sight better' part is maybe something Tom would say, but there are things Tom could say here which feel more Tom--'you wouldn't be earning fucking Buffalo bucks, there'--and also reveal more about him and Greg--'maybe you could pay for your own fucking meal once in a while, you know? Stop gagging on gazpacho on my dime' (Greg: 'I thought it was a shot!').

I also, like I mentioned before, frequently read bits aloud. This is probably The Autism, but I like hearing words aloud and in a nice combination/rhythm, and creating something I enjoy is always the priority.

Sorry for the sidebar here, but it feels related: there's a lot in my writing that I'm surprised isn't offputting to more people, and as gratified as I am, I would keep writing it even if that weren't the case. Don't get me wrong, I'm a slut for external validation, but this is my sandbox and I'll piss in it if I want to.

Anyway, back to dialogue: I think for Succession I try to remember that whilst these people don't talk like real people there are a lot of hallmarks of real speech--lots of crosstalk and interruption, uhs and ums and uh-huhs, and certain specific fillers such as, for Tom, 'you know'. So, no matter what insane shit they're saying, I try to ground it in a little of that.

On insane shit, though: I have to chalk the imagery up to the way my brain works, which feels like a copout. I guess though the main questions I ask when writing/refining images are:

What would this scene look like if it were storyboarded? What do I want people to catch in the background? What do I want tight focus on? If the audience blurs their focus, what might the scene remind them of?

What would this character know about? What are they preoccupied with? It's important imo to make an image something that a character would conceivably think. So Tom is very fun to write because I feel like his brain follows the same grain as mine. This is not a compliment. Many of the images I use for him, especially for feelings shit, are rooted in flesh and violence because he is a character for whom self-knowledge is torture.

Can I push this further? Hey, what if I google around this to see if there's anything else I can fold in? For example, if I'm comparing something to a bug, I'm gonna find out about bugs first to see if there's a gross little detail I can shove in there. This connects back to the part above where I pointed out the 'damn sight better' opportunity. If I'm using an image, I want to avoid it feeling like boilerplate, you know?

Then, finally:

What can I get rid of? What does this image add? Are there explanatory phrases around the image that I can delete? If I'm asking you to come with me for 100k of nonsense, the least I can do is try to cut down on unnecessary bullshit.

Thank you so much for the ask and for the compliments. <3

[fipindustries]

list of comics i made so far

i already shared the list of all the novels i tried to write throughout my llife so i see no reason why not to do the same with the comics i tried to work on. no i should clarify, with my lists of novels there was a clear cut distinction between what was a novel and a short story so to parse one from the other was an easy task. it should be known that i wrote hundreds of shorts stories that i havent shared with anyone. now a similar situation occurs with my comics, i have done hundreds upon hundreds of little comics, short jokes, little skits and short lived strips through my life, so in order to give this list some weight and not make it longer than the bible the criteria i used was that it had to be something i did on a regular basis or that tells a self contained story with a beggining middle and end.

now without further ado, lets begin!

spike Vanderville (age 7)

you can tell i was way more into comics than i was into novels from a young age. done with pen and folded paper, it was the story about a young kid called spike, whose design was heavily inspired by bradley from sticking around, who had magical powers which allowed him to manipulate reality. it was a mix of harry potter and a series of illustrates short stories that came in a magazine in argentina. his best friend was a scarecrow with a pumpkin head that he had brought to life, his archnemesis was a fat bully.

curiously enough i was so passionate about this project even though i had no idea what i was doing and no talent that i actually did like three full colored issues of it. my family was really proud of me. sadly those comics are completly lost to time

andrew and the monkey (age 10)

this was the classical story about a boy and his best friend the talking animal. one page comedy strips done in pen and paper. nothing too clever, just a way for me to try lame jokes mostly stolen from spongebob squarepants. not much else to it. i tried to do like a revamp in 2014 but it was short lived, as you can see the jokes didnt get any less lame

FIP industries (age 17)

mostly done in digital. yes as you can see fip is something that has followed me my whole life in quite the variety of mediums. there were as a matter of fact multiple attempts to make this comic a real thing but time and again they would peter off as i saw that my skill was just not up to the task. i think i have talked more than enough about fip industries on this blog, one interesting thing is that if you follow the link you will come across a lot of proto ideas that i had before they cemented and took their definite shape in the novel (and even after the novel i kept retconning and retooling things over and over again, fip industries is an ongoing thing that will probably last my entire lifetime)

Disregarding Reality I (age 20)

the first iteration of disregarding reality, a humorous strip done in pencil and paper, a fairly short lived affair, lasting no more than 3 months. the entire premise of the comic was an MRA activist and a feminist live together, they are friends, they argue a lot. remember 2013 guys? back when this whole politics bullshit truly kicked off online? this was before gamer gate, mind you. but by that point i had seen more than enough of it on tumblr and i was like “someone should do some scathing commentary with wit and penache” and that someone had to be me. mainly inspired by commics like f@nboys and el goonish hive and a thousand billion others that were so popular back in those halcyon days.

i got bored of it pretty quickly and it wouldnt be until three years later than i would finally decide to re-start the project but until then...

Strangers in the forest (age 21)

here comes a rather productive era in my ouvre, ink and paper, based on a short story i wrote, its about an eldritch monster pretending to be human and a ghost girl, killed by her father. they have a dispute because the monster wants to eat the corpse of the girl but the ghost doesnt want to give up her bones because its the one thing that tethers her to the mortal plane. they eventually resolve their dispute. by this point i was actually, unironically trying my best to do comics which i felt looked professional.

Song of a nightmare (age 21)

another one based on a short story i wrote. ink and paper, a private detective wakes up in the middle of the night and sees a mermaid lying in bed next to him. he spends most of the comic trying to figure out how the hell is this possible. still one of my favourite ones and certainly one of my family’s and friends favourites as well. a rather poetic tale, strongly inspired by argentinian fiction and their propensity towards magical realism, i was reading a lot of cortazar back then.

Aika (age 21)

as you can tell i was on a fucking roll that year. ink and paper, this was a story based upon a simple and basic idea that i had in my mind for years and years. i always liked the concept behind the movie “the kid” where bruce willis mysteriously comes across himself as a kid. so of course one day i came up with the idea, what if you recieved a visit from your future self... but she was a woman?

this is probably the most aggresively trans story i ever wrote in my life, it is literally about a guy realizing they are trans and breaking down over it. here is the giant kicker, i did not realize at all what i was doing. i was completly unaware of what was going on here, i was still deep deep in the closet and not even realizing i was there. it really is astounding the honesty and the rawness with which i wrote this comic and it went all over my head. a perfect example of “im such a great ally lol”

oh also there is time travel i guess. my main impetus (beyond whatever my subconcious was forcing me to do) was my desire to make a complete clusterfuck of a story, i was a huge fan of homestuck, i had read fleek and demon, i wanted to do my own take on a hypercomplicated time travel puzzle plot. other things came out on top of it but i didnt noticed them. fucking hilarious

Hello Agatha (age 21)

a comedic strip about a wacky pixie dream girl having wacky adventures with her wacky friends, one of which is a man with a toilet for a head. what a gut buster, what a knee slapper!

there is not much to say about this one, wacky surreal comedy was always my favourite and so time and again i would try my hand at it but it is surprisingly hard to do!

The /co/ ventures! (age 20 - age25)

an ongoing project done in multiple mediums. i think i said more than enough about this in here and here. it was me practiscing comics, practiscing my humor and adding my tiny grain of sand to the 4chan culture. i am proud to say these comics were actually very well liked there and that i would be recognized without a name or signature of any kind, just on the strength of my style.

the vest kind of madness (age 22)

probably one of the projects in which i put the biggest amount of effort to make it look professional. traditional inks and digital colors. a crossover that i cant believe never happened in comics considering how obvious it is. Rac Shade, the changing man and delirium of the endless, the two flagship vertigo characters associated with madness. clearly a match made in heaven.

to this day im flabbergasted i seem to be the only one to think of this.

Disregarding Reality II (age 23)

another work where i have already spilled rivers of bytes explaining my thought process behind it. after having a no good, terrible, very bad day, finding my self aimless and without purpose, deep in denial and depression, i decided to give my self a big project to have something to get me out of bed every day. these three guys came from the depths of my mind to save me.

this time leaning a lot more on silly humor and surrealism than political commentary, still insanely proud of how much i managed to make this last, almost three years, well over 200 pages! and in here i found the inspiration and the creative energy to tackle all sorts of diverse projects of which we are about to see all about.

Mama Bird (age 24)

my masterpiece.

by far the best comic i ever did. a kid with a bird for a mom. hilarious, touching, heartbreaking. it was a concept that i had come up with when i was 21. back then it was supposed to be exclusively a humorous comic strip but then i found a dramatic angle for the story and that was when everything clicked into place. that was when i realized this was a comic i had to do. and i did it. it took me five months but it was well worth it. still insanely proud of this one

Soft boys (age 25)

a weird experimental little story where i decided to sit down and deconstruct one of the most popular superpowers. super elasticity. more akin to me just mashing my toys against each other than me trying to tell a serious story. i am actually really happy with some of the art here and some of the sequences presented. particularly the final one where a brick joke twenty pages in the making finally pays off.

Hexen Snatch (age 25)

a semi spinoff to my novel FIP industries, we focus on a side character that managed to survive after the events of the novel and how they’ll manage to survive further beyond that. insanely soaked by the magical world of pact by widbow i wanted desperatly to share my own take on magic, every page is accompanied by a little text where i expand upon the lore and the way magic is supposed to work on this world. i really like the prose on those snippets and the ideas they work almost more that the comic itself with which i was not happy at all when i was working on it. i didnt like the character design, i didnt like how the art in general was coming out, i didnt like the pacing of the story or how superficially we were getting to expore this world in the comic proper. i had to take a very long hiatus just to accumulate the will to finish the comic and once i did i feel it really petered off without much of a satisfying payoff.

on some level i blame the exhaustion and frustration that i came out of this comic with for the fact that i ended up quitting disregarding reality soon afterwards.

Maxplosive (age 26)

another project that has followed me across multiple mediums. came up with an idea for a videogame back in 2015. saved it on the back pocket for a while, used it as a story within a story on my novel fan.tastic, practisced a couple of animations with the characters and eventually decided that, if my skills at videogame making were not enough, i had at least more than poven myself as a comic artist so maybe that was the definitive medium in which this idea would have to exist.

the original idea was to tell the story in two parts, the first half would introduce the character and the videogame as if the comic was a playthrough of the game. all fun and childlike and innocent. then the second half was meant to explore the life of the main character as an adult, how being “a videogame protagonist” had ruined her body, her mental health and her life. i tried all sorts of weird stuff with the format here, using reciclable assets, static camera angles and generally presenting the whole thing as if it was a videogame.

sadly the project got too big for my breaches, i was fucking exhausted back then, swamped with a bunch of other projects, my job, other responsabilities, unsatisfied with the story and with no idea where to take it. eventually i got tired, decided to skip a day, then the day became a week and then the week became a month and by then i had to face the facts, i was just no longer able to continue the comic. and so i quit not only maxplosive but disregarding reality all together.

i still did the occasional comic here and then but it wouldnt be until the very end of 20-fucking-20 that i was finally inspired to tackle a new project, my newest one, my last one....

Lapsarian (age 27)

an interesting experiment, i decided to do the whole comic in one sit and then post it chapter by chapter on a weekly basis. a surprising result of this was that i managed to do in one month the same amoung of pages that would have taken me 5 months back when i started disregarding reality, is good to see that after al this time i still got it.

took me a while to get the hang of it again and find my own style once more but once i armed up it was smooth sailing for 40 pages all the way to the end. but what is this comic even about?

its... weird, with full disclosure and no shame, it is mostly a fetish story about big lizard creatures commiting vore. the milkman had already shown me that i could do those types of stories and no lighting would come from the heavens to strike me down so i said, why not as a comic? i like to think that beyond the fetish content it is still a decent story in its own right, an interesting feedback that i got from this is that people are suprised how earnest it is, one saying something like “this is the best pitch for a fetish that i was never interested in”

Conclussion:

looking back on this im surprised, turns out i was a lot more prolific and working a lot more regularly than i expected, in here are documented ten years of creative output that never seems to wane. it was fun to do the roundabout trip and see how my style, my technice and generally my work ethic evolved through the years. another nice thing to see is the multiple formats, the multiple tools and mediums i experimented with, i find myself constantly trying new things, new methods, new angles, new interesting ideas for how to make a comic (without even getting into what to make a comic about).

something i always knew about myself was that drawing is a fundamental part of who i am, it is something that just cant be taken away from me and that will always be a part of my life one way or the other, is good to see it so plainly, in black and white, on this list. here goes for what i might be able to do in the future