#and I have written over 2k words for this rough outline

[fayes-fics]

Comfort

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict comforts his new wife when her courses arrive…

Warnings: mentions of menstruation, non graphic references to period blood. Otherwise, just the fluffiest of fluff.

Word Count: 2k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Thanks to @colettebronte for help with the title. Request fill for anon HERE, where Benedict comforts his new wife when her period arrives overnight. This might be the most saccharine-sweet fluff I have ever written. For my usual smut peeps… err, apologies? Normal filth will resume shortly, I'm sure lol. <3

You stir from your slumber to a dreaded dampness you know far too well. 

Oh dear heavens, no! 

Overnight, your courses have arrived without warning. Or perhaps, with hindsight, there were some signs, but you had assigned blame for the symptoms elsewhere. You had put your tiredness down to the exhaustive social whirlwind of your first ball as a Bridgerton. The dull lower back pain you had felt merely due to traipsing around the extensive grounds the host was keen to show off to all and sundry.

For a few moments, you lay staring frettingly at the ceiling, unsure what to do. You can tell that your nightgown and, likely, the bedsheets will carry evidence of this unwanted early arrival. You had plans to inform your lady's maids to prepare the following night. Trust your body to be at least a day early when you least need it. 

Next to you, your new husband of just fourteen days, Benedict Bridgerton, is sleeping soundly. You roll your head to look briefly at his handsome face in repose on the adjacent pillow, then bite your lip in anxiety.

Oh god, he cannot see this!! He simply cannot! What am I to do?!?

____

You had been taught a few things in the run-up to marriage by your Mama. One of them was never to mention or address the “monthly visitor” to your husband—it was a matter for you and your maids to deal with. On the nights you were “visited”, you were strongly counselled to sleep in your room rather than with your husband so he would not have to deal with “such unpleasantness”. This may have been logical advice for a regular wife of the Ton, but your mother probably never considered how non-traditional your husband would turn out to be. 

Hours after your nuptials, upon arrival at your new marital home - a wonderful brick townhouse just a few streets from Bridgerton House - you had politely inquired where your bedchamber was. At first, he laughed, then frowned when he realised you were serious. It turned out he had not made plans for, or indeed, set up a room for you separate from his.

“We are husband and wife now. We shall sleep together,” he explained, drawing you into his arms and planting a tender kiss on your forehead.

“But… every night?” you stuttered, still grappling with what exactly was expected of you as a wife.

“Yes darling,” he confirmed, still sounding vaguely bemused.

____

Since that day, you have shared a bed every night, which has been delightful for so many reasons. Indeed, you have never slept better in your life than in the two weeks since your wedding, falling asleep securely in his arms and awakening to his handsome, smiling face…

…Well, that is until now.

Now, you have no earthly idea what to do. 

You surmise it must be early, dawn breaking, a grey, feeble light peeking around the top of the heavy velvet drape curtains over the windows. Barely enough to see shapes and rough outlines as your eyes adjust. Not wanting to awaken Benedict by igniting a candle, you gingerly push back the bedspread and slide out as quietly as possible. In the mirror across the room, you catch sight of a scarlet bloom, visible even in this low light, so stark against your white cotton nightgown. Turning back around, your fears are fully realised when you see a mirror imprint left upon the sheet where you slept.

Horrified, you fly into a flurry of movements. Wanting to hide both your nightgown and the sheets you have sullied, albeit unintentionally. You slip as silently as you are able to the linen supplies cupboard and gather terrycloths designed for bathing. One, you wrap around yourself; another two, you decide to place upon the bed, hoping it will conceal the stain until your husband leaves the bedroom.  

You cannot wait to bathe but know that running a bath would surely awaken Benedict, the noise of water being poured into the echoey copper, even if across the hallway, being bound to rouse him.

Once back next to your side of the bed, you push the covers towards the middle and start to pull at the edge of the undersheet, hoping to slide a cloth under the stain and one atop, to stop the evidence from spreading. You glance furtively at your husband as you work, who unfortunately is turned onto his side facing towards you, as he often is when you awaken. 

In all heavens, could you not turn the other way just for once, my love? 

You move as stealthily as you can, so very keen to be unnoticed. The most challenging part is trying to wedge a cloth underneath, the sheet pulled taut by your husband's weight pinning down the other side. Just as you are fighting with both hands shoved far under the sullied sheet, you hear a sudden sharp intake of breath.

Oh no! He is awake.

His eyes fly open, and he squints as he takes in the sight before him. Then, a frown passes over his features.

“What on earth are you doing, my love?” his voice is deep and rough with sleep.

You whip your hands out from under the sheet, belatedly realising you are also muttering a repeated “no no, no no” under your breath as you attempt to reach for the upper cover and hide what has happened, but it is just out of reach, kneeling as you are beside the bed.

“Darling,” he sits up slightly, rubbing his eyes, obviously thrown off by your agitated state. “Please, whatever is the matter??” his tone rising in volume and concern.

Your eyeline falls reflexively upon what you are trying to conceal on the bedsheets, and his tracks yours. Unable to handle your embarrassment, you bury your head in your hands and slump backwards onto your heels, certain this will be repulsive to him.

“I am so sorry, husband; I was not expecting this to happen today; please forgive me,” you mutter defeatedly behind your hands, ashamed.

You are expecting a noise of derision or disgust. What you do not expect is a chuckle and then a large, warm hand brushing your shoulder.

“Darling, please get up off the floor,” his ask caring, no rebuke to be heard.

Your head slowly tilts up, and to your shock, he is leaning over onto your side of the bed, not far above the stain, and is observing you mildly befuddled benevolence.

“But, I…” you trail off, even as he reaches for your hand.

“It is fine,” he cuts in, squeezing reassuringly with his fingers. “You are a woman. Such things happen. There is no need for shame,” his eyes are soft with understanding. “I do have sisters, you know,” he adds with a sanguine laugh, a shorthand to explain his knowledge of your situation.

Your mouth falls open a fraction, completely taken aback by his affable, almost nonchalant reaction; it is very different from what your Mama taught you to expect. While you flounder in surprise, he rolls away and gets out of bed, padding around to your side, crouching next to you and drawing you into his arms.

“You… you are not repulsed?” you stutter as you recover, your brow creasing.

“Of course not, my love. It is perfectly natural, and there is nothing about you or your body that repulses me,” he assures, kissing your cheek. “In fact, it is very much the opposite,” his tone sincere and soothing.

You get lost in his hazy eyes and gentle smile, accepting his doting kisses that make you feel warm from head to toe. It is then he looks down and spies the bathing cloth you have swaddled yourself in from the waist down.

“I assume your nightgown is in a similar state? And that you would like to get clean?” he guesses empathetically as you nod demurely. “Then I shall summon the staff to run you a bath,” he hums, delicately brushing the stray strands of hair that had fallen askew in your scrambling efforts.

“Thank you, Benedict, so very much” you exhale, relieved and still slightly unmoored by his reaction.

His face breaks into that crooked smile that makes butterflies flutter under your ribs. 

“Please, my love, it is literally nothing. We have promised ourselves to each other for life. I expect to see this many more times,” he explains calmly as he rings a bell to summon his butler and presently provides instructions for a warm bath to be drawn and the bedding to be changed by the maids.

“You do not wish for me to sleep elsewhere when I am so afflicted?” you check as soon as you are alone again.

He chuckles as he did before. “Whatever for? You are my wife. I want you beside me all the time. It matters not to me if you have your courses. I still wish to fall asleep with you in my arms.” His sweet sincerity makes your heart skip a beat as he nuzzles your temple. “Although it has been a few short days since our wedding, I have rather gotten used to you being beside me. I cannot sleep soundly without you, my love. Nor would I want to try. We shall share our bed every night,” he adds solemnly.

“But, what if one of us is sick?” you inquire as he helps you to stand up from the floor, pulling you into his arms.

“‘Tis no bother. We shall surely both contract the same, seeing as we reside under the same roof; at least we can suffer in company,” he jests warmly into your ear as his hands rub your lumbar spine with a pattern that soothes the ache you feel there.

“What if you must travel for your art?” you challenge.

“I would be heartbroken if you did not come with me,” he volleys back with a playful pout that you can't help but giggle at.

“What if one day we have a child, and they will not rest without their mother?” your question is almost timid, knowing there is a bloom on your cheeks at the very thought.

He cups your jaw gently and tilts your face to look up into his. His mien is so devoted that the air is stolen from your lungs. 

“Then they shall simply sleep between us, my love. It will be my child, too. You will not be alone. Not when you have your monthly courses and not in the raising of our children. Of that, I promise,” his cadence is lilting and ardent.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe shakily, scarcely able to believe that the man you married is nothing like how your mother had warned. It makes you feel so grateful you cannot stop your emotions, heightened at this time of the month, from bubbling over.

A large, warm thumb blots the tears that gather at the corner of your eyes without comment; he just accepts your state, bussing a kiss onto your forehead.

“I love you, y/n,” he breathes, warm air gusting over your skin.

“I love you too, Benedict,” your reply muffled into his neck as you mould into his strong embrace, remaining there until a lady’s maid taps on the door to convey that your bath is ready.

And true to his word, over the years, you are never a night without your husband. Through many monthly courses, through sickness and health, through children and even grandchildren. It is always his face you see just before your eyes droop closed and the moment they flutter open again. Your safe space. Your comfort. 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb

[notjustjavierpena]

Wake

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Finally another part of my darksugardaddy!joel. This has been sitting in my WIPs for a while, and I’m so pleased with how it turned out. Be kind to me as I haven’t written in a while and I feel terrible about starving you all of content.

Summary: Joel comes home to fuck your lights out. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, dub-con with non-con elements, painful and rough sex, p in v sex, choking, passing out, degradation, abusive behavior, creampie, dirty talk, no aftercare, sugar daddy, daddy kink

Word count: 2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50908876

Wake

It’s a late afternoon when you come to a realization; you don’t love Joel Miller, and you don’t think you could ever love Joel Miller. He is everything that you’ve been taught to hate if you want to believe in fairytales. Your parents would disapprove of him so immediately that you’d be terrified of them cutting you off from them if they knew of his existence.

You’ve never had a man be this rough with you, and only occasionally stroking your hair in apology afterward, but you suppose that the copious amounts of money spent on you - clothes that feel like armor around regular men and expensive bottles of wine that might as well have been potions designed to make you insane - is enough to make up for any unpleasantries within what you don’t dare call a relationship. 

You don’t love him but you can’t hate him. Not in a way that any other person would. How else would you surround yourself with pretty things? You’re no good at anything else than being what he needs.

Whenever he has had a bad day, you know the roughness will increase. It always starts the same; with a slam of the mansion door and a hungry search for you through the obnoxiously large building. He calls for you and you don’t dare not to answer, and in the end, he finds you in the extravagant living room - one of many - with its gold-rimmed glass tables and Chesterfield couches. You’ve been reading a book, but you put it down the second he enters and don’t even bother asking to read to the next full stop. 

“There you are,” he almost heaves for breath with exhaustion from his anger. He isn’t angry at you - you know this - but still, you find yourself treading lightly when his voice is so cold that the living room seems to drop a few degrees in temperature and causing your nipples to harden at the sudden change.

Then, as part of your ritual, he gets a thick wad of bills from the inside pocket of his suit and places it on the nearest surface. A bank transfer won’t do in these situations. He needs something physical, something he can hold in his hand and flash before you, and you know that he wants you to fall to your knees and beg for the warmth and dirtiness of the printed bills against your clean skin.

You’re just about to when he interrupts you.

“There will be more when you wake,” he promises, voice almost too quiet and restrained. Like he is saving his strength. 

You notice his choice of words; when you wake.

Wake.

You gulp. You’ll have to take it in stride. You’ll have to play the part.

You rise from your seat and he watches you patiently. You say nothing as you lower yourself onto the glass table and then lie down on your back, knowing it can hold because Joel would never buy a surface that he couldn’t have you on. 

You’ve learned not to wear anything too difficult to get out of, so it takes little time for you to pull off your skirt. Though you struggle a bit with your underwear since they’re already damp, sticking to the outline of your cunt and the sight makes Joel smirk like the Devil. Curse him, you think, for knowing that you can barely function when he looms over you like a giant, like a dangerous predator that hasn’t tasted blood for weeks. 

When you manage to maneuver your panties down your thighs, he twitches with impatience and curls his whole fist around the cotton fabric. He yanks them down and watches them twist into themselves as he pulls them down over the length of your legs and off your feet. 

They catch on your heels for the tiniest second. He gracefully undoes the ankle straps of them and drops each one onto the floor after taking it off. The anticipation is killing you, toying with your ability to breathe properly and even moreso at the humiliation of only wearing your top now. 

“Pull it down,” he commands, gesturing to it. You start to yank at the bottom to pull it over your head but he growls, “Down. Not off, stupid bitch.”

Oh. 

You pull the neckline down to settle it underneath your breasts, feeling like something on display with the way that Joel takes you in. His cock strains against the front of his pants, his breath uneven, when he cups both of your tits in his hands and pushes them roughly together. His thumbs skim over your hardened nipples, causing you to moan and he responds by pinching them instead until the moan transforms into a whimper.

“I’m gonna fuck you until your pretty little lights go out,” he mutters, pinches, and then tugs a bit on your nipples until you move involuntarily, “Lie still. Don’t give me any shit.”

He takes a step back, his gaze pinning you down whilst he undoes his belt. You refrain from shivering in case he tells you off once more, but you’re so close to doing it when you hear the noise of his zipper. A gush of wetness seeps from you, possibly smearing the glass surface that you are lying on. 

“Please,” you say pathetically.

“Please what?” He asks as if he doesn’t care.

“Daddy,” you present your cunt for him by opening your legs and Joel instinctively looks at your quivering slit, “Please fuck me.”

Joel steps between your legs, using his knees to push them even further apart. He towers over you, cock standing impressively into the air after he has shoved his pants and underwear down his thighs. He tuts at the desperate look in your eyes, “I barely make it through the front door before you’re spreading your legs for me.”

You want to argue that he was the one who sought you out, but he might leave you with a throbbing cunt if you have the audacity to play smart with him, so instead you just nod with a breathless ‘yes’.

He places one knee on the coffee table, following up with scooping a hand underneath the small of your back to align your lower pelvises. His grip is so strong, his bare skin, the amount you are allowed to feel, burns against your own. Like King Midas, his touch enriches you, turns you into something as valuable as gold. 

His cock breaches your tight cunt moments after. He watches you intently as your eyes screw shut with the inevitable sting that it brings due to his generous girth. He seats himself to the hilt inside of you and reaches something you didn’t even know a man could get to when he presses his hand into the spot where it rests on your back. 

“Good girl,” he praises with a strained moan, “How do you feel?”

“Full,” you say shakily and teasingly clench around him. 

He takes in a sharp breath, and before you know it, his free hand has come down on your right breast in a harsh slap. He adds to it by palming your throat afterward, tightly gripping it when you try to squeeze around his length again after not having been given time to react to the consequence of doing it the first time. You smirk up at him and he nearly loses his mind. 

“God, you just want it bad, don’t you, little girl?” His hips draw back and he keeps you waiting for the briefest second before slamming them forward again. The force behind his thrusts is borderline painful, but the way his hand arches your back makes his cockhead pound your front wall. 

The moans you let out are barely there, high-pitched or silent with the way he knocks all wind out of you whilst simultaneously cutting off oxygenated blood to your brain.

He fucks you like an animal, all groans and grunts, sweat dripping from his brow because he is too hungry for dominance to undress. He loves being able to quickly flee the scene afterward and loves leaving you with no clothes on so you cannot follow him. 

But it’s not the amount of clothes that he wears compared to you that gets you close to the edge. It is the fact that nothing around you feels real except for him. Even you don’t feel real but rather closer to an inanimate object that only comes alive because of the dark eyes that penetrate your own. 

You’ve known this fact for a while. Despite the love not being there, you know that after this arrangement has started - you don’t know what else to call it - his mere looking at you is what makes you materialize. 

Your fingers come up to curl around his wrist. You cannot breathe and it fucking hurts, only dulled by the way that your cunt starts to flutter with how close he has gotten you to the edge. You hadn’t expected him to make you come. 

With wide eyes, you look up at him in an attempt to tell him what is going on. He holds your gaze, pleased with himself as he drives into you, “I know, little girl, don’t have to tell me, I can feel you.” 

You don’t have the guts to fight his harsh hand. You take it with tears forming in your eyes and the feeling of your pulse pounding in your neck where it’s fighting to get past his bruising grip. 

“Say it, say that you love me, that you’re nothing without me,” he commands, but when you try to speak it is nothing but a squeak. He has his hand so tightly around your windpipe that you cannot get a word past your lips, drooling and shaking underneath his lack of mercy as your tongue feels too big for your mouth. He grins maniacally down at you as your vision blurs around the edges, “Made you speechless, did I? You filthy whore.”

You have always been familiar with the term putting someone’s lights out, but you’ve never understood the true meaning until Joel came into your life. You come hard, unfolding beneath his touch, with tears on your cheeks - and then there’s nothing.

Like a child falling asleep in a car seat, you have been carried up the stairs and into your bedroom. You sit up in your comfy bed and try to piece together how you have gotten here, and when you realize, it is because of your underwear and skirt messily and hurriedly sitting around your ankles. 

You tug your bottom garments up again. There is something sticky between your legs, and you know, immediately. what it is when you start to shift your legs and are hit with soreness. Everything hurts, but nothing seems to be broken or damaged. 

You glance to your right and spot the stack of bills that Joel had flashed earlier. It is neatly placed on the edge of the table along with a glass of water and some aspirin. You’ll take them soon, need to feel the ache a little while longer.

Instead of doing what is most comfortable (like taking the damn pills), you reach for the money instead. A delusional person would argue that they still feel warm, the temperature somewhere between newly printed and body heat. You take a few of them in your hand, and then you press them against your skin. The fact that you find it soothing is pathetic.

The wonder and innocence of being carried upstairs as a kid doesn’t translate into adulthood, you think, and then you lay down to fall into a deep sleep.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[creepling]

FICS FOR GAZA !

hello peeps! i am taking part in wip sponsorships for @ficsforgaza to help out with donations for the many fundraisers they have linked.

to meet with the terms, i am only offering sponsorships of works about video game characters. this includes my usual tcm game wips, alongside one i have of boomer from ssktjl.

here is an outline of steps to participate; send a screenshot that is proof of donation alongside the wip you are sponsoring into my inbox. $1 donated to a fundraiser = 100 words written for the sponsored wip. the word counts i provide are just rough estimations and i am willing to go over if the donations go higher! once a work is completed, i will give special thanks to donators for their contribution to the fic and the aid for gaza!

my limit is $20 for 2k, but feel free to donate as much as you can seperately from my wips!

click here for a further explanation from ficsforgaza if you are still unsure. their blog also has tabs on FAQ, fundraisers and all the info you need.

reminder: do not donate to ME. only send me proof of donation.

MY WIPS

BAD TINDER DATE WITH BOOMER (title still to be decided)

ssktjl!captain boomerang x fem!reader. bad first impressions. enemies to lovers. eventual smut? mini-fic series.

you have a reputation for liking the bad boys. your friends have warned you'll get your heart broken and it's time to move on to better things. after a horrible date with the aussie boomerang-slinger, you decide to finally take their advice. but it's not that easy moving on. there is something about him you can't get enough of...

progress: 676/6000 words

TO DEVOUR IS TO LOVE: CHAPTER 2

tcm game original character. multiple ships. dead dove - do not eat. general tags on this post.

in the second chapter, winona slaughter is navigating through the city life. fate aligns with her hunger and she crosses paths with maria flores and her group of friends. all is well as they take the abnormal, but intriging rural girl under their wing. but winona is struggling to cope with the buffet that she surrounds herself in. let's see how long she can last before things get messy...

progress: 4312/5500 words

THE BABYSITTER (title still to be decided)

johnny slaughter x fem!reader. babysitter trope. stalking. violence and gore. non-con. minor character death. dark smut. dead dove - do not eat.

reader finishes up her babysitting shift and expects the usual routine of her boyfriend picking her up. she doesn't know that someone is watching her, and is waiting for the right time to prance. when johnny finally digs his nails into reader, he knows a sadistic way to get her to succumb to him and have some derranged fun.

progress: 0/1500-2000 words

FOXY (title still to be decided)

johnny slaughter x fox-hybrid!reader. smut. petplay. dom/sub. minor injury. primal. humiliation. tags still to be decided.

fox-hybrid!reader gets caught up in one of hitchhikers traps when trying to snag nugget from the family property. unlucky for them, johnny's been working outside and spots the commotion. finding the hurt, scared reader, johnny takes them in with a devilish smirk. now he's got a little pet he can play with, and he ain't gonna play nice.

progress: 0/1000 words.

IN THE BLUEBONNET FIELD (title still to be decided)

johnny slaughter x fem!reader. smut. stalking. yandere. primal. non-con. knifeplay. bloodplay. dead dove - do not eat.

johnny has been stalking the reader for weeks, relishing in their scared state. as the days go by, the reader feels like she is being watched, catching glimpses of an unknown man following her every move. with morbid curiousity, the reader decides to treck through the bluebonnet fields to finally come face to face with her stalker. when he takes her advances, he finally has her at his mercy.

progress: 0/3000 words.

dividers by @thecutestgrotto.

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE.

[bladeweaver-if]

Devlog (12/01/24)

I've been writing at a fairly regular pace, getting down another 2k words today. I'd like to be writing more per day but figuring out where to take things to where I want them is proving trickier than I'd hoped. Once I'm out of this section I should pick up in terms of words written per day, as I have a better idea of what happens after this slower section.

I've also been writing and concepting future scenes as they come into my head, just short sections that I don't have a concrete place to fit them in yet but don't want to forget, so I write a rough outline down.

I'm hoping to get a lot more done over the weekend!

[citrus-moonlight]

Claire, all of those WIP titles are sooo good and intriguing and I can't wait for all of them, but I have to know more about "Lotus." It's so sexy in its simplicity and meaning, and I am 🔎🔬🧐👀 eyeballing it so hard. 💕

Tara thank you, you're so sweet! 🥰 This was the perfect one for you to pick because it's my yoga instructor!Alfred Pennyworth x Reader AU idea that was inspired by your PT Kino AU! It came about while I was in a yoga class and thinking about which Andy blorbo would work in that scenario, and Alfred came to mind immediately.

The idea is that Alfred started exploring it to help with his injury (and to placate Bruce who kept suggesting it) and he ended up enjoying and appreciating it so much that he started teaching so he could help others. 

Since your ask I actually managed to get about 2k written (hence why this took a couple of days to answer), and I think I've been able to capture the vibe that's been floating around my mind for so long! (and oh dear, I feel like this one is going to get away from me 😂). So here's a little bit I have so far:

WIP Ask Game

Divider by the lovely @saradika-graphics

The studio provides small wooden discs similar to a drink coaster to indicate if you're ok with physical adjustments, or would prefer not to be touched. The “not” side is the dark outline of a lotus flower laser etched into the wood, the “yes” side is the same flower but coloured in a pretty shade of peachy-pink. 

For weeks you've left it with the outlined side up, but as classes go by you begin to look at it with a little more consideration each time as you stretch out your hips before class starts.

You'd never been concerned with being touched by an instructor in the past, whether male or female, and at first it was simply because you wanted to allow yourself to find your bearings again on your own, but now..

Maybe today, you think, class after class, but then you'd glance up at Alfred with his kind blue eyes and broad shoulders and strong looking thighs and-

You lose your nerve every time.

There's something about him that feels different, that feels like allowing him to touch you would be...intimate maybe wasn’t the right word, but you can't shake the thought, as irrational as it is, that he would be able to sense what you were feeling if he did. 

Because your feelings had been growing.

Warm thoughts finding you late at night when you can't sleep as a seemingly infinite parade of sirens pass your window. Wondering if his hands are as warm and solid as they look as your own fingers dip lower, quickly chasing thoughts of what his would feel like wrapped around your wrists.

Eventually the temptation reaches a tipping point on the first properly warm day of spring. 

Everyone’s step seems a bit lighter after the long and dreary winter, sunlight lingering in the evenings as pockets of green finally begin to fill out the rough and somber edges of the city.

Alfred is dressed in his usual uniform of dark sweatpants and a half-zip sweater, but as you’re stretching and waiting to begin he suddenly pulls the sweater over his head to reveal a deep navy fitted tshirt underneath. 

The sleeves are pulled snug around his biceps, and the outline of his strong chest and shoulders that are always tantalizingly present beneath the heavier fabric are now much more prominent.

You can’t pull your eyes away, taking in the muscles of his forearms and the brush of hair that covers them, and when he turns to greet another student who'd just walked in you admire the arch of his lower back and the soft but firm swell of his stomach, unable to help wondering if there’s hair there as well, and does it trail lower to perhaps meet the hair beneath his waistband..?

You’re lost in your reverie when Alfred turns back around to queue everyone to begin, and when he meets your eyes your mouth that you didn’t realize was hanging open snaps shut.

You think you catch a ghost of a smile before his focus returns to the class.

As everyone settles into place you pause, then before you can change your mind you quickly flip your disc to the coloured side and lie back, taking a deep breath that does little to slow your beating heart or calm the swell of heat between your legs.

[waterfallofspace]

WIP List

A lil WIP list to keep track of projects~ If you've requested anything and you want to know if I'm working on it, or have seen it, or just want to see what projects might be upcoming, here's the list for that!

(It's not a guarantee I'll finish everything on this list, but if there's ever a certain project you really want to see, feel free to shoot me an ask or message and just say 'hey! I'd like to see this!' and I'll see what I can do)

Requests (think 2k or less words):

Soukoku (Chuuya) for Anon

A selection of requests for Soukoku from Anon

Fyodor (feat. Dazai) for Anon

Other Fics (think 3k or over words):

Buddy Daddies 3/3 Completion (outlined)

Prompted by -this post- Soukoku thing (started!)

Hotwings Prompts To Flush Out

lil lurker Dazai prompt

Wavs/Art (still quite new to these~):

Dazai Wav Request for Anon

Teasing Partner Wav (rough, ROUGH recording, might scrap)

Collection Of Digital Art Ideas

A & B Scenario -waved (script written)

Personal Projects: (Mostly just for me but I may post them if I get the motivation/interest hahaha~)

Angsty TDDK thing with minimal snz (started)

Creating/Playing with my OC's (ongoing)

[rosebury-archives]

CalmWriMo 2023 Wrap Up!

It is done! It has been done for like four days! IT IS DONE!

I have taken part in @winterandwords' CalmWriMo, here's my goals and how I did!

At the start of November, I sat on 81450 Words for my project To Put On An Act. My current word count is 111793 Words!!!!! WHAAAAT!!!!!! It's safe to say that I reached my writing goal! But what else did I do?

Get to Chapter 16 OR write 30k words - safe to say that I reached both of these goals! I'm currently working on Chapter 18, and I've written 30343 words. Yippie!

Plan later chapters post breakup - eh. I collected some ideas and have a rough plan but there's still some proper outlining missing. I do have a little bit of a better picture now though!

Post progess more frequently - This worked semi well? I would've loved to post more logs to be honest but. Oh well. I did post a couple logs though, and I want to try to make this a habit, maybe to at least yell on here once a week (if I do happen to write that week of course).

Make some Moodboards - I did that! I've not posted them here yet but I did make some little moodboards for a bunch of the characters :)

Make an intro post for this account - did that as well! Yippiee!

Plan for another mysterious project - heheheheheheeheheheh >;)

Now the other, just as important part of CalmWriMo, the Calm. I was not as calm as I should've been. Let's see. What's the goals.

Get more sleep - ahahah. uuh. ahhahehheah. hm. well. let's move on.

Be less anxious/worried about What The World Thinks Of Me - hm. Well. Well? I mean I guess. I think it's fine. I still think every single person in the world is better than me but it's okayyyy I'm alive what more do I want.

KILLING THE CRINGE - happy to report that the cringe dies again every day

Read More - OOOOHHHH LOOK SOMETHING I DID!!! Listened to my audiobook in the beginning of November, however, I did not finish it. Oh well! Instead I did some reading of fellow writers on Wattpad. Some of these really are the most written stories of all time, but there are some real gems hidden in there that I can learn from. Also great for networking [wink]

Less Stress about posting - no stress at all I Am So Calm. I actually caught up to my posting schedule! I took it slow and posted every two weeks to give myself some time, and now I can go back to my regular weekly schedule! I think it's fine. i think I'm fine. I can post when I want and do what I want.

ALL IN ALL! THIS WAS GREAT!!! THIS WAS GENUINELY SO GREAT!!!! I'm really proud of myself and what I did this past month, I got a lot done, I feel motivated, I feel excited! I can't believe I've already hit over 100k words, and at this point I have no idea when this will end, but I'm just really excited to see what the future will hold for TPOAA.

Having a goal for the month really did help me to get a gentle kick in the ass and to sit down and write. I was writing an average of 2k words a day and I hope to kind of keep that even if I don't have a goal set for the month.

If it wasn't for my incredibly draining job, I probably would've been able to hit an even higher word goal, but I genuinely think this was the best I could do and I'm so genuinely proud of myself. Maybe next year I'll aim even higher? Who knows!

Great job to everyone else who took part in CalmWriMo/NaNoWriMo, no matter if you hit your goal, you did great and I'm so proud of you and I kiss you btw. Also thank you winter tumblr dot com for coming up with this idea and making my first steps into the world of November writing challenges a little easier!

remember that Alex and Youngbin love u all <3

[faeassassin]

I've been getting down on myself because I don't feel like I'm making *enough* progress on The Madness of Verwyn. But then I look at the word count and realize that at least I *am* making progress. Plus, I've got over 2k on Children of Chaos written, so that's nothing to sneeze at.

The problem hasn't been the writing at all. It's tucking in all the loose threads and answering all the promises I made in the previous books and stories. That takes more concentration and planning than I anticipated.

And no, an outline wouldn't have helped. These silly people go off script as often as I do already, from draft to draft, because something that will make the story better pops into my head. Or I write an offhand comment that's just decorative and then realize that it contradicts something else I put in a later rough draft. Sure, sure, unreliable narrator *IS* very deliberate in the Agrad POV novels, but unreliable author needs to be beaten down as much as possible.

I'm getting there. But there's a lot of work behind the scenes in wrapping up a series. Worth it, absolutely, but it's not as easy as I'd assumed it would be.

[aurevell]

2022 Fic Year in Review

For the first time ever, I tracked my word count in a spreadsheet, which means I get to see the overall patterns in my writing now that the year is over. This includes fun with charts and graphs, as you can see below:

Total words written: 182,526

Worst writing month(s): February-April

I wrote literally 0 words from February 6 to June 1. Ongoing knee pain made 2022 a rough year. The chart above shows my fun little "wow fuck my knees actually" break for physical therapy woes.

Best writing month(s): June-July

Once I committed to AU-gust, I outlined in May and started churning out words in June and July. My June wordcount alone was 53,804, and I at some point wrote 7,522 words in a single day, a harrowing feat I have since blocked from memory.

Total fics published: 37

This includes The Striking Complication, a longfic I finished in early 2022. It also includes 30 fics (~2k-5k each) for AU-gust and several continuations for them, plus two fics for my long-haired Steter collection. In October, I wrote a Stetopher Week sickfic, a werecat Stiles AU and a Sterek horror fic I’ve been wanting to finish forever.

My longest work was The Third Sacrifice at just over 21,000 words. 

My shortest work was We’ll Have Words Tomorrow at 1,145 words.

My most popular work by kudos and hits was When It Counts, because I’m apparently not the only one who’s a sucker for tongue-tied!Peter Hale.

My favorite fics were:

When It Counts (Steter) - Surprise, surprise. Can’t overstate how hard I cackled while writing this.

It May Simply Lie in Wait (Sterek) - Haunted houses are my favorite, and I basically wrote this just for me.

a small span of quiet (Steter) - A super fun miscommunication fic, and I adore established Steter.

The Endgame (Steter) - My favorite of the AU-gust sci-fi fics. I wish I had sequel ideas, because I want to know what comes next.

The Third Sacrifice (Sterek) - Horror, my beloved. This was a very self-indulgent romp through some monster-infested woods.

Stuff I Want to Work on in 2023

My dreaded nogitsune fic. I posted it as a ficlet for AU-gust, but I want to do a full version even though it's fighting tooth and nail. Waiting to see if it'll cooperate or get buried in my fic graveyard.

A mob AU sequel, which I told myself at the start of 2022 I would definitely work on, and yet here we are.

A second (smaller) AU-gust??? I am really considering it. They say the mind forgets trauma, and I’ve already mostly forgotten the seven layers of hell this year’s event put me through. If I did the 2023 challenge, I'd probably tweak the rules for myself.

In Conclusion

Tried some new fandom events. Met some AMAZING tumblr mutuals, followers, and commenters who made me feel much more connected to the fandom. Wrote some fun stuff I never would have imagined without help and inspiration. 2022 was a fun year for writing, and I can't wait for what 2023 brings 🥳

[akechi-stole-my-heart]

remember (remember) annotations because why the hell not

I've always wanted to make annotations for something I've written and I figured this would be a good opportunity, since this is a short and yet somewhat complex fic with a lot of parallelism/references. I'm writing this for the hell of it and because I think it'll be fun, I'm guessing it'll be pretty long and so for that reason I'm putting the rest under the cut. Without further ado, here are annotations for my recent 2k word one shot persona 5 fic remember that you can't save everyone (remember that you have to try).

part one: the writing process

My writing process varies for each project. I definitely tend more towards outlining, but this fic was somewhat of an exception for me. Since I knew it was going to be so short and very dialogue-heavy, I basically just had the rough idea planned out when I started drafting. Normally I might outline the whole thing, if not on paper then in a note or at least in my head, all in great detail. For this fic, I decided to write it on a whim, so there wasn't much time for the outlining stage.

I wrote the first draft in chunks of 500-ish words at a time over the course of a single night, pausing whenever I hit a roadblock or a good temporary endnote and returning to it a bit later. My drafting process is pretty basic. I tend to hyperfixate on whatever I'm writing and get into a flow state--and if I can't reach that flow state, I struggle to write anything at all. The words just kind of come to me, usually even a bit faster than I can write them (though I've started to catch up with my typing more recently--it helps that I write on my phone more often than not these days and I'm a lot faster that way).

Once the first draft was finished, I let it sit overnight, and since I was hyperfixating on it, I started work on the second draft basically right away once I woke up and kept working on it until it was done. Normally I don't work nearly this fast, but it helped that this was a hyperfixation-driven fic and that it was so short and simple.

My editing process is basically just a lot of rereading, tweaking/reordering/deleting/rewriting until I have something I'm happy with. In this case, I added about 200 words worth and deleted a lot of dialogue that I didn't think worked or didn't sound therapist-y enough. It's extremely hard writing Maruki's dialogue--just in general, but especially when he's in therapist mode.

The following is an example of the changes passages go through from the first draft to once its completed. The first draft is in italics, anything I cut is struck through, and anything I added is in bold.

-

Kurusu sniffles, and there's another long silence. Takuto gets up to refill his water glass in the meantime. While digging in the fridge, he ends up grabbing a beer too. Takuto tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder to pick up his water glass and carry both back to his room.

He hates knowing Kurusu is suffering while so utterly helpless. He wishes more than anything he could do to something other than offer what must sound like empty platitudes.

After a long while Kurusu takes a deep breath and sighs. "Thank you, Doctor Maruki. I think I feel a little better now."

"I'm glad to hear it. If you ever need me, please, call me, at any time of day. Don't ever feel like you're bothering me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Takuto runs his hands through his hair, a tiny bit of tension dissipating–but most of it remains.

Takuto sets the drinks down on his bedside table. He grabs his phone with one hand and runs the other through his hair. "Would you like to talk about anything else?"

"No. I'm good now. Promise."

"I'm glad to hear that. If you ever need me, please, call me, at any time of day. Don't ever feel like you're bothering me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"All right. Don't forget what I said, Kurusu-kun. It's natural to be feeling a lot of conflicting emotions right now. If you ever need to talk it out more I'm here. It's okay to need help navigating the this grieving process."

"Yeah. Thanks." A door opens, and Takuto assumes Kurusu is headed back up to the attic for the night. "Goodnight, Doctor Maruki."

"Goodnight, Kurusu-kun."

Kurusu hangs up. Takuto sighs, allowing himself to slump forward and hold his head in his hands. He's so helpless. Not only with Kurusu, but also with his Kurusu's friends, and everyone else. At least with those like Rumi and Sumire Yoshizawa he'd been able to help, but the rest of them…there's nothing he can do. Absolutely nothing. Takuto opens the beer bottle and takes a swig.

-

I reordered the dialogue in one instance because I realized it sounded like Maruki was ending the call before Akira gave any indication that he was better/done talking, and it surprisingly still worked without having to change much. As you can see, there's a lot more added than subtracted. I'm an underwriter, and I wanted to break up the dialogue and indicate Maruki's what reaction was to what Akira told him through his actions. The rest of the changes are pretty small and were tweaked during the final few proofreads before I posted the fic on ao3.

Fun fact, I was debating for a long time whether he should refer to Sumi as Sumire or Kasumi in his head (on one hand, she believes she's Kasumi because of him and maybe he wants to respect that, on the other hand he's well aware she's not Kasumi and only believes that because he made her do so), before I remembered he pretty much exclusively refers to her as Yoshizawa out loud in the game and that that worked as a good compromise.

part two: commentary

Now we get to the fun part! This part is going to be pretty much nonsense unless you've read the fic already, so I recommend you go do that first, and then you can come back here. I'm going to take out passages and explain my thought process behind them/any parallels/deeper meaning behind them. This might take some of the magic out of it in the same way explaining a joke takes away its humor, so if you'd rather not see this peek behind the curtain, I understand.

Her back is to him, but she's closer than she's ever been. If only he could get her attention–Takuto reaches out, and he could swear, the tips of his fingers graze the back of her head, just barely tousling her hair. She's so close.

Bzzt.

Takuto is ripped away from her.

The fic opens with a dream Maruki is having of attempting to reach Rumi. This is pretty straightforward--he misses her and wants her back in his life, but he knows that's impossible, so he can't reach her no matter how hard he tries. I started here because I wanted to remind the reader where his mindset is at and the trauma that's led him to this place as context for the rest of the fic.

He fumbles with the phone, nearly accidentally rejecting the call as he struggles not to drop it. He manages to press accept and presses the phone to his ear.

I love how awkward and clumsy Maruki is. I headcanon him as ADHD and I tried to reflect that in this fic by describing how restless he is later on, constantly pacing around his room as he and Akira talk. But anyway, as for this little section I wanted to include his clumsiness without breaking the tone of the fic, so this happens early on before the more serious stuff happens and it'd be jarring to hear about Maruki stumbling around.

"Kurusu-kun?" he tries.

Silence. Then, a very soft and quiet, "...Yeah."

"Is everything alright?"

More silence. An even softer, "No."

Takuto switches on his lamp. Kurusu has never called him before, let alone in the middle of the night. Whatever this is about, it's serious, and he's trusted Takuto with it above anyone else. "Do you want to talk about it?" Kurusu mumbles something inaudible. "I'm afraid I couldn't make out–"

"I'm sorry," Kurusu says. "I didn't realize it was this late. It's nothing. Forget I even–"

While Akira is the one who called, I wanted to make it clear that he was hesitant about talking to Maruki, since I think it's in character for him to be afraid of making himself a burden. He called because he was so overwhelmed with emotion and immediately regretted it, and he continues to be hesitant to share his feelings for the rest of the fic. He just isn't used to talking about them out loud with anyone, not even his own counselor.

"We don't have to talk about anything if you prefer. I'll sit on the line with you until it's safe to hang up."

"It's not like that." Kurusu's words come out rushed, almost panicked, like he's desperate to clear up a misunderstanding.

"Like what?"

"I don't want to hurt myself. Or…whatever."

Oh, Akira. He called Maruki in the middle of the night and yet he's still worried about making Maruki worry about him. He doesn't want Maruki to think he's weak, either. My sweet, sweet child and his debilitating hero complex and aversion to vulnerability...

There's more quiet sniffling from the other side. "I'm sorry," repeats Kurusu. "I'm so sorry…"

Somehow, Takuto doesn't think Kurusu is talking to him anymore.

This is probably my favorite moment in the fic. Akira has already been apologizing, but this is the moment he breaks and starts talking about Akechi, even if he doesn't fully realize it himself yet. My baby boy and his overwhelming crushing guilt. ;-;

Kurusu's apologies deteriorate into sobbing. Takuto listens silently, his heart aching for the kid who helped him so much with his research. He swears to himself, right then and there, that he'll do whatever is in his power to end Kurusu's suffering, no matter what.

Here's the first obvious parallel between Maruki and Akira--they both want to save everyone else. In fact, they believe its their duty to do so, to their own detriment. There's another parallel in here too, with Maruki feeling like he owes Akira for how much he's helped him in his research. I think Akira feels the same way about owing people, since his confidants are all structured as give-and-take deals.

More creaking steps. A squeaky door opens and shuts. Kurusu sighs softly. "I took us back down to the bathroom. I don't want to wake Mona and…the café isn't exactly…um. Forget it. It doesn't matter."

Takuto sets that aside. It's not important right now that he understand Kurusu's situation, so long as he's comfortable where he's at. "Are you feeling any better, Kurusu-kun?"

"Um. I guess?" A pause. He sighs. "No, not really. I'm not." He sniffs again. His next words are muffled, almost unintelligible. "Ugh, fuck."

Obvious reference to Futaba's bugs is obvious.

Since I'm not sure how clear Akira's side of things is from Maruki's perspective, I'll just explain it here. Akira left to "clean himself up" in the bathroom after crying. In reality, the moment he tried to calm down, he just ended up breaking down all over again and cried for almost five minutes. Eventually he forcibly gathered himself so he could be coherent for Maruki and prevent him from worrying about him too much. Akira is assuming when he goes back upstairs to retrieve his phone that he'll be able to have better control of his emotions now that he's let himself cry for a bit. Him saying "fuck" is when he realizes that's not the case, and he hasn't regained his composure the way he thought he did. He's already on the verge of crying all over again.

"No, it's not–I just. I don't…really…talk to people. Anyone. About this stuff. Or…anything." He pauses. "I just…I mean, last month, I went through hell, and even then, I didn't–I didn't talk to anyone. Because I was fine! It was okay. I was okay. But now I'm just–I'm falling apart, and–" He breaks down again, starts to cry. "Goddammit. I shouldn't be–I'm sorry, I never should have called you."

Akira's partially convincing himself he was fine, of course. Akechi's death was just the straw that broke the camel's back (though it was a really huge straw). In a way, though, he's not lying either, because Akira just. cares more about others than he does himself. He can deal with his own suffering and trauma--its the suffering and death of his friend that breaks him.

Takuto wants something to chew on–something to distract himself from this listlessness he feels just listening to Kurusu, unable to help him in any meaningful, measurable way. He settles for the inside of his cheek.

"ADHD Maruki loves his snacks" but angst.

"He was right there," Kurusu continues, "but I couldn't do anything. And then it was too late, and…it's all my fault. I should have done something. I should have reached out sooner, but I didn't know what to do. Maybe if I wasn't so helpless and stupid I could have stopped him but now he's gone and it's all my fault."

Takuto waits until he's sure Kurusu's finished. "Forgive me if my assumption is incorrect, but this friend…did he take his own life?"

Kurusu laughs, and he hasn't sounded more miserable all night than he does now. "Yeah. Something like that."

Yeah. I mean, that's really the only way for Maruki to understand Akechi's death at this point. Once again, Akira blames himself and unrightfully puts all the responsibility on his own shoulders when the circumstances were out of his control. Remind you of anyone else?

"You don't need to apologize," Takuto repeats. He takes a breath and sits back down on his bed. "I'm terribly sorry for what happened to your friend. It's a horrible thing to lose someone that way. But it's important to accept that sometimes circumstances are out of our control and there's nothing we could have done to save them."

Maruki take your own advice challenge (IMPOSSIBLE!)

Seriously, though, Maruki having a double standard for himself and everyone else, where he breaks every rule he sets for his ideal reality because he is the exception, he is the one who must suffer for the sake of everyone else, is so incredibly interesting and tragic to me and I wanted to explore that here. How it doesn't even occur to him to take his own advice because of course it doesn't apply to him. He's the one who must save everyone, because he's the only one who can.

Of course, that complex of his gets a whole lot worse once he's offered the power of a god.

"What do you think he'd say to you now, if he were here?"

"Um…well." Kurusu sighs. "He'd…tell me to move on. That it's stupid to blame myself and that he made his choice."

"He'd want you to forgive yourself and live on for him, then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he would."

Maruki, that's an incredibly generous way to put what Akechi would have to say if he saw Akira crying over him. (He's not wrong, though. That is what Akechi would want, even if that's far from how he'd put it himself.)

"You're a very strong young man, Kurusu-kun. You've endured so much this past year, trials you didn't deserve to face. And yet you've triumphed over them every time. That deserves recognition. It's okay to need help. Losing a friend to suicide is not an easy thing to deal with."

"Yeah. I just…" His voice lowers again. "I wish he were still here. I miss him so much."

"I know."

Okay, there's a lot going on here.

First of all--Akira is definitely misinterpreting Maruki's words right here. Maruki means to be saying that Akira's already dealt with so much that its okay to need help, but he's unintentionally supporting the narrative that Akira's been told by so many other adults. "You're so strong and capable and mature, it's incredibly impressive"--and Akira is internalizing this as they have high expectations for me, I can't fail them. He's seen as strong and capable so he's not ever allowed to be anything less. Its another way that the one adult Akira thought he could rely on ends up failing him by putting far, far too much on his shoulders.

This is something Maruki consistently does throughout the confidant by turning the person he should be counseling into his therapist, and later by placing the fate of the world on Akira's shoulders by forcing him to make the decision of which reality to subject the whole world to all by himself. This isn't a choice Akira should be forced to make, and yet Maruki is making him do it anyway, because he sees Akira as the ultimate arbiter of true justice. Akira is seen as incredibly mature and capable for his age by every adult he befriends and they each tell him so, which absolutely cannot be healthy for a sixteen year old kid to hear.

Second of all--"I wish he were still here." There it is. Akira's wish, everyone. The phrasing was entirely intentional. This is how Maruki finds out about Akechi's death. Once he gains access to Mementos and learns what happened in Shido's Palace (likely through Shido's Shadow), he puts two and two together and realizes the "friend" Akira must have been talking about was Akechi. This is how Maruki knew.

And here's the thing. Akira hates being vulnerable already. This phone call was incredibly difficult for him to make as it was. And now, because he talked to his therapist and told him something so deeply personal--that's why Akechi's brought back. That's why he's forced to go through the trauma of 2/2 and let Akechi die all over again. This is Maruki's ultimate betrayal, to use Akira's vulnerability as a weapon against him and hold Akechi hostage.

I believe Maruki when he says he doesn't want to do this to Akira. But that didn't stop him from doing it anyway. Because he believed his reality was worth putting that huge of a burden on Akira's shoulders, one he'll have to live with for the rest of his life. Imagine the toll that's going to put on Akira now. Imagine how much more difficult it'll be for him to talk to anyone about his problems ever again, for fear it'll be used against him like Akechi was. For fear he might put his friends in danger simply for the sin of opening his mouth and daring to be vulnerable.

Takuto gets up to refill his water glass in the meantime. While digging in the fridge, he ends up grabbing a beer too.

This is a reference to that one cut scene that implies Maruki may be something of an alcoholic. "Ends up" was intentional phrasing--Maruki doesn't see it so much as an active choice. He needs it to cope.

Takuto wishes he could do something, anything, to help him. But even with his powers, not even he can bring back the dead.

✨ Foreshadowing ✨

He finds himself in his office. His research paper is sitting here on the desk, already printed out. This is all he has–that, and his powers, which are currently limited and mysterious, but with the proper research might be able to grow into something that could help so many more than the very few he's helped so far. If only he had the resources to actualize it.

He has to find a way to help people like Kurusu and his lost friend. What he has now isn't much, but it's something, and he's determined to turn it into something more. Something that can save everyone from their suffering for good.

Takuto finishes off a third beer bottle. "I swear it, Kurusu-kun, on my own life," Takuto whispers. "I'll save you and all your friends."

Obvious foreshadowing is obvious. Once again, this is Maruki doing the exact thing he told Akira he shouldn't do--place responsibility on his own shoulders for other people's suffering.

"All your friends" is very intentional phrasing as well. He's including Akechi in that. He doesn't know how yet, just that he has to...well...try to save everyone.

Speaking of the title, its referring to both Akira and Maruki. Akira feels he should have been able to save Akechi, while Maruki feels he must save Akira and everyone else. The title was really what tied the whole one shot together. I realized what the title had to be while thinking about the one shot in the shower, and that's when I discovered what thematic throughline was. It retroactively justified my arbitrary decision to have the one shot be from Maruki's perspective (I initially thought it would just be an interesting experiment since I've never written anything from his perspective before). This one shot is about how Maruki does the exact thing Akira feels he should do. Its about how they're thematic foils, and yet similar in so many fundamental ways. It foreshadows their ideological struggle in the third semester and how they're driven by such similar motivations. And how easily Akira could have become like Maruki if he'd been alone.

[therealandian]

there's something really satisfying about going back to work on a project and immediately knowing how to make it better

like i've messed with this story a bit over time, but i never really put a whole lot of thought into the pacing because i just wanted it On The Page

and sure i still haven't written the entire story out yet, but with the rough draft as rough as it is, i think reworking the beginning is going to make things a lot more coherent when i finally do get it all written (and i do have an outline so that helps). cuz wow i breezed through the inciting event with such little substance (around 2k words) which leads to so much expository dialogue in chapter 2 lmao

in the meantime, though, please enjoy this little bit that i pretty much kept word-for-word because it's cute and i love this cat

“Hey there, little guy,” Tayn said, holding out his hand to the tiny black kitten that had materialized in his front garden. It sniffed a few times, tickling his skin with its whiskers, before shoving its whole face into his palm with a happy chirp. He laughed, scritching its cheek while it purred in appreciation. “I don’t have any food to give you right now, sorry.” “Mrrp,” said the cat. “Bit far from town, aren’t you?” “Half an hour's walk for me, but I’m sure it takes you longer.” He stroked the fur on its back. “You’re a pretty tiny little guy.” The cat circled around his legs, weaving beneath them and tickling him with its tail. Then, once it had gone too far for his arm to reach it anymore, it turned around with an indignant Rahh! before pushing its face back into his hand. “You know, I can’t really pet you if you walk away,” Tayn laughed. Its ears twitched, and it squinted at him. Pet me more, human! it seemed to be saying. “You got it, little guy.”

[lialialow]

Lost and Found

Fluff Tasm!Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings none

Requested by @iceyarrows

Hello! I just found your work and I'm already obsessed! May I request something for Tasm!Peter Parker where he has a crush on the reader and writes their names in hearts in his notebook (it all just gives me lovesick puppy vibes), but forgets it somewhere and reader finds it and asks him out the next day? Just cute and fluffy I guess lol, literally anything for him is perfect. Thanks for considering!

Word Count 2k

A/N Thanks for the request! Wrote this on the plane, but it’s cute. Ly mwah ♥︎

Peter was hopelessly in love.

You were all that crossed his mind.

During lessons he was constantly distracted, and it wasn’t helpful in the slightest for him that you just happened to be next to him during half his lessons. He loved your smile, your laugh, the way you would slowly fall asleep in classes.

You guys had grown up together, your parents being the closest of friends and you constantly being around at his house. It was bad, Peter had begun to fall in love with his best friend. Even worse was the fact that you were the only person he had told that he was spider-man; and in doing so had placed you in a mountain of danger. Falling in love with you only heightened the prospect of you being caught up in his reckless life.

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago when he realised he was truly and irrevocably in love with you.

It was the middle of autumn, it was sweater weather, and so you and Peter decided to go out to central park on a stroll. You had found a spot located under a tree of auburn and gold, and was now sitting on one side of the bench, your legs lying on Peter’s lap. His hand was aimlessly rubbing circles on your ankle.

A notebook in hand, Peter had originally intended to draw a tree or something, but seeing how peaceful you looked reading a book, his mind immediately wavered and he set out drawing you instead. You truly were the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and it seemed truly hilarious to him that he had never seen your beauty before, the cloud of friendship had prevented that.

He loved your eyes, they way they would shine when you saw the bright blue sky. He loved it when you laughed when you read that particularly pleasing part of a novel. He loved the way your hair would be blown all over the place on a windy day, and how annoyed you would be afterwards. Most of all, he loved it when he made you laugh, or when you would make him laugh.

Peter loved you, he just had no idea how he could tell his best friend that he was in love with her.

- - -

It was the worst day of the week, Monday. Peter only had one thing to look forward to, and that was science, the only lesson that day where he would sit next to you and he would be so delightfully graced with your presence.

The teacher was droning on and on, Peter had a pen in hand and a notebook that was originally for school, but was now exclusively for drawings of you; on the desk. Yet he had lost focus a while ago and was aimlessly staring at you. He watched as your head lay on your hand, adorned with rings. His pen began to drift on the same notebook, writing your name over and over.

You were incredibly sleep deprived, your favourite show had come out the previous day and your genius self had decided to stay up the entire night to finish the brand new season. It didn’t help in the slightest that Monday just so happened to be the day filled to the brim with the most tiresome lessons.

Words began to blur right in front of you, numbers became letters. Everything written in your notebook was complete nonsense, and you were sure you would have to copy up notes from Peter.

Thank god he’s awake

Oh how wrong you were, Peter was completely distracted by you. Every feature of your face was being committed to memory by him. His hands moved on his own accord, sketching out a rough outline of your face. The more he drew the more he saw. A small freckle of the tip of your nose, just how long your eyelashes were, the way your lips would pout every time you disagreed with what the teacher was saying.

You were a ray of sunshine in his life, a shot of espresso, the only thing that kept him from collapsing and giving up when he felt like he could no longer go on. Only after a few minutes did Peter come to the realisation of what was in the notebook. The most picturesque sketch of your face, only picturesque because it was a drawing of you; surrounded by dozens of small hearts, your name written multiple times across the page.

The lesson carried on and you were no longer aware of a single thing that was happening, finally, after what seemed like an age, the bell rang and once again you were free to endure the torture of yet another lesson.

Peter still hadn’t recovered from seeing the image that he had created based on your sheer beauty, it haunted his every thought and therefore he barely acknowledged the fact that the bell had rung. The classroom seemed bare and all he could see as he walked out was your face.

Everywhere.

Not that it was a bad thing, of course, he loved seeing you, it was the only thing that made his days bearable. Peter carried on down the corridor in his thoughtless stupor; almost walking into a pillar in the process.

- - -

You had suddenly jolted awake at the sound of the bell, and were now scanning your eyes around the classroom, trying to look for Peter. His looming figure was nowhere to be seen. Instead, in his seat, lay a single notebook that you recognised to be his. Being the amazingly nice person you were, you decided to grab the book and give it to him at lunch.

That was the plan until curiosity got the better of you and you foolishly decided to open up the notebook. It fell open on the one apparent page covered in murals dedicated to you. A portrait of your face was displayed front and centre, your name was carelessly scribbled around the drawing- hearts covered the double page spread.

You flipped the page, yet another page dedicated to you. The more pages you flipped, the more you saw. It was beautiful, his drawings, they were amazing; yet you couldn’t help but to have mixed emotions. What were you supposed to think?

Your best friend, someone you had known since you were both in diapers, had drawn half a dozen portraits of you; that you had been completely unaware of. There was no doubt in your mind that the portraits were beautiful, but it was ever so confusing. The fine line between platonic and romantic was becoming smaller every second.

It was the doubt in your mind that had prevented you from confronting Peter, what if he just used you as his muse? This could all be some kind of ridiculous prank for all you knew.

Yet you hoped it wasn’t, throughout your friendship you guys had been mistaken as a couple. When you went out for lunch together, the waiter would mistake the two of you for a couple. Most of the time you would correct them, but sometimes it was fun to imagine what it would truly be like to be with Peter.

Years ago you had a crush on him, which was so embarrassing considering he was your best friend and if anyone knew you were sure they would tease you endlessly, so you got over it, kind of. The sheer possibility of him liking you was enough to drive you to maybe take action on it. You got it, an idea, your mind was made up.

- - -

It had taken Peter far too long to come out of his stupor, by the time he had it was well past lunchtime and there was no chance of him seeing you again; until tomorrow that was. When he arrived home and was rummaging through his bag, he came to the sudden realisation that his notebook was gone. A notebook filled with drawings of you, was gone.

Dozens of scenarios ran through Peter’s head, each seemed to be worse than the last. Some random douchebag could have picked it up, opened it, and discovered Peter’s best kept secret; or some random guy could have picked it up, not opened it, and was planning to give it back to him the following day.

That was the dream scenario, though indeed unlikely considering half the year school was made up of douchebags. Still, Peter had no choice but to wait until tomorrow to confront whoever had his notebook.

- - -

The following morning Peter was already expecting the worst, photos of his drawings put up everywhere perhaps, though when he walked into school and was greeted perfectly normally, it all seemed to be fine. That was until he saw you walking into school, and sure that was amazing. Until he saw what was in your hand.

It was his notebook.

Filled with drawings of you.

This was simply worse than whatever scenarios he had thought up the night before, what must you think of him, how horrifically embarrassing.

“Y/N!” Peter shouted louder than he meant to as he ran to you.

Heads in the corridor turned to stare at him after his loud outburst. You too were startled and jumped back, hitting your head on the door behind you. Was Peter okay? This was most unlike him.

“Woah, sorry, you okay? Didn’t mean to be that loud, god, also how are you? Not that you’d be okay after hitting your head,” Peter had forgotten how to formulate words and was becoming more and more red each second he was talking to you.

“Yeah, fine, bit worse than I was a few seconds ago though,” You replied with a laugh, Peter was acting strange.

“Um- Cool notebook!” Peter stuttered as he pointed out the notebook laying in your hands, his notebook.

Realisation dawned over your face.

Oh

“Right yeah I was going to, um, return it,” you told Peter your face growing brighter with each passing second, he surely suspected that you had opened the book to have a look; which was entirely true. “It’s beautiful by the way, the drawings, they’re amazing.”

Peter’s pale face lit up at your comment, you liked them, you thought they were amazing. Maybe his affection for you hadn’t been revealed just yet.

“They were only beautiful because they were of you, darling,” Peter said to you, his eyes meeting yours.

You felt your face flush with blood, since when was Peter so forward, and since you when did he call you darling. Though the nickname did make you blush an awful lot. Good lord, maybe he did truly like you. You were on a roll, you weren’t going to let this opportunity pass you.

Peter hoped, prayed, that you liked him back, that over the years of friendship, you too had fallen in love with him.

“Would you-”

“I was wondering-”

You both began talking at the same time.

“You go first,” he said.

“I was- I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go out on Friday? Or we could like watch a movie at mine or something,”

“Like we usually do?” he teased, though he knew you bette than that and was simply overjoyed at the prospect that you were asking him out.

“No, like- like on a date?”

“You’re not pranking me are you?” Peter asked, looping his arms around your waist.

“You’re not pranking me? With those drawings? Are you?” You mirrored, placed your hands around his neck.

“No,” he grinned.

“Nor am I” You smiled right back at him, placing your hands either side of his face. He leaned down and your lips finally met his, after so many years of pent up emotions. So long you spent just falling in love with one another, the line between platonic and romantic was crossed, just like that.

“So? Friday?” You whispered, your foreheads touching.

“Yeah, Friday.” Peter replied, placing his lips onto yours yet again.

Never before had he been so thankful to have lost a notebook.

[literallydontlook]

The Unexpected (2/4)

You’re just not that interested in dating military men, nor have you ever been with an alien lover. But a chance Ascension Week encounter awakens something you didn’t know was inside. Chapter 2 of 4.

Pairing: Thrawn x f!reader

Rating: 18+

TW/CW: none (or if I’m missing something, please let me know!)

Tags: sexual tension, romance, slow burn, civilian reader, sexual fantasy, m@sturbation

Word count: 2k+

A/N: I know I said the whole thing is written, but I got sort of unhappy with it and thought I’d rewrite some. My Thrawn crush has sort of cooled so I couldn’t find the energy to do it. But! I am a woman of my word! Here’s part II, unedited, no beta we die like chiss. 

<-- Part 1 - The Trap

Part 2 - Friends

Dajmita had returned in the morning wearing last night’s gown, her makeup smudged from a night of sexual activity. Removing her shoes, she found you curled up in a blanket on the sofa. Your makeup from the previous evening in a similar state of disrepair.

“What happened to you?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“I tried to take someone home,” you groaned pulling the blanket over your head.  She smiled impishly and then faltered, “Wait - What do you mean tried?”

“How do you do it? I took him to my studio for a ‘tour’,” your hands motioned in air quotes, “and he bought a piece of art and left.”

Dajmita was torn between laughter and pity. She sat down beside you and stroked your hair, pulling tangled pins out as she tried to sooth you, “Only you could miscommunicate a hookup.”

Your data pad pinged and you grabbed for it blindly from under the blanket. You groaned, “Aaa ugh it’s already noon?” You threw your legs over the side of the couch and dragged your feet to the refresher.

“Do you have to be somewhere?” Dajmita called from the other room. You washed your face and pulled the remaining pins from your head, then pulled your hair up into a messy half bun. You sighed.

“I promised to meet a friend for lunch,” you breathed out tiredly as you brushed your teeth.

“You could just cancel,” she pointed out.

There was only the sound of scrubbing as you considered this. Spitting out the foam and rinsing your mouth you decided you shouldn’t flake.

“No...I should go,” you sighed again, pulling off your gown and rummaging through your dresser for something comfortable to wear. Dajmita gave you a concerned look.

“Well, I guess you must be pretty comfortable with this person if you’re going out like that.” You looked in the mirror and shrugged. You grabbed a cloak and pulled the hood over your head, “It’s not like anyone wants to hook up with me when I’m dressed up anyway!” you cried out over-dramatically.

Dajmita crossed her arms, “Don’t say that.”

“Just let me wallow for one day,” you complained, dragging your feet out the front door, “I’ll be back later.”

She laughed, “Fine but you’re being ridiculous! We’re doing something fun when you get back!” she called after you.

“Fiiine!” you called back.

——-

Eli had already found a table at Dex’s Diner when you arrived.

“What’s with the cloak? Did you have a uh...rough night?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. You glared at him.

“Whoa sorry we don’t need to go into detail,” he raised his hands defensively. You buried your head in your arms, “Nothing happened.” Your voice was muffled.

He realized you were serious as you sat back up to give the waitdroid your order. “What do you mean nothing happened?” he asked incredulously.

You took a deep breath, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, “Stars I can’t be talking to you about this!” you cried out.

“Hey I’m not a little kid anymore,” Eli shot back. “You can talk to me,” he offered kindly.

“I mean, what more can I say? We went to my studio and he bought a painting and then left.” Now that some time had passed, you could laugh a little. Then a thought occurred to you.

“Is he married or something? Or anti-inter-species?” Eli’s face twisted in thought, “He’s definitely not married, but to be honest I didn’t realize he had a sexuality.”

“Oh.” you considered this, not sure if you should feel better with this new information. The waitdroid returned with your orders - the smell of grease inviting you to indulge.

“Well he wants me to install the painting he bought on his ship,” you said, jabbing at the mush on your plate. You received his transmitted instructions earlier that morning which only reminded you of your failure.

Eli stopped mid-bite. “He wants you to come to the Chimaera? ...In person? He didn’t ask you to hand it off to a stormtrooper at the landing dock?”

“Is that unusual?”

“I’ve never seen a civilian aboard a Star Destroyer. I don’t think you’re allowed...but then again, it’s his ship, so I guess he can sort of do what he wants,” Eli conceded.

“I’ll send him a message to confirm,” You said, your heart beginning to race again. Why do I feel so...excited? You push away the thought.

“Enough about Thrawn. What’s up with you? What are you doing here? Last my parents told me you were training to be a supply officer in the Expansion Region.”

Eli sat back and sighed, not sure where to begin.

—-

“You cannot get hung up on a random guy you don’t even want to date!” Dajmita spelled out loudly as she shook you by the shoulders.

“Please don’t yell at me.”

“I’m not yelling! I’m just making sure you hear me,” she huffed. “You’re so desperate for a fuck. This isn’t some failure you need to overcome. You said yourself this guy might be ace.”

“Well why would he ask me to install the art on his ship then? Civilians aren’t normally allowed,” you countered.

“Maybe he’s just really into art and wants to maintain the artist’s original intent- I don’t know!” Dajmita threw up her arms in frustration, “Why do you even care? You don’t even like military men. If you need someone to fuck, just ask Endel. He’d definitely do it!”

“You know I can’t lead someone on like that! I think he still has feelings for me!” you turned back to the mirror to finish applying makeup, “Ok does this look like I’m not trying too hard? I want to be taken seriously as a professional but like, a hot professional.” You stepped out of the refresher clad in workers clothes.

“I mean, if that’s what you’re going for...Like a carpenter from a pornographic holo vid,” she assured you. You looked down at your top, “Is it too tight?” You tried stretching your arms up to see how much of your mid drift would be exposed. You tried bending over, too.

“Oh yeah - just do that a lot,” Dajmita purred suggestively.

——-

The Chimaera was much bigger than you had ever imagined. Several Lambda-class shuttles were docked in the landing bay where hundreds of stormtroopers and Imperial officers buzzed about their business in an orderly rhythm.

You suddenly felt very self-conscious. Your civilian clothes drew more attention than you were used to and even the officer who scanned your security clearance regarded you suspiciously as he read your destination from his data pad.

“You have an appointment with…Admiral Thrawn?” He asked incredulously.

“That’s right. I’m installing a painting in his office.” This seemed to make sense to him, but he reached for his comm for confirmation.

“Sir - There’s a...female civilian here to install a painting?”

Thrawn’s voice came through the comm, “Yes, please send her up with an escort.” Still somewhat suspiciously, the officer signaled a stormtrooper to meet you and he wordlessly lead you to a turbo lift.

You were fascinated by the cold design of the starship’s hallways. Every surface was immaculate, each crew member walking with purpose. There was almost complete silence, only the sound of murmured conversations and footsteps hung in the air. The path itself was dizzying - turn after turn after turn - you weren’t sure if you could find your way back.

Just as you began to wonder what was behind all of these sealed doors, your escort stopped at one guarded by another trooper.

“Code cylinders,” he demanded. Your guide handed him a pen-looking object and clarified, “This is only for her.” The object was inserted into a keyhole, opening the door behind him. “Go on in.”

Your escort turned and walked away, leaving you to enter Thrawn’s office alone.

The sound of clashing metal and of exertion filled the entryway. As you pushed the repulsorlift cart into the antechamber, you saw a door opened to a bright sparring room where Thrawn was combatting two large sentry droids. He expertly dodged each attack, countering with his own. You couldn’t help the warm feeling rising in your core again as you noticed his muscular arms for the first time. You imagined them pinning you to the floor as he pounded into you, a strong hand pulling your hair back.

Just as you caught yourself mid-fantasy, Thrawn noticed you and commanded the override code. The droids returned to their stations and powered down as the door hissed shut. You weren’t sure what to do next, but the door soon re-opened with a hiss and Thrawn emerged wearing his uniform jacket.

“I apologize - I thought I would have a few more moments before you arrived,” he said, fastening the cuffs on his sleeves. “Please, come in.” He ushered you through another door leading to his office. A large desk was situated in the center of the room, two reptilian sculptures flanking the display shelf behind it.

Thrawn led you through his office to an adjoining living space. “I’d like the painting to hang here. Please let me know if you need anything.”

“Th-thank you,” You shivered, realizing it was significantly colder here than in the hallway. Thrawn noticed your nipples had hardened in the cold, their outlines visible even through the layers of your shirt and bra. It was going to be difficult to concentrate today. He excused himself as you unloaded your work and began dismantling the piece’s wooden transport casing. After almost half an hour, you were able to carefully free the painting, only to realize it was too unwieldy for one person to lift.

You found Thrawn in his office, carefully studying star charts at his desk. Another fantasy intruded and clouded your vision: sitting at the edge of his desk, the holos of planets splashed against your skin, your legs spread wide as he drank in your cunt. He tweaked your nipples as you moaned in pleasure, the danger of being discovered only heightening your arousal. You breathed in deeply to ward away the thoughts.

You cleared your throat and he looked toward you.

“Could I have some help?” you asked, expecting him to call another officer or trooper to assist.

“I’m at your service,” he said to your surprise. He followed you back into the other room.

“I just need a hand lifting this onto the mounting brackets,” you explained. Thrawn situated himself on one side of the canvas and you heaved it up together, guiding its hanging wire in place. Just as it was lining up, he stole another glimpse of you. Your shirt rode up slightly as you worked and his eyes lingered on the small sliver of mid drift that was becoming more and more exposed in your exertion. With a deep breath, he fought back his primal urge to lunge.

You both stepped back to evaluate the painting’s placement. There was a long silence.

“…Is it…to your liking?”

“Yes…” he mused quietly, “Thank you…I believe I still owe you…payment.” His last word was almost a purr and you flushed as you fantasized a another meaning. Did he notice?

You followed him into his office, where he unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out a bundle of credits. He handed them to you, your fingers accidentally brushing against each other in the exchange. He saw your jaw tighten.

“I’ll be stationed on Coruscant for the next few months. There’s an exhibit on Mandalorian folk art that I think would be…educational. Would you care to join me?”

So he wasn’t going to bend you over his desk and have his way with you. Perhaps he really was only looking for a companion to discuss art with - he obviously wasn’t getting that kind of engagement from his peers. You were disappointed but not heartbroken. After all, it wasn’t like you had romantic feelings towards him. You accepted this invitation to friendship.

“I’ve been looking forward to that exhibition myself. When do you want to go?”

[wastelandcth]

5, 11, 17 & 21 pretty please 🥺💚

5. Show me your favorite under-appreciated fic; why do you wish it got more attention?

So 5sos wise, I've been obsessed with Don't You Forget About Me by @be-ready-when-i-say-go. I read it a few weeks back and it's been on my mind ever since then. The way Calum is written is amazing and I have not gotten it out of my head since I read it one night while it was raining outside, I am also excited to read through it again soon!

Non 5sos, Yaim'la on ao3 is....wow. The writing and the way the stories have left me floored are amazing. I know a lot of people follow me for 5sos only but I don't really read much for 5sos anymore because this story has led me down a rabbit hole of Mandalorian fanfic that leaves me breathless and even if you don't like Star Wars, this story is an AU so it's very easy to read and I love the idea of this being two stories that are slowly connecting to one another.

11. Do you have any writing rituals you do before (or during when) you write?

If I'm writing a song fic, I like to listen to the song a few times and read through the lyrics. Most of the time I have a rough outline of what I want to write but it's always nice to stop and relisten to what I'm writing for and get new ideas.

17. What’s your overused word/phrase that you have to keep an eye out for when you edit?

Oh god, there is probably a lot of them but I think I like to go overboard with things like "actually," "and that was..." "but that blah blah blah" and it's a force of habit now oops!

21. Do you have any stories you’ve written completely but never posted? Why? Please tell us about them?

I have a couple Star Wars pieces I've written, nothing too crazy just like 1-2k blurbs to try and test out my writing in a new fandom. There's also a couple fics for the other guys that I tried out to see how I could write for someone other than Calum but they're not too exciting (one of them is sitting on the couch with Luke and talking about that one time I thought I had broken my ankle or the one with Michael where we are in the car fighting over which Marvel character had the best ending) but they just help me find a voice for both the reader and the 5sos member!

writing ask game!

[rymurrsneckbeard]

I’ve seen a few people doing this and I figured I’d join in. It wasn’t a great year for me writing-wise, I really struggled with getting ideas on paper. Creativity in general was a struggle this year. But I did manage to get a few things finished and posted!

Works: 4

Words: 34,729

Pairings: 3 (+ a throuple!)

First up was finished in March.

fill my head with pieces (of the song i can’t get out)

Ryan Murray/Boone Jenner + Ryan Murray/Boone Jenner/Alexander Wennberg

This fic came about because I had one single scene in mind that I mentioned to my friend/beta. I wrote like 16k words so I could write one specific scene. This sums me up as a person.

Next I started a series of one-shots all based on the 2021 NHL season (well, the final part is going to involve the 21-22 season also but it’s my series, I can make the rules lol). It was to explore the way playing NHL hockey during a pandemic affects different couples/pairings in good, bad, and horny ways.

Part one of the NHL 2021: It’s Complicated series was posted in April.

Hang On, Hold Steady

Sidney Crosby/Nathan MacKinnon

I always said I was going to write this pairing because they’re just so obvious, and this was finally my shot. It was also interesting to center this around Sid’s 1000th game. And I love some good “surprise this isn’t actually unrequited” love fic.

The next part of the NHL 2021 series is where things got horny. 

Behind Enemy Lines

Adam Henrique/Ryan O’Reilly 

This was honestly just me going through rosters like “okay who are two guys that wouldn’t normally play 8 games a year against each other that are stuck doing it now, who also happen to be hot enough to write porn about?” And I enjoy both of these guys. Also Adam Henrique screams power bottom to me, tbh. Just another pairing where my fic is literally the only thing on AO3. I do love me some rare pairs.

Part three of the NHL 2021 series is the last thing I officially finished in 2021 (although I’m hoping to start 2022 with a bang).

Finding a Way Back

Ryan Murray/Boone Jenner

These two will always be my fic OTP, pretty sure. This is like the...fourth time I’ve written them? And I have two other WIPs that have this pairing. I just really really love Murr and Boone together. Hockey separating these two just felt wrong, and it made sense to me to try to write something about the way they both managed it, as an established couple, separated for the first time in their careers, in two different divisions that meant they wouldn’t even play against each other a single time.

So that’s all! A pretty rough year in terms of posting, but honestly there was more than I realized, so I guess that’s a good thing. I’m trying to complete part 4 of my NHL 2021 series (yes I know, delayed, considering that entire season is over and the Cup was awarded etc) and then after fighting to find an idea for the return of a Much Loved Pairing, I finally came up with something, so hopefully parts 4 and 5 of that series will be going up soon. 

I have like 12k words towards one WIP already and the outline and first 2k-ish words of another, and a few other ideas I want to poke around with. So keep your fingers crossed for me that I’ll be a little more productive in the year to come. 

[ashkazora]

Ashka’s Writing Commissions

Hello everyone! Since it’s the new year and I have some more free time on my hands, I’ve decided to open up fic commissions. If you’re interested in commissioning me to write something, all the details are below!

Standard commission prices:  $1/100 words $10/1k words $18/2k words (10% discount) $24/3k words (20% discount) $35/5k words (30% discount) Anything above 5000 words will have 30% discount! If you want a word count thats not listed here, a different price can be sorted out. This word count is a minimum, and there’s a large chance I will go over it. This is also just a guide, and other word counts can be worked out.  

Payment methods: All commissions can be paid via PayPal or Ko-fi. 

Fandoms: To keep it short and simple, I’m most experienced in the Voltron: Legendary Defender fandom, however other fandoms I can write for include: The Dragon Prince, The Umbrella Academy, Percy Jackson (and other books in the Riordan universe) Warrior Cats, Lucifer, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Glitch Techs, She-Ra (2018), and more. The fandoms I’ve written for previously are italicised. If you’re interested in commissioning a fic from another fandom, DM me and we can sort out if that’s doable.

Original characters: A commission for original characters may be doable, provided sufficient details (backstories, base appearances, etc.) is provided.

Additional notes:  - In regards to ships, certain content (i.e. explicit content, whump, graphic depictions of violence, etc.), and other aspects, I reserve the right to reject a commission if it’s uncomfortable.  - In general I have not written smut before, so if you’re looking for that type of commission I can give it a go or refer you to some other talented writers! However, I have written saucy content before. - Before writing, I’ll write a standard outline for the fic that will detail rough plot points and the progression of the commission. Changing things at this stage is free, however major changes in the writing phase might cost extra depending on how drastic they are.  - Different word counts will take different lengths of time to complete. In general, I’ll try to finish smaller commissions within a couple weeks. If time is an issue or the fic is longer, a timeframe will be sorted out in the quote stage. - Commissions with whump/angst/graphic depictions of violence is fine.   - Payment is required either upfront, or half upfront and the other half after the outline has been completed. However if this is an issue please let me know so I can sort it out. 

If you wish to commission me, DM me here on Tumblr or on Twitter (at the handle @azorashka) so we can iron out the details.

If there’s any additional questions, contact me privately so I can answer them. Reblogs are greatly appreciated! Thank you all for your support this year with my writing! <3