#and then you realise that you don’t have anything more to plan or outline

[the-irrelevant-trumpeter]

… i think i’ve just about finished planning this fic? which means… i can start writing?

[breathe-101]

The long drive home!

Characters: Jacob Scipio and writer.

Dear diary,


Hehehe, look at you and your nosy self.

There's some PG18 stuff I need to share.

As you were!


Sooooo, I’ve been dating Jacob for about six months now.

It was my idea to keep it private of course.

Honestly, after loving him from a distance for so long, I just wanted to give it a chance.

You know better than anyone that he's my first boyfriend.

It's exciting but I can't really say I'm not scared.

Just a little. Okay, maybe a lot.

Oh my days what the fork am I saying!


Anyway, having flown in this morning he insisted on picking me up after work.

I didn’t want him to cause man needed sleep.

The press tour was long and to expect anything from him now was just ridiculous.

We settled on spending the weekend together.

It’s been a hectic week and sleep was all I wanted really.

I don’t think coffee is the answer anymore, might just give myself heart failure at this rate.
 
Oooo and before we move on with the story, I actually said goodbye to my colleagues before leaving the office today.

Talk about progress.

Still don't really like them though.

Anyways, back to the story.


Jacobs black Jaguar pulled up out front.

Sprinting to the car, my first thought was to get the fuck out of there before my colleagues

had something to write about in the group chat.

Forget the butterflies of excitement welling up in my tummy, those villians gossip like fish wives.


Jumping in, there he was, you know.

After weeks of FaceTiming he was actually here.

‘Hi’ I whispered. It was all I could manage in that moment.

No judgement please!


Jacobs hair had grown longer.

Dark curls bouncing effortlessly as he moved his head, looking at me then the road again.

I hadn't even realised we’d started moving.

He had one hand on the wheel and the other now resting comfortably on my thigh giving it a slight squeeze.

You know that grip.

The one that makes you all giddy. Ahhhhh!!!


Okay, so. My eyes made their way down his face, his skin looked good.

Clear and somehow giving off a glow.

He didn’t have any makeup on having had the morning off.

I liked his bare face.

His almond eyes looked more defined against his now darker completion.

Guess the Florida sun agrees with him cause even his lashes looked longer.
The car came to a sudden stop.

Red light.

Lips parting slowly, his face turned towards me and he finally whispered,

‘Hi'. You knowwww, the way guys do when they want you to lean in closer cause you can't hear what they're saying.

Hmmmmm, I see you Jacob!


I watched him unable to speak.

I had so many things I wanted to tell him about

and so many questions to ask but, nothing.

I just happily stared at the amused expression on his face.

His scent filled my nose as he placed his hand on my cheek, outlining my brow then gliding down to rest on my neck.

‘I missed you' he whispered again.

Aaaahhhhh! (Hand on the chest level of excitement)


I followed his inspecting eyes as they made their way up my body.

Starting with my stocking covered legs, then a glance at my full thighs.

Eyes stopping at my chest, Jacob slowly released a deep breath then quickly looked me in the eye.

I could feel him moving closer, fingers caressing the short hair on the back of my neck.

Beeeeeeep!

His gaze sharply turned back to the road as the honking snapped us out of the moment.

Seriously!


It was a long drive to my apartment.

I'd just started a new job and hadn't found a closer place yet.

Note to self, get that sorted ASAP.

He'd packed a bag for the weekend and had several paper bags I didn't recognise.

I wanted to ask but exhaustion got the better of me.

We drove in silence.

Both of us reluctant to disturb the heavy tension in the air.

We'd said a few words about our weekend plans then continued an amusing dance of stealing glances at each other. 
This was all new to me. I'd never really liked someone this much.

I just wanted to touch him.

Feel the weight of his legs wrapped around me and rest my head on his chiseled chest.

He'd been working out.

I could tell. Jacobs arms had grown bigger more defined.

The dark T-shirt hugged his bicep as he loosely held the wheel.

I could see the outline of his abs under the fitted shirt.

His waist looked smaller against his broad shoulders.

His legs had grown bigger, leaner.

Jacob was holding my hand now, squeezing it lightly, stroking my finger with his thumb.

Keep it together girl!


We made a quick stop to get some snacks for the road then continued home.

The heavy atmosphere and smooth car ride made me drowsy.

I wanted to look at him longer but my eyes were fighting a losing battle.

I'd forgotten just how cute he was when he was happy.

Jacobs face broke into a mischievous smile, amused by the drowsy look on my face.


'I thought you were excited to see me. How dare you fall asleep.' He chuckled,

admiring my blushing face unaware of the Pervy thoughts flying around in there.

I let out a lazy laugh, pulling his warm hand closer to my chest.


Jacob moved his hand down to my legs, slowly caressing my inner thigh.

I looked up at him, eyes half closed.

The sky had grown dark, low lights hitting his face, outlining his now fuller beard.

He looked good, really good.

Jacobs hand slowly made its way further between my legs, strong fingers sliding their way against my tight stockings.

I shifted, slightly parting them in response.

Feeling a strong tug, they ripped making way for his fingers.

Hand lightly tracing the ladder paving its way down my inner thigh, his grip on the wheel tightened.


The car stopped.

Red light.

Taking advantage of the short pause, he leaned over, his face right up against mine.

Moving even closer, breathing heavily, I anticipated the feel of his warm, full lips... but he stopped. Such a tease!

His warm breath now flowed into my slightly parted lips.

I was struggling to keep my eyes open but I craved him.

I craved the mouth I hadn't felt for three weeks.

I wanted to bite his plump lip, feel him wince against me then aggressively come back for more.

Invading my mouth, not knowing where his saliva started and mine ended.

Licking the blood off his lip wanting more of him on my tongue.

Girrrrl who are you!

Holding my gaze, he slowly lowered my car seat then turned to face the road.

‘Rest.' He demanded.

The car started moving again.

‘You fiend' I muttered under my breath.


I could feel my body fully relax into the seat as sleep came over me.

But his hand started moving again this time moving closer .

Hhhmmmm This man will be the death of me, I swear.

I'd like to sleep now ,Sir. If you don't mind.'

He let out a deep chuckle, pinching my thigh in the process.

I jumped surprised by the sudden attack.

I smacked his hand and he chuckled again. 'Such a tease' I muttered accusingly.


The hand crept even closer caressing back and forth,

reaching its goal then moving away again.

The frustration from exhaustion and this slow seduction had my body screaming.

Eyes closed I grabbed his hand and slowly guided it up to where we both wanted it.

Parting my legs further, I arched my back, moving my hips higher up the seat to give him a better view.

‘I’d like to drive if you don't mind' his deep voice tugging at my stomach.

I chuckled leaning my head back giving him a good view of my now exposed throat.

‘You can have your hand back if you need it. You seem to be doing just fine with one'.

‘Hmmm' he reluctantly moaned in agreement.


The car stopped, another red light.

Sitting up, I moved closer to him.

Squeezing his hand tighter between my thighs.

I stared into his eyes, reflecting the GPS light. Moving his other hand off the wheel,

I placed it firmly around my throat, squeezing slightly.

We stared at each other desire hanging heavy in the small space.

Eyes barely open I parted my lips, releasing a slow breath, coated with the smell of Maltesers, his favourite.

My hot breath hit his lips then moved down to his throat.

I swallowed.

Making sure his hand felt every inch of the movement before moving it slowly down to my erect nipple.

Orange light.

Peeling his hand off my breast, I returned it to the wheel.

Moving away, I settled back into my seat, fully closing my eyes.

Green light.

‘You should drive Mr Scipio. Don't want to hold up traffic now do we?’

Running his fingers through his hair, eyes fixated on my charged body, Jacob slowly accelerated.

‘You f*cking tease' he breathed, pinching my thigh again as he turned to face the road.

PS: I’ll tell you the rest later xx

[sharpedgedfool]

Hey there! Hope you don’t mind me popping into your inbox more often lately, but I’ve just been pondering Sonic and Shadow in your AUs a lot and had some questions about them—can’t imagine why (glances over at your AO3 account) /j

1- how does Oliver eventually come to trust (or at least not hate) Sonic in the museum au? I assume it takes a while and involves the two of them spending a lot of time together on their archeological investigation?

2- in the fae au, is it unhealthy for Sonic/Wild Cherry to be pushing himself to wake up in the wintertime? And how does it feel for him the first time he wakes up so early in the cold? (I’d also love to know how he first meets Shadow/Black Ice but I don’t want to ask too much at once…)

3- I know you said you have some ideas for a sequel to your fleetadow fic, would you by any chance be interested in sharing anything about that?

(And of course, feel free to say “you’ll see” in response to any of these if you don’t feel like answering or if they’re too spoilery! I’m just very interested in all of your story ideas /gen /pos)

Hii, I don’t mind questions at all!! Any excuse to ramble about my silly ideas, I’ll just rapid fire answer below (I'll hide it under a cut cause it got a bit long lmao)

1. That’s part of the story yeah! It’ll take a while, but they’re gonna get to know each other over the course of the investigation, the ruins go deep. I can’t say much cause I’m still trying to write it, but I’m excited to see what people make of what I’ve got planned so far! Sonic’s gonna prove his hero shtick isn’t all bells and whistles, and Shadow’s secrets quickly become unavoidable despite his efforts, it's sort of him they're investigating after all, and by the time he realises it's way too late to turn back.

2. It's not really a severe risk to their health, it’s more so just hard for Fae to control their nature; in this case the whole dying/regeneration process usually isn’t something they have any power over, and it usually relies on the cold to naturally let them know when to wake up, kinda like a hibernation type thing. Sonic’s been trying to wake up a smidge earlier for decades now, but its just sheer determination and a bit of luck on his part. If he woke up mid-winter it'd be a bit of a problem, but he just wakes up a few days shy of spring. I have their first meeting scripted out, I was hoping to turn it into a full comic but I’ve not had the time yet so we’ll see. I’ll maybe just write it out instead at some point haha.

3. I’ve been scheming away at that too, the sequels gonna have a bit more focus on Fleetway and Sonic and how they manage to handle their coexistence now they’ve found some common ground, Shadow’s the catalyst for them to get along but he’s not around to play referee all the time. Amy’s gonna get some time to shine too in this one, but its mainly focused on Sonic, Shadow and Fleetway again. I have another fun twist in mind but I’m still working on the outline so I don’t wanna say anything for certain in case I change my mind mid-way through - the endgame is something cheery tho I promise, I like a happy ending!

Thanks for the questions!! Bother me about my aus anytime haha :)

[voidsteffy]

Anand (S/O Satyamurthy) x fem!OC

A/N: Um so hi 🧍🏽‍♀️Please read this and lemme know how you like it in the comments. This man is my pookie bear, and also this movie plays on the tv whenever I ask for it to ok? This is My Movie. And also @mahi-wayy asks and I deliver again, what can I say🤗 btw, timeline may be skewed ignore that, it fit that way. No trigger warnings except the mention of death. Not proofread.

Word count: 2.2k words

More than grief, grief of a person who they know dying an untimely death, everyone’s face he saw outside his house that day had a glimmer of joy. Joy of his family’s downfall, which would mean they had something to gain from it.

Coming out of that room, having written off all the assets to save his father’s honour, it was the first time Anand had felt truly alone. There was a family depending on his every step now. His mother who saw her husband die ; his brother wasn’t himself after the death and his sister-in-law who was truly herself at the moment - strong and stern ; his little niece, the innocent girl who still couldn’t understand why her grandpa hadn’t come home for dinner.

“Amma…” he sat his mother down. She didn’t have any interest nor want of grandeur, but what he did was going to all but drag them onto the streets.  “I had to sign away all the properties. They asked me to claim bankruptcy but I couldn’t drag his name through mud.”

She nodded, suddenly older than he’d remembered leaving her, and held his shaking hands.

“Nandu, your father was Satyamurthy.” (dignified man who tells the truth)

He didn’t have it in him to smile, but years later, he’d look back to that moment and find some courage to smile. “Was. And always will be.”

He planned to sit there until someone called him, until someone needed more from him than his signature. But from the bustle in the house, one voice suddenly stood out.

“How dare you manipulate my client into this trap?! Don’t you realise we can move the court for untimely misrepresentation of information? Just because you’re benefiting from—”

“Listen here, Mrs. Lawyer. If you think I’m standing here in this house by my own free will, think again. I stood no benefit from the shitshow that just took place in that room. I simply gave him his options and—”

“And who are you to give him options? Don’t you think I’m unaware of your motives here Mr. Sambasiva Rao. Henceforth, whatever communication you’re to have with my client, will be through me. I’d suggest you leave these premises unless you want me to drag you and your friends here for their claims of bankruptcy in the past.”

It was a confusing day for Anand, but for a moment he could think of something other than death, debt and his future.

“And it’s Miss Lawyer to you sir! Get out of my sight!”

The owner of the angry voice rounded the corner of the living room, and walked straight into Anand.

“Swapna?”

What was she doing here, fighting battles in the hallways?

She’d changed, from when he last saw her. Her brows were furrowed, nostrils flared from the argument, and her eyes outlined generously by kajal that gave her a divine resemblance. Hair almost falling out from her unkempt bun and files and papers held close to her chest, Swapna re-entered Anand’s life in his favourite dark teal sari.

“Nandu.” she froze.

Maybe she was unnerved by the stoicism on his face or the cluelessness when he asked “What are you doing here?”, that she beckoned him to sit immediately.

“Hey… How are you?”

“I could be better.”

“But you didn’t choose to be better, did you?”

Her accusation, he realised quite quickly, was gentle. He sighed, “What are you doing here, Swapna? Really…”

“I’m the family lawyer, I need to execute the will before anything can be surrendered as debt paid off.”

Anand looked up, imagining his father’s all-knowing smile.

What have you planned, Nanna?

-

Swapna was the first and last friend he remembered making. Every other friend in his life just came and went, but Swapna… he couldn’t forget her if he tried. Her father, despite being too young to be a father and as much of a successful businessman as he was— shared a faint friendship and acquaintance with Anand’s father. With both her young parents working during school years, Swapna stayed back at Anand’s house more often than not. She was more of a favourite in his house than he himself was. She always had the depth of oceans in her heart when she spoke, the world on her shoulders. Always a serious and loyal daughter, law student, friend and as time went on, his girlfriend.

They didn’t specifically share it with anyone, and no one suspected anything intimate going on with them, nothing different from the normal familiarity. They were each other’s warm embraces and without realising the gravity of his plans, a young Anand already had a diamond ring hidden deep in his cupboard meant for the love of his life.

She had been fidgety and moody after graduating, but Anand chalked it up to fear of the future, and anxiety about revealing their relationship to their parents.

Until the week after her graduation from law school, she was invited to Anand’s home along with her parents for something important. 

His parents wanted Swapna to be married to his brother.

Anand hadn’t known about the proposal until it was staring him in the face as a wedding invitation card in the middle of his living room.

Instead of a yes, the entire house sunk in silence, Swapna standing at the centre of it with a guarded ashen face.

“Forgive us if we were too forward amma,” his father smiled sheepishly. “We’ve always thought of you as a part of our family, and became eager at the thought of you being the daughter of this house.”

It was true. Anand saw the emotion behind his father’s statement. But he also saw his brother’s refusal of this proposal. He loved someone. Anand knew this because he had met that sweet, stoic someone just a day ago when she had proposed marriage to his brother.

Swapna had tears in her eyes, shaking hands wiping it away fervently before she shook her head.

“I’m sorry uncle, but I don’t belong in this house.”

She’d looked right at Anand after she’d said it, and she walked away from years of friendship. Years of being with each other, from this house she felt like she didn’t belong in.

Behind her, her parents apologised and left him to pick the pieces of his mother’s and father’s broken hearts.

The day after that, Swapna had flown to Australia for her post-graduation and left Anand behind. With the ring still back somewhere in his cupboard, buried beneath years of friendship and excuses for her.

-

“Hello!”

“Hello?” his sister-in-law’s stoic voice clicked him out of his anger. All that rage that had been boiling within him melted his bones and his legs felt like jelly.

Anand crumpled into the nearest chair. “Ah, hello. Vadina…”

“How are you, all okay? You sound like you’re stressed,”

He snapped his fingers at Param, gesturing him back out from all the earlier plans of leaving. Life had a way of reminding his purpose lately, and it always seemed to squash him more than humble him.

“Nothing like that vadina! How are amma and sweetie?”

“We’re doing okay—”

“The wedding will be done in a few days. We’ll pay the school fee the minute I come back.”

“I didn’t call for that mister.”

She didn’t sound wounded. Three lakhs was not a small amount to have not stressed about. Instead, in her serious reply, a tinge of concern touched him. Seemed like a part of his father lived on in her. She wasn’t infinitely kind like him, or perennially smiling, but till this day he felt like he left his mother at home with his father. Nothing would happen to anybody because vadina had his back.

“But that’s what I came here for.”

After a few instructions on keeping his health from deteriorating any further, his sister-in-law bid goodbye. He was left to accept green flowers and a lot of stupid nonsense from the old man parading around the mandap. But Anand would do it. For his family.

-

After the party with the groom and Pallavi’s social friends, he sat there at the half-built mandap in the dark after hours, ID card twisted around his wrist like a tourniquet, a reminder of why he was doing this job.

Anand didn’t need a reminder of what whirlwind life had been lately, but bringing Sambasiva Rao to the same wedding he was incharge of was fate’s cruel game.

“Nandu…”

For the past few days, ever since he had called Swapna to look over his contract with Bhadra after realising it was Pallavi’s wedding, she hadn’t left the venue. He behaved like he didn’t see it, but Param and Sameera were somehow always near her to chauffeur her or check on her necessities. If she noticed the special treatment, she didn’t say anything. They began to get closer, bridging the silence of all the years she was away with a conversation here and there while she helped him with stuff way above her paygrade. She didn’t mind, she said, not if it gave her an excuse to talk to Anand.

So that evening, when she approached him like he was a panicked deer, he couldn’t help but give a small smile.

“Hi.”

In seconds, there was a cup of warm coffee in his hands.

“For the hangover. I got it when it was hot actually. But I couldn’t find you that easily.”

“Really? Where did you look?”

“The edge of a cliff for starters.”

A laugh bubbled out of him, which made her crack a smile too. She never could bear it if Anand was moody. She took the change in his demeanour as encouragement and continued with a dramatic sigh.

“And then the bar, and then under some classless businessman’s classless booted foot.”

“So that’s where you found me.”

“Nope, no luck there either,” Swapna’s skirt swirled as she turned about and sat down beside him, “Because you got out from under it.”

It took Anand but a second to remember that for a long time, they had depleted their woes just being there for each other.

No one had been there for him in a while.

“Sameera told me what happened, she feels bad.”

“If I had a buck for everytime someone felt bad that something embarrassing happened to me, I’d have enough money to pay my bills.”

“She’s not someone though,” Swapna offered, “She’s Sambasiva Rao’s daughter.”

“Oh great, now the one friend I’ve made over here is cruel by blood.”

There was no rebuttal from Swapna. It was almost 3 in the morning and the nearest light was a blinking lightbulb somewhere far near the welcome carpet. It was just them, shoulder to shoulder, but Anand felt Swapna slip away like he hated to see all those years ago.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head, “No, no you didn’t… I’ve just been wanting to tell you something about Sambasiva Rao.”

“Okay?”

“And everytime I try to pluck up the courage and tell you, it just ends up feeling like the wrong time and then I don’t end up telling you which brings us back to the same—”

“Swapna…” his fingers shushed her lips, rough and calloused just like they were back then. He was closer now, and he whispered like he was okay with her panic. “The time is right now, it’s ok, tell me.”

“Nannu maa parents dattata theeskunnaru,” (“I was adopted by my parents.”)

His brows furrowed.

Swapna rolled her eyes, “Oh my god, speeches you can make, but where’s your mind when it comes to connecting information? Nandu!” she whisper-yelled to continue their conversation. “I was adopted as a kid!” she looked at him like he had to make a comment about it, he assumed.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry,” he hit his temples like he was begging his mind to work, “Sorry! When did you know?”

“The day I graduated…”

He paused. Wait, that meant—

“That was why I rejected the proposal that day… Anand, all those years ago, when I said I didn’t belong with your family, that was because I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere.”

Anand wrapped his arm around her, and like it was muscle memory, her head rested in the nook of his arm.

“So you didn’t hate my family?”

“No! When you weren’t picking up my calls, I called your parents and told them about everything in detail. Aunty said she’d tried to make you talk to me many times, but you hadn’t agreed.”

That was right, and Anand felt his muscles clench at how close he had been to getting her back. If he had just thought about his mother’s requests, then he would have talked to Swapna and gotten the love of his life back. He wouldn’t have been away on his bachelor trip when his father died.

He hesitated, taking in the information when something clicked.

“Wait, what does that have to do with Paida?”

“Because he’s my birth father.”

The world all but gave way under his feet, and Anand wished he could blame it on the alcohol. Swapna didn’t make a big note of him being still quiet, assuming he was just processing what to say.

“So, you singular friend - Sameera is my sister, and by that connection… We’re both cruel by blood if you look at it that way.”

Anand looked up at the stars.

What is this Nanna?

A/N: So.... tada? There can be a part two of this if y'all don't shoo me out of this site after reading this. Also, notice how only his mother and Swapna call him Nandu.

[paeliae-occasionally]

Writer Questionnaire

Thanks @drchenquill, @the-letterbox-archives, @the-golden-comet and @ominous-feychild the tags!

I haven’t posted in a little bit because of real life, but I might be back soon. I miss you guys…

how long have you had your writing tumblr/writeblr? a fast and loose estimate is fine!

Just over a month.

what led you to create it?

I wanted to chat about my world and I really didn’t like the atmosphere in other social medias.

what’s your favourite thing about the writeblr community?

All of the talent and love <3 Making this account has motivated me to plan 3 different WIPs and write the first few chapters. I had never been able to get to this place before, so thank you everyone!

what’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

Feel free to ask things. Even if it is just a hello! I love interacting with people, any questions about my world or my writing process. Or Physics if you are particularly curious…

is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

I like my dash. Lots of great people!! I wouldn’t really change anything.

which wips or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

I have just finished by full outline of the Xaeren WIP and have written a draft of chapter one. I have also finished chapter 3 of Paeliae.

how long have you been working on them?

Well I started building the world years ago, just daydreams, maps and languages. I wrote the history mostly last year and this year and then the characters developed from the places and history.

do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

The world was a project I started just for fun, then acted as a setting to tell stories in. I then liked the stories a lot and decided to write them.

how much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

A long time. Not even just my current characters, many many more people who don’t even fit in this world as well.

when someone asks the dreaded, “what do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

Umm… I say Sci-fi fantasy, and worldbuilding, then when they look blankly at me I say like tolkein and then they leave me alone.

name any characters you created. side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

The main characters in chronological order:

-Ez and Rin (they are the the first romantic relationship I wrote and I love them.)

-Paeliae (His story describes the dissolution.)

-Xaeren (The inventor of most runes and the last godkiller.)

-Apollo and Tyro (Essentially modern day)

-Marsh and Daimion (I’m still not sure how future-ish I want this.)

who’s the most unhinged?

That really depends.

I’m sure lots of people would expect Marsh, but while he has no internal rules against murder, he keeps closely to the rules he does hold for himself and is really loyal when it comes down to it. Even if he doesn’t realise this he does care deep in some hidden part of him.

Xaeren cares the least about his own moral code. The only motivator he has is killing the goddess, and there is nothing he won’t do to get there regardless of the fact he knows it is wrong. He assumes he will die in the attempt so lives like a dead man because he has no life beyond this purpose. He might appear kind at first but you will always be second to his mission.

who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Apollo or Marsh. Apollo because he is lovely, I always like writing him comfort the team and also his fight scenes are really cool. Marsh because he acts so carefree and his humour is great.

do you ever cringe at them?

Yes. Mainly because I hate my writing, but also I just don’t like writing romance in general, so writing Zahra and Daimion has always been a bit weird. Strangely I never got that vibe with Ez and Rin, that might be because they are such a beautiful tragic couple that the story feels less like a romance.

how much control do you feel you have over your characters? do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? to what degree? are some less cooperative than others?

Well… I have a very clear idea of who they are and would much sooner change a plot point than a character so in that sense I have little control, but also they are my people so I can get them to cooperate.

do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? and do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? for example, as asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on ao3, etc.

Yes!!! I love it, any method is great! I am more likely to see asks and reblogs, but anything works!

what makes you want to follow another writeblr account? do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? do you follow based on wips, or vibes?

Vibes. If they seem cool, I will follow them. I’ll likely do a quick check to make sure that they seem like a real person and that they make posts that I would like to see, but this is not usually based on their WIP type.

what makes you decide against following?

If I wouldn’t like to see their posts, I won’t follow them. This could be for many reasons, but common ones include: They seem like a bot, they post overobscene stuff, they make me feel uncomfortable, etc.

do you interact with non-mutuals often?

Sometimes, but if I interact with someone I am likely to then follow them.

do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

Yes! I have so many peoples characters whom I love and cherish.

Tagging @saturnine-saturneight, @theink-stainedfolk, @phoenixradiant and @oliolioxenfreewrites

[fizzyxcustard]

Covert Eyes (22)

Prologue| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery, abduction, hostage situation.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy is now working for MI-5, after being recruited by Ros. But will her involvement with Lucas cause even more problems and heartbreak?

Amy has now gone missing; will Lucas get her back home safely?

Official soundtrack list:  here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in.

Key words/terms which people may not understand:

DVLA - "Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency' which is a government department in the UK and handles all driving licences, registrations and car tax.

ANPR - "Automatic numberplate recognition"

Amy was bound at her wrists and ankles and perched on a chair, with the rope around her wrists, binding her to the chair. She grimaced and squinted as the bag was pulled from her head and an intense light was shone in her face. Had she been knocked out? She couldn’t quite remember what had happened once she’d passed The King’s Head and felt someone drag her down the adjoining backstreet. Everything turned black and then she woke in this place. There was a dull thump in the back of her head and she had a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Amy Holland,” a voice came. 

She could see the outline of someone from behind the light and they began to move closer towards her. By now and the light was hurting her eyes; every time she blinked and it felt like a stab of raw pain behind her eyelids. 

“If you co-operate then you’ll be fine,” the voice came again. It was an American man’s voice. “I want Lucas North. He’s the reason my sister is dead. She tried to warn you against him but, of course, you wouldn’t listen. So maybe this will wake you up.”

“Wake me up to what?” Amy replied. “How horrible of a man he is? It’ll take a lot more than that to make me think anything but that Lucas is an amazing man and I love him. You can’t take that away from me.” 

“He’ll definitely come and look for you though, won’t he? Play the doting fiancée and the hero so he can impress you.” 

“He’s already impressed me,” Amy hissed. “What exactly is your plan here?”

“See how far Lucas will go for you, and then I can kill him with my bare hands.” 

“I think you underestimate…”

“I don’t think you’re in the prime position to tell me I’m underestimating MI5. I have far more experience with the British security services than you. You started in November, and you seem to think you know everything about them. I’ve worked in intel for most of my life, and I know how your team work, darling.” 

The adrenaline was pumping in Amy’s body as she looked up into the grey eyes of Sarah Caulfield’s vengeful brother. Her fight or flight system had come online, ready to push her into further danger or pull her from it. She could feel tears stinging her eyes, threatening to fall down her cheeks. Her heart was racing, but she inhaled deeply, trying hard to somehow relax herself. Pulling against the bindings was of no use. 

‘Caulfield’ as Amy referred to him in her mind, soon left her alone in the darkness again. All she had was her thoughts of Lucas, whom she knew would have realised she was missing. Their living arrangement and schedules was something both of them had become so used to now, that Amy knew Lucas couldn’t have overlooked any changes or slight deviations. 

In the darkness and she replayed the times when they laughed together in bed, and he would tickle her under the duvet. But it would soon turn into a more serious moment and they would eventually make love. Caulfield surely could only go by what his sister had disclosed to him, and had no idea just how loving and gentle of a man Lucas North really was behind closed doors. She knew with her whole heart that he would get to her. Nothing would stop him fighting to save her. She had no place for doubts at this point. She kept her mind focused on Lucas and the words dum spiro spero: while I live, I hope. 

***

Back at the grid, Lucas had been working constantly for nearly two days. He was running on pure adrenaline now, unable to let any kind of fatigue take over. All that mattered was Amy. He hadn’t showered, shaved, changed his clothes and barely eaten. All he had managed to eat was a chocolate bar out of Amy’s desk drawer. 

“Lucas, go home tonight,” Harry said, coming to his desk. “And that is an order. We’re all on this.” 

“Harry, how can I?” Lucas said, looking up at his boss with dark circles growing around his ice blue eyes. “I know Sarah’s behind this, or at least someone connected to her.” 

“At least go and have a shower, change your clothes, get something to eat.” 

Lucas travelled back to his and Amy’s flat upon Harry’s final demand. He entered the quiet flat, sighing as he did so. Everything made him think of her: the Disney figurines, the Tinkerbell mug which was still on the coffee table, the pair of pink, fluffy slippers which had been left in the hallway. The hallway – the place he’d made love to Amy for the first time. He could feel her gripping onto him, hear her gentle moans against his ear, feel her soft skin and smell her honey shampoo. 

If she dies, what else do I have? 

Lucas sat down on the edge of their bed and picked up a jumper of Amy’s, and as he lifted it to his nose, he could smell her perfume on it: Olympia by Paco Robbane. It was the very thing that made him aware of her presence in the coffee shop over a year ago. The sweet scent had hit him suddenly, and he turned to see her, sitting alone in the back corner of the café, doodling in her notebook. Then it was her green eyes that attracted him first; large and bright. For a few days and Lucas had battled in his mind with why he had become interested in her. She was not the kind of woman he would have normally become interested in or involved with. Sophisticated, independent and sharp women were the ones he normally found himself in relationships with. Amy was independent, yes, but she didn’t possess an obvious air of sophistication and was not sharp tongued, unless angry. She was softer, non-assuming, and unique. 

Lucas bowed his head and wept. His one chance at a normal life, and it was being ripped away from him again, threatened by someone who could not let go of the past. 

***

Amy had no idea how much time passed. She was left in a dark room, with her captors only coming to her to allow her to relieve herself in a bucket, or to offer food and drink. Lucas’ face was the main thing that Amy saw in her mind; he was smiling at her, his voice wrapping around her, telling her how strong she was. She held on to that, knowing that he would come for her. One way or the other, Lucas would come. 

Caulfield came back to Amy, and once again, she had no idea how long it had been since he last spoke with her. As soon as he spoke, she felt her ears prickle as her hearing had become heightened due to the lack of light. The only noise she had had as company was the odd tap of someone from another room, or the sound of her breath. 

“MI5 should be aware of your disappearance by now, Miss Holland. And no doubt your boyfriend will sweep in to save the day, giving me the opportunity to take him down. This is personal, and it’s just a shame you got caught in the crossfire.” 

Amy remained quiet. Nothing she said would be of any use; this man seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice, spilling his revenge talk bullshit. 

***

Everyone on the Grid worked long hours to get Amy home. It had been two days now since she was last seen. Lucas was quiet, with his jaw clenched constantly. No one dared approach him, unless it was something helpful to the case. 

On the afternoon of day two, Lucas’ phone rang. ‘Unknown number’ flashed on the screen. 

“Yes?” Lucas asked, inhaling sharply. This could only be in connection with Amy. Why else would an unknown number call his work mobile? 

“Lucas North.” Not a question. A fact. Whoever was calling was only stating that they knew they had the right number. “Will send coordinates. Come alone. If anyone else comes with you, we’ll shoot her. Leave your phone behind; we’ll know if you have it.” The accent was American, and the voice male. This was someone connected to Sarah Caulfield. He knew it. 

Before Lucas could muster words, the line went dead. 

Lucas rushed into Harry’s office, relaying the details of the call. “I need to go on my own, Harry.” 

“We need to make sure you can be tracked,” Harry demanded. 

“This is the CIA. I know they’re connected to Sarah Caulfield. Whoever was calling, is American. They’ll have metal detectors and know if I’m being tracked. This is between me and them.” 

***

Amy was sat in darkness. The bindings had started cutting into her wrists and her arms ached, being pulled behind her back. The pain had been getting worse in the last hour or two and it was beginning to spread up her back and into her neck. The only time she was free of the bindings was when she needed to relieve herself or was eating, and even then, a man sat directly in front of her wearing a balaclava, making sure that she couldn’t run. 

She let out a groan and tilted her head back. Her eyes focused on the darkness, her gaze falling further into it. In her imagination, she could feel Lucas stood just behind her, his lips trailing down her cheek and his arms wrapped around her middle. “I love you, angel.”

Time continued to pass. People came and went; that much she knew from the sound of doors opening and closing. There were muffled voices from the other side of what she felt was a metal shutter door. Whenever there had been any light shone toward her, she’d made out what seemed to be a factory-type environment. Voices in the room echoed, signalling that she was in a large space. More than likely she was still in London somewhere, stuck inside a factory unit. 

More waiting. Food was served to Amy; porridge, later followed by a cheese sandwich. She’d had at least two lots of breakfast now, so she’d been in this place for two days. 

Suddenly, a door opened from behind Amy. Voices drifted through into the open space and one of them she immediately recognised. “Lucas?!” she called. 

“Amy?” he called back. 

“Shut up, Superman!” Caulfield snarled. “Just get the fuck in there.” 

Lucas cried out in pain, his calls echoing. 

Amy whimpered for him. 

A light was shone again, blinding Amy. She gasped and lowered her gaze away from the light. Slowly she opened her eyes again, wincing against the ache. She could hear scuffling, grunts and could see the very vague outline of figures, all haloed by the light. 

Lucas was dragged to a seat and bound to it, just like Amy was. He could see Amy sitting a short distance away from him, and as the men walked away, he pulled himself up, the chair hanging against his bindings and he scooted over to her. 

Amy heard him whisper her name and just before the light disappeared, she saw the outline of his features, immediately recognising that profile. She pulled toward him and drew her cheek against his, immediately beginning to weep. Just the sound, touch and smell of him made an innermost peace wash over her. His cologne wafted up her nose and she felt the tickle of his growing stubble against her cheek. Unable to embrace, Lucas and Amy kissed in the darkness. 

As Lucas kissed down her face, he could feel her tears against his lips. “I promise to get us out of here, angel.” 

“He said he wants you,” Amy said. “But don’t you dare play some heroic so we get split up. We’re getting out together, or not at all.” 

Pride and love swelled inside Lucas’ chest. “I love you so much,” he replied. 

*** 

Back on the Grid, Malcolm and Tariq had been going over every piece of CCTV footage they could find, piecing together a partial vehicle registration number from a white van that was seen one street away from Amy’s abduction point. That was all they had to go on. Lists of vehicles with that same description and last three letters on the plate were run through all DVLA databases. This line of enquiry came to a dead end. Until Ros noticed a small van, only just visible at a junction in a southerly direction from the street where Amy disappeared. 

“There! I can just see the very edge of a light from the back of a vehicle. Malcolm, try and get footage from the angle looking down the junction and straight at the back of the vehicle.” 

“On it,” Malcolm said. 

A short while later and Malcolm had found that it was a small van which was registered to a window cleaning business. Also, it was noted that five minutes after Amy disappeared from view, the van moved. Two men, wearing all black clothing were seen getting into the van. 

Malcolm continued digging into the details of the vehicle and the paper trail that it was leaving behind. “The van is registered to Ace Window Cleaning, operated and owned by Robert Anderson. I’ve mapped out through ANPR data where the van has been and which properties it’s been seen doing business with. One of them was the ground floor flat of Martin Page. And with a little more magic, I can confirm that Martin Page is an alias that is used by CIA agent Randall Blanchard, known colleague and field partner of Simon Caulfield, older brother of Sarah Caulfield.” 

“Lucas was right,” Ros said simply. “Track the ANPR data of that van. Get everything you can on where it’s been the last two days since Amy was last seen. One of the agents obviously paid off Robert Anderson for use of the vehicle, hoping it wouldn’t be traced back to either one of them. Little do they know, we’ve got a lot of fancy tricks up our sleeves.” 

***

Amy rested her head against Lucas. Every now and again, she would feel him kiss her head. 

A night vision camera was hovering above them, and in another part of the building, in a sterile-looking white room, Simon Caulfield watched on. He stared at the monitor and then turned to his partner, Randall Blanchard. “Have you sent the package yet?” Simon asked. “First class?” 

“All done,” Randall replied, taking a mouthful of bitter coffee from the paper Costa cup in his hand. 

“We all know how doting Mommy and Daddy are with their little girls.” 

“What exactly do you want to do with them?” Randall asked. 

“Play with them a little, I guess. And then kill him. We’ll both get our revenge for what he did to Sarah.” 

***

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If you would like to be added to my tag list please let me know. Likewise, if you wish to be removed, please let me know!

[huurreauthor]

Some political Tomarry? Yes please

So, I had this idea for a long time, tried to write some short-ish smut (in another language), had about 10 000 words (in English would've been 13 000) and realised, that it's not going to work as a one shot.

And now I dived back in, tried to write it in English from the start, becuase for some reason it didn't work previously and oh god yes, this will be soooo good. (First chapter ready, second one in good progress. Now I just need to find a beta reader, but not all the people like Tomarry and the one I have for my another project which I'm translating to English while I'm also working on the original story, is so overworked that I can't ask them to do it. (Are you interested? Hmu. English isn't my first language and I'm insecure with it, but I'm still writing pretty good.)

But especially this part is so so good and I'm amazed how I'm doing with this!

“Good evening, Heir Malfoy. Would you be so kind and introduce your friend?” an unfamiliar voice said from behind Harry. He twirled around and got face to face with the Minister himself. “Of course, Minister, sir. This is Harry Potter, Heir Potter-Black. Harry, this is the Minister of Magic Tom Riddle, Lord Gaunt-Slytherin.” Harry could only stare as the Minister smiled at him, more handsome than he could have ever imagined. Draco nudged him and he realised he should have offered his hand right away. His cheeks were burning, when he took the Minister’s hand, and it got worse when the Minister drew his hand to his lips and kissed it. “It is a pleasure, Heir Potter-Black,” he purred. Purred. Harry was sure he would be swooning sooner than he would have liked to. “Thank you, Minister, Lord Gaunt-Slytherin. The pleasure is all mine,” Harry replied. His voice was… raspy. He glanced at Draco, who was blinking in confusion. “I am sure of it. Heir Malfoy, with your permission, may I ask Heir Potter-Black to dance?” the Minister asked, turning to face Draco. Harry’s insides were not flipping, definitely not. There was no way. Why did the Minister even notice him? Would it have something to do with political gain? Harry tried to not frown while he waited for Draco’s answer. “O-of course, sir,” Draco stuttered. Harry saw slight pinkness on his cheeks, but didn’t comment on it. However, he would have wanted to show his tongue to Draco, but it would’ve been way too childish in front of the Minister. “I appreciate it, thank you. Heir Potter-Black, would you want this dance?” Harry had to clear his throat before he could say anything, but the Minister’s smile was so beautiful after he had accepted that it was worth all the embarrassment he felt at the moment. The Minister took hold of his hand and led him to the dance floor. “I would like to ask if you know how to dance before we started,” the Minister said, but didn’t ask. Harry almost kept his mouth shut, because he was familiar with that kind of game, but it would have been rude to now answer. “Yet you don’t ask.” The Minister quirked his eyebrow, amusement showing clearly in his eyes. They took their stand and the music started. The Minister was an amazing dancer, Harry had to admit, but he was just as good and wanted to put man work for him.

(Walburga and Orion raised Harry, he went to Durmstrang, no Voldemort, Minister of Magic Tom Riddle, Harry having a bad school boy crush. And noo I don't have an outline ready yet, but I'm planning some fast burn with a lot of smut and some politics and problems. Idk. Length is probably around 10-20 chapters, first chapter with 3300 words.)

[sleepingdeath-light]

finding out her husband is pregnant hcs ; grelle

requested by ; anonymous (26/05/23)

fandom(s) ; black butler

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; grelle sutcliffe

outline ; “Can I have Grell finding out that their afab Tans masc husband is pregnant? And how they find ways to make the pregnancy less dysphoric ?”

warning(s) ; references to dysphoria, brief references to transphobia, descriptions of pregnancy and pregnancy related stuff

note ; this takes place in a modern au with a human!grelle as i’m not sure if shinigami can canonically even reproduce — also this takes place in the uk (obviously) so they don’t need to worry about medical costs (nhs — woop woop)

you’d been feeling extremely unwell for days and grelle had to pretty much force you to go to the hospital after the millionth ‘it’s probably just something that i ate’

and after a few dozen tests the staff were pretty damn certain about the result and the both of you just about fainted

you weren’t trying for a kid, you were both using birth control, and you were in no way prepared to deal with the trauma of being reminded of your anatomy for nine months straight

so you went home and you sat down together and talked

it was a long discussion where you spoke about all of the options you had at your disposal, what you wanted to do and how she could help you with what you wanted

she was absolute insistent that it was your decision to make and that the discussion was only happening so that she could create a game plan to help you with whatever you chose

you had several of those long discussions, actually, over the course of a work week as you thoroughly weighed out your options and consulted your gp and spoke to a therapist you’d been putting off going to

and in the end you made the decision that you wanted to keep the pregnancy, telling grelle that same day and the two of you started to work on a plan to help you deal with what was going to happen

grelle, of course, was spearheading the operation and fighting anyone who tried to stall her in getting whatever you needed or wanted

she insisted that it was her duty as a wife to take care of her husband, and she was doing a damn good job of it

she got you a prescription for some medication to help with morning sickness and made sure to keep a good stock of pain medication in case you started to swell or feel achy as the pregnancy progressed

she makes sure that the fridge is stocked with your favourite foods or current cravings and will immediately get rid of anything that smells too strong and makes you feel ill

buys you lots of baggy clothing early on — large men’s jumpers and shirts and jackets that hide your bump and don’t have the same feminine energy that typical maternity clothing tends to have

she comforts you when you realise that you can no longer keep up with your hrt due to the pregnancy, always there with a warm hug and comforting words and genuine advice to help you from back before she was able to start her hrt

fetches you anything you need — whether that’s food, drink, a hot water bottle, an ice pack, your phone, just anything you want

when your bump gets too heavy she’ll hold it up from behind, letting you lean back against her as she takes on the weight for a short while

she has gotten into several physical alterations with people who refer to you with feminine terminology and isn’t shy about berating people who misgender her ‘darling husband’

she makes sure that you never miss a checkup and if you’re too dysphoric to look at anything but the screen, then she’ll help cover it from your view during the ultrasounds

decorating the nursery was a two person job but it was great fun — and you thankfully managed to complete it early enough in your pregnancy that you weren’t showing yet, meaning you were able to play a much more active part in the process

she changed your contact name in her phone to ‘seahorse hubby’ as a joke in the first trimester and you both found it way funnier than it was so it stuck

she’s not shy about complimenting you and always tells you how handsome you look and how amazing and selfless you are for creating a whole life — for expanding your family

if your ankles start swelling or you end up with muscle pain, then grelle will happily offer to massage you to ease your aches and pain

runs you warm bubble baths every night to help ease the weight of the pregnancy for you

forever googling your symptoms and trying to find more stylish masculine maternity wear — and losing her mind when she realises that nobody seems to be selling it

(says it could be a good business idea and goes to write it down before continuing with her rant against the clothing industry)

makes sure that you have constant access to mental health services and midwives and doulas to make sure that your mental and physical well-being are the best they can be throughout pregnancy and even post partum

she buys this little spinner thing so that you can let her know how bad your dysphoria is that day and she can react accordingly (green = minimal, orange = present, red = really bad)

always at your beck and call and will answer every text or phone call from you — no matter how much it irritates william or her other colleagues

but they let her off because they’ve met you before and know that pregnancy probably isn’t fun for you — even if your wife won’t stop talking about how ‘awesome’ you are and how you’re going to be ‘the best dad ever’

grelle is with you every step of the way and she tries to be with you physically as much as her work allows — being the most supportive wife she can be and, eventually, becoming the most loving mother you could ever want your child to have

she loves you deeply and appreciates the difficulty of what you’re going through by choosing to carry this pregnancy to term, so she becomes your biggest cheerleader and most passionate advocate

someone who’d give you the moon if you asked and who’d fight everyone who got in her way

and that’s why you love her as much as you do

[bharv]

if you're still doing writing advice - how do you motivate yourself to finish things? i'll get halfway through a piece of writing and then start feeling like that's enough for me, time to move on to the next idea. but i'd prefer to finish stuff!

This is where I’m definitely going to have to throw it wider because I’m terrible at finishing longfic. I don’t think I’ve ever finished anything longer than a 4 parter. I’m in awe of people who can sustain novel length fic! I think it comes back to what your joy is in writing. I like emotional punch and that takes real skill in structure to deliver over a longer piece of writing.

What I would start with though is this stuff should be fun. If it feels like a chore then that’s no good, don’t pressure yourself too much.

But also!

Writing is work. I’m sure artists also have a stage of drawing that they’re less keen on but you have to get through it to make it happen or find mechanisms to make it less painful. I realised that for fic I cannot outline in too much detail because it scratches the itch too much and then I don’t want to have to do the labour of scene structure.

So what I do instead is I write a skeleton of the scene.

Lots of people do this in different ways. Some people write the dialogue out like a play and use that. I write some sparse lines of prose that set a tone for the scene. I treat it like an artist would treat a sketch layer - still with the shape I want to achieve, but much more simplified.

(Although sometimes that also ends up being what I post! There’s a very short scene in my Ketheric fic which is almost exactly the holding text I jotted down, because that practice can also lead you to cut away superfluous text)

When I stopped seeing my writing as a linear thing I had to do and started to see it as a canvas I was building up it unlocked something for me personally.

Also, a lot of people I know are very disciplined and write the whole thing before posting. Which I think I need to start doing. My poor Haarlep 5 parter has been languishing since November because I over planned!

Anyway I have no idea if this ramble is helpful, I’m sick today lmao, but also please please writers better at this than me, do jump in!

[folkloristico]

May I return the favor? 🤭 4, 6, 7, 22, 24, and 77 for the writing asks!

Thank you for the ask!

Let’s see…

4. How do you choose which fics to write?

I have a document—sorted by fandoms—where I keep track of all the ideas I come up with so I don’t ever forget them. From there, it’s just a matter of where inspiration leads me; I’ve realised I’m more inclined to write on the spur of the moment than to make plans and stick to them. It’s a bit problematic because I have too many WIPs, so it can take me a long time to finish one, but hey, at least it gets finished… eventually.

6. What’s the last line you wrote?

Under a certain number, all ages kind of blurred together in her mind, and Griffin had not yet stopped to think of the princess as a child; the way Faragonda and the others talked about her did not help to mitigate this image.

7. Post a snippet from a WIP.

Their surroundings shimmered like the faint memory of a dream, and they were in the library once more. Seen like this, in such stark contrast to the crumbling ruins of its truest version, the view left Bloom transfixed; but there was little past the illusion. The borders to the far corners were blurry, and no sound could be detected. The air smelled like nothing at all. Daphne might not be dead after all—but what else was this, if not even worse a fate? “Have you really been staying here alone?” Bloom forced herself to look Daphne in the eyes. “All of this time?” Daphne gave a faint shake of her head. “Not quite. I’m barely aware of what’s happening. I’m… too weak to remain present. I feel the strongest when you’re close by.” “Because of the Dragon Flame?” “Our family’s power, yes.” Bloom faltered, averted her eyes. “Forgive me,” Daphne said swiftly. “I know it must be strange for you.” “No—” Bloom trailed off. A thought occurred to her, and she surveyed the room once more as if it had suddenly changed. “You can’t hear my mind in here—can you?” Daphne gave a laugh. It was a gentle sound, the most alive thing there was about her. “It doesn’t work like that. We share a link, is all. And—I’m a pretty good judge of character, if I may say so myself.” 

Daphne angst + library mentioned <3

And I must say, I’m really enjoying writing Bloom now! 

22. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

Honestly, I do anything my brain tells me to do. Sometimes I start writing a fic and the title comes to me shortly thereafter; some other time I even build an idea around a title. But other times I’ve changed the name of an already posted story on a whim, because I really can’t make up my mind. If I’m really struggling with the title, I skim through a bunch of lyrics of my favourite songs until something comes up. I think at least ten of my WIPs are named after a Hozier or Florence song.

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

The most important thing to me when choosing a POV is asking myself: What am I trying to achieve with this chapter, and which POV would benefit the most?

For instance, I have this canon-divergent WIP from season 2 that focuses on Diaspro and Bloom while they’re being held prisoner by Darkar. Something happens in the first chapter that only Bloom can be a witness of—the Dragon Flame being the reason why. Long story short, she’s ‘trapped’ in her own head—it’s Daphne that helps her break free—so I’m using Diaspro to show what’s happening during the time Bloom isn’t awake. After that, the story becomes more Diaspro-focused, and there would be no reason to switch to Bloom’s POV once more. In another WIP of mine, not Winx related, a character is keeping a secret from the others, and I’ve decided to switch to her only when that secret is revealed. I try to at best have a vague outline before jumping on the writing phase of a longfic, and I quite enjoy the phase where I’m figuring out the best way to mess with the POVs.

If we’re discussing first person vs third person, in fanfiction I will always favour third person over first. I might consider writing in first person if it’s the same POV the book is written in, but generally speaking, I find first-person very off-putting in fanfiction because the characters have a pre-established voice, and it’s quite hard to grasp. However, I disagree with the general sentiment that first person is bad even outside of fanfiction; most of my favourite books ever are written in first person.

77. Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?

Because once I get an idea stuck in my mind, I can’t get rid of it unless I write it down. It’s like, I don’t know, setting the silly guys in your head free. I love writing, and fanfiction allows you to do so without the stress of striving for perfection or focusing too much on what other people will think. 

[pbs-theundeadmaggot]

first love // alone (out of my head)

🎶 alone (out of my head) by thousand below

(AU) Steve Harrington x fem!reader

[a/n] ngl I dont love this filler part but hopefully it isn't too bad, we're officially half way through now. Hopefully Steve ups his game if he wants us or will the new guy get lucky at winning your heart?

[warnings?] insecurities, drinking, mentions of cheating, self-doubt.

first love masterlist here!

Looking in the mirror and smoothing down the sides of your dress you couldn’t help feeling somewhat stupid. The dress looked amazing on you, the soft fabric hugging your body in the most flattering way. Even Robin complimented your look which coming from her were a rare occurrence, usually reserved for her girlfriend and their cat.

you just wished you felt as good as you looked.

 Instead the reflection staring back at you felt like a stranger, the image taunting you with a life you could’ve had and perhaps in another life you did have. Maybe you’d be going out on a romantic date or celebrating a wedding anniversary, anything seemed better than what was on the horizon, with your luck you’d be attending wedding after wedding within the next year, all a reminder of how single and unwanted you are.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You’d yet to go out into the city at night, not realising how magical it looked with the lights shimmering and bouncing off the still water. It felt like stepping into another dimension, people scattered around laughing and chattering away with not a care in the world, the smell of cigarettes and salt never seemed so enticing. 

As expected Rebecca had got you all into a ridiculously expensive restaurant downtown, everyone that entered looking like they walked straight out of a vogue magazine, the diamonds on their jewellery most likely costing more than all four of you put together, excluding Rebecca for obvious reasons. 

Glancing over at Steve you could tell he was nervous, continually tugging on the collar of his dress shirt, the light layer of hairs that peppered across his chest peaking through and the sweat glistening on his neck. 

Just the sight of him had you restless in your seat.

Clinging to his free arm stood Rebecca, walking over with a sickly sweet smile and taking a seat with Steve trailing behind her. You’d grown accustomed to her overly dramatic and draining conversation, learning to zone out and enjoy the view (the free food certainly didn’t hurt either.) 

In the distance you could make out the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, in all its glory lit up like a Christmas tree. The sunset in the horizon framing it’s detail and outlining the rows of buildings that stood nearby. Originally your plan had been to confess to Steve up there, the hope blooming in your chest as you thought back to all the little things that hinted Steve shared your feelings. As delusional as it sounds you truly thought you’d get your happy ending, after everything that’s happened how could you not?

Perhaps you would get your happy ending

Just not with Steve.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

The meal was surpassingly nice, either you had one too many drinks or Rebecca had magically become mute, you weren’t complaining. In fact, some guy the bar had been kind enough to send over drinks, sending you a shy smile before resuming his conversation with the bartender.

Unsure of how much time had passed before stumbling out of the restaurant with the others and hailing a taxi, the chill of the late night air sending shivers down your spine. Steve had somehow noticed this quickly pulling his jacket off and attempting to hand it over before Rebecca stopped him. Completely oblivious to the lovers quarrel that began to take place, the same guy who’d sent you drinks walked over, doing the exact same as Steve had tried to do, this time successful.

“You really don’t need to do that.” Stunned at his kind gesture as he assured you that he couldn’t ‘watch a pretty girl go cold’. The heat from the alcohol rising to your cheeks, swaying slightly as you laughed, believing he was but a figment of your imagination. 

“I’m sorry if this is too forward but do you think I could get your number?” Unlike Steve’s usually charm when asking a girl out, the stranger stumbled over his words, nervously running a hand through his hair, awaiting your answer. 

Part of you felt conflicted, it had been so long since you’d dated you weren’t even sure if you knew how to. The last date you got asked on having been years ago when you were still obliviously hung up on Steve you’d profusely apologised, feeling that if you went on this date it would be the same as cheating, and if there was one thing you hated it was cheaters. 

Obviously you weren’t actually in a relationship with Steve at the time (or ever) you still couldn’t bring yourself to look elsewhere, but now things had changed. Still single and under no obligations to remain faithful to someone who acted like a ghost half the time, you accepted. Excited at the prospect of someone realising the potential you had, even if it was a one night stand or a short fling you were happy, happy that someone actually wanted you, that someone actually saw you. 

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

[a/n] reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and encouraged!

Other works available here!

Taglist: @freezaz123

[3milesup]

For the ask game 19, 22 & 29

♥️♥️♥️

HI DEAR, thank you so much for the ask!!! <3

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

Alriiight… at first i put this wip in the question 29. but then i thought better of it and realized that i still harbor the hopes of finalising it… so i moved it here, to give you a break from all the war wips, here goes teen wolf! xd i lowkey like this one, it was a lot of fun to write^^

~~~

“Is this still about the mate thing?” Derek sounded annoyed. “Sorry, Peter, but I have quite a few things above that on the list.”

“And what, pray tell, would these things be? Fraternising with a darach sounds fun, or have you found yourself yet another psychopathic girlfriend in the meantime? Or perhaps you are busy planning how to turn some more clueless teenagers to fill the ranks?”

Derek limited himself to glaring, so Peter continued.

“You have no idea what it feels like, the- the void inside that you-” He stopped himself, suddenly very aware of the audience and for as much as he loved being at the center of attention, this was not the case. He had a hard enough time explaining the odd feeling to himself, let alone that bunch of self-absorbed youngsters and his emotionally constipated nephew.

It was like a vacuum in the middle of his heart, he felt something achingly missing but couldn’t, for love of all that’s good and holy, find anything that would fit in to fill it. The empty place had been left by something - someone - specific that couldn’t be replaced, overlaid, erased. Furthermore, he was wondering why he only started having these feelings recently. Impossible to even pinpoint the exact moment it happened, it was more of a series of realisations that would hit him at randomest, like when he caught a whiff that smelled oddly familiar but he couldn’t connect it to a person or a place. Just take the tea room down the street: it had been there since forever, passed down for generations, yet now the jasmine white tea, of all varieties they had, was haunting him for reasons unknown.

“I am going out of my mind and you. Don't. Want that,” Peter growled, eyes flashing steely blue.

“No, we most definitely don’t,” Derek surrendered. “So, what is it now?”

“Morrell said something,” Scott explained. “She said, if you had an ounce of value, you would have been with your mate now.”

“Morrell doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Derek snapped before he could think about it and winced at the stumble of Peter’s heart.

He turned around slowly, sternly looking for Derek’s eyes.

“You know.”

Derek shifted his gaze.

“What exactly do you know?”

Derek kept fixating the wall.

“Oh. Everything. Brilliant. Why am I not surprised? Bet it was my sister that took my memories.”

“She had me swear.”

“Swear what?”

“That I wouldn’t tell you, idiot.”

“Wh- and you listened to her?!”

“She was the alpha! Fuck, Peter, I know- I know, okay, but I couldn’t go against my mother.”

“She’s been dead for ten years now! I don’t think the vow still holds? Or has been holding, all this time?”

“You didn’t… you’ve never…”

“What? Come to you like, you see, Derek, I’ve been losing sleep over my mark and my shattered bond, don’t you happen to know who my mate was? Well, sorry if I didn’t find it quite opportune.”

“I still don’t find it quite opportune to tell you.”

“Oh but you will.”

Next thing Derek knew, a set of claws was digging into the back of his neck.

“Your choice,” he hissed ominously.

~~~

22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

Ahh, nice one! i usually write short fics so those are pretty clearly outlined. The long fics sometimes can take me where i wouldn't expect to go, i did write one that got completely out of hand, because two decisively very minor characters overgrew and formed a - totally unplanned - second main pairing (that had an insane dynamic almost better than the original main pairing). that one got even me by surprise but i rolled with it xd and it came out fine i guess^^ but mostly, i like to know what i am heading for, it helps me in the process of getting there. if i start writing the fic without an idea of the end, it usually falls apart and remains half-written and abandoned...

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

oh i have way too many of those xd i love this ask because it had me digging through my flash drive with some old fics from the pc back home :D i copied them on it to have at least some of my writing here with me, as i didn't want to carry all the boxes with notebooks and sheets xd they are a lot of original stories not in English, but there were also some fanfics... here is what i chose for this answer, as i truly don't think it will ever get posted but i had a lot of fun writing it, must be the most plot-thick piece i've ever conceived and a lot of passion went into it^^ A Mission: Impossible fic xd its premise: one day Ethan receives a recorded call warning him that Lane isn't going after who is most precious to him anymore, because the real pain isn't taking someone you are so hell-bent on protecting (read: Benji, whom Lane tried to off twice to no avail), but someone you don't, so that you live the rest of your life with regrets for neglecting something, for having made wrong choices...... a lot of anguish ensues while poor Ethan tries to figure it out and does, indeed, neglect. Here's the revelation that won't spoil anything bcs no one would ever read it anyways xd

~~~

"Been thinking 'bout it, haven't you, Mr. Hunt? Who could it be, who are you losing without knowing it... I'd love to let you wonder some more but I am too curious to see what you're going to do."

After the call ended, a picture arrived.

"Here we go," Benji sighed, "we've gotten to the point."

There was a hooded figure tied to a chair, from behind. A short description: "Expect a video."

"Now that's not the greatest hint of all." Benji zoomed in on the photo. "Luther would be glad if he were this fit, that one is for sure."

"Could it be Ilsa?"

"No idea. From this angle it's hard to tell... Shit, what kind of sick fucker does this?"

"It's from London..."

"Which means Lane is somewhere in Madagascar. Or, he's sitting there in London, playing his own recordings and laughing his ass off at us. There's no point, Ethan."

Wait, again. Idly wait, that was all they could do.

Seven excruciating hours later, said video was sent from the Bahamas. Now it was clear to them that Lane was playing around. There was a heartbeat of hesitation before Benji opened the file. Seeing the figure en face this time, they realised it was a man.

"Who the heck-" Benji began to say but air was knocked out of him as one of Lane's men took the hood off and held the hostage's head up by the hair.

Benji gasped; Ethan closed his eyes, the image of half-conscious William Brandt burned into his eyelids.

"How... how did they get Brandt?" Benji barely whispered.

"I am more concerned about what they got him for." Ethan gritted his teeth. They were watching and rewatching the video. Brandt was kept in some industrial area. Nothing more to say so far.

"We have to… wait," Benji sighed, defeated. "For now, we're completely on his mercy. Will is on his mercy."

"And we've lost the only authority we had. Clever move, you bastard. Without Brandt, we're nothing. We're... outcasts again. We need Luther."

(...)

Luther's arrival gave them some boost. They were still clueless, exhausted and dangerously close to desperate, but at least they were in three. That's definitely more than two. That makes three quarters of the IMF. Determined to find and save the fourth one.

~~~

Thanks again, my firiend, this was lovely!! <3 i only hope you enjoy the snippets at least half as much as i enjoyed looking for them xd

[merrivia]

your essays of literary analyses for captive Prince  fascinate me, amuse me, entertain me (in the "wow, this is so cool" sort of way and "maybe I'll read this whole thing again"), educate me, and get me thinking harder about my own reactions to the books.  I believe that I do my own level of analysis as I read, seeing many but far from all of the same things, and stopping as I go to say, "hey, waaaait a minute" or go back and reread relevant passages earlier in the book or in earlier books. but I am very far away from being able to put things together the way you do. 

 I do a few simple things, like collecting multiple examples of something (I did that for showing that Damon is the kind of guy who gets "annoyed" about things that might or might not send the rest of us into a rage), and another too-long one why I thought "I speak your language better than you speak mine sweetheart" comment happened.

… I do have a question. Here it is. How much of the content of your essays are you consciously aware of while you're initially reading,? How much prep do you do for your essays – – outline? A few of your own cliff notes😁? Or or do what I mostly do, to the detriment of my material but not yours, and just start writing?

Oh wow, thank you so much that’s such a huge compliment! I’m always so happy to hear people enjoy the metas/essays I write, genuinely. I would love to read the posts you mentioned you wrote! I’ll hop over to your page and find them after I post this.

So I don’t really do any prep at all! No notes, no outlines, no plans. I’ve re-read the books 4 times solidly in a row, and want to do a 5th soon (I’ve given myself a little bit of a break, so I don’t lessen my love of it through overfamiliarity!). I think at this point my mind just picks up on patterns and starts to weave things together, subconsciously? Something will just occur to me and I’ll get the urge to write about it. I’m a big believer in that coming from the texts; I still find lines or paragraphs in the books so interesting and intriguing and the way Pacat writes…it’s so rich that there are many aspects to explore.

I also really believe in the power of reading around and seeing where that takes you too. Originally my essays were completely just what came from my mind, but I’ve started leaning towards letting other ideas shine their light on the books too. With my latest post, I knew that Damen’s trauma was different to Laurent’s but I also knew that I was no expert in trauma responses and wanted to read more about it, happened to stumble on Tick’s work almost immediately which just felt like such a powerful connection as it draws partly on classical traditions and I started to put the essay together.

I always come from a point of ‘things are more complicated than they seem’ about pretty much anything and I’m always very wary about people that try to oversimplify discourse. A simplistic reading of Damen’s character would say ‘he’s not got emotional complexity, he’s just a horny jock dressed up in Akielon clothing’ and honestly that’s just so reductive and not true but also…boring, and is essentially a discredit to Pacat’s intelligence and skills. Once you start thinking there’s more under the surface here, you can start to plumb the depths.

I do follow a rough introduction/main/conclusion structure as per any essay, which helps? I’m pretty much trained mentally in the English way of writing literary essays so I do it automatically. I hadn’t realised this till you asked but because I really enjoyed the books and don’t really see myself negatively critiquing them, my conclusions reflect the happy ending of the books where I tend to see things positively? So the end point is kind of already in place. I think the points I make follow similar essay style patterns; start more broadly, then narrow down like a funnel or start a little more chronologically and then move forward (like establishing who Damen is first, and his warrior status is going back to how he was raised, then we can use that to inform his initial reactions in CP before following that thread all the way to The Summer Palace). I’m fond of what appears to be a tangent but is actually a loop back, that illuminates (like I talked about violence as an intimate act, having read that in Tick’s work, and how Laurent particularly provokes that from Damen but that led me to realise if you do choose violence over love as a form of intimacy, you are going to have to pay a price for that).

Ideas do reveal themselves through the writing. Once I’d read that warriors could heal and reintegrate through society recognising them (Edward Tick actually performs these “Warrior Welcome Home” ceremonies for combat veterans, as part of a healing process) I thought well Damen had that in Akielos, and then it was like a little lightbulb moment of ‘Ah but by being in Vere, and around Laurent, he’s gone from hero to villain’. And Laurent has suffered the anguish of being vilified and having his character destroyed, and actually doesn’t realise he’s doing the same to Damen (I didn’t put that in, as there’s only so much you can write! Sometimes holding back on your ideas is good too, to keep the essay tighter. Incidentally one day I am going to do more metas on Laurent and his feelings towards Damen but I’m so respectful of his labyrinthine mind that I want to be very certain of my ideas before I do!).

I hope that kind of answered your question! If you ever want to chat about CP stuff you can absolutely dm me, I love talking about the books ✨

[ofmermaidstories]

Your writing is always so beautiful and interesting to read. I was wondering how is your outline process? Is there a specific way you work on your wips or you just write everything down and then mercilessly trim it down?

Hello!!! You’re kind to say. 💕 I outline! It’s the only way I can work, otherwise I lose interest and flit off somewhere else. 🥲 Everything I’ve posted to AO3 has had an extensive, meticulously detailed outline behind it that most times takes me ages to do. 💀 In a lot of ways I consider them first drafts!

But basically what’ll happen is I’ll get an idea and then make a lil notes doc for it and just throw down any and all scenes/lines/ideas I have, and from there I’ll sit down with it properly and make a bullet-list outline, and then refine it a second time (getting rid of initial ideas that might not work, strengthening other ones, etc etc). The third outline (and the one I consider a first draft to the final fic) gets written out in a proper worddoc; these outlines will take me the longest!!

Because I spend so much time on them, by the time I’m properly writing I don’t really trim anything out—because it’s already been done, in the planning stages! (i could probably edit…. more…….. but….. don’t wanna 😭)

I know this sounds like a lot of work, and it is, but the thing that matters here is that I enjoy it. I enjoy taking my time with these stories and piecing them together like this, it gives me a sense of accomplishment and more importantly having the outlines there remind me why I’m doing this, when I’m stuck halfway through and hate writing and hate everything, LOL. Like with the Deku fic—the one thing that propels me forward is knowing how much satisfaction the ending for it gives me, and wanting that realised, in ink (or pixels ig LOL).

[thecoramaria]

Hi friend!!! I’m trying to balance making a character emotionally deep (exploring their past issues with their parents and own personhood how they grow from all that now) with a goal that is inherently on the sillier side (goldfish “the snack that smiles back” crackers are being discontinued and they fight government folks funny style to get them back). How do I ensure these two focuses don’t lose their individual strengths?

I think you should make those two plot-lines as intertwined as possible and never ever apologise or point out the absurdity of it. Spy x Family does this masterfully, if you've ever watched the anime/read the manga. How do goldfish crackers tie in with the relationship they have with their parents? Did they create these moments of love and affection that never bled into the rest of the relationship, or at least not as much as it should have? If that was the case, I'd have the parents and their child work together to fight for these goldfish snacks to come back. It'll not only put the family dynamic in proximity to the goldfish cracker issue, but hinge the fate of this family on bringing these goldfish crackers back. In their minds, these are the one joy holding their family together. It also means that in the process of working together to bring back these crackers, there's a lot of opportunity for interaction or drama, such as:

The main character being expected to meet their parents' high expectations (like they're fighting the government here)

Alternatively, the main character being infantalised or given the vibe that they're "helping the grown-ups" even though the MC is also an adult themselves

The father (assuming there is a father) doing that stubborn man thing of thinking he knows best and refusing help

The mother (assuming there is a mother) being critical of everything about the process without offering any helpful solutions (these last two points could be applied regardless of gender btw but they are patterns I've personally noticed)

Plus a bunch more possible scenarios and directions to take

It leaves the big question of the narrative: in the process of fighting for these goldfish crackers, will this dysfunctional family be able to sort out their issues and come closer as a result, or will they be separated forever?

From there, I'd use the outcome of the goldfish cracker plot-line to contrast the fate of the family:

Scenario 1 - They win back the goldfish crackers, but the MC realises that they don't "fix" the relationship between them and their family. Thus they decide that the only way to heal is to cut them out and move on. (Idk if you're planning on writing abusive, villainous parents, but if that's the case then this is the route I'd show.)

Scenario 2 - They don't win back the goldfish crackers, but in the process they learn that they never needed them in order to reconcile and heal as a family. The parents recognise and respect the person the MC has become, and the MC also understands their own parents better. They may not have gotten what they wanted, but they found what they needed.

Now, the story you have in mind might not look anything like what I've outlined here, and that's okay, but I wanted to use my version to demonstrate the following considerations:

How do I tie the internal struggle of parents and personhood with the external struggle of fighting the government to bring back the snack that smiles back?

How do I make the outcome of the crackers plot-line matter to the parents plot-line and vice versa?

Ultimately, the closer you tie these two threads together, the more they strengthen each other. It may be a silly scenario, but how many times have you forged connections through silliness and humour? How many times has something that someone else claimed "wasn't that serious" bothered you? How many times have you gotten attached to things that might seem small and insignificant to other people? Something can be absurd and funny and still be earnest and emotional at the same time.

That's why I must reiterate this: Never ever apologise for or lampshade this absurd plot within the story itself. Play it dead-straight, and it will work.

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Hello hi! For the ask game, I'd love to hear #44 and/or #53? 😊

This ask game

Hi Em! (how are we doing. good good? good).

Any writing advice you would like to share

Yes. The first one is that not all writing has to be good, and not all writing has to be published. I’d argue 70% of what I write isn’t published on ao3 (or anywhere else), because I don’t love it. And not everything is a story. I have outlines, and snippets of stories I will never write, and poems, and journals, and I do morning pages so that’s a whole lot of words not meant for the world to see, but all these words amount to something. It’s practice, like musicians who do scales to stay sharp.

I also read a lot of what I like. And I re-read it. And re-read it. And often I don’t read it for the story, I let my brain dissect it.

When I read anything by Laini Taylor, I go into analytic mode. I read more like an observer, because it’s how I manage to get inspiration. That being said, I always try to avoid “stealing”? if that makes sense. I think some writers are really good at inventing something for themselves that they’re really proud of, a specific style or something they do a lot of, and I’m very mindful of not doing that. Doing something else. Something that resonates with me more.

When writing, do you have an outline ? and do you stick to it?

For short stories I don’t. I usually have a scene that comes up and I go, “cool” and write until it comes to a natural end.

For longer stories I plan up to the 50% mark. By that point my characters will have fucked my outline beyond repair and all I can do is follow through with what they’ve done.

For Heartless I had planned it all, and by the 50/60% mark of the story I realised it was never going to end how I have originally planned it. I’m about to release the final two chapters this month and it’s definitely not what I had planned for them at all. I’m not very good at sticking to my outlines…

For I am the moved on, it was surprisingly a lot easier to follow the outline, so I don’t know what that says about me….