#a new fic was born
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"history accurate lesbian cleradin au" if those two were in history accurate times theyd both be accused of witchcraft which has given me a new fic idea
#and thus#a new fic was born#im about to get really fucking relifious sorry yall#also btw its a reference to hannah baker and sarah fier#when when fear street 1666#hehehehehhe#cleradin#byler#mike wheeler#will byers
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I get the criticism of the Hunters of Artemis from a narrative perspective—it sucks that it essentially boots interesting female characters out of the story—but it always baffles me when people viciously hate Artemis for *checks notes* doing damage control.
Like. Thalia explicitly goes with Artemis to avoid the prophecy, and I definitely think that’s the reason Artemis tried so hard to get her to join—hell, you can view the hunters trying to recruit Annabeth as a way to get Thalia to join. And Bianca? You can’t convince me that Artemis didn’t guess there was something up there and react accordingly.
If Percy or Nico were even a little bit girl-adjacent you bet your ass she would be all over them to join. No one actually wants to risk the Great Prophecy happening, and Artemis is doing a hell of a lot more to stop it than anyone else.
#riordanverse#pjo#percy jackson#Artemis pjo#hunters of artemis#crack fic idea: Poseidon and Zeus have broken the oath several times before Thalia Jason and Percy. Artemis has just been hauling ass across#the country each time it happens. they have been so fucking lucky that their kids have been girl or girl-adjacent so far.#Artemis gets her info from Apollo (who gets pinged whenever a new potential prophecy child is born)#the hunters weren’t at westover to hunt thorn or even recruit Thalia. they were ACTUALLY there because Artemis got a text from her brother#like ‘lol the di angelo kids are out of the lotus hotel’#and Artemis is like gods FUCKING damnit hades I thought we had an understanding#OTHER fic idea: Bianca joins the hunters in the 30s and Nico goes to the casino alone#OTHER OTHER fic idea: Artemis can tell people’s gender sometimes before they can and now she has to crack trans Percy’s egg before she turns#sixteen so she’ll agree to join the hunters and put the prophecy off once again.#anyway. this has been my defense of Artemis.#eli rambles#eli writes
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STANDING ON THE EDGE OF FALLING
“There’s a bit of a situation in one of the tenting areas, and you two are the perfect people to handle it.”
“Get on with it, then.”
“Some fucker’s brought a whole TV in and is streaming the England/Slovakia game. A whole crowd’s gathered, over a hundred people, at least, and it’s blocking walkways between the tents. I need you two to go shut it down.”
________
It’s Harry’s first security gig, and somehow, he landed Glastonbury. Unfortunately, he’s been tasked with telling a very gorgeous man that he can’t stream the football match. Things go … much better than expected.
Out now on AO3 😊
#new fic#my fics#larry stylinson#louis tomlinson#harry styles#one direction#louis#larry#harry#larry fic#glastonbury#Louis brought a tv and this fic was born#hlcreators#trackinghome#hledit#1dsource#trackinghappily#hlficlibrary#ficsfor4am#allwaswell16#yourlarrysource#ao3 feed larry#1dficvillage#hlsource#hljournal
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don't mistag fanfics
don't deliberately keep off a zesty trope tag, or mark a romantic pairing as platonic, or add a pairing that isn't actually in the story, or whatever, just to get more views
it's incredibly rude, and potentially hurtful.
i know, i know. you like what you're writing. You want more people to see it, and you think that people would like it if they just gave it a shot.
but you don't get to make that call for your readers. yes, using this technique, some might read something they otherwise wouldn't, and enjoy it. but many will be avoiding that ship/trope/etc for a reason. at best, you might just annoy them; at worst, you can accidentally trigger someone.
it's a courtesy to be as honest with your tagging as possible. it helps people avoid things they don't like, and conversely, find things they do like.
What if I genuinely forget to tag something or accidentally mistag it?
that's fine! accidents happen, we're all learning. just be willing to listen when and if someone asks you to make changes : )
What if I want the trope/pairing to remain a surprise?
then use 'authors chose not to use archive warnings'! or you could have a beginning author's note saying "hey this story/chapter gets into some intense themes, check out the ending authors note for a full list". those are good tools to preserve the surprise while letting people opt-in or out as necessary
Be nice to your fellow readers, and help keep the fanfic community a safe, fun space for everyone :3
#fanfiction#ao3#fanfic#born out of learning some people are deliberately tagging romantic MBD fic as platonic to lure in new readers#don't do that it's a dick move#plus a post going around deliberately suggesting mistagging to get more readers
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oh yeah I'm so fucking sure the reason people don't care for / create as much content for the woc lesbian ship is because they're not as cute and wholesome as other ships. I'm sooooo sure that's why and not misogyny and racism. surely not because overall people never think ( fictional ) women have any depth but when it's men they will find the depth whether they have to pull it out of thin air or not. surely not because when they don't find a ship sexy it suddenly doesn't matter. I'm sure it's just that one storyline completely ruined this ship for all of this fandom
#bffr if henren were two white guys people wouldnt blink an eye at the cheating thing or talk about how it makes their rs complex#and it gives it depth. but no im sure that's the fucking reason theres not more f/f fics in fandom.#like come on is fandom preferring mlm ships a new thing ??? were you guys born yesterday?????#also not faulting anyone for not liking this sl you do you that post just pissed me the fuck off thinking thats the reason.#911 discourse
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part of that "raising a kid au" i was working on, this is almost definitely not how skill checks work and i don't even know if i'll include this, but for now i think it's. so funny kjkgj
#task: when two skills love each other very much#inland drabbles#SHE WAS JUST BORN WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM HER!!!!!!!!!!!#ITS SO STUPIDLY SELF INDULGENT KJGKJ i have constant baby fever and kid fics are very dear to me kjkjg#i love the idea of all 24 (26?? 27??? 28?????) of these idiots raising a syskid together#i have many thoughts but its not a coherent story at all haskjsj#i know her name and her role as a skill (she's a psyche) and i think the concept is adorable though i won't reveal spoilers#echem and volition (either not dating yet or new to their relationship) start to understand her better due to their roles.#but all the skills try to help raise her together :'] coloring with concept and hand/eye tossing her in the air and catching her again#i wanna have a lil arb and limbic thing too..#oh this shit is gonna be absolutely ooc im so sorry in advance i just want them to raise a kid together jlkgjlk#i want to make it a comic but augh. god jkgljkj#all of my fics are just like. hey what if the skills are friends. and then i write that over and over again lmao
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Are you perhaps going to add Bill's evident medical trauma into the story?
Bill's been getting called insane for seeing the third dimension by his mom since chapter 15 and I've mentioned his vision is tied to a medical condition he was born with. We were already going there.
Only difference is now he's going to an optometrist in addition to an orthopedic doctor.
#(I forget if he's directly mentioned he has a medical condition in the fic yet or just danced around it)#(99 percent sure he's said this vision is something you're either born with or not)#(anyway I've written a ton of out of fic posts about his medical condition—possible genetic origins—how it works—how it's seen culturally—)#(so yeah this has been the plan since. probably like May last year?? May or June?)#(since before I wrote the post on non Euclidean new age cults)#(if his homeworld actually is named Euclidia calling his geometry non Euclidean is gonna retroactively be so funny)#(it's the correct term but that makes it funnier)#anonymous#ask#bill goldilocks cipher#the book of bill spoilers
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a cherik what-if
>let's say the Lensherrs escaped to England in the late 1930s
>instead of CIA MacTaggert goes to find Charles at a bar in First Class, it'd be MI6 Magnus Lensherr
Charles: You have a very groovy mutation.
He'd compliments Erik's auburn hair
and the rest…
#cherik#cherik fic idea#i'm thinking of this in relation to my onslaught!twins-verse#like jean hates being born and she goes back in time to rescue erik and grandparents#making sure charles and erik never meet#but the hilarious thing is they'd always meet#in every universe#canon event (c)#then she's back#and be like wtf all that for nothing#she'd still be born along with wanda#they'll suffer in new ways lol
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when you finally get to love somebody guess what it's gonna be me🎇
#jaytim#yes i'm not too corny to post ship art with nsync lyrics. i was born on the cob as they say#this isn't directly a drawing for my fic but#i was thinking about the 'new levels of platonic intimacy' jay describes & wanted to visualize some#tim meanwhile is settling in for the long game. good luck sport#strawb drawbs#suneater illustrations#i need friends-to-lovers like i need air
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based on @goddammitjim’s The Truth That Once Was Spoken
I was wondering what your average theater kid would think watching CW on stage, especially as those two 😂
#anyway go read the fic it’s really good!!#codywan#obi wan kenobi#commander cody#star wars#my post#i now have a new blorbo and it’s a repressed police inspector played by an australian guy 5 years before i was born
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some of you writing de-aging/age regression fics have never interacted with kids and it shows
#no a ten year old kid is not 3 ft tall#that would be a toddler#twelve year olds don't need a booster seat#KIDS ARE NOT DUMB#seriously my six years old cousin's are so clever and brilliant they do not have the thought process of a new born#my thirteen year old cousin is almost my height (i'm like 5'7 btw)#it's so difficult to read a de-aging fic that doesn't feel like i'm reading a four year old in the body of a nine year old#did they de-age twice without me noticing or what??#dc comics#batman#jason todd#dick grayson
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[Amnesiac Omori AU]
The day before Omori appears in the real world, Sunny has a dream that is totally normal and totally doesn't mean anything :3
#welp here's my piece with a background for the year#omori#omori au#amnesiac omori au#omori sunny#sunny omori#omori omori#omori (character)#alter (omori au)#siren art#the thing behind alter is like. that core thing from the faces of omori room#ive always liked the idea of that core representing omori somehow. like it being his heart or something#so it's incorporated into this au hehe#also when i said alter was born in a tar pit all alone i was not kidding#the pool he's in would probably be bigger than that but its way too late im not going back to change it#this piece is based on the fic's first chapter! ive started a new draft that's closer to the final thing!#planning on working on it alongside the outline
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Imprisoned, Impressioned: Nathan Drake x Reader
Summary: As a Panamanian prison guard, you signed on the dotted line that you'd never take bribes, never bring prisoners off grounds, and never beat on/off inmates. But for one, you just might make an exception. So long as he stays in his cage. Notes: Explicit. Gender neutral reader. B0ndage, fem/male-dom, r*mming. Cause that's his bussy, folks, don't get it twisted. (Get it plunged.)
“God, you’re such a fucking brat.”
Nate snorts in a wavering smirk in reaction, stabilizing a cocky grin as best he possibly can.
But his best seems to be quickly deteriorating in quality.
“I distinctly remember telling you we’d only keep this up if you stayed out of trouble.” Your busy tongue shapes words around a threatening tone, fingers drifting mindlessly where you spread him open, but Nate’s quick to wiggle his hips— cute, and fucking irresistible— to coax you back in.
“Really? Because what you actually do kinda seems to imply the opposite.”
And he’s right.
You rove and search memory, only to find no occurrence where he wasn’t sporting a newly-earned bruise, a flinching face from a black eye, blood still speckled where his lip had been split from a particularly well-aimed punch. And he’s right. you only gave him this when he misbehaved.
Punishment, you convince yourself.
Comfort, your better mind argues.
Like a band-aid you administer, a kiss where it hurts. Maybe you only offered such a thing in the aftermath of cruelty. Defend from the bullies when he claims he needs no defense.
Even though he does.
“Do you mind taking these off? Wrists starting to ache a bit—”
And he sounds so earnest when he says it that you almost move, relinquish to give him what he asks for. But you’re no idiot. He may be cute— you won’t lie and say you don’t feel some sort of affection for him, no matter how tart and mistrustful— but you’re grounded enough in your conviction to know he always has an ulterior motive.
“Good. It’ll build some strength. You’ll want this position again. you can tell.”
You learned quickly not to play coy with Nathan. He liked blunt. He liked vulgar. He liked when you told him to shut up after a quip and called him ‘pretty boy’ with a sharp, teasing tone and forced him as deep as his legs could possibly go, ignoring when he’d grunt discomfortedly. He liked it when you called him out on his bullshit. He liked it when you knew what he wanted before he did.
And just like you expected it would, his cock jumps with an excited, anticipatory twitch. Of course he’ll want this again. He likes being held open. He likes being held down.
But before he can hop in with some sort of pathetic, half-hearted joke, you pry his legs wide and delve back inside. Tongue lapping pink and untethered between his thighs, where his hole puckers sweet, wet, and where he has no choice but to sigh in pleasure. you kiss him there like you’re kissing him— because we’ve never kissed before and frankly have no reason to— and this is a lovely consolation prize. He tastes tangy, stings of soap after-tasting between your lips because he always keeps himself nice and clean for you. You could only be so lucky to one day watch for yourself as he props one foot up on the shower bar, examines himself in the fogging mirror, razor in hand, and fantasizes about what you’d prefer, what you’d desire, what you’d want best against your tongue. What would make you bring him back sooner next time.
Maybe one day you can convince the Lieutenant to transfer your post to the male showers so you can watch for yourself.
“So good…” His groan rumbles deep and dark down his belly, breath desperate, gasping uneven at a pleasure soaked in only on barren grasses on the outer perimeter, where they forget to water it because no one ever, ever goes out that far. Your passion exists in secret, exists only in handcuffs and lies you hold better than any truth when you tell the other guards you’re only planning to rough him up a bit. When you feel like treating yourself, pushing past the boundaries of where your waning shyness crumbles, you allow your palm to brush past denim— old bloodstains aged to a grainy brown— to squeeze his naked chest between your claws. He’s fit, he’s young, he’s nimble, he’s beautiful. And whatever he’ll let you hold, whatever he’ll let you touch, you will.
Your tongue dips deeper, pushes past pucker with little resistance— you always wonder if he preps himself for you first, skin stinging freezing cold against the steel toilet bowl and leg hiked high over the toilet paper rack, how many cigarettes must he trade for olive oil, lotion, vaseline, fucking anything— and he croons sounds just as impassioned as his daily fist fights.
Fights you sometimes let go just a hair too long to enjoy the sounds he makes: pained and giving pain near identical. Though the pained ones have always been a personal favorite.
Again— he likes being held down.
And the wispy laugh that bubbles past his lips when the fight is finally broken up never suggests anything different.
This can never go on long enough for you— suspicion is born quickly in the likes of a Panamanian jail— so you always need to draw things to a close far, far sooner than you’d like. Your fingers reluctantly reach up to grasp his cock between them, stroke him just how you know he likes, be quick about it because he always either comes way too fast or takes just a little too long, and you always have to split the difference.
He groans delicious at your mercy, nails digging contradictorily merciless into the skin you long to taste, but never have the time to. One day you’ll leave him hard from foreplay and nothing else, abandon him aching and more desperate for next time. And next time, maybe you’ll make him eat you out. The image of his sweet, strikingly blue eyes gazing up at you from between your legs imprints in your weak-willed mind and steers the rhythm of your fist faster. How fucking adorable he is, how scrappy, how witty, how bratty, how you love the sounds he makes, how you love his skin pinching pink between your fingers, how the thought of one day marking him even deeper drives you wild.
Your tongue points, swallows, and savors for one final taste, before skating further along to foreign territories. And you distract him with quicker speeds, tightened grip, because you’re the same:
You always have an ulterior motive.
“Fuck—” His moans transcend into higher octaves, just like they do when he’s close, and his feet scramble for purchase, legs bending and stretching and flailing until you have to force them back up into position. Be good, babyboy. Stay where you want you. A gasp suddenly squeezes from his overworked lungs, a product likely of his precarious positioning, and there’s one second where you almost fear you’ll drop him. But your chest is quick to push forward and prop him back upright, keep him vertical, give him support until he comes in your arms. He breaks out into a wistful wisp of moan at the movement.
Yeah. Yeah, you’re definitely gonna want this position again.
And when he finally does come, you squeeze his thighs between your arms just before he can tip over— even though the sick satisfaction of a ruined orgasm, the sight of him falling hard and fast and unfair into the dirt below, always sounds like a fun idea on paper. Your own brand of cruelty is usually more playful than sadistic. But eh, watching him come uninterrupted isn’t so bad, either.
You drive your pace fast and consistent, and don’t stop even when you feel him coast languidly down your wrist. He always keeps bucking into your fist— hedonistic and somewhat masochistic— even when it must start to edge on the side of pain. Nate chases his pleasure because it’ll run out far too soon, it’s always far too soon, and something tells you he wants to impress. Prove to you a stamina that prolongs, even when you always deny his request to let him inside. Or maybe even a volume, to prove just how much he’s willing to give, how much his body will supply for your tongue to swallow up later— salty and warm and satisfactory because you earned it fair and square.
He comes a lot— but maybe he’s just trying to beat a personal record.
His final wail gives way to heaving pants, stomach tightening and relenting and tensing and back again, and his pleasure is so thorough that he drops limp in your hands. Little death, indeed. Nate dies in your arms as you gift him one last kiss there in a sweet finality, remind him of what he’ll receive in a couple days if you’re feeling nice, a couple weeks, a couple months if you’re feeling cruel. Taste him again because you love the thought of being inside him-– and the feeling of him around your tongue will be enough masturbation fodder to last you the better part of a week. Until next time. Until he gives you something even better to imagine.
“Woof…” Nate smiles doey-eyed and serene, and you can’t help the cocky, self-satisfied smirk that eases itself across your face. He looks fucking adorable— all blissed-out and rosy red and still slightly throbbing between your fingers with an overeager abandon.
Yeah… maybe you’ll be nicer this time around. Because you already know how violently you’re going to miss the sight of him like this.
“Crap, that felt so fucking good.”
Your teeth clamp teasingly into his thigh, flirty in a way you almost never allow, and he giggles. He fucking giggles. And you want to slap yourself for how quick your heart squeezes around such a delicious sound. you want to hold it longer. Wring it out of him faster. And against all reasoning, you want more of it.
But there’s no time. There’s no trust. You can never let on such a feeling.
This can only last so long as you keep control, so long as you keep distance.
But as soon as you lay his legs back to rest— he grunts when his body makes such an abrupt transfer of weight— Nate presses out into the unknown, and asks the only thing that would bridge the distance before you can push it back apart. Just as you finish lifting his slacks back up around his hips, zipping him closed (a common courtesy that may even be too tender by your standards), he sighs relieved and sweet before you can grapple him back to standing:
“...What? Not even a goodbye kiss?”
Oh god.
The freedom awarded by ecstasy has made him dumb. He has no idea what he’s even asking for. And for the fifteen additional seconds of bravery he has left, before his orgasm leaves him in a cold sweat and he begs you to not take him back, he’ll convince himself that this is a good idea.
He’ll convince himself that his joke is hilarious and he’s a better actor than he actually is. Because, even if you actively tried to ignore it, his wavering breath sticks out like a sore thumb. He can’t make the words sound natural, casual, suave in the way he must want them to. There’s something overzealous about it. And your stomach clenches at how your initial reaction to this isn’t repulsion.
But also, in the now ten seconds of bravery he has left, he’ll convince himself that a kiss will only make the sex better. That it won’t ruin it and he won’t mind the taste of himself on your tongue and the idea of adding feelings to the mix will be a good idea. Because, yes, oh my god, Nate, how fucking brilliant of you, yes, let’s add feelings to the mix. You know, I always thought prison bathrooms were so romantic. What a lovely getaway. Why not retire and raise kids in the handicapped stall while we’re at it?!
But his lips look so soft. Unbearably so. One corner is slightly chapped, skin peeling from a still-healing cut, and the instinct to kiss it better overwhelms, dizzy and sickening in just how badly you want to pursue it into reality. The idea of wanting him nauseates, terrifies. But the desire to give in, to taste for yourself the tantalizing beauty that always hovers just a little too far out of reach, is stronger.
When you two meet, it’s terrible and you hate it.
Because it’s fucking electric.
…
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
You break away before you can dwell on it, praying you’ve satisfied him enough to never ask again, but the residue stings clear across your lips.
It was good. It was a good kiss.
Nate’s eyes flutter back open just a second too late— and his lungs die on an inhale he must’ve thought he wouldn’t be privy to so soon. But the reaction is evident, etched along his face. It was a good kiss.
And he fucking noticed.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
His lips curl with a dazed sort of satisfaction, just in the way you feared they would. But his eyebrows jump, too, confusion just as much as pleasure, eyes reading you for something more. Clearly something has to be said, and you pray you're the one to say it first. ‘Okay, up and at ‘em.’ ‘Nice try, but never again.’ ‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer.’ ‘You’re a rat and you hate you, asswipe.’ ‘This can never, ever, ever happen again. And fuck you for even trying, Nathan Drake, if that even is your real name—’
But you’re too slow, and Nate’s chest rises in an abrupt inhale that signals he’s beat you to the punch.
Oh god. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything.
But he does. Of course, he does. Even with a sock in his mouth, rope, tape, palm, he’ll find some way to talk (and trust, every single one— and then some— has already been tried).
“...One more?”
You just didn’t think that was going to be his answer.
There is one moment of absolute terror. The split second of doubt on the deep end diving board. He must know this is a terrible idea. He has to know. There’s no way his orgasm was so good that he completely lost touch with reality. The silence stretches endless and icey. And you can tell the feeling is mutual.
But then, all of a sudden, his fallen face splits, smiles uplifting into something familiar. Cheeky. Safe.
“I’m just messing with you.”
And a laugh escapes before you can even register exactly what you’re feeling.
The feeling is relief.
Yeah, that’s it. Relief trickles in and cools your blood back down to sanity. Fucking asshole gave you a goddamn heart attack. You deliver him a curt punch to the shoulder to release the remaining tension, but he laughs it off as soon as it lands. And how sweet his laughter is only makes you want to punch him harder.
Little brat is much cuter with his mouth closed. And far, far away from yours.
You grab hold onto his handcuffs and wrestle him back to standing— a motion he leans into far more reluctantly than usual— his throat still fluttering with an excess giggle.
“Come on, champ, let’s get you back home. Nobody’s gonna be missing me, but they sure as hell are gonna be missing you.”
“Aww, don’t say that…”
His facetiously tender tone dribbles like slow caramel down your back as he twists his neck to face you, and he drops a bomb that almost makes you die at his feet.
“I know I will.”
…Fucking brat.
Yeah, you’ll make sure to bring him back sooner this time. Fucking definitely. Give him a spank or two for good measure. Let him kiss you again— and this time bite his lip til’ it bleeds. Give him a wound of your own. A mark of your own.
But then again, none of that would really be punishment for either of you, would it?
And just before you can shove him back into the courtyard, he tilts down to whisper in your ear:
“Please don’t make me wait so long next time… ma’am.”
Oh.
Oh god.
Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, Nathan.
…
I won’t.
⭑⭑⭑
The metallic walls sting matte and clouded with a heavy steam, lungs thick and breath difficult. Lust and peace lie reclined in humidity. After a startlingly quick release down the shower drain, a simple purpose rather than a prolonged pleasure— he tries not to think too hard about why he always curses himself for finishing so soon, or what reasons he has to prefer saving such a deeper pleasure for later— Nate points his focus back to the basics. He never bothered with anything fancy. The money Sully wired them was only ever used for band-aids, Tylenol, and whatever shitty coffee the commissary kept stocked (“None of these rats are ever gonna catch me sleeping,” Sam would say with a suspicious side-eye), which meant nice shampoo was off the table. But suddenly Nate was rethinking it.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he started making sure he smelled good. Looked good, too.
…But for who?
A pestering question he always ignored the answer to.
He scrubs up his chest generously, barely even notices when he catches the tail end of a peeling scab, absent-minded and letting his thoughts run to nothing and nowhere. This was his only time of peace and solitude— why waste it with thinking? Why waste it when the next black eye, cut knee, broken rib was probably already outside waiting for him?
But as his hands drift downward, reaching to clean between his legs, he abruptly flinches.
…Huh.
That’s weird.
Now, Nate was no stranger to violent wounds he didn’t notice till later on— he could almost consider them a friendly confidant, a toxic sort of lover— but this one was especially disconcerting. A dull, tingling pain on his inner thigh. A strange place to not notice getting wounded.
He shakes his head and tries to ignore it— maybe he had just scratched himself during a particularly vivid nightmare— but when his palm moves low, he winces even harder.
…What the fuck?
It’s bigger than he thought. A lot bigger. And the ache is sharp enough to make him completely drop his soap when he touches it.
Okay, seriously, what the fuck?!
Nate abandons all motivation, turns tail out of the stall, and leaves his bar of soap to linger lonely on the shower floor. He has to know what’s going on. Allergic reaction? A sneak attack while he slept? Fucking STDS?
But when he reaches the bathroom mirror, levees his leg up to catch the culprit, his stomach drops.
And his cock twitches in unexpected interest.
Because there, stained across the inner side of his left thigh— drawn across his skin in lovingly littered hickies— is the unmistakable, pink-purple bruised shape of the first letter of your name. A brand. A claim.
A mark of your own.
“ ...Shit.”
⭑⭑⭑
#uncharted#nathan drake#nathan drake x reader#uncharted x reader#uncharted 4: a thief's end#Shea's B-Sides (HOLY SHIT is my 2 year old writing so different from my current)#(this is a year and a half old btw oops)#(im really excited for yall to one day see the new stuff <3)#shea speaks#original work#my stuff#anyway i love him your honor <3 but also i would smack the crap out of young nate#thus a fic was born!!#happy shea is posting again eve!!#have to censor tags now bc im scared
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Guys the original script for ATWOW is not canon. I repeat it is not canon. The edits and revisions made for the theatrical release happened for a reason. Everything excluded in the final version is because the original script was the original version. Think of it like a rough draft. 🤗
#mine#avatar edits#avatar explore page#avatar for you#new avatar blog#avatar fics#avatar the way of water#avatar 2009#new avatar writer#new writer#like no baby Neteyam being born out of a chrysalis is not canon#they scrapped that#for a reason#whatever happened during his birth is now kind of up to our artistic interpretation based off what we know biologically about the na’vi#I hate to be that purist sounding person#but yeah#spider isn’t canonically 20 and Jake isn’t his adopted father#and the concept art with spider on the songcord is absolutely not canon#please stop with the delusions#avatar blog#avatar writing#avatar oc#avatar head canons#avatar script#the original script for 2009 had the na’vi able to turn their heads 360 degrees like owls lol#that’s clearly not canon yall#avatar series#I hope this helps writers too#because in no way am I ever going to write a na’vi giving birth opening up a chrysalis to get to her baby lol
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Moodboard for the hewn city family of my one shot
#my new fixation recently#I'm too much of a sucker for sad family stories#acotar fic: “We were born sick.” You heard them say it#hewn city#court of nightmare#darkbringer#acotar critcal#acotar#acotar moodboard#acotar headcanon#acotar oc
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something something foils moving in opposite directions Goku's always happy to seek and fight stronger opponents because he spent most of his life being the strongest guy in the room and Vegeta wants to be the strongest/is always exhausted to find stronger opponents because he spent most of his life having to navigate his survival around the whims of the strongest guy in the universe room and so Goku has a foundation of safety and stability and so spends his time craving challenge and adventure and Vegeta has a foundation of challenge and adventure and spends his time craving safety and stability and the overlaid section of their venn diagram is that the only way they know how acquire and maintain those things is through battle
#thank you this has been the laziest media analysis post of my career#dbtag#media analysis#something something a game to goku is a threat to vegeta etc#there's a pinned thought here about how Vegeta also didn't learn about the dragon balls until he was ?? 30?? and so all loss is permanent#and goku has been familiar since he was ~12 and hasn't faced a permanent consequence since he was 10 years old and even then he got closure#sometimes I think about how Vegeta saw Trunks die and how Krillin was mad at him for reacting since they could fix it with the dragon balls#but Vegeta has very limited experience with the dragon so to him in that moment that was permanent and Trunks was Dead. Forever.#And we talked before in a 2am post about Vegeta having never experienced grief born of love and I stand by it because his feelings then wer#still very new and very odd and not something he'd accepted until that moment so it was raw power but not as powerful as it could've been#all this to say in my heart of hearts I think Vegeta deserves to retire at the end of super (if super continues) -- not as a warrior#but as an infantryman. he's a prince and now he's got his domain and his family and his planet to look after and I think he deserves#to go home and stay home and help piccolo bully gohan into training more often when goku inevitably leaves to hop the multiverse#geets wanted to take a sabbatical when Bulla was born but didn't get the chance because Freeza coming back freaked him out too much#but whether freeza gets a redemption arc or gets defeated -- Granolah's arc seemed to shift his perspective on being the strongest#and I just grips fist I just think it would be a really nice full circle for Vegeta to inherit his throne in a way he never expected and#finally get his kingdom to look after and protect in the way that he was looking forward to being king of his own planet all those years ag#Goku's got Broly and Jiren and Hit and all the others to keep him busy and happy now -- and if Freeza gets a redemption arc he'll probably#continue playing slap-ass with Goku for the rest of his life -- and Vegeta's got Gohan and Piccolo and Goten and Trunks#I just think them getting a nice bittersweet 'This is where we part ways' would be really nice for both of them because !!#They couldn't have done this without each other. They couldn't have known this kind of life was possible without each other.#So they swap lots and live happier than they ever imagined they could be#especially since Vegeta has proved to himself that he can close any gap Goku creates in progress that's not a concern anymore#And obvs the door's always open!! There's no point closing it Vegeta's tried the locks they don't work on Goku#anyway here's me putting the whole essay in the tags again#this isn't an essay as much as it is stream of consciousness tag blogging#anyway i'm too lazy to write fic or draw comics so we get ramblings instead
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