#and my ADHD brain likes the AO3 system

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 14

˗ˏˋ laundry day ˎˊ˗

"Doing laundry should be a normal activity—not something that brings out a whole new set of revelations about Jungkook you were not even fathoming. And you don’t know if it’s helping old ladies, tying your shoes or collecting stupid vynils—but you don’t like how it’s throwing off your whole perception of your annoying roommate."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8k

content: laundry rooms, old ladies that have a vendetta against you?, jungkook being a decent human being, batman socks, vynil revelations, humanizing jungkook and not liking it

✧ author's note ✧

Hello again little gremlins! It’s your girl, Kiki—back with another dose of Jungkook being emotionally compromised and having weird feelings about vulnerability.

SO. This chapter is… fairly slow-paced, which, duh—have you read my stuff? I went HAM on the introspection here, but I think it was so needed. Sometimes we need this type of chapter to balance the narrative out. I think it’s worked out beautifully, but do let me know your thoughts at the end.

About the goal thing! In case you’ve been living under a rock (or you don’t check my Tumblr regularly—which, fair), I have decided to switch my update schedule system.

Previously, I had been working with a weekly schedule as you all know. This has been quite easy for me to maintain because I work with hyperfixations, and basically ADHD.

The thing is… it’s a 2 month cycle.

I’m basically on week 7/8 already.

And that brings me to The Point. Goal-based update system. Which just means I’ll continue posting as long as we reach the established goals in every chapter. I’m going to be creating a whole post explaining how it works, but, long story short—as long as we reach either the goal in Tumblr OR Wattpad, we’ll be getting more chapters!

This is basically a self-regulation thing. I am self-aware (luckily) and I know how to work with my ADHD—but for those who don’t know; it’s heavily tied to dopamine. Which just means (I’m not gonna get nerdy I swear), I basically need engagement to trick my brain into staying motivated. Otherwise dopamine hits get slowly weaker and at some point I literally cannot bring myself to write.

WHICH SUCKS. Because I do love my stories, and I love sharing them. But burnout is real and brains work in funny ways and I can’t really fight my ADHD or brain chemistry (trust me I wish I could). So this is how you guys are going to help me tame this bitch. WE RIDE AT DOWN. 🤝

And before anyone asks—no, this is not up for debate. This is not something I’m “considering” or “open to feedback on.” This is me taking care of my mental health and working with my ADHD instead of against it. It’s not an “excuse,” it’s just how my brain operates. If that bothers you… I literally do not know what to tell you.

Anyways, as always, I love you all, I’m reading all your comments and reblogs and asks, and do check the note goal at the very end! 🩷

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

It's fucking weird how some people's clothes have a gravitational pull, like they're magnets and your body is just helplessly metal. 

You're wearing his sweater. The same one that's been mocking you from your desk chair for the last twenty-four hours, just sitting there in all its navy blue glory, smelling like rain and testosterone and bad decisions. You don't know why you haven't tossed it back into his room yet. It's been staring you down all morning, a silent accusation of...something.

But now it's almost midday on Sunday, and your pile of dirty clothes has reached critical mass. Your laundry basket is basically a textile Mount Everest. You'd wear something clean, except there isn't anything clean left—not unless you count the questionable tank top you found at the back of your drawer that you're pretty sure you wore to a frat party sophomore year.

So. Jungkook's sweater it is.

You tell yourself it's just practical. Totally logical. It's uncharacteristically chilly outside, the first whisper of almost September creeping in, and you need something to cover your ridiculous pajama shorts for the trek to the basement laundry room. They're flowery and pale pink, paired with an equally ridiculous oversized t-shirt featuring a cartoonish sunflower with the words "HAVE A SUNFLOWER DAY!" emblazoned across your chest in neon yellow.

Not exactly the look you'd choose for running into anyone with functioning eyeballs, but it's Sunday, and your give-a-fuck meter is hovering at absolute zero.

It's not like you're going to run into anyone important anyway. Miguel the super probably won't be down there; he's usually sleeping off his Saturday night till at least 2PM. And the chances of meeting some hot neighbor—your future spouse who'll be so charmed by your sunflower ensemble that they'll propose on the spot—are basically nonexistent.

Actually, scratch that. 

Even if some dream person did materialize in the laundry room today, they wouldn't see the sunflower masterpiece because it's hidden under Jungkook's stupidly oversized hoodie. The one that somehow hangs past your shorts, making it look like you're not wearing pants at all, which is a whole different kind of disaster.

Whatever. It's warm. It doesn't smell like him anymore. (It does.) And you're just using it. Borrowing it. Temporarily occupying its fabric space.

You scoop up your overflowing laundry basket and wrestle it onto your hip. The elevator in this building moves with all the urgency of continental drift, so you opt for the stairs. Three flights down isn't horrible, especially since the laundry room is conveniently right next to the stairwell exit.

"Just put it in his room later," you mutter to yourself, adjusting the hoodie. 

You could've done that yesterday when he tossed it at you, but you didn't, and you're not thinking about why.

You check your pocket for quarters and detergent pods. 

The whole ritual is familiar now—Sunday laundry day, another week of adulting successfully completed without burning the building down or getting evicted. Not that the bar should be that low, but hey, after the month you've had, you'll take the wins where you can get them.

As you start down the stairs, the hoodie falls past your hand, and you absently tug it back up, trying not to think about how the collar brushes against your cheek or how the cuffs hang past your fingertips. 

And you definitely aren't thinking about the fact that you're surrounded by the scent of him with every breath you take.

Because that would be weird, right? Being conscious of wearing your roommate's clothes? The roommate you occasionally fuck? The one who took you to buy a vibrator yesterday before subjecting you to lunch with his overly-protective friend?

Right. Not weird at all.

You're just doing laundry, in ridiculous pajamas, wearing his hoodie because it's practical. That's the story, and you're sticking to it—even if the sleeves smell faintly of his soap when you lift your hand to push your hair out of your face.

The stairwell is quiet, just the echo of your worn-out sneakers slapping against the concrete steps. You shift the basket to your other hip, huffing slightly under its weight. 

Maybe you should've done laundry sooner. Maybe you shouldn't wait until you're literally out of underwear every single time. 

But then again, maybe you should focus on the stairs and not on the fact that your bare thighs occasionally brush against the soft inner lining of his hoodie.

Adulthood is just a series of mundane chores punctuated by questionable decisions. And today, apparently, that includes wearing Jungkook's hoodie to do your laundry.

No big deal. You'll wash your clothes, return his sweater, and the universe will continue spinning on its axis, completely unaffected by your poor wardrobe choices.

The door to the laundry room is propped open with a cinder block—probably Mrs. Patel from 4C forgetting to remove it again. You shift your basket one final time and head in, already mentally claiming the good dryer, the one that doesn't sound like it's harboring a demon when it hits the spin cycle.

It's just laundry day. Just another Sunday. 

And the laundry room is still a goddamn joke.

Because let’s be real—whoever thought six washing machines and four dryers could service an entire apartment building was either a sadist or never did laundry in their life. 

And on Sundays? 

It's like watching vultures circle a carcass—everybody desperate for their turn at the machines, glaring at anyone who takes too long to transfer their clothes.

Dona Ramirez is already there, of course. The seventy-something retiree who treats the laundry room like her personal kingdom and you like an invading barbarian. She's currently guarding the Good Dryer—the one you had mentally claimed seconds ago.

Just. Fucking. Great.

She looks up as you enter, lips pursing like she's just bitten into something sour. Her eyes travel from your face down to your bare legs and back up again, judgment radiating from her in palpable waves.

"Good morning," you mutter, aiming for polite but landing somewhere around constipated.

"Hmph." Dona sniffs, turning back to her women's magazine. "Young people these days. No shame."

You bite back the urge to point out that it's literally just your legs showing, not your entire ass. It wouldn't matter anyway. In Dona's world, anything above the ankle is basically pornographic.

Shifting your heavy basket to your other hip, you make your way to the only empty washing machine—wedged in the back corner, naturally. The one that sometimes stops mid-cycle like it's having an existential crisis. You slam your basket down with more force than necessary.

"Careful with the machines," Dona mutters without looking up from her magazine. "They're not getting any younger."

Neither are you, standing here taking shit from the laundry room gatekeeper.

"Sorry," you say, not sorry at all.

You start sorting your clothes, creating separate piles for darks and lights. Dona continues to flip pages, totally unbothered. Or maybe bothered. You can’t tell and frankly don’t care. 

As you're separating your darks, something catches your eye. Orange hair. Lots of it, actually, clinging to your black leggings and that navy shirt you wore when you were studying on the couch last week.

Griffin.

That little furry infiltrator has been shedding all over your clothes again. Despite the fact that your door is always closed. Despite the "no pets" clause in your lease that Jungkook blatantly ignores. Despite your best efforts to maintain some semblance of a cat-hair-free existence.

And yet...

You find yourself smiling slightly as you pluck a particularly long orange strand from your favorite black sweater. The traitorous little shit must have snuck into your room when you were in the shower yesterday. You'd caught him curled up on your bed when you came out, looking entirely too comfortable and completely unapologetic about the invasion.

He'd just blinked at you lazily, that slow "yes, I know I'm not supposed to be here, and no, I don't care" cat-blink that somehow manages to be both insulting and endearing at the same time.

You should be annoyed. You should definitely tell Jungkook to keep his feline menace away from your clean laundry basket. You should not find it even remotely charming that Griffin seems to have decided your clothes are his second-favorite napping spot (right after your pillow, the little asshole).

And yet here you are, pulling orange fur off your black clothes with something dangerously close to fondness. 

What the fuck is happening to you?

Maybe it's sleep deprivation. 

Or maybe it's the fact that Griffin is actually kind of cool, for a cat. 

He doesn't have that typical cat superiority complex—he just genuinely doesn't give a shit about anything except food, sunbeams, and antagonizing Jungkook. 

It's a lifestyle you can respect.

Plus, he has this way of curling up next to you when you're reading, just close enough to leech your body heat without actually admitting he wants your attention. It's like living with a tiny, furry version of his owner.

Not that you'd ever admit that particular observation out loud.

You dump your dark clothes into the washing machine, mentally calculating how much detergent to add. Dona shuffles to check her wash cycle, eyeing you suspiciously like you might try to sabotage her laundry when she's not looking.

"Cold day," she comments, which is probably the most conversational she's ever been with you.

"Yeah," you reply, not looking up from measuring detergent. "Came early this year."

She hums disapprovingly, like the weather is also your fault. "Wearing your boyfriend's clothes won't keep you warm forever."

For a split second, your brain halts. 

Boyfriend? What boyfriend? And then—

Ah. 

The hoodie.

Jungkook's hoodie that you're swimming in.

Something about her smug certainty, that look that says she's got you all figured out, makes you want to burn the whole goddamn building down. Or at least throw a very minor wrench in her worldview.

"It's my girlfriend's, actually," you say, the lie sliding off your tongue with practiced ease.

There. Take that, you judgmental old bat. Let's see how your 1950s sensibilities handle—

"Even worse," Dona sniffs, not missing a beat. "Girls these days, always stealing each other's clothes. You'll never build a proper wardrobe that way."

Wait, what?

You blink, momentarily thrown. That's... not the reaction you were expecting. No pearl-clutching. No horrified gasps. Just... practical fashion advice?

"I—"

"My granddaughter does the same thing," she continues, adjusting the scarf around her neck with arthritic fingers. "Comes home wearing her girlfriend's sweatshirts, twice her size. Looks like she's drowning in fabric. No shape whatsoever. You young people and your oversized clothes." She clicks her tongue. "In my day, we wore things that fit."

Well, shit.

So much for your brilliant plan to scandalize the old lady. 

Turns out Dona's not a homophobe—she's just a fashion critic. Equal opportunity judgment for all. How progressive of her.

"Right," you mutter, feeling weirdly chastised. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

"Hmph." She turns back to her laundry, seemingly satisfied that she's dispensed enough wisdom for one day.

You're still processing this unexpected twist when the laundry room door creaks open behind you, letting in a draft of cooler air. 

You don't need to turn around to know who it is. 

Something in the atmosphere shifts immediately—molecules rearranging themselves, air particles getting all excited, the very fabric of space-time bending to accommodate his presence.

Or maybe that's just your pulse doing that annoying thing where it decides to race for no good reason.

"Well, well, well."

His voice is sleep-rough and amused, and you can already picture the exact expression on his face without looking. 

That stupid half-smirk. That cocked eyebrow. That look that says he's caught you doing something you shouldn't.

You turn slowly, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that you're suddenly, acutely aware that you're wearing his fucking hoodie over your ridiculous pajamas.

Jungkook stands in the doorway, laundry basket propped against his hip, looking unfairly good for someone who's probably just rolled out of bed. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in tufts. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and those stupid gray sweatpants that look way too good on him, and his feet are bare—the absolute psychopath. Who walks around a gross apartment building with no shoes?

His eyes drop immediately to the hoodie, and his eyebrow arches even higher.

"Interesting fashion choice, Phoenix," he says, lips twitching.

Your face heats. "Laundry day," you say, as if that explains everything.

As if borrowing—okay, stealing—his clothes is a perfectly normal response to having nothing clean to wear.

"Clearly." His gaze sweeps over you, taking in the edge of your floral shorts peeking out beneath the hem of his hoodie. "Sunflower PJs? Again?"

"It's laundry day," you repeat, like maybe he didn't hear you the first time. Like maybe that's a valid excuse for looking like you raided a middle schooler's closet. "Everything else is dirty."

"Hmm." 

He steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him, and moves to the washing machine next to yours. 

Puts his basket down. 

Stands too close. 

“But the hoodie isn't yours."

It's not a question. It's a statement, delivered with that infuriating confidence he always has, like he's so sure of himself, so certain of how this interaction is going to play out.

"I found it in my room," you say, turning back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle selection. "Must've gotten mixed up in my stuff."

"For a whole day?" He snorts, and you can hear him starting to sort his laundry beside you. "Interesting that you decided to wear it instead of, I don't know, returning it."

"It was convenient," you mutter, jabbing at the start button. "And it's cold."

"Right."

You can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him, and you don’t know why you notice without even having to gaze at him. 

Damn your body and its complete lack of dignity.

"You're late, boy."

Your head whips around at the sharp change in Dona's tone. Not softer—definitely not softer—but different somehow. Like… Less venomous, more... familiar? 

The old woman is glaring at Jungkook, but it's not the same glare she gives you. It's like the difference between a loaded gun and a water pistol.

"Sorry, Miss D," Jungkook says, and there's something in his voice—a hint of warmth?—that catches you completely off guard. "Overslept."

"Hmph. Young people." Dona shakes her head, but there's no real bite to it. "My sheets need folding. These old hands aren't what they used to be."

"Sure thing." Jungkook nods like this is a completely normal request, like random old ladies demanding his manual labor is just part of his Sunday routine.

What the actual fuck?

You stare between them, waiting for Jungkook to tell her to fold her own damn sheets, or at the very least look annoyed at being bossed around. 

But he just continues sorting his laundry like this is fine. 

Like this is normal.

"You know her?" you ask, keeping your voice low as Dona bustles over to check her washing machine.

Jungkook glances at you, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"Since when?"

He shrugs, separating a dark shirt from a pile of whites. "Since I moved in? She lives on the fourth floor."

"And you just... help her fold laundry? Voluntarily?"

"Sometimes." He's not looking at you now, focused on his sorting with more attention than dirty clothes really require. "It's not a big deal."

"Is that why she doesn't look at you like you're gum on her shoe?"

He huffs a laugh. "What?"

"She fucking hates me," you whisper, gesturing discreetly at Dona's back. "Every time I see her, she looks at me like I personally invented avocado toast and killed all the mom-and-pop stores."

"Maybe you just need to help her fold her sheets," he suggests, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Or maybe you've charmed her with your stupid dimples and your fake nice-guy routine."

"Fake nice-guy routine?" His eyebrows shoot up, and he looks genuinely amused. "Is that what you think this is?"

"Obviously," you mutter. "Nobody is actually that helpful without an agenda."

He studies you for a moment. Then, speaks. "Yeah? What's my agenda with Dona, then?"

“I don't know yet. But I'm sure it's something nefarious."

"Nefarious," he repeats, and now he's definitely laughing at you. "Sure, Phoenix. I'm playing the long con with a senior citizen. Really working that angle."

"Wouldn't put it past you.”

"Right." He tilts his head to the other side, still smiling slightly. "Well, while I'm busy being fake nice, you might want to turn your machine on. You've been standing there for five minutes and it's still not running."

You glance down at your washing machine, which is indeed just sitting there, silent and unhelpful. Fuck. Your finger must have missed the start button in your rush to look like you knew what you were doing.

You jab the button again, harder this time, and the machine finally lurches to life with a groan that sounds suspiciously like judgment.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, "come help with these detergent bottles. They're too heavy."

"Coming," Jungkook calls back, and he's moving before you can say anything else, crossing the room to where Dona is struggling with an industrial-sized bottle of Tide.

You watch, equal parts confused and suspicious, as he takes the bottle from her. They exchange a few words you can't quite hear over the rumble of the washing machines, and then—what the fuck—Dona actually pats his arm. Like he's her grandson or something.

Like she doesn't find him utterly repulsive.

Is this why she likes him? Because he lets her boss him around and carries her detergent? 

That's... kind of pathetic, actually. 

You thought Jungkook had more of a backbone than that.

But still. It's weird. The cold, calculating part of your brain catalogs this new information, filed under "Jungkook, Things That Don't Add Up About." 

It's growing into a pretty substantial folder these days.

You turn back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the cycle display, but you're still watching them from the corner of your eye. Trying to figure out what his deal is.

"You need groceries this week?" Jungkook asks, voice low but not quite low enough that you can't hear it. "I can swing by after my studio session on Wednesday."

"Do I look like I need charity?" Dona snaps, but it’s not fueled by anger. If anything, she sounds... embarrassed?

"Not charity," Jungkook says, voice even. "Just a neighbor thing."

"Hmph." Dona busies herself with folding a dishcloth. "Well, if you insist on playing delivery boy, I do need milk. And those crackers from last time."

"Got it." Jungkook nods, like this is just normal. Like he's not going completely out of his way for someone who doesn't even seem particularly grateful.

You frown, trying to make it make sense. 

Maybe... maybe it's a hustle? Maybe old ladies tip really well? Or maybe he's building up good karma because he's secretly done something terrible and needs to balance the cosmic scales?

The two of them chat for a bit longer, and you can't quite hear all of it, but you catch fragments—something about Dona's doctor's appointment, something about Jungkook's classes, something about a recipe for chicken soup.

It's all so... domestic. So weirdly normal. So completely at odds with the Jungkook you know—the one who teases you mercilessly, the one who fucks you against walls, the one with the sharp edges and the arrogant smirk.

You're so busy trying to reconcile these two versions of him that you almost miss it when Dona's voice rises slightly.

"...since Hector passed, and these new delivery apps, they charge so much..." Her voice wavers, just slightly. "...shouldn't have to pay an arm and a leg just to get groceries when you can't..."

Jungkook says something too low for you to catch, and Dona makes that "hmph" sound again. But this time it sounds different. Almost... vulnerable?

"Well," she says, louder now, "you're the only one who bothers to check. The others in this building, they see an old woman and they look right through her. Like I'm already a ghost."

Oh.

Oh shit.

Something uncomfortable twists in your chest. An emotion you don't want to examine too closely. Something that feels a lot like…

Shame.

Because that's exactly what you did, isn't it? You saw a grumpy old lady and decided she was the enemy. You never once considered that maybe she was just lonely. 

That maybe she uses sharpness as a shield. 

The same way you use sarcasm as one. 

"Not a ghost yet," Jungkook says, and his voice is gentler than you've ever heard it. "Still kicking my ass at dominoes every Thursday."

"Language," Dona scolds, but you can hear the smile in her voice. "And don't you forget it. I expect a rematch this week."

"Wouldn't miss it."

Wait. He plays dominoes with her? Weekly? What the actual fuck?

And now you feel even worse, because apparently Jungkook—the guy you've been dismissing as an arrogant player with no depth—has been spending his Thursday nights playing board games with a lonely old woman.

While you've been doing what? Watching Netflix and judging everyone's life choices?

Great. Now he's making you feel like an asshole without even trying. That's just perfect.

You turn back to your washing machine, genuinely focused on it this time, trying to process this new information. Trying to fit it into your understanding of who Jungkook is. 

It's not working very well.

When you hear footsteps approaching, you pretend to be busy. You don’t know why you can’t look at him in the eyes right now.

"Sheets are folded," Jungkook says, sliding up next to you. "World is saved."

"What a hero," you deadpan, still not looking at him.

"Someday you'll appreciate my many talents," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Speaking of which, nice hoodie."

You finally glance at him, and yep—there's that stupid, self-satisfied grin. Like he's caught you doing something embarrassing. Which, to be fair, he has.

"It's practical," you say, tugging the hem down where it's riding up. "That's all."

"Sure," he agrees easily. "Very practical to keep my clothes. Much more practical than, say, returning them."

"You want it back?" You make a show of starting to pull it off. "Fine, take—"

"Keep it," he says quickly, and the way he says it—not teasing, not mocking, just simple and straightforward—catches you off guard. "It looks better on you anyway."

You freeze, hands still at the hem of the hoodie, not quite sure how to respond to that. It feels like a trap somehow, like if you accept, you're admitting to something. To what, you're not exactly sure.

"Whatever," you mutter, dropping your hands. "I'll wash it and give it back."

"No rush." He turns back to his own laundry, a small smile playing at his lips.

For a moment, you just stand there, watching him sort his clothes. Then you look away, annoyed with yourself for gawking.

"So," you say, as casual as you can muster,  "you're like, what? The old lady whisperer?"

He glances at you, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You and Dona." You gesture vaguely in her direction. "The whole..." You wave your hand, trying to encompass whatever the hell it is you just witnessed. "...thing."

"The thing," he repeats, clearly amused. "Very specific."

"You know what I mean," you huff. "The helping her fold sheets thing. The grocery delivery thing. The dominoes thing."

His movements pause for just a fraction of a second, so brief you almost miss it. "You were eavesdropping?"

"It's a small laundry room," you point out. "And you weren't exactly whispering."

"It's not a big deal."

"Playing dominoes with an old lady every Thursday isn't a big deal?"

"It's just dominoes," he says, like that explains everything. 

Like it's completely normal to spend your free time entertaining your elderly neighbor when you could be, I don't know, literally anything else that twenty-something guys usually do on a Thursday night.

"And the groceries?"

"She has trouble carrying them up the stairs," he says with a shrug. "The delivery apps charge too much. It's not a big deal."

"You keep saying that," you note, studying his profile as he focuses very intently on separating a blue shirt from a white one. "But it kind of is. I mean, how many people in this building even know their neighbors' names?"

"Maybe they should. Maybe it wouldn't kill people to look up from their phones once in a while and notice the actual humans around them."

You blink, taken aback by the sudden intensity. "Okay, damn. Sorry I asked."

"No, I'm—" He exhales sharply. "I just don't like talking about it, okay? It's not a thing."

"Why?" you press, genuinely curious now. "Why is it such a big secret that you're apparently a decent human being?"

“It's not a secret. I just don't..." He shakes his head. "I don't do it for attention or whatever. It's just the right thing to do."

"So you don't want me to know you do the right thing?"

"I don't need a fucking gold star for basic human decency," he snaps, and now there's definitely an edge to his voice. "I'm not looking for a pat on the back. I'm not trying to—" He breaks off, stuffing clothes into the machine with more force than necessary. "Just drop it, alright?"

You raise your eyebrows, watching as he jams quarters into the slot with unnecessary aggression. It's almost like he's... embarrassed? No, that's not quite right. More like he's uncomfortable with you knowing this side of him.

Like he doesn't want you to think he's actually nice.

Which is weird, because most guys would be falling all over themselves to prove they're nice guys. To get those good-person points. To make sure everyone knows what a saint they are for helping the little old lady with her groceries.

But Jungkook seems genuinely annoyed that you found out. Almost defensive about it.

It's... interesting.

Weird.

"Fine," you say, lifting your hands in surrender. "Consider it dropped. Your secret identity as a decent human being is safe with me."

He exhales sharply through his nose, still not looking at you. "Thanks."

You both lapse into silence, the hum of the washing machines like tiny droplets of silence between both of you. 

Across the room, Dona is bustling around the dryers, muttering to herself about settings and temperatures. You sneaks glances at her, seeing her in a different light now.

Not just a grumpy old woman. 

A widow. 

Someone who lives alone and has to rely on the kindness of neighbors—specifically, one neighbor—for simple tasks like carrying groceries. 

Someone who's lonely enough that a weekly dominoes game is something to look forward to.

It makes your chest feel tight in a way you don't particularly like.

"Boy," Dona calls, breaking the silence. "What cycle for delicates?"

"Gentle, cold water," Jungkook calls back without hesitation, like he's some kind of laundry expert. Like this is a normal conversation they have all the time.

"Hmph," is Dona's only response, but you notice she follows his advice, adjusting the settings on the dryer.

"She likes you," you observe quietly.

Jungkook glances at you, then back at his machine. 

"She tolerates me," he corrects. "There's a difference."

"She doesn't even tolerate me."

"You've never offered to help with her sheets."

"I didn't know that was an option," you say, crossing your arms. "There's no sign-up sheet for 'Old Lady Sheet Folding' in the lobby."

He snorts, and just like that, the tension from earlier seems to dissipate. 

“Maybe there should be. Building-wide rotation."

"I can see it now," you say, following in on the joke. "'4B gets Monday sheets, 6A takes Tuesday sheets...'"

"'If you find yourself assigned to Wednesday sheets, please be aware that those are the cat-hair sheets,'" he continues, adopting a serious tone. "'Lint rollers will be provided.'"

You can't help it—you laugh. 

It's brief, just a small burst of amusement, but it's genuine. 

And when you glance at Jungkook, he's looking at you with a strange expression, like he's seeing something he didn't expect.

"What?" you ask, immediately self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says, turning back to his machine. But there's a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just wondering if I should sign you up for Thursday sheets."

"Don't you dare," you warn, but it’s too soft. "I have enough on my plate without adding geriatric sheet duty."

"Could be worse," he says with a shrug. "Could be Tuesday sheets."

"What's Tuesday?"

"Bingo night." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Dona goes hard on the snacks."

You stare at him, once again thrown by this glimpse into a life you didn't know existed. "You're kidding."

"Only partly," he admits with a grin. "But seriously, Tuesday is when she does her big laundry loads. Always complains about the folding."

"And you know this because...?"

"Because I pay attention," he says simply, like it's obvious. Like everyone should just naturally notice these things about their neighbors. "It's not that complicated, Phoenix."

There's no judgment in his voice, but you still feel oddly defensive. Like you've been caught failing some basic test of humanity.

"Well, we can't all be saints," you mutter.

"Not trying to be a saint," he says, a hint of irritation creeping back it. "It's just—" He exhales sharply. "Never mind."

You watch him from the corner of your eye, trying to figure out what button you just pushed. Why this, of all things, seems to get under his skin.

"Sorry," you say finally, surprising even yourself. "I didn't mean to make it weird."

“It's fine."

"It's cool that you help her," you add, feeling awkward but pressing on anyway. "Seriously. Not everyone would."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. "Like I said, it's not a big deal."

"Right." You nod, getting it now.

He really doesn't want the recognition. 

Doesn't want the attention for doing something decent. 

You both fall silent again, with Dona’s muttering as your only company. It's not uncomfortable, though. It's just... quiet. Companionable, almost.

Which is weird, because you don't do companionable silences with Jungkook. You do heated arguments and sarcastic exchanges and intense fucking. 

Not... this. Whatever this is.

"You ever play dominoes?" he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blink at the unexpected question. 

“Not since I was a kid."

He nods, considering this. 

"Dona's always complaining that two players is boring. Says it's meant to be played with more people."

You wait for him to continue, to make the obvious invitation, but he doesn't. Just stands there, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle display on his washing machine.

"Are you..." You squint at him. "Are you trying to ask me to play dominoes with you and Dona?"

"What? No." He scoffs, finger pressing random buttons. "Just making conversation."

"Right."

"I'm just saying," he continues, eyes fixed on the machine, "that if you ever… I dunno, find yourself bored on a Thursday night… There’s always dominoes."

Is he… Is he actually inviting you to his weird geriatric game night?

And if so, why? 

It's not like you've shown any interest in spending time with the elderly. Or with him, outside of the very specific context of fucking each other senseless.

"I'll keep that in mind," you say finally, not committing to anything.

"Cool."

"Cool."

Another silence falls.

You don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you’re still wearing his hoodie. And he’s still standing too close. 

And for a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—you wonder what it would be like. To sit around a table with Jungkook and Dona, playing dominoes on a Thursday night. To see that side of him—the side that helps old ladies with groceries and remembers how they like their sheets folded.

It's a weird thought. An unfamiliar one. And you push it away almost as soon as it forms.

Because that's not what this is.

That's not what you are. 

You're roommates who sometimes fuck. You're not friends who play board games together.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, breaking into your thoughts. "What cycle for cotton?"

"High heat, Miss D," Jungkook calls back, and just like that, the moment—whatever it was—is broken.

He turns back to his sorting, and you turn back to yours, and everything goes back to normal. Or whatever passes for normal these days.

But you're still wearing his hoodie. And you're pretty sure you're not giving it back anytime soon.

Sometime later, you're leaning against the wall just outside the laundry room, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. 

Your thumb drags across the screen without purpose, not really taking in whatever the hell you're looking at—Instagram? Twitter? Does it matter? The washing machines finished twenty minutes ago, but Jungkook insisted on carrying both your loads like some kind of laundry martyr.

"I got it," he'd said, waving you off when you tried to grab your basket. "Go ahead."

So here you are, waiting, because it feels weird to just leave him down here with your underwear. Even though he's definitely seen your underwear before. In significantly more compromising contexts.

From inside the laundry room, you can hear the murmur of voices—Jungkook and Dona in what sounds like a heated debate about fabric softener. You catch fragments: "ruins the absorbency" and "smells nice" and "didn't raise my Hector to use that chemical garbage."

You roll your eyes. How is this your Sunday? Standing in a dingy hallway while your fuck buddy debates laundry techniques with a geriatric neighbor?

The door finally swings open, and Jungkook emerges, arms loaded with both laundry baskets stacked precariously on top of each other. His biceps flex as he adjusts the weight, and you're definitely not noticing that. 

"Ready?" he asks, nudging the door closed with his foot.

"Been ready," you murmur, pocketing your phone. "Some of us don't need an hour-long consultation about dryer settings."

"She has strong opinions about lint," he says, absolutely straight-faced, like this is a normal follow-up to any conversation.

"Fascinating." You push off from the wall, heading for the stairs. "Let's go before she recruits you for a lint task force or whatever."

He just grins, following behind you. 

The stairwell is narrow and poorly lit, with concrete steps that have seen better decades. 

You're a few steps ahead when you hear it—a dull thud followed by a muttered "fuck."

You spin around to see Jungkook stumbling backward, nearly dropping both baskets as his free hand flies to his forehead. There's an exposed pipe running along the low ceiling that you always duck under without thinking—you're not particularly tall—but apparently nobody warned Jungkook about it.

"Shit." The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and suddenly you're moving toward him, hands reaching out automatically. "You okay?"

He looks momentarily stunned, both by the impact and by your reaction. 

"Yeah, just—"

You're already on your tiptoes, fingers brushing his hair away from his forehead to check the damage. There's a red mark forming, but the skin isn't broken. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly damp from his morning shower, and he smells like—

Wait.

What the fuck are you doing?

You freeze, suddenly aware of how close you are, of your fingers in his hair, of his eyes fixed on yours with an expression you can't quite read. 

Neither of you moves. 

His eyes dart between both of your pupils. 

"Um," you say intelligently, dropping your hands like his forehead is suddenly made of lava. "Be more careful. We don't need you more idiot than you already are."

Smooth. Really smooth.

His lips twitch, but he doesn't call you out on whatever the hell that sentence was supposed to be. "Thanks for the concern."

"I'm not concerned," you say automatically, already turning back toward the stairs. "Just don't want to deal with your concussed ass if you knock yourself out."

"Right." His voice follows you up the stairs. "God forbid you have to care about something."

"Exactly," you agree, not looking back. "Caring is for suckers."

You're halfway up the flight when you hear him grunt as he shifts the laundry baskets. It's a lot to carry, and the stairwell is narrow, but you're definitely not offering to help. That would imply you care, which you just explicitly denied. So.

There's a moment of shuffling footsteps behind you, then: "Wait a sec, Nix."

You turn, ready with some smart-ass comment about his head injury affecting his ability to climb stairs, but the words die in your throat. He's set both baskets down on the landing and is now kneeling on the step below you, looking at your feet.

"What are you—"

"Your shoes," he says, nodding at your sneakers. "They're untied."

You glance down. Sure enough, both laces on your ancient Converse are dragging on the concrete steps, a tripping hazard waiting to happen.

"I know," you lie. You didn't know. "I was gonna fix them later."

"Later, like after you face-plant on the stairs?" He's already reaching for your shoe, his big hands deftly gathering the laces. "With my luck, I'd have to call an ambulance, and they'd blame me for pushing you."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of falling," you mutter, but you don't pull away.

Instead, you just stand there, weirdly frozen, as Jungkook—the guy who regularly makes you come so hard you see stars—ties your shoelaces like you're a fucking kindergartner.

His head is bent in concentration, dark hair falling over his forehead, partially hiding the red mark from the pipe. His hands move with practiced ease, looping and pulling. 

It's such a small thing. So mundane. So ordinary.

So why does your chest feel tight?

"There," he says, finishing the second shoe with a final tug. "Crisis averted."

He glances up at you, still kneeling, and something in his expression makes your stomach do a weird little flip. It's probably just the angle. The way the shitty stairwell lighting catches on his features. The lingering effects of morning caffeine making your pulse do stupid things.

"I could have done that myself," you say, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

"I know." He shrugs, pushing himself to his feet and picking up the laundry baskets again. "But you didn't."

You don't have a good response to that, so you just turn and continue up the stairs, acutely aware of him following behind you. The only sound is your newly tied shoes against the concrete and his slightly labored breathing as he carries the laundry.

It's weird. 

This whole morning has been weird. 

First the hoodie, then Dona and the dominoes revelation, now this—Jungkook tying your shoes like it's nothing.

Like these small, casually intimate gestures are just things people do for each other.

Maybe they are. Maybe this is all completely normal roommate behavior, and you're the weird one for overthinking it.

It's not like he meant anything by it. 

He's just like that, apparently—the kind of guy who helps old ladies with groceries and plays dominoes on Thursdays and doesn't let people trip on their shoelaces. 

It's not personal. It's not about you.

He's just nice sometimes. In between being an absolute asshole who drives you crazy.

It doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't mean anything at all.

You finally make it to the apartment door, fishing your keys out of the pocket of Jungkook's stupid hoodie and hold the door open for him because he's still stubbornly carrying both laundry loads, despite your begrudging offer to take yours back.

"I can carry my own shit," you'd said on the landing between the second and third floors, trying to grab your basket.

He'd just smirked and swung it out of your reach. "I got it."

"I'm not helpless."

"Never said you were."

"So give me my laundry, asshole."

"Nope."

And that was that. Because apparently this is the hill he wants to die on. Stupid, stubborn, impossible man.

Now he strides past you into the apartment, annoyingly unbothered by the weight of two full baskets. 

You absolutely do not track how lean his arm muscles are as he sets them both on the table near the main door.

You definitely don't track the line of his shoulders as he rolls them back, working out the tension from the climb. 

And you certainly don't follow a bead of sweat as it trails down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

Because that would be pathetic. And you're not pathetic.

He starts rummaging through his basket, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he looks up, confusion clear on his face. 

“Wait, I'm missing a sock."

"Huh?"

"A sock." He holds up a single black sock with little Batman logos on it. "I should have two."

You stare at him blankly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Did you see a sock drop or something? On the stairs, maybe?"

"Why would I be looking for your socks?" You cross your arms. "I have better things to do with my life than track your Batmans."

"Fuck it," he sighs. "I'm going downstairs again."

"Seriously? For a sock?"

"It's my favorite pair." He's already heading for the door. "Be right back."

And then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click, leaving you standing there next to two baskets of laundry and feeling weirdly... abandoned? 

Which is ridiculous. It's a sock. He'll be back in five minutes. 

Get a grip, bitch.

You stare at the laundry baskets on the table. His and yours, side by side. 

Why did he insist on carrying yours? It's so stupidly... nice. And Jungkook isn't nice. He's arrogant and annoying and makes you want to pull your hair out. He's not supposed to tie your shoes or carry your laundry or play dominoes with old ladies.

It's throwing off your entire understanding of him, and that's irritating as hell.

You hate him. You definitely hate him.

Except that's getting harder to believe by the day.

The sound of a door opening breaks into your thoughts, but it's not the main door—it's Yoongi's room. Huh. Like seeing a bear outside hibernation season.

He shuffles into the kitchen, looking about as close to death as you've ever seen him. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in weird tufts like he’s barely managed to lay down on a horizontal surface. The bags under his eyes have bags. His t-shirt is wrinkled in that "I've been wearing this for days" way, and he's moving with the careful deliberation of someone who hasn't slept in approximately three centuries.

"Working?" you ask, because it seems like the only explanation for this zombie-like state.

"Unfortunately." His voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in hours. Maybe days.

He doesn't elaborate, just heads straight for the coffee maker. 

You don't ask. Not your business. 

Besides, you've got your own shit to worry about—like why you can't stop thinking about Jungkook carrying your laundry, or tying your shoes, or the way his hands moved when he was folding Dona's sheets.

God, you need a lobotomy.

Your gaze drifts around the apartment, trying to focus on literally anything else. It lands on the record collection displayed on the wall next to the TV. There must be at least thirty vinyl albums. You remember when Yeji was over last week, she mentioned them—commented on how eclectic the selection was.

You'd just shrugged and said they were Yoongi's. Because they had to be, right? Music producer, always holed up with headphones... it makes sense.

"Nice collection," you say, nodding toward the wall. 

You're not sure why you say it. Maybe to make conversation. Maybe to confirm your assumption. Maybe because some part of you suspects they're not Yoongi's at all, and you want to know what else you might have missed about Jungkook.

Not that you care about his likes or interests or anything. That would be dangerously close to caring about him as a person, which—ha! Absolutely not.

"Huh?" 

Yoongi turns around lazily, coffeepot in hand. He follows your gaze to the wall of records, and then—he scoffs. Actually scoffs, shaking his head like you've just said something so stupid he can't believe it came out of your mouth.

"Have you even checked them?" he asks, tone dry as the Sahara. "They're mostly Mayer."

You blink.

Mayer? As in John Mayer? As in the songs Jungkook plays on his guitar sometimes?

As in "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room"—the song he played that night in his room when he taunted you through text messages and you were stupid enough to actually walk in?

"They're Jungkook's," Yoongi adds after a beat of silence. "Not mine."

"Oh." The word falls from your lips automatically, small and insignificant, completely inadequate to express the weird reorganization happening in your brain. "But he doesn't have a record player?"

Yoongi just shrugs, pouring coffee into his mug. "Doesn't mean he can't collect them."

You stare at the vinyl collection with new eyes. Each album carefully chosen, meticulously arranged. A physical manifestation of something Jungkook cares about, something he values enough to collect even though he can't listen to them. Yet.

Something unwinds in your chest. A tight, small knot of... what? 

Surprise? 

Interest? 

Whatever it is, you don't like it. Don't want to examine it too closely. Because it feels dangerously like the beginning of seeing Jungkook as a whole person, not just the asshole who happens to be good in bed.

And that's not what this is. That's not what you are.

The door swings open, and there he is—stupid grin on his stupid face, waving a Batman sock in the air like he's just found buried treasure.

"Found it," he announces, triumphant. "It was stuck in the dryer door."

You give him the blankest stare you can muster. "Congratulations. Your sock journey is complete."

His grin just widens, completely unfazed by your sarcasm. "Thanks for the moral support, Phoenix. Couldn't have done it without you."

"I literally did nothing."

"Your energy kept me going."

You roll your eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck in the back of your head. He just laughs, that warm, rich sound that does absolutely nothing to your insides, and starts gathering his laundry.

"Later," you mutter, turning away before he can see the corner of your mouth threatening to twitch upward.

You grab your laundry basket head straight for your room, shutting the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

Safe in your own space, you fish your phone from your pocket—and see three missed calls from the same number. 

Ah. Barnes & Noble. 

Seems like you got the job. Which is good. Great, even.

This is what responsible adults do—get jobs, pay bills, build sensible futures. Not collect vinyl records they can't play or help old ladies with their grocery shopping or carry their roommates' laundry just because.

Normal, practical, boring adult stuff. That's what you're about.

Except now you can't stop thinking about those records on the wall. About what else you might have missed. About who Jungkook actually is when he isn't being an infuriating, cocky asshole. About—

About nothing. Because you don’t care. 

He’s Jungkook. Rogue. The infuriating roommate of yours that leaves towels everywhere and can’t be bothered to clean his own mugs. 

You toss your phone onto your bed and start aggressively pulling laundry from your basket. 

You've got shit to do. Clothes to put away. A job to call back about. A life to live that absolutely does not revolve around wondering why your roommate collects vinyl records or helps old ladies or ties your shoes when they're untied.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

(Except that it might. Just a little. And that's the most terrifying thought of all.)

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Orchid Child, Dandelion Child

Pairings: Riddle & Sibling MC (NOT a romantic pairing)

Summary: This is going to take after Riddle’s overblot, and short and sweet. The term orchid child/dandelion child refer to children who may have very specific/different needs for their development, and those who need less accommodations or specific requirements for their development, respectively. They may grow up in the same environment but everyone’s needs are different, one child may have different coping mechanisms than the other. MC is heavily implied to have dyslexia, ADHD/Autism, and OCD (the latter two of which are often comorbid)

Notes: My brain is so dead. Enjoy this very short piece, sorry it's been a while.

TW: Graphic descriptions of embalming (weird tag I know but listen listen listen hear me out‒), also mentions of blood and human biology; past domestic/child abuse, and mental illness

GN Terms for MC

AO3 Link Here

Masterlist

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

Adjacent to your mother’s footsteps, you had always had a curiosity for the medical. Though it was never living bodies that enamored you. In death, biology levels all. Cremation, natural burial, or alkaline hydrolysis‒ no amount of money, or intelligence, magic, or talent would help anyone escape the inevitable. Whether able bodied, rich, poor, moral or not‒ all people returned to dust, bones, and decay. 

  Rituals like the embalming process always brought you a strange comfort‒ the draining and ejecting, bathing, refrigeration‒ the body incised, emptied of its filth, and sewn back up. Imagining the dissection of a body into each fleshy component relaxed your own‒ as if your cold body lay on a sleek, steel mortuary table, your jaws and eyes sewn shut and the biology of your body ready to be drained. Even if your insides were scraped out for people to see‒ you would not feel shame. No blood to rush to your cheeks, or your aching heart. Your mother had always dismissed this career choice, urging you to find something ‘more within your reach ’.

  Your body would be clean from its excrement, scrubbed of all the insides that capsized you from this world, and its people.

  Compartmentalization‒ your psychiatrist mentioned. It took you a few tries to correctly register the word in your head when you had gotten the report, you’re not sure if it’s correct. If you did not imagine this scene at least three times a day, you felt like your blood was going to burst forth from your membrane, hot and spastic, like a monstrous clot of nerves. Again. Again. Again. You cleansed this shaking contamination within you with whatever you could do. That’s wrong. You dig your nails into your palm, resisting the urge to lay the papers that were shuffled around by the headmaster on the floor, sorting and checking one by one if they were there. Again, again, again. You imagine an arterial tube weaving through the wounds of your hands, draining the warmth that itched against your skin, the function of your wandering eyes, and the defect of your mind.

  “I’ve signed off on everything. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mx.Rosehearts?” 

  “No, nothing else. Thank you, Headmaster Crowley.” 

  You gather the stack of papers in your file, you check through‒ quickly‒ your medical records, doctor’s notes, psych evaluations, annotated versions of section 504, interpreter documents‒ a variety of other loose papers that wedge inside the old file as best you can, just in case . Even for such a minute accommodation, lacking a legally recognized diagnosis prepared you for the worst. Rejection‒ a tumble and drag into a system not designed for you in mind. These accommodations were an afterthought after that system was built, something to make you “whole”. There were many experiences in your interactions with school boards that warranted preparations like this, which you scrubbed into your mind and routine. No one will help you‒ not the board, the teachers, your peers, your family‒ you must be prepared to advocate for yourself. There was never room for failure, and you made sure that these accommodations made up for your innate nature to do so in this system.

  You bow a perfect ninety degrees before you head out of the office, quietly shutting the door behind you with a soundless exhale. Adjusting the stack of papers in your file, you scurry off to the library to find a quiet corner to reorient yourself. You weave through the various open tables, the large seating area, and the comfortable nooks with beanbags‒ and instead, opt for your usual spot in the corner of the library, where you softly place the file on the desk. 

  That’s wrong. Again. Again. Again. Again. 

  You open and close the file four times, feeling a wriggling, hot feeling in your blood that completely halts your mind from moving forward with your process, despite the short amount of time you have until your next class. 

  No. Again. 

  With the sixth time, it feels right. You sigh in relief, thanking whatever higher being out there that the process didn’t take as long as before. Medical records, doctor’s notes, psych evaluations, annotated sections, interpreter documents. All in order, all there, only for you to see. A weight lifts off your chest as you shift your eyes around the library, and close the file. 

  You browse through the section of the library, running your finger along the spines of the books to spot a new read.  A mauve leather-bound book catches your eye, the gold letter glinting in the dusty light of the library. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: Other Lessons From the Crematorium you skim the summary on the back. Satisfied, you work your way to the counter, where the librarian checks out the book with a smile. She pulls out the book slip at the front of the book and a pen. 

  Riddle Rosehearts. 

  You almost make a sound at the name, but instead, you quietly chew in your inner lip to provide some sort of grounding for the whirling feeling in your stomach. You feel sick when you write your name in the same cursive as the name above yours‒ just like your mother taught you. 

  “ Again .” Your mother would say. 

  You write. She slaps your hand with a ruler, reaching over your shoulder to erase the word. 

  “ Again .” 

  You write. She slaps, she erases. 

  “ Again .” 

  You write. She slaps, the paper begins to fray from the friction of your eraser, and the tears that run hot down your cheeks. Inertia. Inertia. Inertia. You repeat the word in your mind, trying to mold it with your hands. But the black text above the frayed paper seems to weave together, jumble, congeal. You push the hot coal in the back of your throat, forcing your bruised hand to write. 

  That’s not right. Again. Again. Again. 

  Why can't you just do it the way you're told?  

  Medical records, medical recommendations, psych evaluations, doctor’s notes, annotated sections, interpreter documents. So much extra weight that folder holds that you have to carry everywhere with you‒ just in case . 

  Again. Again. Again. 

  You open and close the locker shut, twisting the locker combination each time. At this rate, you know you’ll be late to class, way past your accommodations agreements. You hope Professor Trein won’t make such a big scene. 

  When you arrive at class, you are miraculously left alone by the professor and your peers. Breathing a sigh of relief, you take your usual seat, finding a practice exam on your desk. 

  You didn’t properly shut your locker. People are probably stealing your stuff now, breaking your things, tearing your extra records into pieces. You didn’t properly shut your locker. The documents are ruined, and you have to start all over again. You didn’t shut your locker. You grip your pencil, bouncing your leg, digging your nails into your palm. Yes, yes you did lock it. Three times in fact. Still, a voice persists‒ you didn’t do it right. Again. Again. Again. You scratch, and pick at the broken skin of your palm. 

  Eventually, as you continue staring at the packet‒ you feel a stab at the back of your shoulder. A student jabs forth the packet of papers that were collected from the back with an exasperated face. The papers are basically thrown your way as you add your half blank packet to the pile, swallowing down your anxiety. Trein continues class as usual, going over the review sheet. 

  “Mx. (Name). A word?” 

  You freeze in your seat, in the middle of gathering your things for next class. Students’ gaze furl towards you, and you pick at the wound of your palm to calm the rising panic in your abdomen. Begrudgingly, you pack up your things, and head towards Trein’s desk. 

  “I will excuse your tardiness for today since you have accommodations, but that does not explain the almost completely unfinished practice exam that we took in class. Do you care to explain?”

  You refuse eye contact. “I…” There was no way to explain it with any sane sensibility, or without alerting your mother. “I apologize sir. I was distracted. It won’t happen again.”

  He sighs, you know he doesn’t believe you. It’s your condition‒ you look to the stack of accommodation letters and agreements tucked under his elbow, and you feel that weight in your chest. 

  “Please, sir. I’ll do anything to make up for it I‒”

  A hand is raised at your response, with a pinch at the bridge of his nose. “It’s…It’s quite alright. I know you are trying your best, considering your… situation . Please finish the packet before you come to class next time.” Trein hands the packet back to you, which you accept with a silent nod. 

  The situation, the condition, the baggage. There have been many terms used to describe your disablement from the world‒ each more alienating than the other. You draw blood on your palm once more, looking inside the crescent-shaped holes in your flesh. You feel nothing but the trembling deep in your chest. 

  You sit in the shared space of the Heartslabyul dorm, hoping that body doubling will allow you to finish your workload. Though it takes you some time, you manage to finish your work before the sun sets, and you scurry back into your dorm room to begin your book. As you try to relax, the thought of a missing assignment, a failed exam, a systematic blunter pricks at your skin, spreading and choking your flesh. You read the same sentence over and over, but understand nothing. 

  Why can't you just do it the way you're told?  

  You hear a knock at your door, seizing you from your thoughts. You sigh, shove whatever scrap paper that had been lying around into your book, and reluctantly open the door. 

  Riddle Rosehearts. 

  You remember him from his perfect handwriting, his words that mirrored your own mothers. You could never get the “R” quite right, something both your brother and mother scolded you for. 

  “Rule of threes, you understand what will happen when you fail the third time.” Again. Again. Again. 

  Riddle had always resembled his mother much more than you had‒ in voice, in appearance, in tone. “ Rule of threes, (Name). You know what mother will do to you when you fail the third time .” He extended your mother's violence with all his likeness to her, in his face that would look down upon you with aberration, and his tightened fists that dragged your head to look closer at the paper, and realize your error. Every way he came into contact with you had been wrapped, tightly as flesh, your mother's violence. 

  You imagine that cold table again, but Riddle’s silvery eyes tethered you to the moment. It was as if you could feel every shifting tendon of your body, every pull of sinew and blood that pumped blood rapidly to your heart, and the back of your ears. But the guilty look on his face reminded you of one of the rare times he had broken mother’s rules. You realized he was as much of a child too, that day. Stretched thin and tall to fill your mothers expectations. 

  His stare is unbearable, you push through the tension in your throat. 

  “Can I help you, Dorm Leader Rosehearts?” 

  You think you see his worried expression, but your eyes dart from his gaze when he looks towards you again. 

  “You left this on the table in the common room.” He extends you the file that you thought had been safely tucked with your belongings. Your vision begins to distort‒ graying and distancing as you attempt to keep yourself calm from experiencing your literal nightmare . “I thought you wouldn’t want anyone to see it.” 

  “I…do not, no. I would not wish to shame you, or this dorm.” 

  Riddle takes a sharp inhale. You unconsciously tightening your body‒ imagining the postmortem stages. Pallor mortis, your blood pools to the souls of your feet. Algor Mortis, your skin feels on fire, and cools dead, limp. Rigor mortis, you stiffen and contract. The nutrients of your body drained, breaking down to gray sludge. You prepare for the breakdown of your body, your psyche, and your soul‒ the wounds on your body are only evidence to your movement through temporality in this system. Livor Mortis, your blood bruises your skin. 

  “I did not…mean that. I only meant‒ I felt…” He sighs, looking towards the floor. “I’m bad at this. But I didn’t mean that this is something shameful. I only wished to protect your privacy.” 

  You avert your eyes, unsure of what to do with him wanting to protect you in some sort of way. Perhaps his overblot changed him, but all you see if your mother’s shadow, when you look towards him. 

  “It’s not important, I apologize for the trouble, Dorm Leader Rosehearts.” 

  Maintaining his grasp on the file, he attempts to keep this connection going. “There’s so much I need to apologize for.” 

  You only manage a strangled sound, afraid to pull the file towards you. Afraid of movement, of air, of space, of time, of him. Everything seems to strangle you, you know that it was precisely designed that way.

  He cups a hand over your own. You try to repress the tremble in your body from the searing feeling of his palm, too afraid to look, speak, or move. You remain still, like a corpse, hastily trying to turn off your nerves and the bursting blood in your body, slaughtering it, and draining all feeling from your body. It’s been so long‒ your body rushes to catch up. You’re always catching up. Always. 

  “I don’t want to upset you. I just came to apologize, but I understand if you don’t want to see me.”

  Your mouth is sewn with silence, your jaw caught in a tremor in your mouth. Quickly‒ your mind makes the decision to speak‒ mother never liked when you didn’t answer to her questions. 

  The words scrape through your throat. “I…” A gulp to lubricate the convulsing motions of your esophagus. “Nothing is wrong. I apologize, dorm leader Rosehearts. It will never happen again‒ I apologize‒ I will make up for it. Please.” 

  His gaze softens. “I’m not asking because I’m asking you to apologize, or make up for anything. I’ve learned some things…I wanted to make up, but, I want to make sure you’re okay first.” 

  “Are you okay?”

  You spare a glance at his face, almost caught in the worried expression adorned on his features. “I don’t understand what the purpose that question serves. I can’t understand…” Still, you worry what will happen if it seems like you blame him for your lack‒ so you shift the weight on yourself once more. “I am incapable…of understanding. I apologize.” 

  “Hey.” He mellows his voice as much as possible, releasing you from his grasp. “It’s okay.”

  “You asked me a question. I was incapable of giving an answer that satisfies you. That is a violation of the rules, is it not?” You retract your hands to your chest, pressing your nails into the wounds on your palm. 

  Riddle folds his hands, almost nervously fidgeting with them. You almost react visibly with awe at the sight. “Our mother may have been wrong about a lot of things. I only recognized that after I attended here, and made many friends who helped me understand that. I am extremely regretful of the things I’ve done to you, and the things I’ve said. There’s no excuse for the things I’ve done, but I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me someday‒ I want to reconnect, if you’ll allow me.” 

  You push the file against your chest. “...I don’t think it will be easy. For me, or for you. Especially for me.” 

  “Most things that are worth something aren’t. I realized something while I was overblotting.” His cheeks gradually bloom pink, a habit he’s had since he was a child. You remember the color most when he cried, but he looks sheepish. Igniting the same warmth in your cheeks, you look at his feet. Heels, you never noticed. He must be shorter than you. “I missed you. I really did. And I missed what we could have had. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a better brother to you.”  

  “I think…I missed you too.” You admit. “I think neither of us can ask for help, we’ve been raised that way. We have drastically different ways of coping with that isolation.” 

  “I think so too. I have a lot of work to do.”  

  “ We do.”

  Rubbing your arm up and down, you soothe yourself‒ thinking of bodies and corpses, your skin buzzing from the thought of decomposition‒ what grows from them. The fruits of death lay thick and sweet on your tongue, as you stumble through a small smile. Riddle reciprocates.

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

End Notes:

Obviously this is only a small glimpse into what healing from abuse and trauma is like. But it’s a start. The first steps count.

I’m also in no way shape or form attempting to justify Riddle’s behavior. He’s a complete and total asshole for sure, but he was a kid‒ I definitely see him as capable of change.

The terms Orchid/Dandelion child are relatively new, and I find the pop-psychology approach to it very distasteful (as pop psych usually is. do your fucking research people. PEER REVIEWED ARTICLES!) But I wanted to use the terms to kind of critique the notion of this divide between "resilient" and "nonresilient". It's just a matter of needs, which are different for everyone. Making this hierarchical distinction is arbitrary and often times ableist, as it normalizes a singular, hegemonic way of reacting/experience/compartmentalization/coping. Anyways read more disability studies if you want to know more.

Because I’m not officially diagnosed (my disabilities are not officially recognized by law because for me the disadvantages gross outweigh the benefits, like literally having your human rights stripped away) I don’t know the specific details of acquiring accommodations in a school setting apart from my position as a teacher, but please let me know if there are any errors in the information so I can fix them expeditiously

I also wanted to write about the systematic issues disabled people (particularly those with “invisible” disabilities or those who are “undiagnosed”), I feel like I’ve been experiencing a lot of issues and push back from a system which is not built for disabled people in mind (and often is used against the community in an attempt to eradicate the category). Furthermore, I wanted to explore the aspects in which traditional psychiatry/curative methods are not built for neurodivergent individuals specifically. We often get diagnosed (especially those who have been socialized or perceived as female) with other disorders because of the perpetual stigma against ADHD, and autism in particular. Mainly why I didn’t go the psychology/psychiatry route, despite (one of) my undergrad major(s). It would have been immoral for me to be one, if held up to the current regulations set by the American Psychology Association, or the regulations in my home country. Anyways, lots of problems I wanted to address‒ not sure if I was able to explore them more at length, but I’d like to do more of this in the future.

The book Smoke in your Eyes is a reference to Caitlin Doughty’s book. I highly highly highly recommend her youtube channel and any of her books tbh. She writes/talks a lot about death culture and our perceptions of death throughout history, and creating a more death-positive culture.

I wanted to avoid some of the common stereotypes and misconceptions of OCD, which is predominantly characterized by excessive handwashing, needing things very neat and in place. I wanted to explore the more internal obsessions, rather than focus solely on the external compulsions‒ as I feel like the external behaviors that are often portrayed in media don’t explore the inner workings that make the disorder so hard to live with (and treat).

[xianjaneway]

So, here's the thing.

I was in a cult.

I had no idea I was in a cult, because NO ONE KNOWS when they're in a cult. I thought I was just REALLY devoted to Jesus. 🙄

I got out of the cult. I got my husband & my kids out of the cult. I helped a lot of other people get out of the cult.

After a while, though, I just wanted a life that didn't involve cult-y things. What would I be like if I'd never been in the cult? Would I have still been a musician? Would I have had as many children? Would I ever have been diagnosed w/ADHD? What would my career have been? Would I have married the same man? Would I have healed from my upbringing in some different way?

We'll never know, but we can know what life is like AFTER the cult. THAT is the option open to me now.

You know what I didn't do while I was in the cult?

Read.

I didn't read fiction books anymore.

And I had a degree in Creative Writing!

Know why?

Because I was supposed to, "....take every thought captive, & make it obedient to Christ!"

Thoughts lead to actions, and sin in real life begins with your thought life.

Aaaaaannd, if I were to read a book with, let's say, a sex scene in it, & it made me have sexy thoughts about someone who was NOT MY HUSBAND, then that's a sin.

Not just against God, but against MY HUSBAND.

Yep. My sexy thoughts are supposed to start AND end with him & him alone. Anything outside that is like bringing other people into our marriage. It's LIKE ADULTERY.

Folks, as you know, most fiction books don't have a rating system like AO3.

You can't filter them quite as easily.

I could be reading a hardboiled-detective noir mystery set in Appalachia in 1987, thinking we're about to explore a hidden robotics lab that's tucked behind a waterfall, but SUDDENLY, SEX!!!

And, regardless of how I reacted to the words on the page, by letting myself read any of them, I was (seriously!) giving the Devil a foothold.

To my neurodivergent brain, (which was also raising up to 4 small children & working night shift) it was simply easier to stop reading fiction written for the secular market, than it was to try & research which authors would do a fade-to-black.

A researcher named Steven Hassan came up with the "B.I.T.E Model of Authoritarian Control." He shows how cults control:

Behavior.

Information.

Thought.

Emotion.

Look him up, if you want to understand why your Trump-loving relatives have lost their minds. 💔

I'm just sorry.

On behalf of all the Christian nationalists who are making life hell for everyone now, I'm TRULY sorry that I ever believed any of this bullshit.

Cults get ahold of you when you're vulnerable. It can even be argued that the churches (yes, plural) that I was in were at one point NOT a cult, & slowly became a cult, over a period of decades.

As I'm trying to live my non-cult-y life, I'm just so damn thankful that fanfiction exists.

See, there are only so many things I can talk about in therapy, & there are only so many experiences I can go have in any given day.

However, I have HYPERLEXIA, baby, & a job with plenty of boring-AF tasks!

I read over 700 wpm.

And since I'm a woodworker & eBay seller, (who also has Long COVID--thanks Anti-vaxxers!) I work by myself a lot.

I found a lovely app called Evie, which lets me download fics, & it READS THEM ALOUD to me.

And, as I've re-discovered fiction, I've realized that I'm processing a lot of emotions that simply HAD NO LANGUAGE OR OUTLET before I read your stories.

Yeah.

If I left you a bunch of weirdly-vulnerable comments in your fics, THAT'S WHY.

Because that's what cults do: they take your language away, your emotions away, & your choices away, & then, to add insult to injury, they use your energy, your fucking life-force, to further their own agenda, whatever it is.

And yet you people....

You brain-rotted, fandom-obesessed, encyclopedias of pop culture that you are, have churned out incredible, moving, healing, BEAUTIFUL, SKILLFUL pieces of fiction that are HELPING ME HEAL FROM IT ALL.

I'll never forget the day my husband said something that irritated me, but I'd read the sweetest Good Omens fic earlier, where Aziraphale had responded to Crowley's grumpiness with a funny quip. I'd invited something *kind* to be planted in me, & was able to respond to my husband in kindness.

I'd spent such a long time marinating in the cult's expectations, & their promises for eternity.

It's so damn nice to read about real human emotions, experiences, struggles, relationships, or whatever, just to wash my brain with a different perspective.

Maybe it's old news to all of you who didn't spend the last 25+ years in a cult, but fiction helped develop my under-nourished empathy. It lubricated the rusty gears of my brain, with new words & new experiences. It gave me a new dictionary & thesaurus worth of words to describe my experiences & inner life.

Limiting information limits language, which limits thought, & ultimately limits action.

Every time you write, you help set someone free.

[musashi]

status: have ADHD. brain likes instant gratification. brain doesn't like doing things if it can't be convinced they're worth the hard work.

problem: really, really, REALLY like doing monthly prompt writing event. write all summer and then DO NOT POST until september.

problem: incredibly easy to lose steam for writing without feedback/validation/hype. normally, write and post immediately. ao3 comments. yay! can't do that here.

solution: enter writing communities, fandom communities etc. implement two plans:

plan 1: talk about current writing. people show interest, hype you up. hurray!

plan 2: see if anyone there wants to read your writing early, and hype you up in the google doc.

plan results: SUCCESS! adhd brain can work with this. deadlines are no longer daunting. focus is honed. brain is wrangled.

problem: quickly run out of people who can keep up with how fast a motivated AuDHD haver writes. the pure, unfiltered love and obsession of autism mixed with the "I LOVE TO GO FAST!!!!!!!!!!!!" of ADHD proves a lethal combination.

end result: two years into implementing this system, i am left without anyone who can help me wrangle my brain.

end result: i can't write. i've been trying to focus on writing for two days straight, no distractions. i keep opening up tumblr and checking my notifs. my brain is wandering around like a sad dog trying to locate the attention it's used to. every time i try to tab back into the word doc i can physically feel myself recoiling, "THERE'S NOTHING FOR US HERE! DO SOMETHING STIMULATING!"

this is all very frustrating. i love writing. but i am still disabled and god it is so hard when you have no one who cares. i could scrape by with just one really good friend before. man

doing worse at meeting my goals/deadlines than i ever have. my adderall dose got upped, idk if its the manufacturer or what but this new dosage feels like absolutely nothing, not even the vague spark i got on my lower dose. i feel so hopeless. i want to figure out how to fix this, brute force is not working.

[dralione]

5 times Draco used Legilimency on Hermione +1 time she used it on him

Summary: Hermione has ADHD/AuDHD and Draco finds the way her mind works compared to others so fascinating he can't stay out.

Rating: T (non-graphic torture, a couple suggestive lines) ♡ WC: ~5k ♡ Ao3

A/N: my first published Dramione! (Looks at longfics languishing in drafts) Hope you enjoy! No beta; if you see any plot holes wither in the story or from Canon compliancy no you don't. Also I realise the summary sounds a little weird but I'm simply projecting as I write this Hermione and would like to find my own Draco who will find the way my brain is wired interesting/pos and not interesting/neg.

1. Wednesday, 10 January, 1996 (5th Year)

Draco shifted in his chair, glaring up from his parchment as the loud sound of a page turning interrupted his previously quiet study session. He was mildly surprised to find that the perpetrator was none other than the studious swot herself, Hermione Granger. He’d thought she had more respect for the sanctity of a library and its quietude.

A hint of colour crawled up her cheeks as she caught his stare, but she didn’t look away. 

A thought popped into Draco’s head as he held her gaze. Over the winter hols, his mother had begun teaching him Legilimency. He was still getting the hang of it, but practice made perfect, did it not? His target was already making eye contact with him, and he was suddenly overwhelmingly curious about the witch’s thoughts. Was she as boring as she came across on the outside?

Ooo, maybe he could get a sneak peek into Potter’s plans, if she let him that far into her mind. Well, it was worth a try. Despite being a ridiculously well-read witch, surely she hadn’t learned about Legilimency or Occlumency?

Moving his wand under the table, so she couldn’t see, he whispered “Legilimens,” instantly transporting to his rival’s innermost being. Stubborn swot had practically invited him in, with those gleaming amber eyes holding his and absolutely no mental resistance to his entry at all. 

He smirked to himself and looked around. 

Draco turned slowly in place in Granger’s mind, jaw dropped as he took in the thoughts absolutely sprinting around, too fast for him to possibly pin down and read. 

Merlin’s beard, had the witch actually become an Occlumens?!

This was not what he expected, compared to his mother’s neatly organised thoughts and carefully constructed walls and paths that held her memories. How was he supposed to delve into her mind and find what he wanted if there was no way to find what he was looking for? 

Granger’s mind was a veritable rabbit warren of thoughts and memories, all haphazardly rolling around in her head like stray Bertie Bott’s Beans on the Hogwarts Express. 

He had to give it to her, she had excellent defences that even a more skilled Legilimens than himself would have trouble wading through. 

And the volume, Salazar’s staff…he was getting a headache just from the decibels of those thoughts running amuck. He exited her mind and broke eye contact, silently letting her win the unspoken staring contest, too overwhelmed to look at her any longer. How did the witch manage to get anything done with that organisational system, nevermind be top of their classes? Sure, it was a great defence against Legilimens, but they were few and far between, surely she didn’t need them at Hogwarts (his prying experiment aside). That mental energy would be better spent retaining and organising their class information. 

Draco felt a sliver of grudging respect at Granger’s beyond-magical handling of Occlumency and schoolwork. He shivered in his seat. He wouldn’t be going in her brain again if he could help it.

2. Monday, 15 January, 1996 (5th Year)

Draco glared at the bronze curls ahead of him, willing Granger to quiet her thoughts. Since he’d first jumped into her brain last week, he couldn’t stop listening in, even when he wasn’t trying. 

Sweet Salazar, the witch was loud. Practically screaming her thoughts at anyone listening in. 

He really couldn’t make heads or tails of her behaviour. There was absolutely no reason for her to be broadcasting her thoughts like that – only a few students would even have heard of Legilimency. Surely she wasn’t playing bait, trying to lure him and/or his godfather into admitting something?

Somehow, Granger had become more interesting to him than Potter over the last week. It was only partly due to her annoyingly distracting thoughts that kept following him around. He found himself searching out her curls like a beacon for him to watch her, instead of to locate one of the two limpets usually by her side. He was, admittedly, curious about her organisational standards after his jaunt through her head. 

The more he heard her thoughts, the more he found himself able to make sense of the rapid-fire trails they’d blaze, often diverting from one topic to another quicker than he would have done. 

Looking back once he was out of her mental broadcasting range, he was able to follow her logic steps, but by Merlin, the convoluted ways she arrived at her destination! Draco wasn’t sure if he was impressed by her ability to arrive at the same conclusion by very different throughways or not. 

Ahead of him, Granger shifted, perhaps finally sensing his displeasure and quieting her thoughts. They slowed down, gathering in one easy-to-follow stream of consciousness as she mentally narrated the notes she was writing.

Finally.

Thankful for the reprieve, Draco bent over his own parchment, able to block out one uninterrupted thought flow better than a scattered bombardment of singular thoughts. Still, the applications she pulled out of whatever mental filing system she had –however confusing it was–

were always apt and several times provided a new angle for Draco to mull over.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He relegated it to the back of his mind, where most of his thoughts about Granger went these days, never to be seen or felt again.

3. Sunday, 15 September, 1996 (6th Year)

The form of one Hermione Granger slumped over her books in the library made Draco pause on his way past her table to the shelf he wanted. 

He’d missed her mental chatter over the summer as he learned Occlumency from his aunt and improved his Legilimency. However, with his new and improved mental shields firmly up since his return to Hogwarts, he hadn’t cared to attempt to breach hers again. He had better things to do with his brain than listen to her mental ramblings. 

Honestly, he felt a bit bad for her after he’d eavesdropped on her when she was with the limpets one study session. She certainly possessed a surplus of patience dealing with those two, considering the filter her thoughts passed through before they made their way to the limpets’ ears.

Cautiously, he attempted to listen in on her thoughts as he made his way behind her, out of sight and out of mind (well, in one sense). Nothing. 

Draco frowned. His Legilimency had only improved over the summer, and he couldn’t feel any Occlumency walls or shields. Her mind was simply…not producing thoughts. It was such a deviation from the norm that he began to grow worried that something had happened to Granger. 

He sent a small stinging jinx at her leg. She jerked, slapping at her leg as thoughts began to form, to his relief (he simply tossed that feeling in the pile of galleons holding his true emotions that were stored in his very well guarded mental horde, never to be considered further).

Ouch, what was that? She glanced around, but he was safely hidden behind the shelves. Oh well. You’ve got Charms homework to crack on, Hermione. She pulled a piece of parchment forward and dipped her quill in the ink bottle, tapping the excess ink off on the side absentmindedly as she began figuring out the wording of her essay. 

Two students walked by, whispering about the Quidditch tryouts the day before. Granger snickered as an image of Cormac McLaggen flying off in the wrong direction flitted through her mind like the Snitch taunting the Seekers. 

Confundusing McLaggen was too easy. I’m glad Ron got the spot. She flipped through the Charms textbook. Focus, ‘Mione, Charms!

Draco left her mind, humming thoughtfully. So the little swot had sabotaged the tryouts for her incompetent boyfriend’s favour, huh. How positively Slytherin of her.

4. Monday, 30 March, 1998 (7th Year)

The shaking form of Hermione Granger on his drawing room floor kept Draco frozen in his spot, unable to look away. Her expression was screwed up in pain as she bit her lip, trying not to let a scream escape. Suddenly her eyes flew open, meeting his and pinning him in place. 

His wandless Legilimency was weak at best, but with eye contact…

Legilimens.

Draco slipped into her brain easily, almost staggering as the pain of the Cruciatus curse spread to him. Granger, it will be okay. Hold on. You have to hold on, Granger. Please.

Mal-Malfoy?

Some of the pain in her eyes was replaced with confusion. He barely moved a muscle to nod reassuringly at her.

Yes, it’s me, Granger. Keep fighting. You have to, for all the others. You will survive this, I swear it. Just hold on a little longer, please, Granger.

Why are you doing this? A drop of blood trickled down her lip as she bit down harder.

I can’t stop my aunt, but I can take some of your torture. It’s nothing new. Just hold on, Granger, you’re not alone here. They’re coming for you. They’ll get you out of this.

But you hate me. You’re on his side.

Not anymore; I have to. For my mother and my sake. Just like you have to for Potter and Weasley and your sakes. 

Bellatrix cast another Cruciatus, determined to make Potter’s Mudblood scream. Draco took more of the pain from Granger, determined to give her that one minuscule victory of staying quiet. 

Granger squeezed her eyes shut again at the renewed assault, temporarily cutting off their connection. Draco took a large, un-Slytherin risk and lowered a little of his Occlumency defences, reaching out to Granger’s loud mental screams. 

Hush, Granger, I’m still here. Can you feel me through the mental link?

I thought Legilimency needed eye contact? She gasped. 

I’ve improved my Legilimency over the summer. I don’t need eye contact if your mental defences are down and you’re practically screaming in my head. 

Granger’s reply was cut off as she noticed something above her, her eyes opening in another convulsion. Dobby was unscrewing the chandelier in the drawing room above the gathered crowd. 

Come with us, she said, a flicker of surprise flashing after the words. Leave the Manor and him behind.

I can’t, Granger. My mother–

A vague sense of sympathetic understanding echoed through her mind underneath the spasms of pain. 

Just say a nice word at my funeral, will you? 

Dr–

He left her mind as Potter & Co appeared in front of the group, throwing them into chaos. At least his insane aunt was forced to stop cursing Granger and cast other spells instead. 

He half-heartedly wrestled with Potter over a couple wands, hoping the Death Eaters would be too distracted to notice the way he so easily let Potter wrestle them free. 

A flash of crystal as the chandelier dropped–

A flash of silver as Bellatrix threw her knife–

A flash and crack as the Order members apparated away–

And she was free. Draco closed his eyes. The Order would win the war, he was sure of it. What that meant for him, he no longer cared. 

5. Monday, 5 October, 1998 (1st Day of 8th Year)

Draco, from his vantage point at the top of the stairs to the dorms, looked around the common room at the combined houses mingling peaceably. He had an excellent view. 

The bronze curls and slow smile of one Hermione Granger, War Heroine, were warmly shaded by the light of the fireplace she sat beside, conversing with classmates. 

She had regained some colour to her skin over the summer, he noticed, and a handful of freckles besides. Her hair was more curl and less frizz, her eyes were livelier and less shadowed, though they showed her forced maturity no matter how much they sparkled (Draco didn’t think that those would ever disappear from any who had them), her body was curvier and less malnourished than when he’d last seen her months ago at his trial. 

He felt the edges of his lips curling up in a genuine smile as he sat and observed all the positive changes in her life and body. 

He’d thought he was well-hidden in the shadows (certainly everyone was treating him as though he were truly wrapped in Potter’s invisibility cloak), but suddenly her eyes snapped to his and she held his gaze, leaving no doubt that she had caught him staring. 

She quirked her eyebrow in silent question and invitation. He didn’t need Legilimency anymore to know how to read her, most of the time. 

He’d spent all his summer house arrest fixating on any scrap of news the papers published about her, of which there were plenty. Thousands of photos of the most famous and Brightest Witch of Her Age had been clipped and carefully transferred to his scrapbook. It was a little ridiculous at this point, just how thick it was. It was hidden the Muggle way, under the floorboard under his bed, along with a thick stack of letters they had exchanged in between her busy schedule of testifying, repairing battlegrounds and casualties, and healing herself, and his busy schedule of daydreaming as he scoured the papers

He shook his head slightly, making her brow drop and turn into a hint of a frown. He frowned back at her, motioning with a jerk of his head to continue her conversation, and got to his feet.

Draco, can you hear me?

He froze on the step.

I saw that and I’m taking it as a yes. Are you alright?

Peachy, Granger. I’m going to bed. Goodnight. 

…Goodnight, Draco. Sweet dreams.

He snorted. You take the sweetness for your own dreams. Ta.

He sat up with a gasp, uncomfortably sticky with sweat, his breathing fast and ragged. The nightmares had fallen off somewhat, but he supposed the first day back at Hogwarts had triggered their reemergence with full vigour. 

He settled back on his bed, turning his pillow over and resting his hands beneath it, the weight of his head grounding him. Once he’d slowed his breathing, he lay staring up at the shadowed ceiling. He reached out to Granger unconsciously, needing reassurance that she wasn’t still trapped in his drawing room with his aunt, unable to even have his mental support as he was held back with magical restraints. The dreams always ended up in his drawing room. 

Granger was asleep, seemingly undisturbed by night terrors. 

He flinched when he saw where Granger’s dreams had ended up. Surprisingly, it wasn’t like his nightmares at all. Bellatrix wasn’t there, or his mother. Only he and Granger were there, kneeling a hairsbreadth apart, his hand on her cheek, her hand on his knee. 

Feeling like he was intruding, Draco left her dream, returning fully to staring at the ceiling. Granger was safe and peaceful and that’s all that mattered. Whatever was happening in her dreams was none of his business. 

+1. Tuesday, 2 May, 2000 (2nd Anniversary of the Second Wizarding War’s End)

“Draco.”

He placed his glass of firewhisky down, turning to face his visitor. “Hermione. How are you doing?”

“Never better,” he smirked, some grain of truth to his words. “You?”

Her pink lips turned up at that. “Good. I’m content with my present. It is a bit difficult with all the,” she waved at the fancy surroundings, “circumstances, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” The room was filled with decorations and the setup for hundreds of people to celebrate the second year of Voldemort’s defeat.

“I’m pleased to hear that. You look good. The Ministry treating their Golden Girl well at her new job?”

She rolled her eyes, playfully nudging his arm. “Not you too. And yes, I’ve finally managed to get the preferential treatment left off. It only took, what, eleven months?”

“You should keep some preferential treatment, Granger,” he said solemnly. “Remind them that none of them would be here if it weren’t for you. Don’t let them take you for granted.”

She considered him, nibbling on her lower lip for a second as she bit back something. He was about to urge her to say it anyway when they were joined by Potter and Weaslette. 

“Potter. Weaslette.”

“Malfoy. Hermione,” greeted the couple. 

“Hello, Harry, Ginny.”

“I must admit I’m a little surprised to see you here,” said Harry, pushing his glasses up as he took a swig of his drink. Draco assumed he was talking to Hermione, given the circumstances.

Hermione made an agreeing noise. “I felt I should, even if I didn’t want to. I’ll find you later, Malfoy was just about to take me to get a drink, alright?”

The couple nodded and waved them off as Hermione’s hand slipped into his, pulling him away.

He blinked at their joined hands, then the back of her head as she steered them towards the bar.

“You didn’t want to stay and talk with your friends? I could’ve left.”

“No, you were there first. Besides, I wanted to talk to you in private, and we see each other much less frequently than I see Harry and Ginny.”

“Oh? Consider my interest piqued, Granger. What on earth could you want to talk to me about? You can always owl me and arrange a meeting some other time. I’m sure you still know my address, even if we haven’t written each other in awhile.”

She ordered a cocktail and leaned against the bar, turning to face him. “Do you know any place around here where we might have an uninterrupted chat?”

He hummed, tapping his chin in thought. “I may have an idea or two.”

Hermione’s drink retrieved and his topped up, he extended his arm to her and led them across the room, through dark hallways dimly lit by candle sconces, until he opened a door, gesturing her through. 

“Welcome to the private sitting room of Lady Malfoy, where none are sure to disturb.”

“Won’t your mother–”

“My mother is busy overseeing the anniversary ball, doing her best to continue polishing our name to return it to its former shine. Besides, she is quite fond of you and will be most obliging and understanding. Unless, by ‘private chat’ you meant a quick shag, in which case I am more than happy to escort you to my private rooms,” he winked, settling in the corner of the settee mere handbreadths away from her.

She blushed and rolled her eyes. “That is not what I meant. This will be fine, thank you.”

“Alright. What is so secretive that you lured me to this dark, isolated room, Granger? Should I be in fear of my innocence being tainted?”

“It’s just us now, Malfoy, you can stop with the cavalier facade. I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to help me learn and practise Legilimency.”

Draco blinked. “You’re learning Legilimency?”

“I’ve been informed that my natural Occlumency is quite advanced already,” she smirked at him, “and I believe it would be useful to learn Legilimency. You know I can’t tell you everything about my work as an Unspeakable, but I work with Memories and Obliviators. I think Legilimency would be quite useful to know in my line of work, and…well, I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more with my mind to teach me.”

Draco swallowed. “I won’t insult you by asking if you’ve thought this through, but just for my peace of mind, Granger, you really want me in your mind again? Even after…”

She nodded firmly twice. “I asked you to help me improve my Occlumency and mental resistance, especially against you, because I thought we both needed space apart from each other. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you or want you in my mind. You know I didn’t mind that, especially after the Incident. Now that I’m content with my Occlumency, I wish to learn Legilimency. I still trust you with my mind, Draco, we just needed some boundaries.”

He nodded, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and run his fingers through his hair. “My mind healer told me our bond was becoming codependent and unhealthy. I’ve finally seen your points,” he sighed. “ I- you’re ready to do this again?”

“My mind healer cleared me a while ago, but I waited to be sure both of us were. But if you’re still not…maybe today wasn’t the best day to bring this up, after all. I’m sorry, I’ll leav-”

His fingers were wrapped gently around her wrist before he even knew what he was doing. “No, stay, Granger. I’m ready. I just wanted to clear some of my past reservations up first.”

Her answering smile was brilliant. “Good! When would you be free to start, then?”

“Now?”

Hermione smiled at the sight of Draco’s blonde head sticking above the back of her sofa. One arm was resting along the back, his long fingers tracing aimless designs in the blue floral pattern.

She paused, struck by an impulsive thought. Pulling out her wand, she whispered, “Legilimens,” under her breath, transporting to his mind. She fell in instantly, surprising her considering the challenge he had set her to get into his mind when he wasn’t expecting her. Surely it wasn’t this easy…but it didn’t feel like he was Occluding…

She wandered through his mind, as always astounded by his neat organising, so unlike her own mental filing system. Hers worked perfectly well for her, but she had long felt Other for her strange ways of remembering obscure topics and collecting scraps of random information. She had finally come to accept her strangeness and embrace it, even, but she still had a little pang of jealousy at seeing his easy organisation.

 She strolled through the cave that was his mental fortress, surprised to not be greeted by his defending dragon. What was he planning?

She continued on her way, pausing to observe his vaults of memory-gems and emotion-coins, locked up behind steel and iron. The locks on some had become simpler, less guarded, from when they’d parted ways at the end of Eighth Year, and she wondered if she was seeing proof of his mind healer’s influence.

The vault she’d always been most curious about, at the back, was cracked open.. Taking it as an invitation, she peered in. It looked like a Gringotts vault, full of artworks and artefacts and piles of wealth heaped in the corners. Looking closer, each object held something related to her. Memories, feelings, dreams… 

Feeling like an intruder, although she assumed he’d let her in for a reason, she stepped in cautiously. A memory met her full-force.

October, Sixth Year

Draco glanced across the table to hers, where she twirled a curl around her finger, deep in thought over a thick tome. 

“Legilimens.”

He’d been getting the hang of wandless legilimency when he returned to Hogwarts, fresh from his aunt’s teaching. He’d practised on enough minds over the summer to know that hers was different, moreso than anyone else’s, and it intrigued him. 

At first, yes, it had annoyed him, all her loud, fast thoughts, but now he found it comforting to listen in. He enjoyed trying to figure out which Express her thoughts were going to take before she did, to try and follow her leaps of intellect and even beat her to her conclusions. 

And then there were her memories…the happy bustle of the Burrow (even if he was a little blinded by the sheer amount of gingers in one place), the summers out exploring with her Muggle parents, the interesting lives the Muggles lived and their strange inventions, the happy times she had with the limpets, she had so many happy memories. 

They all seemed tinged with a warm sepia glow, preserved by some force Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It was a far cry from his own, cold grey and black shrouded in smokey vignette. Her memories simultaneously made him wish to turn them to ash and keep them in a Fiendfyre-proof vault. He left her head with a scoff and got up, leaving the library.

Hermione blinked, overcome with his emotions and the memory. He’d confessed in their letters before Eighth Year that he’d often slipped into her head, but she hadn’t fully understood it until now. Another memory flitted forward as the previous one slid back into Draco’s neat storage. 

March, Seventh Year

Draco was horrified to see her dragged into his drawing room by the Snatchers. His gaze flicked from her, to his aunt, to the Snatchers. He’d long since learned to temper his flight or fight response with freeze.

He’d stayed frozen until Bellatrix had cast the first Crucio and she’d met his eyes. 

It was strange seeing her memories through Draco’s eyes, especially once he’d jumped into her head and was seeing her thoughts. 

Granger, it will be okay.

She often recalled the first words he’d said to her when he entered her mind. And then she felt the phantom echoes of pain, and realised that Draco had absorbed some of the Cruciatus for her. 

Jerking out of the memory with a gasp, she panted for breath, hand on her heart, reminding herself that it was only a memory.

“Draco!”

He strolled out of the shadows of the vault, hands in his pockets, eyebrow raised in silent question. 

“Hermione.”

“You absorbed the Cruciatus for me?” Blast it, she could feel the sting of tears fast approaching. Now was not the time to cry. She blinked hard.

He shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? I’m sure that would have gone even farther to prove your case for acquittal at your trial!”

“Does it matter, Granger?” He sounded annoyed. “That’s not usually how this goes.”

She paused, confused. “How does it usually go, then?”

He rolled his eyes. “I have a nightmare about the Incident, you remind me it’s not real, we kiss, et cetera,” he waved his hand summarily. “Don’t know why I expected Dream-Hermione to be any less argumentative than Real-Hermione,” he muttered under his breath.

Hermione tilted her head, contemplating. So Draco dreamed about her. She’d thought nightmares about the Incident had decreased. But apparently he also dreamed about current-her comforting him. Interesting. She hadn’t been sure if he’d still be as fond of her as he’d been in Eighth Year, after they’d had some healing and time apart from their traumatic bonding experiences. Well, it was good to know her slightly-more-than-a-crush was reciprocated. 

“I’m going to ignore that, just this once. Draco, are you dreaming?”

He looked at her in puzzlement. “Obviously. I really don’t know why you had to change the dream from snogging me senseless to rehashing the Incident, though,” he frowned.

She raised her eyebrow. “Snogging you senseless, huh? That explains your absolute lack of Occlumency,” she snickered. “You were practically inviting me in. Guess your subconscious was tired of your lack of making a move and made it for you. Would you care to wake up so I can actually snog you senseless, then?”

Draco blinked, then his jaw dropped and a blush rose on his cheeks and eartips. 

She turned to leave, then remembered why she’d come in the first place. “Oh, by the way, since I was able to get into your head successfully, I’ll be claiming my prize of one wish from the loser. I’m sure you’ll quite like it, don’t worry!” With a wink, she left, leaving him gaping after her.

Hermione settled on the sofa beside him, smirking softly at his adorably flustered expression as he woke up and saw her.

“Er, Hermione–”

“Sh, Draco. You like me and I like you, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

“Well, I suppose–”

“Good, then. Based on the sheer volume of that vault about me, I assume we have many many snogs to make up for.”

He exhaled in defeat, a smile taking over his face. “You’re right, as always.” He winked at her, leaning in quite willingly to meet her in the first of many kisses.

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

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1. I remember that fic — lwg accidentally killed wwx and then raise Wen Yuan. JYL live in it. Sorry for mistakes — english is't my first language. Also it first time when I use tumblr too 😅 @derrenaissance​

FOUND? A Little Fall of Rain by Just_a_Girl_in_a_Crystal (T, 47k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Grief/Mourning, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, Protective LXC, Protective LQR)

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2. A friend and I are hoping you can help find a fic for the next fic finder. It's a modern AU and LWJ is on the autism spectrum but wasn't tested until he was an adult because LQR either didn't want him tested or was in denial about it when LWJ was a child. There was possibly an aunt that was on the spectrum too. We can't remember anything else about it and have gone through the autistic lwj tag and our bookmarks on ao3 but none that we found sounded right. Thanks in advance!

FOUND! together, we’re just enough  by lulu_kitty (E, 134k, wangxian, past WWX/OFC, modern, younger LWJ,   bartender LWJ, older WWX, rich WWX, fluff, yearning, smut, bottom LWJ,   LWJ has scoliosis, slow burn)  

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3. Good day to all! There is a twitter fic that I wanted to read again but I forgot to save it (or like it). Can you help me find it?

Its about foxxian who goes into heat and he spend his heat with dragonji. Foxxian got pregnant and the jiang keep asking who is the father. Apparently, foxxian doesn’t know who is it. Then, when he gave birth, 3 eggs came out. The jiangs are shock. And when the eggs were hatch, all of them are dragons. So the jiangs knew now that the one who impregnant foxxian is a dragon from Lan Clan.

Thank you so much!

FOUND! Foxxian/Dragonji thread by @/cerbykerby (wangxian, cw: dubcon, mpreg, memory loss)    

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4. Hi! I wanted to know if anyone remembers that wangxian time travel fic where lan xicheng goes in this little sidequest where he adopts Xue Yang and Meng Yao??? I think??? And helped them have decent childhoods while wwx fixed everything else

FOUND? And Time Is But a Paper Moon  by sami (M, 138k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone  Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together) Lan Xichen is shown the future by Wwx via empathy. He finds XY and MY when they are still kids and brings them to Cloud Recesses.

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5. hi!! Thank you for all the hard work you are putting! I'm looking for fic where wwx is in the hospital after a car accident. When he wakes up he doesn't remember lwj because he has a six years memory loss and the two of them met five years prior to the accident. They were also about to get married. Lwj played the violin for a living and composed music for Disney if I'm not mistaken. Wwx was an engineer for prosthetic parts and he was working with wq. That's all I remember. If you have the time, I would love if you looked for it!

FOUND? High On Information by Latigra (M, 110k, WIP, WangXian, XuanLi, Hurt/Comfort, Amnesia, Established Relationship, Injury Recovery, Family Drama, Set in USA, Shitty US Healthcare System is Good for Fictional Drama, Modern AU, mild body horror, Traumatic Brain Injury, Warnings at End Notes, Past Drug Use, ADHD, Jealousy, Dom/sub Undertones)

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6. Hello! im looking for this wangxian fic that ive been missing for awhile now. I dont remember much but it was modern and everyone was a hitman or assassin (?) all i remember is that people were involved in the killing business. the only scene i remember is that JGS or JGY dies in the bathtub by being shot by LWJ or LXC. Oh thats another thing im pretty sure the way LWJ killed was by clean shots to the head. I know there's smut in it. It frustrates me so much that i cant remember more this was one of the first wangxian fics i remember reading

FOUND! 🧡 modus operandi by synonemous (E, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, Serial killer WangXian, Eventual happy ending, WangXian's Canon Kinks, Smut) Not everything fits - they are serial killers and jgy dies in a bathtub, but he wasn't shot / I think #6 is modus operandi too! HGJ kills with headshots, but JGY gets taken out by ZWJ, who comes out of retirement just for that one personal hit.

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7. i have been remembering a fic where at the start wwx is engaged to jzx and lwj is engaged to jyl and obviously in the end they switched partners 😂 but idk the title or author, does this ring a bell for anyone? thanks in advance!!!!

FOUND? Neatly Arranged by thunderwear (T, 45k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Angst with a Happy Ending, lwj’s mother is here but only briefly, RIP, Shenanigans, Fix-It, of sorts, Canonical Character Death, but not all, did i forget to tag pining, because this fic is like 90 percent pining, Hurt/Comfort)

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8. Hi i’m looking for a fic that I read a while ago but can’t find. Wei wuxian gets sent back in time after his death to the cloud recesses lectures. He ends up in the middle of a lecture and starts crying. He can’t handle it and attempts suicide by jumping off a cliff at cloud recesses but he is found and saved. I think he gets sanctuary or something but i’m not sure. Thank you your page is a life savor!! @st3wartladle​

FOUND? Without end by barisan (M, 70k, wangxian, major character death, time travel, suicide attempt, hurt/comfort, depressed WWX, protective LWJ, good uncle LQR, bad parents JFM & YZY, not YZY & JFM & Jiang friendly, implied/referenced child abuse & self harm, BAMF WWX, WIP) The scene you mention is right in the beginning of the fic.

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9. Looking for a vampire WWX/Hunter LWJ fic, that started with LWJ kneeling for the marriage ceremony and being bit, then the rest after that involved LWJ trying to keep away from WWX for his own good before they both get together. LWJ stays human. I think I found it on AO3? @bcaugust

It's not the right one(though it is one of my favorites and really close to the same vibe.) I also remember that the vampire bite would scar to indicate a spouse, if that helps anyone.

Not FOUND I Think Sunshine Would Treat Me Kind by vassal101 (T, 24k, WangXian, Exorcist LWJ, Vampire WWX, Human/Vampire Relationship, Fantasy, Vampire Bites, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Protective LWJ, Pining LWJ, Jealous LWJ, Pining WWX, POV LWJ, First Kiss, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Assassination Plot(s), Undercover Missions, Breaking Up & Making Up, Blood Drinking, Consensual Blood Drinking, horny vampire drinks from equally horny human, Falling In Love, i would say this is more angst than fluff, but it's not too too sad dw, Happy Ending, POV Third Person) reminded me of this one? Doesn't start with a wedding though, lwj simply arrives as a peace offering

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10. Hi!

So I'm looking for a fic that I can't find where I can't remember what exactly happened, but it goes something like this;

Lwj and Wwx are sleeping, Lwj gets a nightmare, and he doesn't tell Wwx about it, but he figures it out anyway and then Wwx waits to see whether Lwj will go back to sleep or have sex. They have rough sex in which Wwx specifically requests that he doesn't want to come. And then they talk (I think it was just outside on a porch or something?) And then Lwj fingers him and gets him off.

I'm sorry I don't remember more, I think it was one chapter and I'm really desperately trying to find this fic. If you could find it it would be much appreciated!!

Thank you!

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11. Heya mods, I'd really appreciate it if you could find this fic. It was about God Lan Wanji and him trying to find fellow god Wei Wuxian after he went missing. LWJ found him with the Dafan Wens and was living happily as a mortal with them. He wondered why WWX wasn't leaving or even thinking about his position as a god, but then it's revealed that his robes (which all gods need) were torn apart by the bad Wens. WWX also gives the robe to a'Yuan iirc. Read it on ao3, might've been a oneshot. @yetusagi

FOUND? Three Worlds, One Life by limedumplr (T, 9k, WangXian, Angels & Demons, Heaven & Hell, fairytale AU, Eternal Love Spinoff, Pining, happy ending I promise, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage)

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12. Hi! I’m looking for a fic where the jiang and wwx test their blood relation (not modern btw). I remember the rumor about sect leader jiang and wwx being father-son are just really just rumors because it shows that they are not related. However, when they test out madam yu and wwx blood, apparently they are related to each other. It turns out CSR’s parent is a sibling of Madam Yu’s parent (I dunno if they are really siblings but I know they a family) making it CSR related to Madam Yu (counsin ig)

Hi! I’m the #12 requester in the recent fic finder. Thank you but unfortunately it is not the one I’m looking for. I think the revelation of the blood related thing happened early chapter because as much as I can remember, madam yu treats wwx better after knowing they are related. She actually treats him as her nephew.

NOT FOUND! All Things Belong by kuroi_atropos (M, 64k, WIP, WRH & WWX, WangXian, WWX is a Wēn, Abuse, Whipping, Manipulations, Warning: WRH, Smart WWX, Possessive Behavior, Warning: JGS, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con) it turns out in the later chapter that wwx is somehow related tu mdm yu via his grandmother (who was cssr's mother). And said grandmother was a distant cousin or just from yu

Unstoppbble by Immortal WangXian (Mr_Pervert) (M, 47k, wangxian, JC/LXC, JYL/JZX, immortal WWX, immortal LWJ, good parent YZY, good parent JFM, good uncle LQR, good XY, evil JGY, yin & yang cultivation, time travel fix-it, WN lives, MXY lives, WQ lives, supportive NMJ, YLLZ WWX, possessive LWJ, protective LWJ, fluff & smut, crack, action/adventure, mpreg, WIP)

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13. Hello, first I want to thank you for your service! I am looking for a fic where there's a scene where Lan Xichen sets up a dinner date to introduce Lan Wangji to his boyfriend Nie Mingjue. However, Nie Huaisang came to the restaurant because he lost his apartment keys and he was looking for his brother for help. NHS brought his bestie Wei Wuxian with him so LWJ mistook WWX as LXC's boyfriend. @ksoostrauma

FOUND? Man on My Mind by brooklinegirl (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sex Cam Worker WWX, Identity Porn)

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14. just wanted to find a specific fic. It is one where wangxian time travel, and everyone is suspicious of them in the sunshot campaign. Jin guangshan suggests using a magic ball to spy on them, but it turns out they just end up combing each other's hair of something intimate but not shameless?

FOUND? lan xichen is very concerned (and confused) by theninjacat (T, 3k, WangXian, POV Outsider, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Sunshot Campaign) I just read it, and the hair brushing spying thing was fresh on my mind and in my AO3 history!

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15. Hi! Please help. I lost some of the fics I was reading, and cannot remember where I first saw them (was using incognito at work, but there was an update and pcs got restarted). It's about the cultivation world punishing ppl, especially Wens, at the BM. During war, they see only Yiling is not attacked, and the guardian, who wears a mask and talks through WQ, accepts to help them if he gets married to a clan heir, as a warranty they won't turn on him. There's a scene where an assasain gets to the camp and is about to kill JYL, but Yllz saves her. Do you know it? @allthoselhb

FOUND? Tumblr post by ShanaStoryteller I think this is 15

15 sounds very familiar but I can't find the fic. If it helps, I think it's the one where YLLZ is walking around with a swirling mask of resentful energy all the time and never speaks, and Wen Qing is his voice. Everyone thinks WWX is dead

For 15, I don't THINK it's these, but have similar elements, so maybe, or at least interesting? I forget the name, but there's one fic where wwx and lz never met before the war, and wwx and the lans insist on an arranged marriage between him and a main clan member after the war (they live on burial mounds, not quite a sect kinda big household vibes) to kinda legitimize themselves to protect their people, thinking anyone sent by the clans to the "evil" yllz must be abused/not valued, so they'd actually be saving someone from a bad situation and into a married in name only respected guest situation. Only they get lz instead. Lxc is very worried for awhile thinking lz must be getting abused meanwhile yllz is a masked but perfect gentleman who proves to be a kind dedicated family leader/lord of the area and lz becomes sympathetic/supportive and ends up falling HARD for him and adores ayuan

there's also another one. Idk about a mask, but in it I think jgs? Tricks both wwx (backed by the bm wens) and the lans into thinking that each other are insisting on some sort of forced political marriage with each other, with the Jin being a "neutral party mediators" when actually the Jin are threatening and pressuring both sides into it/lying. Wwx lz and Co find out when they meet for first time on Jin grounds and unite against the jin.

there's also another fic featuring masks, where the yllz is more spooky unknown who always shows up wearing a full face? Silver mask, with the designs changing every now and then. You later find out that the identity of yllz is being shared between wwx, the wen siblings, and I think mxy? And this is during sunshot campaign after the sects asked for their help (tho they might of also offered it as a strategic move for themselves?)

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16. ive been looking for a fic where for some reason wwx stays with the nie after the ssc. nmj threatens to cut off wwx's tongue if he does demonic cultivation but wwx just depresses his life away instead. jgy blocks letters from everyone so hes really isolated. eventually nhs brings him out of his shell and hes eventually allowed outside his rooms. Later, lxc comes to play clarity/rest, and in the training grounds wwx has a panic attack after being accused of cursing jyl and her second pregnancy whoch he hadnt even known about. Now that i think about it, it probably actually takes place after qiongqi pass.

follow up for the imprisoned in the nie fic, im fairly sure that in the summary, nhs is like "you used to be so confident and happy..."

FOUND! Always walked a very thin line by tucuxi (T, 22k, WangXian)

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17. Hi, can you help me find these fics? I've been going crazy! They were on ao3; I hope they haven't been deleted!

A) I think wwx was a ghost, & found himself at the Cloud Recesses in the aftermath of lwj's punishment. Lwj was in bad condition and almost died (a couple of times?) Eventually there was some sort of ritual to bring wwx back into a physical body, & he was in the adjoining room bc he was also very weak. (NB: this is not the fic where wwx is actually astral projecting from Baoshan Sanren's mountain, it's a different one).

B) Lwj stayed at the Burial Mounds, & his health was very poor, he kept getting very sick quite often. At one point there was an epidemic in Yiling; some of the Wens died, and then they went to go help in the town bc of their medical knowledge. Lwj had to stay separate bc of his fragile health; he had to tend the fields alone and he couldn't attend the funerals.

Hi, I messaged recently for help finding 2 fics, so naturally I finally find one of them again not 24 hours later 🙈 The one with Lan Zhan in poor health at the Burial Mounds/the epidemic situation is Over the Rotted Bridge by vailkagami! I can't believe I forgot about the necromancy or Lan Zhan being mute!! I would still love your assistance with finding the other one 🙏🙏 Thank you!

17B)

FOUND! Over the Rotted Bridge by vailkagami (T, 314k, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, LWJ dies, Wei Wuxian doesn’t die, neither do (most of) the  wens, JYL also lives, Original Character(s), outside pov, YLLZ WWX,  Canon Divergence, CQL Verse, Illustrated, Grief/Mourning, Non-Consensual  Resurrection, mute LWJ, Hurt LWJ, Slow Burn, canonical death of a child  (mentioned), Survivor Guilt, PTSD)

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18. hi!! for the next fic finder, i have been looking for a fic for a few weeks but since it's been some time ive read it, its lost in my history. it was a time travel fic, where wangxian get back into their bodies during the wen indoctrination. the pov was actually jc's if im not mistaken, but i remember clearly that in the end he accuses lwj of seducing wwx into demonic cultivation, after wx kill the wens there and wwx raises an army. thank you <3

FOUND! I’m pretty sure this one is ❤️ Wen Chao’s Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day by Shializaro (T, 2k, wangxian, time travel, BAMF wangxian, outsider POV, Mojo’s post)

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19. Hello! For the next fic finder, can you help find this fic? It's a sickly WWX because of his live in the street before. I dont remember much but there was a horse riding lesson, he learn about strategy, and when he make a journey alone to make his sword. In his journey he met with imperial soldiers that patroled around capital and befriend them. I think he calmed a resentful mother cat too i think. It's a WIP story. I read that recently in this year but i think it was a fic from around 2019-2020? Thank you @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND! A Burning Cold by MountainRose (G, 29k, Chronic Illness, Pre-Canon, Nirvana in Fire Fusion, Character Study, Wen Bullshit, Snow Beetle Poison) is a sort of Nirvana in Fire fusion called A Burning Cold by MountainRose locked to archive here / but it's restricted for logged users;

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20. Looking for a fic where the focus iirc was more on LWJ teaching/raising lan juniors to express their emotions healthily.

Sorry, I don't think it's To be of use, I remember it being something shorter. Also WWX came back towards the later part of it.

not FOUND To be of use by Erisette (Not Rated, 53k, LSZ & LWJ, Found Family, Accidental Baby Acquisition, (kinda), Father-Son Relationship, Missing Scene, Good Teacher LWJ, Seclusion Lite(TM), Fluff, Worldbuilding)

FOUND? Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Not Rated, 19k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian, dad wangji, LWJ’s Questionable Parenting Skills, Grief/Mourning, Recovery, Injury Recovery, Hopeful Ending, Canon-Typical Violence)

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[luckyduckwrites]

The Moon Chapter 1-2: The Videos

Fandom: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Della Duck (Disney) & Original Character(s), Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck (Disney) & Original Character(s), Lena (Disney: DuckTales) & Webby Vanderquack & Original Character(s), Violet Sabrewing (Disney) & Original Character(s), Scrooge McDuck & Original Character(s)

Characters: Della Duck (Disney), Dewey Duck (Disney), Donald Duck (Disney), Huey Duck (Disney), Louie Duck (Disney), Scrooge McDuck, Webby Vanderquack, Lena (Disney: DuckTales), Violet Sabrewing (Disney), Penumbra (Disney: DuckTales), Lunaris (Disney: DuckTales), Gibbous (Disney: DuckTales), Zenith (Disney: DuckTales), Original Trans Character(s)

Additional Tags: Original Character-centric, No Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Older Sibling Huey Duck (Disney), Older Sibling Dewey Duck, Sensitive Louie Duck (Disney), Dewey Duck Has ADHD (Disney), Aromantic Asexual Dewey Duck (Disney), Protective Huey Duck (Disney), Autistic Huey Duck (Disney), Anxious Huey Duck (Disney), Good Sibling Huey Duck (Disney), Good Parent Della Duck (Disney), Della Duck Tries (Disney), Della Duck Needs a Hug (Disney), Della Duck has ADHD (Disney), Protective Della Duck (Disney), Della Duck Has PTSD (Disney), Minor Della Duck/Penumbra (Disney: DuckTales), POV Original Character

Summary:

My name is Clover Duck. My mom accidentally took my egg with her on the rocket, and we got stuck on the moon. I've only ever seen the vast nothing of the moon, but the colors on Earth look like they would be beautiful. Mom and I chew a gum called Oxy-Chew that allows us to breathe, and it gives us the nutrients we need to survive. My mom tells me that I have three brothers on Earth, and I can't wait to meet them!

A/N: After A Nightmare on Kilmotor Hill, Clover uses the name Lucky and uses he/him. Please respect that in the comments after that chapter.

**AO3 & Wattpad links in masterpost pinned to the top of the blog**

Ever since her daughter hatched, Della has been working hard to fix up the communication channel to send a distress signal. After a week, the screen finally lights up.

She exclaims, "Yes! Ha ha! It works! Whoo! Take that, science!"

She is sitting at a makeshift desk with the screen in front of her and her newborn daughter asleep in her lap. Clover starts stirring and waking up, and Della realizes that she was being too loud.

She says in a quieter voice, "Okay, hey, Uncle Scrooge. Or Donald. Or literally anybody who can hear me. This is Della Duck!"

Her arms shoot up in excitement, and the lights suddenly go out. She flicks the light switch again to turn them back on.

The screen is still on, so she keeps talking, "Right, so here's what's up. The freak cosmic storm knocked out most of my systems. But, because I am an amazing pilot, I landed the ship safely. For the most part." She lifts her robotic prosthetic leg onto the desk, displaying for the screen, "Eh? Ehhhh?! Pretty cool robot leg. I'm still working on it. Maybe add some jets or a can opener?"

She takes a moment to get her brain back on track, saying, "Anyway, I've been able to survive in the thin lunar atmosphere thanks to Gyro's Oxy-Chew. It provides oxygen, water, and nutrition. And tastes terrible! Black licorice. Worst flavor ever. It's fine. I'm sure the flavor will wear off soon. I've activated my distress beacon, so if you're getting these transmissions, you'll be able to pinpoint my location and come get me."

Her daughter starts whining for her, so she holds her in her arms, making her appear on the screen.

Della frowns, saying, "Unfortunately, my only daughter's egg came with me on the Spear. Luckily, I found this room filled with air, so she'll be able to breathe until she's able to chew Oxy-Chew. The only food source on the moon is some bugs, but it's enough for her to survive for now. I've made efforts to get off this rock myself. It did not go great."

The room has a small bed with a metal frame and thin matress and blankets, and a huge chalkboard with a few marks on it.

She gestures to the room around her, saying, "In the meantime, I've put together a pretty boss shelter for us and fashioned some clothes. Got a nice, comfy bed. A calendar marking the days we've been here. And the uh... family room."

The 'family room' is just a smaller area in the room where Della put up a picture that her, Donald, and Scrooge took of them with the four eggs.

She frowns again, saying, "Bet the boys have hatched by now, like their sister. Not even sure what they look like. Ooh! Uh, hold on."

She grabs a marker, drawing three crude drawings of ducks on the back of the picture.

Della places the picture back where it was, with the side with the drawing now face-up, "Here we go! That's better!" She turns back to the camera, saying, "Donald, if you're there, put the screen up to the crib." She waits a moment before saying, "Hey, kids! I'm your mom! I know I'm on a little trip, for now, but I'll keep sending these transmissions. You'll barely know I'm gone! I promise I'm coming home, somehow. Nothing can stop Della Duck!"

She turns her attention to her daughter, saying, "Oh, man, we're gonna go on so many adventures when we get back. In fact, there's this old song about adventure that I used to sing to -"

She's interrupted by the ship shaking violently, making her daughter drop out of her arms and to the floor. Her daughter starts wailing in terror, and Della leaves the room to investigate. In the next room, she sees a giant bug monster, more than 5 times her height. The monster has tentacles over its mouth and is eating one of the metal walls, melting it with corrosive saliva.

Della exclaims, "What are you?!"

She ends up having to fight the monster before it could get to the room her daughter is in. She finally gets the monster to leave and returns to the room Clover is in, completely disheveled from the fight. She gets her daughter to calm down, turning back to the screen.

She says, "Good news: We're not alone. Bad news: There's a horrifying bug monster out there trying to eat me. Important life lesson on bug monsters, kids: you're gonna be worried about the pincers, but remember their spit is corrosive too."

She turns the screen off.

6½ months after crash...

Della is angrily chewing the disgusting gum as she switches the screen on, saying, "That's Day 192. The gum has not yet lost its flavor." She sits at the makeshift desk for a moment, struggling to contain her anger, "Soooo... it's been a few months. I haven't heard back from anyone. I need to find some other way to call for help."

She rummaged through the desks drawers, picking up a book and showing it to the screen, saying, "Luckily, I found this in the wreckage! My old Junior Woodchuck Guidebook!" She flips through the pages, then reads out one that looks relevant, "'How to survive a shipwreck: Create a signal for passing ships'."

She adds the word 'rocket' before 'ships', to make it say 'rocket ships'. She figures that if Scrooge made the Spear of Selene, he'll probably make more ships and send them to find her. Her daughter has been chewing Oxy-Chew for the last few weeks and has started trying to crawl around. Clover follows Della around as she makes a message for Scrooge out of the wreckage.

Once she's confident that it'll be seen from space and finishes her message, she holds her daughter in her arms and hops up to a higher peak to read the message aloud, "Hey, Scrooge, it's me, Della. I'm alive on the moon with my daughter. Send help. And snacks. This gum is the worst. Sincerely, Della'. Perfect!"

Suddenly, the bug monster emerges from the ground, destroying her message and taking metal parts in its claws. At the sight of Della's name, it spits out its corrosive spit to destroy her name.

Della groans, "Well, that was unnecessary."

After getting the monster to go away, Della tries to rebuild her message. After building a giant S, she looks around, noticing the lack of scraps thanks to the monster attack.

She says, "Not enough scraps for a full 'S.O.S.'. Need something that will get Scrooge's attention."

After thinking for a moment and seeing a single long metal strip, she places it on top of the S, making it look like a money symbol.

She exclaims, "Nailed it!"

1 year after crash...

Della made a makeshift birthday cake for her children out of moon dirt, and the candle is a lit flare she found in the wreckage.

She turns on the screen, singing, "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to my children. Happy birthday to you!"

She tries to blow out the flare but fails. After a few tries, she flips the flare and sticks it into the cake, melting the cake. She tries to reshape the cake, but it keeps melting back onto the desk.

She sets it aside as she turns to the camera, saying, "I'm sorry we can't be there to celebrate your first birthday together, but I am trying."

Suddenly, the rocket shakes, signaling the moon creature's appearance.

Della yells, "Do not mess with me today, Moon Mite!"

She looks out the window, seeing a rocketship nearing the moon.

She turns to the screen, exclaiming, "Forget cake, guess what you're gonna get for your birthday? Your mom!" She turns to her daughter, continuing, "We're going home!"

She picks up Clover, holding her in her arms.

Della runs outside to fight the mite, yelling, "Hey! Get away from there! Let's make a deal: you leave my S.O.S. alone for, like, ten seconds, and once I'm off this stupid rock, you can eat my whole dang ship! Eh? Ehhh?!"

The mite looks at her for a few seconds before going back to eating the metal support beams, causing the rocket to fall back to the ground, further destroying it. The mite then shuffles to her message, grabbing one of the strips of metal.

Della sets Clover down by the Spear, trying to yank the metal out of the mite's claw, exclaiming, "Let! It! Goooo!"

The mite picks her up, tossing her away from it. Their fight kicks up a cloud of dust, making the nearing rocket fly away, not seeing any sources of life. Della slaps the mite's face with her prosthetic leg, but it takes the leg and burrows back underground.

Della sees the rocket moving away from the moon, exclaiming, "No! Wait! Come back!"

She tries to jump after the ship, but the gravity pulls her back down. She falls to the ground without her prosthetic, and Clover walks over to her.

Her daughter climbs into her lap, and Della starts brushing Clover's hair with her hands, saying, "Okay. New plan."

She makes a new prosthetic with the few parts around her and heads back inside the ship with her daughter trailing behind her.

Della turns the screen back on, saying, "Plan C: I'm gonna rebuild the Spear of Selene! I mean, how hard can it be? It's just rocket science."

She switches the screen off, finding the owner's manual. The book is filled with complicated mathematics that Della doesn't fully understand.

She says, "Oh, boy."

She sits down at the desk to focus on the book, but keeps nearly falling asleep. Clover crawls over to her, and Della pulls her daughter into her lap.

After nearly hitting her head on the desk again, she says to herself, "Focus, Della! Like Donald always says, do things by the book."

After another hour of struggling with the complicated math equations, she gets frustrated and destroys the book in her fury, stomping on it in frustration.

After realizing what she did, she says, "Good thing Donald's not here."

6 years after crash...

She decided to try to build it herself but kept failing. After a few months of trying on her own, she finally rebuilt the destroyed owner's manual. Once she started following the book, it took her years to rebuild the Spear correctly. So long, in fact, that Clover is now 6 years old. Della has been making videos full of life lessons and childhood stories to send to her family back on Earth.

Della switches the screen on, saying, "Okay, it took..." She takes a moment to think, counting the years it's taken before continuing, "A while, but I finally did it. I rebuilt the Spear of Selene! Best mother ever!"

She and Clover head into the cockpit of the rocket and sit down in the pilot's chair, Clover in her lap.

Della puts the key in, saying, "Alright, I just gotta start this baby up, and we're on our way home!"

She turned the key, but nothing happened. She tries a few more times before grunting in anger, heading back to the 'living room' to read through the manual again. She finally finds the page about the fuel, finding that it needs gold to start.

She turns on the screen, angrily saying, "It wasn't enough that Gyro created the most disgusting flavor of gum that somehow gets more flavorful as you chew it, but then he had to use his stupid Gold Tech to make the engine run! How am I gonna find stinkin' gold on the stinkin' moon?!"

Clover walks up to Della, saying, "Maybe there's some in areas we haven't seen yet?"

Della forces herself to calm down as she sees her daughter, saying, "Okay, I spent 20 years with the best treasure hunter in the world. If there's gold on this rock, I'm gonna find it." She switches the screen off, telling her daughter, "Clover, honey, I'm gonna be gone for a few days. Can you be a good girl and stay on the ship?"

Clover nods her head, and Della sets out.

[w0lfyfl00f]

I wanted to make a pin so here we are! W0lfyFl00f info :3

First off my current fandoms and if I have a blog for them I’ll attach it!

Pokémon

Milgram

My ocs (mostly Pokémon)

The Explorers in Pokémon

Proton from Pokémon

Stardew (housed here)

Ramshackle (housed here)

Omori (if I ever post it it’ll be here)

Lackadaisy (same as omori)

More!

Cut off so it’s not too long but take some art Ive made before the cut

Now a few old fandoms I was in that I posted abt on tumblr

Dsmp (I know TwT) (actually rewriting it as STS feel free to check that out)

Ducktales

Owl house

If you are here for nostalgia for any of those go ahead but people who still support the bad content creators on dsmp (People like Dream, Sapnap, George, Wilbur, HBomb, And anyone I’m missing) Are NOT allowed here

Next up on the to do list is a little information about me

I’m 18 so not a minor

I’m autistic and I have ADHD also I’m a system

Also i have IBD but that’s my body being stupid not my brain

My pronouns are He/Paw/Lux/Rawr

And my Preferred names are Hilbert, Timber, Chespin, and Solaris but you can also just call me my user or shorten my user (fun fact my acc is named after my favorite childhood plush named Wolfy)

I’m learning Japanese along with knowing English and Dutch and Spanish then some Portuguese also I wanna learn French eventually given words and languages are a special interest for me (I actually have a Japanese blog if y’all wanna check it out)

I write and draw and my ao3 is one of my favorite pages I have on social media and most popular

I play guitar

I love art fight it’s literally my second favorite time of the year simply to Halloween

I like making personality quizzes on quotev that no one proceeds to ever take TwT

I like creating discord servers often like the fandom server I made for Ramshackle or my server for My Original Pokémon Ship of Wally x Ruby x Gold x Silver or just my Server for Content Creation which is old and disorganized and dead but I do announce when I stream on it

Oh! I also stream on YouTube sometimes often games like Stardew and Omori :3

Also I can code with HTML and my Spacehey was coded by me!

That’s all I really have to say :3

[branmuffins22]

13, 26, 35, 39, 44 from this ask game

Ooo, that's a lotta questions!

13. Do you outline your fics? How much of a headache would someone get if they just looked at an outline of yours without reading the fic?

The short answer? NOT EXACTLY BUT I REALLY REALLY SHOULD

The longer answer?

Technically, I have almost every major plot point written down in some form or another before I write a thing. That said, they usually aren't in any sensible order, and are buried in a mess of a channel in my private discord server, where ALL my brainrot goes.

When I write, I mostly just pick a starting point from one of my notes, and walk it forward from there. I tried properly outlining for one of my fics, and it got me... somewhere, but for the most part, my brain just doesn't work that way. An outline becomes a task list, and I can't stand task lists.

My current system is kinda horrid, but I'd be more worried about someone getting bored sifting through all my scattered notes than getting a headache from them.

26. What’s your biggest distraction when writing?

That one's... probably a tossup between a lot of things. Bodily needs, background streamers mentioning something I actually have an opinion on, my mother barging in with shame and deadlines for cyclical tasks (man, I need out of this house), my twin having something funny to show me... basically just ~Life~, lmao.

I guess part of the problem with my current life situation is that I don't have a lot of time that's truly, unequivocally my own, so I get pushed and pulled around by whatever or whoever calls my attention loudest.

...Or maybe that's just the adhd talking.

35. How much has writing fic changed your life?

SIGNIFICANTLY.

Now, I've been known to struggle with feelings of situational/emotional permanence, so I could be a little biased by the fact that it's my current biggest hobby, but at this point, around half of my social life happens in fandom/fanfiction circles, which wasn't the case a year or two ago.

Two years ago, I didn't read for fun. Like, full stop. I only started doing that after Thanks to Them released, when the hiatus brainrot got me seeking content and community from more than just the show itself and the friend who got me into it. I think the very first fanfic I read was a oneshot someone cross-posted to tumblr, which somehow convinced me to join both tumblr (technically rejoin tumblr) and Ao3 around the same time. Well. maybe a month or so apart, because of the weird account-creation queue thing Ao3 has goin' on. But still.

I don't think I started to consider writing my own fanfiction until I read A Blight on Bonesborough, by GeminiAlchemist, and got a bunch of ideas from the way they expanded upon the lore and magic system and characters and all that of the Owl House.

From there, it kinda took over my life completely, lmao.

I wanted to write about Luz's experiments with glyphs, and some potential avenues of missed opportunity brought to my attention by The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled, by IdeaHunter, and that eventually turned into the Artificer|Overthinker AU (to this day i still haven't picked the name).

Later, I wanted a story about Luz experiencing human high school again after all the dust settled, and after reading a fun fic whose premise was great but whose execution didn't quite scratch the itch (Luz Noceda and the mysterious case of her imaginary girlfriend, by Imkindagayyk), that slowly evolved into Masha and the Very Normal Nocedas (which I actually started writing over a year ago, and still haven't gotten to a postable state with even a single chapter, lmao).

Ever since, I've pretty much been rotating some fic idea or another in my head 24/7.

Nowadays, I wake up and check ao3 for fic updates/new fics, I read while I cook and eat breakfast, I browse tumblr for new stuff from my faves and mutuals, I check ao3 again every few hours, sometimes (but not often) I find the motivation and such to actually write, and I kinda keep up like that all day.

It's maybe a little excessive/obsessive/destructive/etc, but fanfiction kinda defines all the intentional parts of my life right now.

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

Voice and gimmicks.

The most prominent examples I can think of are the various literary tropes I try to imbue certain characters and such with. I usually write in 3rd-person limited perspective, so the characters' voices influence not just the way I write their dialog, but the way I write entire scenes.

There aren't any good examples of it in either of the fics I've actually posted so far, so you'll kinda just have to trust me on this, but a great example is the way I establish the POV character of a given scene.

It's easier for some characters than others, and I haven't come up with a gimmick for every character yet, but I try to open each scene with a literary trope that emphasizes some aspect of the POV character's voice.

For example, scenes written from Luz's point of view always start with speech, either hers or directed at her. Luz is a rambunctious, chatty, and kinda awkward character, who tends to exert herself on every situation she comes across, so I figure an unconventional (and arguably obnoxious, according to some people) opener works great for her.

Hunter is an outwardly-cocky character with some deep-seated self-worth problems (and a very slanted worldview besides), so his scenes always start with a self-affirmation of some kind, usually followed by a contradiction. Often, he's either intentionally or subconsciously trying to convince himself of something, or to do whatever it is he's about to be doing in the scene.

Vee is a bit of a special case. Like Luz, her scenes start in media res, but she tends to borrow the gimmicks of characters around her. She's a shapeshifter, and learned about life in the outside world as a doppelganger, so she has a tendency for mimicry, intentional or not. She also has a secondary gimmick, one that's a bit more her own, in that narration about her often finds itself filled with alliteration, especially involving the letter S (since she's sort of a snake, and snakes hisssss (and doing it with the letter V was too hard lmao)). It started as a running gag she played on Masha in MatVNN, but then I couldn't stop using it, so it's kinda everywhere now.

Masha is a superstitious (though slightly apathetic) character with a keen eye (and no attention span with which to wield it). They tend to seek out meaning even where there isn't any, and thus often completely miss the broader details in favor of the little things. Their scenes start with an isolated excerpt, usually a tarot reading. In an ideal world, the readings would foreshadow both the events of the scene and at least one of the ways they've misinterpreted them, but unfortunately, I haven't yet actually learned enough tarot to do that. It's a big part of why Masha and the Very Normal Nocedas is taking so long to get to a postable state 😅.

That's pretty much all the opening gimmicks I've worked out so far, but another one I'd like to mention has to do with the way magic is written.

Whenever a spell is cast, I whip out my thesaurus and try to sprinkle in a few words nearby that relate to the kind of spell being cast. For instance, I might say that when Willow casts a wall of vines, she first "plants her feet on the ground", or "stifles her budding anger". Before Luz casts an invisibility spell, she might think about "hiding the cards she was dealt" or maybe "her hands disappear into her pockets". Stuff like that.

The way I imagine it, magic taps straight into the caster's homonculus (broadly, the part of their brain that decides and understands what encompasses "the body") in such a way that the caster becomes part of the spell just as much as the spell becomes part of the caster.

Luz in particular, having the knack for magic that she does, tends to start this process of "becoming the spell" as soon as she decides to cast it, not just at the moment she actually casts it. It's like working yourself into the headspace of a thing, before sitting down and doing it. I've got a whole huge segment in one of my more dramatic fics that's basically an entire page of this kind of thing, with Luz preparing to cast a really big spell (or, well. technically a pair of big spells (TECHNICALLY technicaly it's one normal spell being used to prepare to cast the two massive spells. it's a whole thing)). It honestly might be the highlight of my writing portfolio, which is a huge shame because it's a MASSIVE spoiler.

Anyways, uhhh yeah. I really like gimmicks.

44. Rant about something writing related.

WELL SHITDAMNFUCK, IF ONLY I READ ALL THESE QUESTIONS AHEAD OF TIME! I COULD'VE SPARED SOME OF THOSE PRIOR RANTS FOR HERE!

Well. Guess I aughtta find something else to write about.

How about the ultimate enemy, the scourge of our people, the cornerstone of suffering itself, the dreaded and feared, the great and terrible:

Writer's Block.

It may come as a surprise to the ignorant among us (hehe, amogus), but I, too, suffer from Writer's Block from time to time! In fact, I'm even suffering from it right now! And I have been for the past... oh goodness, over 2 months now.

I had one good day of writing, in all that time, which only came about because I nearly fell asleep in the tub. I somehow daydreamed my way into a really good turn of phrase that I just HAD to put into context for Backlight and Bitrot.

So far, that singular scene, set (the equivalent of) several seasons into the story, remains both the only thing I've written for that fic, and the only thing I've written at all since January.

It's infuriating! I have all these ideas, all these things I WANT to write, all these people I want to share these ideas with, all this time, all this passion, all this brainrot, and yet I Just! Can't! Write!

AUGH!

It would be one thing if I'd simply run out of ideas; I could call this whole thing something pretty like a "dreaming phase" or a "break in order to recharge" or whatever. But I've been dreaming for ages! This break has been in no way relieving! I'm just wallowing in my inability to do the things i love, while the world moves on around me!

You've had an excellent way of phrasing this for yourself, recently: "The executives are on vacation."

It's not some pleasure cruise for me! Those darn jerks (basic brain functions) who dictate every little thing that goes on around here just fucked off to who-knows-where! Completely blind to the consequences (stagnation, suffering, shame) of their absence, and how those affect their employees (me)! I just work here, man! Lemme do my job! I wanna do my job, but I can't if you don't let me! Ugh.

I want to write so goddamn bad. I've got all these projects to write for, all these brainrot spores to spread. I've got so much I want to accomplish, and yet my dumb bitch brain can't seem to get the memo. Work phone is powered off, I suppose.

It's gotten to the point lately that even those random notes to myself have slowed down. I'm having less new ideas than before. I'm picking old ideas out and polishing them less than before.

I'm worried I might end up having to find a way to cater my writing to the dumb mammal part of my brain somehow, in order to bring some momentum back. Write about something crude and easy and filled with every instantly-gratifying fantasy I can imagine.

No more of this 'careful thought' and 'consideration for themes' junk, we want it LOUD and we want it NOW.

Ugh.

Writer's Block is the worst.

What a bummer to end on. Oh well, I'm gettin' kinda sleepy, and I'm out of questions anyways. Thanks for the ask!

[hxhhasmysoul]

No wait— 4 14 24 34 44 54 74

4. How do you choose which fics to write?

I don't really have that many ideas for fics, or stories in general, that's why I hardly ever write one shots, especially one shots that aren't crack or tie ins into larger stories.

That being said, I write those my ADHD compels me to. Every so often it floods me with an idea and I start writing it, get halfway done and realise, fuck, this plot is massive and now I have to start tying it all together. And I get slow and depressed because it's not going so well as it used to because my ADHD says: my job is done here, like Tuxedo Mask. And I'm left alone with my regular, very underwhelming brain.

14. What is your favorite location and position to write in?

Answered this one here.

24. How do you choose whose POV to write in?

So these asks will expose how little thought I put into stuff XD.

Some stories just have one POV throughout so it's not difficult. In stories that I switch POVs usually the POV is a duh to me. Like I know what I want to show next in the scene and the POV comes built in into that idea. The exception is when I can't find a good angle for a scene. Then I generally just flop desperately like a fish out of water and it's messy and I take days to write those scenes. And sometimes I write like half of them and realise the POV was the issue all along. So I start over with a new POV.

34. How much of your personal life/experience do you include in your fics?

Well all of my mental illness, trauma and anxiety. Gon, Killua and Yuuji get them all in spades. Oh, and Yuuji gets my sexuality. With Gon and Killua I'm more whatever sexuality feels right for the particular fic.

Other then that some bits here and there. I mostly pour my linguistic condition, anthropological interests and aesthetic sensibilities into my fics.

44. What is your favorite genre to write?

Anything that isn't our world and differs from our world significantly. Like when I can indulge in world building. It doesn't have to have fantasy or sf elements, like my royalty AU has no magic, but it came up with quite a bit of culture for it, including a language quirk, a political system and religion. And like a web of intrigue and political moves.

54. What’s the fandom/pairing distribution of your posted fics?

The numbers below are from AO3, I have some smaller HxH and JJK fics here. But not all are caught by my writing tag, like my JJK crack isn't there, I should probably try to make a masterpost or something. XD

______

Hunter X Hunter - 18

Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck - 13

Canary/Alluka Zoldyck - 4 (I personally created this tag)

Knov/Palm Siberia - 1

Canary (Hunter X Hunter)/Other(s) - 1

Knuckle Bine/Mito Freecs - 1 (I wrote a healthy het pairing once, diversity wins, I created this tag too)

Kikyo/Silva (though this one is on here, not on AO3, I should probably post it there too because it's a tie in to one Killigon fic)

______

呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga) - 2

Itadori Yuuji/Sukuna | Ryoumen Sukuna

______

魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù - 1

Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn/Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín

74. Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?

Yes. My two KilluGon fics that are mostly a vibe. I think they have nice world building and good character writing.

Conventional Wisdom

Levels

___________________________

Fanfiction Writing Asks

[pileofpawns]

Intro post!!! Wauuugh! Finally!

I have been meaning to make one these for ages but I've never gotten around to it lmao

Hi there, I'm Plum! I'm 17 years old and my pronouns are she/her (though idc if you use they/them on me either). I'm a disabled aroace cis girl. Nice to meet ya! This is where I tip my brain contents into - Consistency does not exist here! I mostly post about my interests (which can change very rapidly), but also make generally nonsensical shitposts and rarely post art I make.

Misc info about me:

I'm okay with any and all gendered language being used on me. I'm not a guy but you can call me one if it's funny (or even if it’s not funny)

Common speech quirks and things I say and type a lot include "wowzers", "eep", abbreviating "-ing" to "-in", and capitalizing words for emphasis

I LOVE turtles. Can't get enough of em. My favorite species is the three-toed box turtle!

You are always free to mention me on posts or send me asks for literally anything! People nudging me to show me something they think I'd like brings me SO much joy.

Fruity fella who loves (literal) fruit

🐢💕 <- favorite emojis

I am disabled!! (I know I said it at the top) My disabilities include ADHD, dermatillomania, misophonia, mitral valve prolapse, and major depressive disorder. I’m only sharing these because I’m comfortable doing so and I want to talk about them!

I have a habit of calling anyone who I am even slightly acquainted with "bestie". If this makes you uncomfortable please let me know and I will stop!

I make visual art, write, and craft things sometimes! You can check out my stuff under the tags #plums art and #plum writes . I've also been playin the violin for uhhh... 7 years now?

I HATE discourse and I'm a strict inclusionist. This blog is safe for endogenic and mixed origin systems, self-diagnosed folx, folx who use microlabels, and pretty much anyone not trying to cause harm to others. Please keep discourse out of here.

I'm a scalie and also alterhuman in some kinda way!! I don't really label it lol but I am a three-toed box turtle in some capacity.

You can find me on ao3 here

You can find me on YouTube here

And you can find me on Discord under the user pickledplums ! If you shoot me a friend request or DM please let me know who you are first or I will likely not respond.

My blog name is a lyric from the song “Ghostdubster” from the “Super Ghostbusters Deluxe Edition” album by Vargskelethor. Give it a listen, funniest shit I’ve ever heard.

Spam likes/reblogs are okay!! They make me rlly happy :))

Non-definitive list of fandoms I'm in/media I enjoy:

Sonic the Hedgehog

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (mostly 2003 and rise but I love all iterations)

Tales from the Stinky Dragon

Usagi Yojimbo

PaRappa the Rapper/UmJammer Lammy

Rhythm Heaven

Samba de Amigo

Magic the Gathering (not really versed in the lore but I do play the game!)

Dungeons & Dragons

Spongebob Squarepants (the main cartoon and the musical)

Kid Cosmic

South Park (I am not very active in the fandom anymore and have not watched the actual show in ages, but I will occasionally like/reblog fanart. I recognize the problems it and it’s creators have.)

userbox credits: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 (bottom two are by me)

Welcome to my silly little blog! I hope you enjoy your stay :}

[blurbry]

Rambles

Rambling Day 1:    AO3 WARNING!!!! LONG POST AHEAD!            FIRST BULLET POINT!: I have a Pseud now. For when I have the feeling or need to write *EHEM* fics. However I Most likely won’t go into too much detail as said things actually make me flushed sometimes.(While I’m Not repulsed or uncomfortable talking about it or writing about it, I just thought I’d touch on the fact that I’m still experimenting with sexuality and am not too sure if I’m actually asexual or not.) A small warning, It may contain oc x character shippings, not just head-cannoned shippings.  I will most likely not post them Publicly as most of them would be physically for me to reread and improve my writing skills, rather than to cause discourse with one who may be Uncomfortably settled with such a subject.  Even if I do Post them Publicly on tumblr, They’ll be tagged Respectively and placed on a Main blog and art blog separate blog. still so the tag can be blocked and ignored. Tumblr added nsfw Content filters for the reasons sole for you to be able to browse your content without being hit in the face with a discomforting subject.   SECOND BULLET POINT!: I’m rewriting all my old fics.  Those of you who followed my AO3, whether you ended up there through lost in dysphoria, or perhaps you were there from my very first fic Broken Glass Shattered Spirits, You’ll notice they’ve all been deleted (except for the ones I’m particularly proud of.) This is because I’m freshly applying a new coat of paint!!  Rather than a baby tiny 1000 word fic, There will be more words, more filler text to make it more interesting. More Development in situations rather than a Rushed feeling of Needing to get this out. While doin so will take me a few months, due to having the most ADHD brain in my family, I assure you when a project has been begun it hasn’t been forgotten, it’s just been pressed aside for a later date. All I ask is Im not rushed or demanded to write faster, because that’s what leads to my sloppy 1000 word writing. Schedule for writings:    Begin Lost Family Au Writing and Master Explanation. Lost Family: An Au I Made which is a Link Separate Au. All the links have tragic Life stories about Siblings or parents or how their lifestyles effect them, Leading up to the events of the Four swords being pulled, and the four meeting each other. IN this AU, the swords are four elemental blades locked deep within Temple systems, that each of the four are called to pull when the time is right.  Begin Raptured Hyrule: Raptured Hyrule is another AU I began working on in 2021 with my friends, and finally decided to publicize in 2022. This AU is if darkness was never fended, and in a way, if Zelda was corrupted by dark cloud rather than killed. It’s very angsty........     Rewrite dancing in the starlight(bluexErune) so its less short and develops more to the relationships. Dancing Scene will still apply.     Rewrite Bluebird(Blue x Vio) Blue at war, Vio is a damsel in distress waiting for him to come home, only having letters and little embroideries and crochet projects to litter the house with.     Rewrite Broken Glass Shattered spirit.(Vidow) Vio is ignoring Shadow for deep studies, Shadow goes off to find something interesting to do and has a run in with a few threatening old friends. Rewrite Angels Flying High, Originally this fic was a RedxShadow Pure angst where Red Died, and Shadow destroyed the mirror a second time just so he could get that final ounce of happiness with him. However, I’m going to change its full aspect and Make it Angel!Red Au. It will still be Shadow x Red. Rewrite Sunsets and Lavender tea (Blue x Shadow) Poor Blue is suffering nightmarish trauma from being frozen alive and Shadow is there to help *cool~* his spirits (I’ll go back in the bad berry corner again) Rewrite Darkness Within: Green/Red Corruptive AU. At a last ditch effort to save the dying light that Red brought to the world, Green performs a dangerous and irrational ritual which results in Red becoming a creature of darkness. At first Red is weary, and its oh so torturous trying to tango with such a creature when He can only come out during the hours that one needs to sleep, but its so worth it when people suddenly become less afraid of Shadow because of Red’s doings. (Look lorulians can be nice people too, don’t fight me ) Rewrite: Everything is okay (Vidow Angst) Vio sustains injuries on the battle field by a mob of Moblins, Blue took his eyes of his back for only a second, only to turn and watch him be run through with a lizzal spear. Blue has a panic attack, He promised Shadow he’d make sure vio came home unharmed.. Vio almost dies, but miraculously was saved by a fairy and a very, Very upset travelling shadow.  These will not be redone in the exact ordering of this post.    

[kaija-rayne-author]

Dunno how many of y'all follow me for my Veilguard fic. But I have to switch from weekly updates to a bulk update when it's finished. This letter is attached to the fic too, but plop.

Letter to readers

I’m deeply sorry if you came to read another chapter only to find this instead. Though, I’m pretty sure like 3 people are actively reading it, and I’ve told them already.

So, hey. I feel awful about this but regularly updating my fic with little encouragement in the form of comments is apparently really shitty for my mental health.

I’m, at time of posting this, still writing this story. I want to finish it. I am writing it for me. (To help me get over my disappointment with Veilguard.) It has succeeded in doing this, so has, essentially served its purpose.

I’m not orphaning it, I’m not walking away from it, I still want to finish it. I still love my version of these characters and my version of this story. But if my interest starts to wane, well, I tried. Thems the breaks.

One of the things few people tell you about having ADHD is one of the more dangerous to our mental health things we can do to ourselves.

Yes, you've probably heard of ADHD, but may not actually understand? ADHD is either an inability to make or an inability to process dopamine like an average neurotypical brain does. Science isn’t quite sure yet. Your average ADHDer usually has 3x less dopamine currently available for their brain than regular people do.

Dopamine is what makes us happy, but more than that, it plays key roles in forming habits, with motivation, with enjoyment of some activities, and with emotional regulation. There’s a lot more that dopamine does than that but I’m writing a note, not an essay. (I'm trying to, anyway 😅.)

Back to the dangerous to ADHD folks behavior we can do to ourselves.

Dopamine chasing.

It is so insidious. I know to be wary of it.

Our brains need dopamine to function. Dopamine chasing is where ADHD folks will do thing, enjoying activity of thing greatly. (I deeply enjoy writing this fanfic, for example.)

Then something makes our brains unconsciously (sometimes conciously) think they’re gonna get dopamine for thing. And if dopamine doesn’t result… it can make us crash into mental illness relapses. It’s hell, honestly.

Dopamine chasing is a form of self-harm. It can take many forms (doomscrolling is a good example). For me, currently, and what is forcing my hand here, is that my brain somewhere formed the (extremely unconscious) idea that publishing fanfic might equate to other people liking it.

Within the cosmos of Ao3, (which, yes, post from captain obvious) if people like a thing, they drop a kudos (nice, might make author feel a bump in positivity) or leave a comment (excellent! Will make person writing thing feel really good, helps with motivation, makes it feel like the time and effort of writing this thing is both appreciated and worth it. That the additional not insignificant effort of publishing thing is also worth doing.)

I’m disabled and also recovering from a pulmonary embolism (not fun, do not recommend). I have to be incredibly careful about what I spend my very limited energy on.

I have a lot of trauma in my background and a laundry list of mental health issues because of it.

When I first started writing this, I wasn’t going to post it, but my eldest kid is big into fanfic and thought I’d really enjoy it. I figured, why not. There’s a lot of people hurting because of Veilguard. Maybe it’ll help other people, too.

So I started posting it. For the first several weeks, maybe even five weeks, the hyperfixation alone was enough to keep the dopamine packet delivery system fueled.

I’m an author and editor. I’m incredibly accustomed to getting little to no feedback on my books because I don’t read reviews of my work. Reviews are for readers, they’re strictly fan space only.

I didn’t honestly think little to no interaction would be an issue. But as time went on, I got a little down, mood wise, every time I posted a new chapter. Then I found myself in a glum mood every time I posted a new one. Today, I crashed completely after posting a chapter yesterday. A chapter I worked incredibly hard on. Smut! Which usually gets interest on Ao3, let’s be real here, kinky smut at that. With tentacles.

Unfortunately, I had to crash to figure out that I’d put myself into a position ripe for dopamine chasing.

Other than my dedicated 3 readers, (I love you all) it felt like throwing that chapter I’d worked hard on into the void to the faint sound of moth wings. I, unfortunately, can’t keep doing this to myself. It’s just hurting me at this point.

I fell (again) into the trap of dopamine chasing. Dopamine that isn’t there. Because either people aren’t reading this fic at all (except for you three, I’m very grateful to all three of you) or if they are, they’re not commenting. There’s more that went into this becoming dopamine chasing for me than I’m going into here. But it would make people feel bad so I’ll bitch about it in semi-private. So it wasn’t just the lack of interaction, I wasn’t really expecting any when this started. The lack of interaction is around 75% of the issue though. Because there is interaction on other DA fics.

How I got here doesn’t change the result of I cannot self-harm myself this way anymore.

Kudos are nice to receive. Comments are amazing to receive. And I’ve learnt my lesson about not reading anything but completed fics and not commenting much. I now prioritize WIPs and try to find something in most chapters to comment on.

The author is feeding me by posting chapters of awesome free writing. The least I can do is feed them in return.

I’ve been told the Dragon Age Fandom is utter ass about commenting on fics. Y’all do realize the long term affects of that, right? Fewer and fewer fics being finished. People will start them, get discouraged, and leave.

The odds of a fic you’re enjoying never being finished increases drastically if there’s no food (comments) for the author. I’m not sure if it’s the same for neurotypical fanfic writers or not, but for ADHDers, that interaction is very possibly more important than you can imagine. It could spell whether they ever finish the fic or not. Just like the lack of it is forcing me to finish writing it (if I do) and just bulk post it when I’m finished. I enjoyed posting weekly for a variety of reasons. But we can often enjoy things that are bad for us.

I was told not to do bulk posting when I first started publishing this fic. But if it’s the only way I can do it without feeling like shit after updating, it just has to be that way.

And to be honest, much as I’ve enjoyed writing fic, and I have so many other stories I’d love to tell… at the end of the day I’m an author and editor.

It’s how I make what little income I have. If I’m writing something, it should really be the next book. Not a fanfic that makes me feel like absolute ass every time I post a chapter. I’ve got two other chapters ready, but I’ll leave it on the sweeter note of Rook and Shay’s sexy times chapter. In case I don’t have the motivation to finish it.

At this point in time, I do intend to finish it, but I’ve got at least 20 more chapters to write for it, if not more. It’s going to be a while before I can do the update. And there’s a fair to middling chance I’ll get bored and just stop. I’ll post whatever I’ve got at that point if it looks to be happening and bid fanfic writing a not very fond farewell. It hasn’t been an overall awesome experience for me.

I have another AU dragon age fic I’m writing. It’s a Phantom of the Opera AU. Solas gets to be Phantom. I’d already chosen to bulk post that one because I keep bouncing back and forth on ideas and which characters to use to make it ‘most Phantom-y’. So I’ll post that one whenever I get it finished.

I guess this is just a sad reminder of two things.

Be ultra wary of dopamine chasing.

And

Feed your fanfic authors with comments if you want more of whatever fic you’re enjoying.

Both seem like such simple things, don’t they?

Anyway. I’ve, as usual, rambled far longer than intended.

Take care of yourselves.

Kai

[sunsetisle]

hello all! i'm sunny, it/its pronouns please! i've put a few things about me and my blog under the cut, if you'd like to read them; otherwise, i thank you for visiting, and i hope you enjoy your stay!

i post a lot of different things here, but the biggest categories are fan content (mostly batman + hermitcraft atm), fandom meta (ao3 + the otw, media production + analysis, etc.), and disability, neurodiversity, and mental illness.

i, myself, am physically disabled and chronically ill. i'm a cane and rollator user, and i rely on my caretakers (my siblings) for a lot of things. i'm autistic and adhd, and i process things differently than a lot of people. i also have psychotic depression, and i may become very paranoid and have warped perceptions of reality sometimes. please be patient with me, i'm trying my best.

i'm a member of a system with did. we dissociate a lot, and have poor internal communication and minimal memory sharing. this, combined with brain fog from our physical illness, means we often don't remember things, and may appear to have erratic behavior and inconsistent opinions. please bear with us.

if you are looking for a way to support me, please consider donating to crips for esims for gaza instead. i can't donate much myself, being a disabled person without income, so i want to try my best to encourage others who can.

finally, i don't have a dni, but i do have a strong sense of morality and sensitivity to unkind treatment of others, and i frequently block people whose beliefs allow for harassment and bigotry. just be nice and don't harass anyone and we'll be fine! :)

[spicler-man]

thanks for the tag!!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

75

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

214,434

3. What fandoms do you write for?

oh jeez. we'll stick to just what ive got posted bc otherwise this list will crash my computer. mcu, obviously, but there's also stranger things, gravity falls, danny phantom, miraculous ladybug, random kids movie called the little vampire that i got obsessed with, atla, my old mcyt fics, mia and me, phineas and ferb, my old sanders sides fics, stardew valley, exactly 1 undertale fic, and mha. i refuse to make pseuds or new profiles if you subscribe to me you WILL see all my works.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

i think they're all irondad? nobody knows like a waterfall System Error: Reboot i’ll always come back mr. dad❤️🔧 yep. all irondad

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i try to! but i have bad adhd and completely forget most of the time. trust me, i see it and i love it and then i forget to answer it

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

probably The Phantom Menace just because it's short and there's no closure. one of my earliest irondad works, if not my earliest

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

good question!! most of mine are pretty happy or at least hopeful, i'd say mr. dad❤️🔧 just because there's little to no angst throughout the entire thing

8. Do you get hate on fics?

yep! as previously mentioned, i have horrid adhd, so sometimes ill get stuck in a little echo chamber of my own brain, and ideas that make sense in my head, with all the surrounding details i've come up with, the full thing won't make it into the story so it makes little to no sense.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i've never written a smut fic, i tried my hand at writing smut (with ocs) when i turned 18 just to see if i could. however i sincerely doubt it'll exit the specially made password-locked document i made for it

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

i don't, not really, so i guess i'll have to say my pnf and irondad crossover, which is less crazy when you remember phineas and ferb already did that.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

nope! no one wants 'em

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

also no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i've been a supportive cheerleader on the sidelines for a couple of my friends fics, as well as an idea generator that they've been like "ooh thats good i want to use that" but never a co-writer

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

i might have to go with my stupid little elf polycule from mia and me. its my all time favorite because if i don't love them, who else will?? and i can never get tired of content from them bc there is none.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh god. ive never finished a multichapter. did you all know that about me?? i've never made it all the way through. the final chapter of silent spidey has been complete since november 2022. but i haven't made it there yet. and now i doubt i ever will.

16. What are your writing strengths?

dialogue. i like to think ive got a good handle on dialogue. also spelling and grammar are fun for me so none of those pesky little errors

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

my willingness to sacrifice important plot points for a joke i found marginally funny. looking at you, stranger things wips.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

depends!! i'm bilingual, so if it's a language i've got a handle on then yeah, why not? if i gotta translate it, i'll probably include the translation in there somewhere with an html code

19. First fandom you wrote for?

miraculous ladybug, back on wattpad. if you find my old unfinished fic on wattpad with no clues from me ill give you five bucks

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

i really like to be a bit of warmth for you. it was fun to write and i can still reread it without cringing so i count that as a win!

no pressure tags: @creative-girl @multifandomforthemostpart @call-me-coley @ironfidus

(under the read more is the blank questions for everyone)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

oh jeez. mcu, obviously, but there's also

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

20 Questions for Fic Writers

thank's for the tag @waitingondaisies

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

- 180

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

- 1,701,826 (Holy Crap!)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

- All of my fics are MCU, predominantly Irondad but there are a few Spiceychell fics mixed in there too.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

- A Parent Apparent (528,718 words, 7,349 kudos) A really freaking long slow burn Irondad co-parenting with May fic.

- So Many Things to Say (82,998 words, 3,914 kudos) A electivly mute, foster child Peter fic. This is the first part of an extended series.

- What I Really Need is You (18,520 words, 3,581 kudos) A fluffy 5+1 of Peter needing things from Tony.

- Distracted by a Dime (56,169 words, 2,476 kudos) A homeless Peter AU- Stony AU. This is the first part of a series.

- Suspended (3,607 words, 2,177 kudos) A One-shot about Pter getting suspended and Tony picking him up from school.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try really hard to reply to every comment!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't really do angsty endings... So Maybe this one? Breathe, Kid (You're Not Alone) (4,086 words) Ned Dies and Peter feels responsible. Tony is there to help him pick up the pieces. The ending is hopeful and comforting- but there is no instant fix.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh geez. You want me to pick one??? Uh... Let's go with this one because it has some sweet Christmassy vibes. Secret Sugarplum Spiderling (27,923 words) Peter is a ballet dancer and he doesn't want Tony to know- yet. Lots of super sweet fluff.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Sometimes. Usually, it's someone who has decided that my fictional story filled with fictional characters who have fictional superpowers isn't 'realistic enough.'

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have written exactly ONE smut fic- but it has NEVER been posted. 😘

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

One- by request. It was a mini-fic about Pokemon trainer Peter and Pokemon Professor Tony. Rotom Roundup (979 words)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope. My art, despite emailing them several times, is still up on a 'coloring sheets' website though. Which mostly annoys me because what they nagged was a draft. I would have happily sent them the clean line art.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I had someone offer once and gave full permission but I don't htink it ever happened.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! I have co-written a few fics. And I have one in the works with @waitingondaisies

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Most of my fics are platonic relationships. But I often have background relationships in them; usually Stony or Pepperony. Some spideycelle and once, Ned/Peter.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I hope I eventually finish all of them! But there is one I found that I am not even sure where it was going. All I have written is 800 words of Kraven the Hunter confronting Peter.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I am pretty good at dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I am still learning a lot about POV depth, visceral details, and deep introspection.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't use it much, if at all. But it doesn't bother me.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Irondad

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Oh! It's a tie!! So Many Things to Say will always me towards the top of my favorites lit. But my newest fic, The Hoax, is starting to creep into 'favorite fic of all time' territory.

I am going to tag (If they are interested) @spicler-manie @cajun-fangirl @asyouleft @thwip--thwip @justme--emily and @kubabergen

[not-poignant]

Hi! Sorry if you have been asked this before, but I wanted to know if Patreon is very useful for posting serialized writing (the way you use it)? And, is there any chance you have tips or could point me to somewhere that does, on how exactly to use Patreon for this? Thank you!

Hi anon,

Okay, so first I want to break some stuff down, I know you've said 'the way I use it' but no one is stupid enough to do Patreon the way I use it, so I want to explain the difference:

I actually don't post my serialised fiction on Patreon! It's all on AO3. So I may not be the right person to ask, because I don't actually like using Patreon to host serials (I like Patreon for some things, but I don't actually find it super user-friendly for commenting, and I've noticed that most of my readers prefer to comment on AO3, here, or on Twitter and other sites before they use Patreon - even when they're subscribed).

You might want to check out Facebook groups like Subscriptions for Authors, which has a lot more folks who are actually hosting their serials on Patreon!

As for why I'm not the best person to ask about this: It's not smart to host original fiction on AO3 while running a Patreon, because advertising Patreon or Ko-Fi on AO3 is against its Terms of Service/TOS for very good reasons, which means I can never advertise my Patreon directly to my audience. It's the biggest business no-no of all time.

The second business no-no that I do all of all time is that I put my serials up for free, so no one actually has to pay for them at all!

Serial authors do not use Patreon like I do. I ended up doing it this way for a big combination of reasons (which I've talked about before), but I would never recommend it to anyone else who wants to make money. People tend to like to pay things that they can't get for free already, and audiences grow when you can advertise to them. These are two things I'm not doing. I can't point you to anyone else who is doing this, because idk anyone with as little business sense as me.

Now, outside of that, authors can be very successful using Patreon for serials! Serial writing is actually huge on Patreon. But I am the wrong person to ask about that because a) I am not very successful by serial author standards (esp serial authors who write as much as I do) and b) those folks are usually not hosting on AO3, and are paywalling all of their works except for a few: in other words, people are paying for the privilege of reading something they'd have no way of accessing otherwise. Which is the same with novels and books.

I'm sorry anon, if you want to be a successful serial author, then literally don't listen to me, I'm actually probably the worst person to ask for re: advice. It's a miracle I'm doing as well as I am, but it's not a business strategy, and I couldn't in all good conscience recommend this path to anyone else. Please check out some of the Facebook groups instead. There are authors out there making 6 figure salaries off Patreon serials and I am not one of them.