#anyways i just wrote a couple hundred words for a fic that's been in the works for way to long(like a fukcin year) LOL

[alliumbunny]

sometimes i love writing and sometimes it brings me physical pain

[da-rulah]

i’m so happy you’re requests are backkk!! and that you’re back safe from your trip!

could i have some copia hc about him having an s/o or crush who LOVES writing, like they have whole shelves of notebooks and everything. would he try to read their stuff? stuff like that!

thank you i hope you’re doing well!

Thank you, lovely! They are for the time being - I'm going to be writing another fic soon so that'll take priority over any new requests but I'm still happy to take them ofc!

And I am doing well, thank you! My trip was good, but exhausting... 5 days of conferences and 10 working days in a row is not my idea of fun, but I've got a couple of extra days off now to compensate. So of course, I'm writing...

Anyway - onwards with the HC! This will be extremely self-indulgent seeing as you literally are describing me lmao

When you'd first met the cardinal, it had been in the library. You'd stumbled upon his little back office where he restored old books and ancient texts day to day.

You'd only been looking for some reference material, still new to the ministry and unfamiliar with the library's layout. But he was happy for the company, effectively guiding you to the section of the library you needed while conversing about what you were writing.

He offered you the spare desk in his little office, to use when you needed a quiet space free of the expectation to be social in another's company while you could focus on your writing.

You would use it often, and you got to know Copia quite well over time.

The longer you shared an office, the bigger your collection of notebooks with ideas, mind-maps, character profiles and plot plans gathered on the shelves behind your desk. Rows upon rows of notebooks...

He would nag you to let him read something of yours some time, but you'd wave him off with an "it's not ready yet..." But he'd never stop asking. One day you'd let him...

"Please, just a chapter? Will you let me, just once cara mio?"

And you did. Eventually, you let him read the book you had typed on your typewriter over the span of the last six months. He laughed. He cried. He fell in love. With the book, but also... with you.

The way you wrote, it was like the words sang to him. Your mind was truly as beautiful as your physical self. How could he not fall for you?

But he kept this to himself, for fear of frightening you out of this tiny little office and risk not seeing you every day.

Eventually, your birthday came around, and Copia had prepared something so special for you...

Whilst you had slept, he had snuck back into the office and worked all night.

Using his talent for book restoration, he had bound the hundreds of loose pages of your novel into a stunning original hardback book, crafted himself.

The cover was so ornate, so beautifully designed with references to the story itself in the red embossed artwork.

When you had opened it, he was terrified. What if you hadn't wanted it to be bound? What if you weren't totally done with it?

But, oh, how you wept.

It was the most beautiful, most thoughtful gift anyone had every given to you. He had handled your work with the care and affection that you had poured into it whilst writing it.

The same care and affection, it would seem, he had for you.

That night, after celebrating your birthday with him at a dinner he had prepared himself, you had confessed to him that the love interest of your novel had taken on the traits you had seen in him.

"What... what do you mean?" He had been so confused at first.

"I guess... what I'm trying to say, is that... He became you. And I think I fell for him..."

He had kissed you when you confessed, relieved to have his feelings reciprocated.

Years on, even in his now papacy, the two of you shared that office when he had some free time.

And somehow, he still always managed to find the time to bind the first drafts of your manuscripts together for you, to then ship to your publisher as a fully fledged published author now.

With the same care and affection as that first binding, you now had a collection of manuscripts you kept for your own personal memento collection.

Just as he would bind your books so beautifully together, you were now bound to each other. Forever.

[solitaireships]

Shared Stories

One of the biggest things I considered with what character I wanted to have as my official romance in VG was some of the dynamics that I would hopefully be able to play out in game with Minala. And one of the biggest things I considered making her was how she was an elf raised by humans, which meant there was a kind of distance for her from elven culture growing up. And that was something that I carried over into my views of her dynamic with Bellara, and how there's this kinda exchange going on between them that comes from Bellara being very in touch with elven culture while Minala is more distant from it

Anyway, here's a fic I wrote about that and also Minala and Bellara getting together

Rating: Gen

Genre: Fluff

Words: 1715 words

Divider by saradika

When Minala comes into Bellara’s room, she’s in the middle of working on some kind of elven artifact that she can't identify. She always seems to find something to keep herself busy with, making things that haven't seen use in hundreds of years work like new again, studying them to figure out how they work.

The curiosity that no doubt drives Bellara is part of what brings Minala to her now. Minala was never raised around many elves. There were some in the Grand Necropolis that would share what they could with her, but even then, their knowledge on elven culture was shaped by living in the city. Humans pushed conformity on them over the centuries, keeping them from their traditions and gods. It was the Dalish who were the keepers of ancient elven culture, and Minala had few opportunities to ever talk to them. The Dalish rarely ever visit cities, and they had even less of a reason to walk among the dead of the Necropolis. Minala could scrap together bits of Dalish culture from books and the rare person from one of the clans she met, but never enough to feel like she's actually learning what she should be doing as an elf.

Now though, she’s working with two Dalish elves. She wonders what it must be like for the two of them to learn not just the truth about their gods, but now have to get ready to fight two of them. It doesn’t seem like Davrin cares much, but Minala notices how Bellara still almost says the Dread Wolf sometimes. Between being Dalish and being part of the Veil Jumpers, she has to have been steeped in elven culture and history for years. And now she’s finding out what she had believed in her whole life is wrong. 

It’s hard to find the right words to comfort Bellara. She doesn’t seem to want to talk much about it either from any time that Minala has tried to. But one thing she knows about Bellara is she likes to talk about the things she’s been working on, and she likes talking about Dalish culture. If nothing else, Minala can probably help to keep the stress of things off her mind while also sating her own curiosity about where she came from. 

Plus, it’s nice to get to visit with her. Bellara’s room has been shaping up since she got to the Lighthouse. It started with just a couple of small things, but she’s slowly started to bring along more, setting up an assortment of trinkets and tools around the room. It looks nice, a little cluttered, but it has a homey feel to it.

When the door swings closed behind Minala, Bellara’s adorably lost in thought, eyes narrowed and nose scrunched as she looks over the artifact, mumbling to herself. She only notices Minala when she’s just behind her chair, clearing her throat. She jumps a little, but smiles when she turns around to see Minala. 

“Oh! Hi! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” she says, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. 

“And I’m sorry for bothering you when you were in the middle of something,” Minala replies. 

“It’s no big deal, don’t worry! Were we going to head out? I’ll be good to go in a minute or two,” Bellara asks. 

“No, not yet, at least. I was just wondering if maybe you could tell me some more about elf stuff,” Minala says.

“Elf stuff? What kind of elf stuff?” Bellara asks.

“Ah, I don’t know,” she admits. She hadn’t really thought much about the specifics of what to ask. It’s hard to when she feels like there’s so much that she never learned. “I don’t really know much about Dalish things.”

“Oh, yeah, you were raised in the city, right? So you probably don’t know a ton,” Bellara says. Her eyes widen when she pauses, quickly adding, “Not that that’s a bad thing! I mean, it’s different, but you not being Dalish isn’t bad. It’s great, actually!”

Minala can’t help but smile a little at that. It’s not a sentiment that many have, though she supposes that’s part of what she likes about Bellara. “Thanks. It’s not just that I grew up in a city, though, I was raised by humans.”

“Right.” Bellara pauses. “So, wait, sorry, how much do you know? About elven culture and history and that kind of thing?”

“Pretty much the stuff that everyone knows. I’ve done some research into other parts of it too. Holidays, traditions, that kind of thing. But there’s only so much you can learn in a city and without any other elves to really teach you that kind of thing.”

Minala’s disappointment in the fact must come through to Bellara, because she stands up from her seat to be closer to her. For a moment, she thinks she’s about to reach out to take her hand, though it seems she changes her mind about doing that at the last minute.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a start, right? And don’t worry, I love getting to talk about this kind of thing, so I’d be happy to help fill in some of the gaps,” Bellara says. “Maybe too many of them. You know— me and all my rambling, right?”

“I like it when you ramble,” Minala says. It’s nice to hear her voice, and even more so to hear her be happy about something.

“Oh. Thanks!” Bellara says, a hint of awkwardness tinging her voice but a smile on her face.

Minala tries not to let herself get too caught up in how cute Bellara is. It’s strange to feel her heart practically skip a beat at her reaction to being complimented, and to think of how much she wishes she could keep seeing that pretty smile on her face. She would gladly listen to Bellara talk for hours, even if she does get off track. It would just be nice to get to be with her. 

“Ooh, wait,” Bellara says. “You like stories, right? If you want, maybe I could try to write down some old Dalish fables for you to read. Given everything with Solas and the gods, I don’t know if they’re as true as I used to think they were, but still. They might be a fun thing for you to read, and maybe give you some of your own story ideas.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Minala says. It’s not as if everyone at the Lighthouse isn’t busy in some way or another. They all have their obligations outside of just going out and trying to stop the gods. 

“Oh, not at all. It’ll be fun to do,” she replies. 

“Maybe we can do a trade? I can give you some of the stuff I’m working on writing-wise for you to look over, and you can give me some Dalish fables,” Minala suggests. At least then she won’t feel like she’s asking Bellara to do too much, though it does flatter her to think that she’d be willing to help out for nothing in exchange.

The idea of a trading stories seems to make Bellara excited though, her eyes lighting up. “That’d be really fun! We could make it kind of like a mini book club, outside of the one we do with the others.”

“Then it sounds like we’ve got a date.” The words slip out before Minala can realize what she’s saying. When she does process what she just said, a wave of embarrassment washes over her. “Well, not an actual date. But I— you know what I mean.”

“Right. It’ll be fun, though. Just… a fun thing for two friends to do,” Bellara says. 

But Minala swears she sees Bellara’s face turn just the slightest bit red. Normally she wouldn’t read too much into it, dismissing it as no more than her looking for a reciprocation of her feelings and seeing something that’s not really there. But Bellara blushing at the thought of a date is just about as clear of a sign she might be interested in Minala as she could get. 

“Exactly,” Minala says with a nod. She takes a breath before continuing, trying to build her courage. “If you wanted it to be an actual date, though, it could be.”

“Oh.” Bellara’s face only seems to get redder, and she looks from Minala down to her desk, then back to Minala. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times, like she wants to say something but isn’t sure what. 

It’s a rare sight to see Bellara at a loss for words. Minala doesn’t know whether to feel proud of herself or sorry that she flustered her so much. 

“It can just be something we do as friends, though,” Minala reassures. “Whatever you want.”

“No, no— I would like it to be an— an actual date,” Bellara says. “I just… are you sure that’s what you would want?”

“Absolutely,” Minala replies. There are few things she’s more sure of. 

“Oh,” Bellara repeats, nearly falling as she sits down and tries to lean with one arm on the edge of her desk. “Right! Well, I also want that! A lot. And I’d really like to do more with you. Maybe— I don’t know, it’s been a while since I’ve actually, um, been in any serious relationships.”

“It’s been a bit for me too,” Minala says. 

“Well, that’s good then at least. That both of us haven’t been in anything serious for a while, I mean.”

“Right. And we can figure out what things are for us together.”

Bellara smiles. “That sounds nice.”

“And maybe share some stories with each other in the meantime?” Minala suggests. 

“I’ll make sure to put together some for you,” Bellara promises. 

“Which I’ll be looking forward to as I put together some things for you to read,” Minala says. “So I guess I’ll let you get to it?”

“Thanks. And we can share whatever we put together over dinner maybe? I don’t know, the last time I was doing this was in the middle of Arlathan, so we didn’t exactly have a lot of nice dinner options,” Bellara says. 

Minala smiles. She’s cute when she starts rambling. “Sounds like a date.”

[larkral]

Oh, hello. Wednesday, huh? Thanks for the tag @artsyunderstudy !!

SO this week I have been doing MANY THINGS including many fannish things. Including things in several fandoms. Me earlier this year: I truly cannot handle having more than one thing on the go. Me now: Yes, maybe I do have six active writing projects in three different fandoms as well as four podfics on the go. WHAT OF IT!?

I've finished recording all of my podfics, and I'm editing them now and... well, it's hard. One is edited, one is 1/8th edited, and the other two are freefloating audio. But, uh, yeah, here's some audio. Because. I... well, you'll get it.

Yes, I titled this file TENDER because I just, it's... yeah. I'm not totally sure whether I'm allowed to say who/what I'm podficcing... (@caught-on-tape-fest can you advise?) But, anyway, probably someone will get it based on that snippet.

Below the cut: snippets of writing and tags!

Here, also, is a little, silly segment of my OMGCP fic, the Holsom Timeloop, featuring an OC who, let me just say, I gave excellent breasts, and zero flaws. I will accept no critiques:

He bumps into someone as he turns, attempts to keep anyone from falling with one hand in the steadying region of what should be a shoulder but turns out to be a truly exceptional handful of cleavage.  "Shit, I'm so sorry," he says, taking a half-step back and looking at the woman he just groped.  There's a lovely flush on her olive cheeks, and her hair is a cloud of beautiful, wild curls.  Marjorie. She's in his o-chem class and she's cute. She's been cute all semester. And smart. And funny. Though her typical cozy-sweater-and-jeans look in class does not betray how truly magnificent her tits are. They're propped up by some kind of bra magic in defiance of gravity, and barely contained by the blue-green fabric of her shirt.  She laughs. "You're forgiven. Though by the transitive property, you definitely owe me a drink."

I also wrote another couple hundred words on my @carryon-reverse-bang beach fic, of which these are some:

The moon is rising and the tide is coming in. "D'you know," he says. "Even if there were no moon, we'd still have tides?" I hum. I look over at him. His silhouette is blurred by the rays of the setting sun, lighting him up from behind like an unearthly being.

Tagging @stitchyqueer @thewholelemon @confused-bi-queer @raenestee @facewithoutheart @cutestkilla @hushed-chorus @sillyunicorn @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @basiltonbutliketheherb @ileadacharmedlife @asocialpessimist @bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @petedavidsonscock @yeonjunenby @carryonvisinata @takenabackbytuesdays @martsonmars @nausikaaa @nightimedreamersghost  @chen-chen-chen-again-chen  @ionlydrinkhotwater @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @shrekgogurt @forabeatofadrum   @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl @blackberrysummerblog @valeffelees @imagineacoolusername @orange-peony @j-nipper-95 @whogaveyoupermission @wellbelesbian @rimeswithpurple

[s4pphic-sh3nan1gans]

Welp I just re-read Zame, si čisti dopamin because of your WIP post even though it ends on a cliffhanger and I shouldn't do that to myself😭😭😭 please tell me Bojan ends up kissing him

awwww thank you so much for re-reading!!! I know cliffhangers kinda make me wanna tear my hair out, so I'm immensely sorry for leaving it on one for so long aksjsksh 😭

so, I had a dive deep into my notes app and I realised that I actually wrote a decent amount of the final chapter?! like... over 1000 words?!?! which I was NOT expecting at all. it just makes me wonder why I lost motivation, usually if I have a big chunk of something done it just makes me want to finish it even more but gosh, idk 😭 sooooo perhaps I should finally finish it after all these months? 👀 it seems like a tragedy to leave it as is.

anyways, for your commendable bravery of reading an unfinished fic, I now gift to youuuuu (drumroll pleeeeease) the start of the final chapter, so far unseen... until now! enjoy 😌

Chapter 5 - Have I ever told you?

The next couple of days raced by for Bojan. Of course, he spent most of his time simply with Jere enjoying his company, but also getting to know his friends and being taken sightseeing around Finland.

If he was being perfectly honest with himself, a solid (and embarrassing) 70% of the time was spent over-thinking every single interaction and wondering if his sentiments were returned, and how he would even begin to bring it up.

(And if the other 30% was spent stealing glances and touches whenever he could... well. That was no one else's business but his.)

The day of the Tavastia concert was finally upon them, and Bojan had never felt so much anticipation in all his life. He simply could not wait for the atmosphere that he knew would feel like liquid electricity injected straight into his veins, heightened even more when he would step out onto stage with Jere, to a crowd not expecting him.

And yet... something was nagging at the back of Bojan's mind. Because as much as he was looking forward to sharing a stage with Jere - with Käärijä - it was also tainted by the fact he knew that he wore his heart on his sleeve and was as easy to read as a book. Maybe not by Jere himself, (because that man had proved himself to be clueless even at the best of times) but by the hundreds of people watching, and the countless thousands more inevitably watching videos online afterwards.

He knew that the fans were perceptive, and he knew that he didn't trust himself enough to keep his reactions and his goddamn smiles under control whenever he's around Jere, and as much as he might try, he knew there would be absolutely nothing he could do about it. To his eternal annoyance, he was in way too deep.

However, despite his worrying, a part of him really didn't care. It was highly likely that any embarrassing, lovesick moments on his part would be seen as a performance, simply fan-service and nothing more... but that simultaneously filled another part of him with dread and nausea, as he feared that is how Jere himself would view their antics. Playing it up for the crowd. Evoking reactions. Getting people talking.

"Bojan?"

He jumped. Jere was looking straight at him and... oh. He was shirtless. Clearly, Bojan had been too inside his own head to even notice him losing an item of clothing. Great, and now he was staring.

ask me about one of my wips!

[sineala]

So Iron Man #172 was the July 1983 issue, so have a belated chance to commemorate anyway you want!

(Review, Drabble, Cake, General Thoughts, (Self) Rec Fics inspired by this issue etc)

I love this issue so much. Also this cover. At first I wasn't entirely sure if I had read any fic inspired by this issue specifically (rather than fics that just mention it in passing) and then I remembered that I had in fact written a very long story with a key scene that absolutely hinged on this issue. *facepalm*

I have not, however, posted this story. It's the 150,000-word Madame Masque story that I wrote for @phoenixmetaphor's awesome art for the Cap-IM RBB back in 2019 and, for a variety of reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I ended up not posting it and writing an entirely different story that was just long enough to hit the word count minimum for the RBB. At some point I need to just take some time and rip out and redo a couple of big scenes closer to the end of the story, but I really hate editing and still haven't figured out how to fix the scenes and that's why I still haven't posted it.

Anyway, it has a pivotal scene (not one of the ones I am planning on changing) that heavily involves that issue. Phoenix even drew some lovely art for this particular scene and posted it a couple years ago, and, yeah, I still haven't posted the story.

I was going to post a longer excerpt of the scene in question but I couldn't figure out how to give the necessary context for the scene without spoiling about half of the story. So, uh, maybe someday I will manage to edit and post the entire thing. I just need to sit down and edit it. I have not yet managed to do that.

But you can have a couple hundred non-spoilery words of the very beginning of the story, because the actual first paragraph of the story is Tony having a nightmare about being back in the flophouse from IM #172. Uh, TW for alcoholism?

Tony woke, terrified, gasping for breath, the illusory taste of whiskey still lingering on his tongue. He clawed at his neck as phantom smoke stung his lungs, as his throat burned from the liquor, as tears leaked down his cheeks, while the flames roared around him, as he huddled alone and waited to die -- and then his eyes snapped open into quiet, serene darkness.

It had felt so real.

You're okay, he told himself, the beginning of the litany he'd made to ward away his nightmares. You're okay. It was a dream. It was terrible, but you're not there anymore. It's over. You haven't had a drink in years. You didn't really take that drink. You didn't ruin your life again. It was all a dream. You're safe. You're going to be okay.

The craving was still there, of course. It wasn't going to go away just because he wasn't drinking. Even if he never took another drink in his life, he was never going to be able to forget every last detail: the heft of a rocks glass in his hand, the way the light filtered through amber liquid, the smoothness of a fine scotch as he swallowed. His mouth was watering. He tried not to think about it, tried not to remember, tried not to build an image of something he couldn't ever have again.

The thirst was a siren's song, and it always had been: just one drink and nothing will hurt. Just one drink and nothing will ever hurt you again. Just one drink and you'll be happy.

It was a lie, and he knew that too. It was a lie, and for him it was never going to be just one drink, and that was why he couldn't have it.

But he wanted it. He always wanted it.

He pushed himself up to his elbows, and the sheet pooled down around his waist, exposing his bare skin to the air. The lights were off, but there was enough light through the curtains from the streetlights outside to orient himself.

You're in Avengers Mansion, he continued. You're not in that goddamn flophouse anymore. You're not shivering on the streets. You're in your own home and you're in your own bed and you're with someone who loves you.

That was when Steve, a light sleeper as always, rolled to his side and opened his eyes, pale blue gone nearly colorless in the dimness. His brow furrowed. "Tony?" His voice was thick with sleep. "Sweetheart? Everything okay?"

[freeuselandonorris]

7, 14, 26, 64 for the fic writer asks 😘

7. How do you choose which POV to write from?

sometimes it just comes to me naturally, like i just have an idea for a fic and the idea is already from a certain perspective? but occasionally it’s a bit trickier and sometimes i will actually start writing from one POV and then end up rewriting it a couple of hundred words in (i did this with just found me a brand new box of matches after realising it felt more natural to write it from lando POV).

sometimes if i can’t decide the POV, it’s helpful for me to think about what i am trying to achieve in terms of character study, and whether i want that to be an exterior or interior experience. so for instance, i wrote all the blood runs hot before it’s cold from christian’s POV because i wanted to explore christian’s delulu personality (which required interiority (loool this autocorrected as inferiority)) and the way toto’s actions don’t always match his words (which can be done from an exterior perspective).

14. how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

i definitely do feel what the characters feel! i get character bleed quite easily when i’m writing and can knock myself into an awful mood because i’ve been writing a difficult scene.

i think a lot about emotional scenes and often rewrite them a lot to better fit the characters. i consider how i feel this person would react in real life based on available evidence (heavily caveated that obviously this is all made up and i have no real clue!) so for instance i write toto as tending towards anger and emotional rigidity, oscar towards rationalising and compartmentalising, mitch as sensitive but fairly even-keeled, and lando and jev much more emotionally honest but prone to volatility.

i draw from personal experience a fair bit. not really for the actual situations or relationship issues, but certainly i’ve referred back to events in my own life for establishing an emotional tone (and also for a lot of the sex stuff lmao).

26. Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

ooh i dunno! i don’t really think many of my fics are a wild ride plot-wise — they tend to either be largely plotless unhinged porn, or fairly gentle slowburn friends to lovers stuff. i would say maybe born and raised for the job, or all the blood runs hot before it’s cold? definitely something featuring toto anyway lmao.

i think born and raised for the job is probably the wildest in terms of the kink content and particularly the psychological underpinnings of it (shades of daddy kink with all that implies given that it’s from mick schumacher’s POV) even though plot-wise it is…sparse.

64. Something you love to see in smut.

GROSSNESS. especially in kinky fic but generally in smut. now, part of this is because i have a pretty heavy kink for body fluids and wet&messy stuff irl. but part of it is because sex IS messy and gross, and so are bodies. sanitised depictions of sex, whether that’s in mainstream media (films, TV, whatever) or in fic, can have their place i guess — like, it’s fantasy and it’s nice to just imagine sex where everything is in soft focus and everyone has simultaneous orgasms sometimes, i get it! — but unless it’s done well, it just turns me off. i’m also not sure it does anything good for the mindset of younger people reading it who might not have much experience of “real life” sex (it certainly fucked me up for a good while and idk if that’s a conversation we ought to have more often in fandom and fic circles, speaking as, god help me, probably a fandom elder at this point), but that’s a whole other conversation.

ANYWAY, to get back to the point, i like smut that is filthy and messy and fumbling, sweaty and uncomfortable and sometimes it takes forever to come and sometimes you get a cramp and and it doesn’t matter! that’s what makes it hot! my landoscar fic playboy in the grotto is my favourite example of that: weird badly negotiated weird piss kink that takes place in a bathtub, covered in various bodily fluids, and nobody is quite sure why it’s hot but it IS.

thank youuuu 😘

get to know your fic writer!

[grimeysociety]

20 questions for fic writers

technically my sideblog @youthereader was tagged by @indulgence-be-thy-name - thanks bb ❤️; and like Em I'll be answering for both accounts

How many works do you have on ao3? youthereader - 4 grimeysociety - 171

What's your total ao3 wordcount? youthereader - 17,245 grimeysociety - 2,299,669

What fandoms do you write for? MCU - almost exclusively Darcyland, a teeny bit of Stranger Things and RPF (Cillian Murphy characters mostly...I've barely begun though)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? I can only answer this from grimey so... The Comeback Kid Among Wolves Damn, I'm In It I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm Heart to Break

Do you respond to comments? Why/why not? I always reply to comments unless they're the rare dickish one (I delete those, that's always fun). I reply to everything to thank people for interacting in the first place. I like it when I get a reply from authors, too. I'm very grateful.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I think it was one with Shieldshock and hacking, post-Infinity War, so everyone was dusted except for Steve and Darcy. It was kind of Schrödinger's ending because it might have been happy? I left it open (and I won't ever tell the 'real' ending).

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of mine do. I can't help it. Especially since the 'happy ending' tends to be because of sex. I mean...

Do you get hate on fics? A couple times but it was really insignificant and swiftly deleted.

Do you write smut? If so, what kinds? I write it all. Kinktober was kind of my 'thing' for a few years, as in, some followers looked forward to it each October. I rarely don't have some form of smut in a fic. The filth is fun, and so is the intimate erotica type of stuff. The fluff is great, but I have actually written one that had no response whatsoever and I think it went a little too far for my regular readers.

Do you write crossovers? I think some of my Darcy fic count so I'm going to say yes. I've written her with most Chris Evans characters, like Ransom Drysdale to name one. It counts, right?

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes and it's still up lol

Have you ever had a fic translated? I've had a couple translated into Russian but can't recall which, it's been a few years.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? I had someone ask me to ghostwrite their fic ending and then when they weren't happy with what I'd written they said 'no thanks' and haven't spoken to me since, does that count?

What’s your all time favorite ship? I will never be able to decide this, sorry. It's been years and I can never pinpoint it. Literally hundreds of thousands of words written over the three particular ships I'm thinking of and there's no way. There's just no way.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? The Americans. It's been nearly 2 years since I updated and I think it's been forgotten about anyway, so that's me off the hook.

What are your writing strengths? I can't answer that. I have no idea.

What are your writing weaknesses? My pacing is the worst. I repeat myself. I don't think I'm consistent in any way. I get impatient and hardly edit sometimes, which bites me in the ass later. I am bad at a lot of things.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I've done it and it's fine. It's my average high school level French, but it's passable. Literally I passed high school French.

First fandom you wrote for? Kingdom Hearts

Favorite fic you’ve written? The Comeback Kid because it seems to be everyone else's favourite, too.

I will tag @sarahbeniel & @aimmyarrowshigh

[neko-naruto]

Surge

Summary: Lare is dead, as expected she freaks out a bit- it's her first time! Who can blame her? She'd like to consider herself lucky that someone else is there, if that someone else was helpful.

Warnings: Implied character death, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: @bree-sae wrote a fic, and I went, 'crossover time' and proceeded to explode. @sobredunia it's a Kenikari fanwork, I am obligated to tag you in every single piece of Kenikari I write ever.

Why is it so bright? And warm? And never fucking ending, everywhere her eyes land all she can see is white.

Panic settles into her form and she's frozen where she stands, unable to move her legs. Wait, standing. She can, she can probably sit down if there's something that she's standing on. But she should be looking for an exit before anything else, try to scrape up some idea of how she got here.

So Lare walks. Presuming she's heading north instead of south. Or east instead of west. But she walks, she walks through the blank void laid out below and above and all around her.

She walks into someone and they both fall, she's quick to start apologizing. It's returned with a couple shockingly low it's fine's as she takes a moment to look at what she bumped into.

A humanoid, dirty blonde, orange outfit- snow gear in every essence of the word. He's got a knife stuck in the side of his throat but he doesn't seem to notice it. He blearily blinks himself back to awareness and he has indigo eyes.

"You're new here," Was what he said before anything else and that only left Lare with more questions than before.

"Where even is here?" Lare asked, trying her hardest to not ask a hundred other questions.

"This? This is death, you are dead, and so I am," He said and Lare could feel herself panicking, It must've shown because he was quick to try and rebuttal, "Don't worry! You aren't dead dead, you're just yet to return."

"You have a knife sticking out of your neck," Lare said, he feels around for it blindly. He gives a hum before tugging it out, there's almost no blood.

"Almost forgot about that, you get used to it after a while," He said as he drew his knees to his chest, "What's your name?"

"What's yours?" Lare spits back defensively.

"Kenny- Kenny McCormick, from South Park Colorado!" He wears a grin as he speaks despite the fact he's dead.

"I'm Lare," Lare said stiffly as she held out a hand to shake, Kenny gladly took in a shake.

"Look, I doubt you wanna talk about it but how did it happen?" Kenny asked.

Lare stiffens up, "Why would I tell you?"

"Helps the process go faster," Kenny answered with, "I mean, if you like purgatory I'm not judging."

"I'm pretty sure I froze to death," Was Lares response.

Kenny gives a hum, "Skill issue, anyways, my good friend stabbed me over something stupid- probably pissed I'd rather fuck Kyle than him, might've been monopoly."

Lare has so many questions at the statement.

"I don't know when you'll die next, but if your life is as cruel as mine I doubt we won't see each other again," Kenny said as he tightened his grip on Lare's hand, already fading.

She glanced down to her hand, "Oh fuck what's happening now?!"

"Relax man, you're just reincarnating," Kenny said calmly as Lare started to fade.

"What?!" She sounded distraught at the notions, Kenny placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You aren't gonna wake up a tadpole or some shit, you'll just end up back at home, or somewhere near your death- I don't know how your shtick works," Kenny said in an attempt to console her.

And then Lare passed out.

-/-/-/-

The time between her first death and the next death blur together in a horrible mix of everything and nothing at all. She can still hear him, that stupid voice singed into the back of her head and it's driving her mad. It was some dumb dream her brain produced while she was passed out in the cold room, nothing more.

Which leaves her with the question of how it felt so real.

The ice grasping at her skin. Chills seeping deeper into her lungs. Hands shaking her. Voices begging her to stay awake. It all felt so real, but when she asked questions, ever so subtle, worded carefully at that, they all looked at her like she was insane. Murasaki, Chuyo, Bee, even Mako and Detah- and maybe for a second she believed them that she was insane.

It had to be a dream, it could be nothing else. She pushed it all down and acted like it never happened because who would believe her if it had? No one, no one would believe her even if she wanted to act like they would.

She really hopes that releasing the cart when she trips is the right choice, that Bee and Mako make it out while she doesn't. She can feel the pain start at her feet and then crush the rest of her in an instant, she's sure she's been flattened into a paste rather than a pancake. She can hear Uzomi's scream of her name even after she's been thoroughly killed, the few seconds she gets before being thrust back into the void.

She finds that idiot in orange sipping on a juicebox with a slice down his throat that's still oozing. She walks over and takes a seat down beside him, he perks up a bit and has the audacity to smile.

"You're back!" Kenny sounds happy when he speaks, placing his juice box down beside his thigh as he speaks.

"I actually died," Lare got out quietly, disbelief heavy on her voice. She draws her knees to her chest, "And it's happened before."

"Yeah, the first couple times are always rough," Kenny said, voice softening a bit. He slings an arm around her shoulders, "I had an Italian who only communicates in wahoo! and yippee! with a heavy dose of body language for my first deaths."

"You had Jumpman Mario around when you died?" Lare asked, she sounded a bit hysterical.

"The one and only, he was hard to deal with, but I doubt he enjoyed consoling an idiot third grader who got turned to a platypus and mutilated," Kenny said as though it was common. Lare rested even more of her weight on him.

"Kenny when is it gonna stop?" She choked out quietly.

And Kenny didn't know how to tell her the truth.

"Well, I've been coming back here since the third grade and I'm what, fifteen? Yeah, about fifteen, so, a while," He got out sheepishly, "But hey! You aren't dying a lot which is nice, I used to die every single day."

"Really?" Lare asked, wrapping her arms around her legs as she spoke.

"Really, and then I got some weird ass disease that destroyed my muscle cells. I really thought that I was gonna stay dead when that happened, just me and Kyle, and then I was gone. I was here, but I wasn't there, and then I stayed here for weeks straight," Kenny said, he heaved a sigh, "But I'm back to my usual death schedule with slight alterations, so far you've only died twice which is rather impressive."

Lare was crying now.

"It'll be fine," Kenny said, "Promise," He rubbed Lares arm a bit.

Lare didn't answer.

"Ready to say how it happened?" Kenny asked.

"I was crushed to death by a rolling stone," Lare choked out on a strangled sob, "It was fast, but really shitty- children watched it happen Kenny! There were two kids who I hope lived even though I died."

"I'm sure that they did," Kenny said, he tightened his grip on her a bit, she wasn't fading yet.

"How about you? Who slit your throat over a game of monopoly?" Lare asked, almost jokingly. She had a gut feeling it would be much worse than that.

Kenny quirks a brow before realizing what she means, "Oh, that, that's nothing- most of the damage is internal. I don't know what they slid in through the hole," He brought his fingers to pull it open further and Lare gagged, "But it was something sharp and probably poison coated."

"Nasty," Lare said, sticking out her tongue a bit as she spoke.

"Super, but I've had worse deaths," Kenny said, he grinned a bit as he thought back on them, "Wanna hear?"

"Why not, pass the time or whatever," Lare said dismissively before her partner in death started to ramble.

[birdybirdnerd]

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants. Thanks to @kedreeva for the prompt! Also @laureniscoolcool if you don't to it this week I'm kicking your ass

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

My WIPs:

SE CH19

tsp zombie au

pendragon alderpat thing

fofe shock

Snippet from SE CH19 under the cut!

A section of the ceiling unfolded and lowered, bringing down with it a sturdy looking wooden ladder that thunked to the ground at their feet. It led up into a room up above that was shrouded in darkness and dust. 

“It has been long enough,” Ana explained as she waved at the dust that fell in their eyes, “that I think it is time you moved out of Natalia and Isabel’s room, and into your own. And it is way past time we cleaned out this old attic and went through the generations of basura we have collected up here.” 

The Narrator felt like he was catching up, but still a touch unsure. “And so you’re… conscripting me to help you?” 

“Of course!” Ana’s eyes glinted. “What, you expect me to climb up there and haul down a hundred boxes all on my own? Ha! I would break more than a hip, narrador.” 

At her instruction, he helped Ana climb up the wooden ladder into the hole in the ceiling. She pulled on another string at the top, and a couple dusty old bulbs flickered to life, illuminating a small and cozy room stacked floor to ceiling with boxes. 

[gretchensinister]

authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

In no particular order:

Incarnation: The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, SkekGra/UrGoh, E, 152,469 words. Not just on this list because it’s the newest! I’m really proud of what I was able to accomplish, meeting the challenges posed by alien bodies and the question of how to make characters that are pulled together for supernatural reasons choose each other and fall in love in excess of fate. I loved writing this slow burn, mutual pining journey. It’s about those moments when you realize you want to live more than you want to be good, and that you want to love more than you want to be good—and then realizing that there never had to be a choice between them.

A Draught of Light: Rise of the Guardians, Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie, M, 200,099 words. Epic Fantasy AU. Don’t worry, I’m staring gobsmacked at that word count, too. I started writing this shortly before completing my master’s degree, and continued it through quitting grad school and therefore drastically changing my goals for my life, a short and panicky time of unemployment, and a year at a rather shitty office job. I think about it a lot, and not only because I have fanart a friend made for me of it hanging on my wall. It’s about truth and knowledge (who creates it, who has access to it), loving someone one has explicitly been told not to love, what kind of power and what kind of reasons might lead someone to stay with an institution that hurt someone they loved, how it feels to leave an institution that has been your whole life, even after it has hurt you, what is valuable beyond the institution, when that institution has vanished, what it feels like to conclude that the only solution to right a fundamental wrong is your own death, what it feels like to be told that to undo a fundamental wrong you must be the one to cause the death of one you love, and still making it turn out all right in the end. I used Choose Not to Warn because I wasn’t sure where the line for graphic violence fell.

The Doors of Perception: Rise of the Guardians, Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie, M, 43,892 words. Human AU, 1960s to early 2000s. I also wrote this during the semester before I got my master’s degree. I was IN IT in the spring of 2013. It starts with all the Rise of the Guardians characters as hippie/counterculture types in San Francisco in 1967. The Summer of Love is the beginning of something wonderful between Sandy and Kozzy until an ill-fated return home leads to Kozzy’s unaccepting family separating him from Sandy for far too long. It does work out in the end, though. Also the era is one I have a passing research interest in, so I’m not just using pop culture osmosis to write the 60s. I’m not claiming perfection, just that I don’t, for example, make LSD do things it definitely doesn’t do. This was the fic where I learned how to look up historical weather data.

A Perfect Man is Hard to Find: Rise of the Guardians, Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie, E, 20,266 words. Human AU, 2010s, serial killers. *Evil grin* This one’s pretty sick, babes. I posted this during a trip where someone had flown hundreds of miles to meet me in person for the first time, which seems weird now. I mean, it was done, so what else did I have to do while waiting for her to shower/put on makeup etc.? I guess? Anyway, I think the summary explains it best: Pitch Black, the cannibalistic Boogeyman serial killer, and his partner, Sandy, a serial killer ex-psychologist who Pitch helped escape from police custody, now live a quiet life together in the suburbs. One morning, Pitch encounters a beautiful young man on his morning run, and knows at once he must hunt him, devour him. Sandy is all too glad to help him, and they make a very, very lovely day and night of it. (AKA, murder as an erotic couple bonding activity.)

The Dream Forest: Rise of the Guardians, Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie, T, 2,838 words. This one I originally posted just to tumblr and then took seven years to move it to Ao3. As you do! Written after getting my master’s degree during a semester of grad school I honestly DO NOT remember. Except for writing this story during a professionalization class that absolutely sucked. An experimental second-person story where the main character makes their way through a dreamlike forest, wondrous and ominous at the same time, catching only fleeting glimpses of the entities that created/inhabit such a space.

[terrainofheartfelt]

9, 17, 18, 29?

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? hmmmmmmmmmmm I don't know!! I think if I like a pairing enough to the point that I do in fact write about them then they are a favorite. perhaps....dan/nate? that is just a ship I keep coming back to because it is so comforting in such a singular way, there's an energy to them that none of the other couple I write carry. wait I changed my mind: dairthaniel. A ship I didn't plan to write anymore but I enjoyed so much that I did it anyway. I'm not sure how, but I think it's Cherry's fault :)

17. Your favorite character to write this year? I really liked writing Jenny's point of view in fics this past year. her voice and the way she looks at things, and how she is in the world of the show-verse while also being a spectator to it, and getting to write how she Got Out and healed...I just love her and want to give her wonderful things <3 (and writing her in the P&P AU with the The LBD Lydia as a blueprint, SO much fun.)

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? strangely enough, I'm gonna say Blair, even though the majority of what I share is her point of view. my girl just has such a twisted fucked up mind that....the conundrum of writing Blair is that I kind of know her better than she knows herself, so the question becomes what does she not know/what does she refuse to know and how do I show that with my writing? and I have no idea if I do it well, sometimes I read friends' fics and they have phds in blair waldorf and I'm like "oh fuck they showed that SO much better than I could" I think it's something that I can't think too hard about for me to be able to do it well, which of course is so annoying. oh sweet blair, dear child. being normal is not an option for her.

19. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? HARD QUESTION. and like I have written so so much that it's hard to keep track of it all? I think this year more s o than the last it's like....once the fic is posted it completely leaves my brain. But I am gonna go with a scene from such a lot of world to see, in the Rome chapter, what I call the dair breakup post-mortem, it's the cathartic convo that has been building up for hundreds of thousands of words in this fic series, and I knew I wanted to do that way for a long time and I worked on each line in this scene for a long time, and then I sat on it and wrote a lot of the series around that scene, and I still am just really proud of it. And I could probably argue that that scene in chapter 2 is the entire reason I am even writing fic at all. I started writing to make this big post s5 fixit I had constructed in my head, and anything that's come out of me since is a direct or indirect result of that AU and people's magnificent responses to it. so. yeah.... anyways here's a tidbit of it for context:

“I told her that I wanted to write a sequel to Inside, but real this time.” He stares down at their hands, as if too ashamed to look at her, “Real names, real everything. It wasn’t satirical, it was a hit piece, and Georgina had enough dirt on people to make it happen.”

Blair feels a coldness sitting underneath her ribs. “Did you write it?”

Dan glances up at her, then looks back down just as quickly. “A lot of it, yeah.”

“But you didn’t finish it?”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

He takes a deep breath. “Jenny - she called me while I was here. I’d been avoiding everything, everyone, and she decided that she was sick of it and harassed me until I answered the phone.”

“Sounds like her.”

Dan’s jaw twitches. “She asked me about the book I was writing but...I was too embarrassed to tell her. That was kind of my sign.”

“You think she would judge you for it?”

He shakes his head. “I guess not, but just,” he sighs, “hearing her talk, it made me think of something else. Something she said to you, actually.”

Blair tilts her head in question.

“When she came back to interview at Parsons...she said something to you - and him - like, ‘you two used to be in love, and now you’re only hurting each other.’”

It’s only a matter of time before your mutual destruction. Blair remembers.

“And it reminded me that - however it ended - I really loved you,” he says, softly, but confidently, with conviction, “and I needed to honor that. For me, if not for us.”

[awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands]

🦋🧃🎲 <3

Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately

Personlly it has been I've felt not confident enough in my writing for a while now. The lack of notes and interactions got me and I found asking myself " What if I'm just not good?" " What if writing is not for me?" but eventually the urge to write gets the best of me and I end up doing it anyway even if I'm posting less. I also wanna get more involved in screenwriting since I'll never know if I'm good enough without trying.

🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

Me lore? Goodie, I think I overshare quite much, I have a boring life hahaha. I wish I had juicy secrets but I can only say that I wrote fanfic about real people in my highschool but ofc I've never posted it, just shared with my close friends through text. Said ff never left my computer and I deleted it long ago, however it was a nice experiment and I entertained my besties for a month or so.

🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time? 

Honestly, I'm just an idiot because I tend to procrastinate. I usually try to fight this by making sure to create an habit and write a couple of hundreds of words every day. I manage to do the with the stripper Vince but there are fic I wanna finish that I need to get to. I wanna say the lack of interest, my perfectionism, the fear of rejection are all factors but sometimes I just end up playing silly games instead of writing T.T

[kenobster]

honestly I wouldn’t put too much stock in follower counts and activity pages. obviously we have no idea how many followers users have but I’d wager it’s around 50 for most people, and depending on how long you’ve been on here, a good chunk of them might be inactive or lurkers.

furthermore, this used to be the reblogging things site, which has since been plagued with likes only. it’s like that for a lot of posts, big blog or otherwise. but the problem with that is, if no one reblogs things, there’s less opportunity for more notes in the first place.

the moral of this story is, do whatever you want and don’t worry about adding your voice on anything! the numbers do not matter at all

Thanks so much anon, that's very kind of you to say!!! I love every single one of my followers, even the inactive ones and even the scandalously dressed ladybots that I haven't reported & blocked yet. XD Like, I seem to be miscommunicating lately, and it feels like maybe I'm coming across as upset/stressed out/angry without meaning to? So I'm gonna take this chance to needlessly describe my activities for the last 24 to 48 hours to prove a point lmfao.

Yesterday morning, I was reintroducing my grumpy timid cat to a super friendly cat I will be cat-sitting for the next month or so, which was super fun and one of my special interests. After that, I was chillin with my fandom homies while we played Jackbox and heard each other's voices for the first time ever (voices that were audibly referencing Vader's Uterus lmfao so I was pretty ecstatic). After that, I played around with my INCREDIBLE Vader bop-it toy that I bought yesterday based on a friend's recommendation. My first Hasbro merch ever. :) I'm in love and I still can't believe it's a real thing that exists.

At that point, I checked Tumblr and... yeah, admittedly I panicked a little because I was a bit scared I'd soon get a bunch of angry asks screaming at me for being a meanyhead (to beat a horse dead, this is just a regular run-of-the-mill anxiety of having a fandom blog and it is absolutely nobody's fault). So I spent an hour or so chatting with a friend until I felt better and then I quickly made the post in question regarding my follower count so that, despite the bewildering attention Five Peggats Each has gotten, everyone would know the truth about my lack of influence lmao. (This is a compliment. From me to me. I like my lack of influence. I'm not fucking kidding lol. I actually have panic attacks sometimes about the idea of becoming internet famous. I literally don't want that lmao. Fifty to a hundred followers is an A+ amount imo, so it's about time I guess it's about time I start losing those pornbots lmfaoo.) Anyway, last night was probably the first time I've checked my follower count in the entire history of this blog tbh. So like, you're being super sweet, anon, and I'm hoping other people will see this too because it's absolutely true and I think your words would be very encouraging and reassuring to anyone who sees this!! But I promise you that my activity log statistics and teh amount of followers I have are not things I spend time thinking about.

Once that was all taken care of, I wrote/edited a little bit for my fic for QuinObi week (SO EXCITED! Literally just a few more days!). Then at around 4am, I woke up with middle-of-the-night epiphanies on how to phrase a couple things/finish/tidy up my thoughts for that Fox opinions post, and I lay in bed working on that for an hour or so. After that, I went back to sleep, woke up, chatted with the fandom homies again, and then, ever since, I've been playing a video game I've been dying to play all week. Until about an hour ago, I literally had no idea what may or may not have been going down on Tumblr, and I wasn't thinking about it at all. And now that I've enjoyed myself on Tumblr for the day, I'm probably gonna invite my mom up tonight so she can spend time with the cats while I use her as a captive audience to talk about Vader's Uterus lmfao. And then at about 10pm, I'm gonna head bed because I work for a living and I forgot to ask if I get the holiday off.

All of this to say I am fine!! I'm just chilling, living my life, doing my own thing. For me, Tumblr is like a fun thing to check out every once in a while, the same way I spent time playing my video game, enjoying my Vader bop-it toy, hoarsing around with the cats, or anything else that strikes my fancy. Kidney stones and abusive ex-bosses are the things I worry about, not like.... a pixelated number on a screen lmao. In other words, this is a hobby to me, not a livelihood, and if I wasn't enjoying my time here, I literally would not log on (and sometimes I don't log on! For days and days at a time. Because I'm enjoying other things more!)

But anyway, I will say that the thing that makes it the most fun for me here? People like you!! Who send me asks. Who share their thoughts on my posts. Who became friends that give me the confidence to make the posts that I wanna make. Who have other fun lil interactions with me. So (1) Please don't worry about me. I'm fully medicated, my back is sore, and I'm too old to be upset over fandom things lmao. And (2) I really cannot thank you and everyone who makes my fandom experience so enjoyable!!! :D Y'all are great and I'm thrilled to be able to have fun here. I'm living my best life.

[sammyluvr]

ahhh yes!! i actually didn't do much, i just wrote a couple hundred words to finish off the charlie fic! but it was nice to finish regardless!

yayayay!! i'm so very glad that it was good, that sounds lovely!! AGH SO JEALOUS OF THE KBBQ i need some good samgyeopsal ASAP !! (had kbbq last weekend but i felt like it could've been a lot better.. the samgyeopsal at the place in my city is a whole lot better than this restaurant and it was so much more expensive boooo lolol) anyways!! i love that for you sm!! i hope you rest well tonight!!

sighhh it was a long long day it felt like lol. luckily i think it ended up good overall, i love being at dance practice and i had some lovely chats on here + i studied/hung out with friends just a bit ago and that really cheered me up! i had a slightly unfortunate part of my day where i got really overwhelmed/overstimulated and it really drained me and put a damper on my mood for a bit, but like i said, hanging with friends really brought my mood back up again so i'm feeling good! just tired and ready to head to bed LOL

so i will talk to you more tomorrowww i love you so so very much <33

BABYYYY your fall theme is my everything i love it sm <333

ARGHH THANK YOU BABY!! IM GLAD YOU LOVE IT AS MUCH AS I DO HEHE <33

[katieraven]

insomnia

idol!chan x producer!reader, afab!reader

word count: 4.9k

genre: tiiiiny bit of angst, fluff, smut - minors dni please!

warnings: sleep issues, (work-)friends to lovers, a teensy bit of anxiety I guess, dom!chan, brat!(?)reader - idk how to describe it tbh there's no reeeal dynamic of that kind, oral sex (f. receiving), choking, piv, he calls her babygirl once, darling and baby used very sparingly, basically they've both been into each other and didn't quite realise that until now -- did I miss smth?

summary: chan helps you with a work issue and it turns into something different

a/n: hii so it has finally happened, my first skz fanfic has arrived! I already have wayy too many ideas for future ones and I'm like not a hundred percent satisfied with this one but it's the first thing I've written in a year (?) so go easy on me please. I just needed to get my chan feelings out in some way or form and this happened ANYWAYS enjoy byyye - katie

also hi @chvnnie this is the fic I was talking about - you've been a huge inspiration btw I would almost go so far as to call you the main reason I wrote this at all whoops

this is a work of fiction and does not represent stray kids.

You’re in your head. It’s not an unusual thing, in fact it’s how you spend most late-night hours in your tiny studio. You almost live here, it’s basically your second home. If not your first, your actual flat being your second. While a lot of people stay late to work on their various projects, only very few stay quite as late as you do. 

It’s one of the few moments you are not troubled by the weight on your shoulders. Three a.m. in the morning, absentmindedly reaching for a cup of now cold coffee, drinking it without noticing its staleness, too deeply immersed in whatever you’re working on to care. Your fingers are flying over the keyboard, eyes flitting over the different tracks in the audio program before you, feverishly changing, moving, improving. 

Only today something goes wrong. You don’t know what you did, but within seconds, everything is gone. You blink. The audio program is empty. Not a single track lies before you. The progress you’ve amassed over the last hours, days rather, vanishes right before your eyes. You try a couple of short-keys and combinations but not one single track returns.

“Ugh, fuck me”, you sigh, wiping your face. 

“Well, if you insist …”

It startles you, but once you recognise the voice, you relax. Chan is standing in the doorway of your studio – you had left the door open to let some air in, after a particularly hot afternoon. The building was empty enough for there not to be anyone walking past. Well, almost.

Chan smirks at you, one dimple appearing in the corner of his mouth. While usually his comment would have made you laugh, chuckle at least, you can only huff out a lightly amused breath, before turning your head back to your monitor. Still empty lines where tracks used to be half a minute ago. Chan’s smirk turns into a frown.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

His concerned voice touches something inside you and you feel tears well up in the corner of your eyes. No. You’re not going to cry.

“I, uh, it’s nothing, really.” 

“Sure”, he scoffs. “Cause I’m gonna believe that.” 

He appears to the left of you and looks over your shoulder. After a couple more short-keys and opening three folders, you give up and lean back in your chair with a sigh. You’re not going to cry. It’s okay. It’s fine.

“Will you tell me what is going on or do I have to magically divine it from the fact that you are sitting in front of an empty audio program?” Of course, he got it immediately.

“I was working on something, and it vanished.” 

He hums and his eyes focus on the monitor in front of you. 

“It’s not important, really, I can do it again.”

His left eyebrow raises, then he leans over your keyboard and starts working on getting your tracks back. You feel guiltier the longer he takes, it’s just your own, self-indulgent stuff after all.

“Really, you don’t have to … it’s nothing important.” 

“Tell that to the artists you’re working with. Or the hours you probably spent on this.” 

You shake your head. “No, it’s-“

The tracks reappear. All of them. Like magic. You can only stare at the screen, dumbfounded. He stands back up, a proud smile on his face. Then he hits the spacebar, and the beat starts filling the tiny studio. You startle and jump forwards to stop him, but he grabs your shoulder and presses the spacebar himself. 

“Why don’t you want me to listen to it?” He asks, a slight frown on his face. 

You wipe your face. “It’s … personal.”

Chan crouches down next to you so that he’s roughly on eyelevel with you. “Hey. It’s just me.” 

You turn the chair towards him, and he grabs the armrests. You look at him for a beat, then it hits you that you just almost lost everything you’ve been working on for a while. This is different than your usual work. This is personal. It’s a song that you’ve been producing only for yourself, not JYPE, not any other artist. This is your baby. You just almost lost it, and he brought it back. The tears come back, and this time they’re stronger. You just let it roll over you. 

As soon as the first tear falls, Chan’s expression drops. “Oh no, no, what’s wrong?” 

His hands fly from the armrests to your knees, then your thighs, rubbing soothing patterns up and down. Your sobs turn into hick-ups, and you hate it, hate that he sees you this vulnerable. No one ever does, you wear armour at work. It’s what you remind yourself of now. You reach for the shield you put up around your heart with both hands and pull, until it’s up again and your sobs die down. That’s the reason, yes. Not the fact that Chan is still kneeling in front of you and hasn’t stopped rubbing your thighs. 

You breathe out shakily. In again, and out. Then you finally dare to look at him. “Thank you, for saving it.” You gesture towards the screen. 

His look is still probing, searching for what you just broke down for, but a smile curls up the corners of his mouth. “Of course. It wasn’t that far gone, honestly. I barely did anything.” 

You roll your eyes and weakly slap his arm. “Stop always understating everything you do.” 

He chuckles. “I apologise profusely.” The formal tone makes you smile a bit.

“Now. Will you let me listen to this absolutely not important personal stuff you made?”

You hesitate and look at the open door. 

“Let me rephrase. If I close the door, will you let me listen?”

This, and the adorable face he’s pulling, finally makes you laugh and cave. “I guess, yeah.”

Your eyes follow him as he gets up and walks to the door, closes it, and locks it. 

“For good measure”, he winks. 

It’s one of those moments that make you realise that in all the time you’ve been at JYPE, you’ve made a lot of acquaintances and a couple friends, but none as wonderful as him. You often think he’s too good for this world – the rest of his friends do, too. Although the rest of his friends probably don’t get all warm and fuzzy inside when he smiles at them. Or find it hard to concentrate when he wears muscle shirts. Or watches his performances, more than necessary, and then blames it on just wanting to be a good friend. Supporting him, and such. God you’re down bad.

He walks back to his spot next to your chair. His finger hovers over the space bar and he looks at you, the unspoken question in his eyes. You steel yourself and nod. 

Then the beat fills the studio again. It’s the first time you have heard this aloud yourself, so far, you’d only ever listened to it on your headphones. You’re almost scared to look over to see his expression, terrified of his opinion. This is like a tiny piece of your soul, and you just handed it to him, hoping he would not drop it. Of course, he doesn’t. When you finally do, he stands there, eyes wide, looking over at you. His intense stare makes you squirm. 

“It’s nothing special, and it’s not done yet, you know how it is with these things, they take ages to be finished and this is just very rough, I-“ 

“This is amazing”, he interrupts you. Now it’s your turn to be absolutely dumbfounded. “What?”, you blurt out.

He turns the music down a tad, then he turns back to you. 

“I really like it. And it’s different from the stuff you make for other artists.” 

Somehow, you’re still anxious. 

“What I mean by that is that I always hear pieces of you in other people’s music and I’ve always been a bit sad that you don’t get to make stuff that’s entirely your own. This – “, he gestures over to the screen, “is really you. All of this. Like, I can hear some of your inspiration in this, but the entire thing just screams you.”

Which is the exact moment your singing starts, and you want to vanish into the ground. Because his mouth falls open, and he turns the music up again. Moments go by of him just standing there, completely taken by the music. His expression has softened and there is a slight smile dancing around his features. You lean over to turn the music off again, there’s only so much time that you can take listening to your own voice right now. 

When Chan turns back to look at you, head slightly angled down, you’ve never seen a warmer smile from him than right now. It overwhelms you, the sheer affection for this wonderful man in front of you, and you shoot to your feet and throw your arms around him. He is startled for just a second, before he hugs you back so tightly that you feel like he put something inside you back together. It makes you cry again.

“Shh. It’s okay, darling. It’s okay.” He rubs circles along your back, and you breathe in slowly, engulfed by his scent that is so distinctly him. 

“Thank you”, you mumble into his shoulder, and he chuckles, before pulling away. “What did you say?” 

You huff, and lightly punch his arm. “I said thank you.” 

“No, thank you for trusting me enough to show this to me.” 

You try to hide in the crook of his neck, but he keeps you half an arm’s length from him. Somehow, you end up staring right into his eyes. The honesty and affection you find there send goosebumps up your arms, up until where his hands are still wrapped around them. Suddenly you realise how terribly close you are to each other, and how he’s just a friend and this shouldn’t make you as tingly as it does. You shake off his hands and clear your throat. He just sees you as a friend. Right?

Because the way his eyes burn with something you’ve never noticed before makes you question your own sanity. You try and look anywhere but into them. 

“Hey, we should probably unlock the door again, you know, unless people start to wonder.”

He blinks. “Yeah.”

None of you moves. 

“But it’s also 3 a.m. and we’re the only people in the building.” 

There’s nervous laughter bubbling in your throat and you rub your arm only to keep your hands occupied. Then you make the mistake of looking at him again. It’s involuntary, really, your eyes get caught on his black sweatpants and travel up his body almost automatically. There’s not much you can do about it. And when your eyes hit his, you’re done for. He looks at you with such intensity that you simply cannot turn away. A shaky breath leaves your lungs when he blinks slowly, only to look at you again, the same fire in his eyes, pupils blown wide. 

You open your mouth, “Chan, I – “ 

He moves closer, as if you saying his name had shaken him out of a stupor. He reaches for the hand that you wrapped around your arm and gently pries it away. When it falls to your side, he intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“What are you doing?”, you whisper, unable to speak any louder, scared that it would make this real. Make this have consequences. 

Chan’s thumb is drawing patterns on your hand, and it covers you in goosebumps again. 

“I kinda really wanna kiss you.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes still locked onto his. They’re burning into you, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. He lifts his other hand up to your face and lightly touches your cheekbone. You have to actively keep your eyes from fluttering shut, body still covered in goosebumps. Your cheeks heat up under his gaze. 

“Would that be okay?”

You breathe out a shaky “yes”, and he’s on you in seconds. He lets go of your hand and instead grabs both sides of your face, tilting it so that you’re looking up at him, before sealing your lips with his. 

Everything is happening too fast. For a second, your arms hang limply at your sides, but then he starts moving against you and you can’t help but grasp the hem of his shirt and pull him closer. He hums against you, and you open your mouth almost on instinct. A tiny noise escapes you and he catches it, drinking it in hungrily. You push and he walks backwards until the back of his knees hit your chair. He clumsily sits down, and you move until you’re straddling him.

Only then do you break the kiss, both heavily panting as you stare at each other. You lift your hand from his shirt and start tracing his lips, his cheekbone, until your palm lies flat against his cheek. He nuzzles into it and closes his eyes, hands falling to your waist. God, you think, he’s so pretty. You watch his chest rise and fall rapidly and feel his thighs move under yours, and that’s when you realise what exactly is happening right now.

“Channie”, you whisper, and his eyes fly open, fingers playing with the hem of your t-shirt.

“Hm?”

“What are we doing?” 

His fingers start pulling your shirt up just enough to be touching the delicate skin of your waist and you shiver, biting your lip to stop a sound that would have been decidedly too desperate. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m doing something I’ve been wanting to do for way too long.”

Your hand slips to his neck and his eyelids flutter, but there is a concerned look in his eyes. He sees your hesitation. 

“Should we be doing this? Are you even allowed to?”, you ask.

His fingers stop and he lifts his hands to your face, searching for something in your eyes. “I could not care less about what we should or shouldn’t do. The only thing I care about right now, is if you want this. But if you don’t, then that’s okay.”

You melt at the honesty in his expression, shiver at the way his fingertips are toying with the hair on the nape of your neck. 

“What exactly does this mean?”, you whisper. It feels impossible to move right now. Like you’re being held in place by his intense eyes. 

“Well.” His thumb brushes over your cheekbone and you sigh. 

“First of all, I want to kiss those pretty lips of yours. And then”, his fingers travel from your neck down your arms, “I’d like to make you come so hard the only thing you remember is my name.”

A moan tumbles from your lips, and almost on instinct you roll your hips against his crotch. He hisses and grabs your waist. “But I need to know you want that, too.”

You nod, a bit too quick for your liking, but you don’t find it in yourself to care anymore. His hands gently rock you against him and your eyelids flutter, gaze locked onto his. “Use your words, babygirl. I need to hear you.” The condescension shakes you out of your haze.

“Don’t be so fucking patronising.” 

A smirk curls around the corners of his lips. “Still need to hear ya, though.”

You lean down as if to kiss him and sink your teeth into his lip, just enough for it to sting, pull, and let go again. He watches you with the intensity of a predator watching his prey and something inside you relishes in it. 

“Yes, I want that”, you finally give in, “I want you.”

He pounces with a low sound that comes from deep inside his throat, a growl, almost, and latches onto your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in, kisses open mouthed and messy. His hands keep holding you against him. You roll your hips, both of you moaning in unison, your hands are in his hair, and you pull on his curls until he moans into your mouth, making you smile into the kiss. 

He feels it against his lips and pulls away. “Oh, you’re a mean one, hm?” 

The smile you give him in return would be angelic, if not for the vicious glint in your eyes. It makes him chuckle lowly, before suddenly standing, pulling you up with him and picking you up. Your legs instinctively wrap around him, and he walks over to the sofa in the corner of the room, lowering you down until your back touches the cushions. 

He's kneeling between your legs, propped up with one hand next to you, the other on your cheek again. You tip your head back, baring your throat, and you can see understanding flash in his eyes. His hand slowly moves down until his fingers wrap around you and you feel the slight pressure on your pulse point. Your breath quickens.

It makes you want to rub your thighs against each other, but his legs are in the way, leaving you to squirm under him as he just watches you intently. His other hand travels up your body and pushes your shirt up with it, until he finds your sports bra. His thumb glides over your hard nipple poking through the fabric and it sends a spark of electricity right to your core.

“You wanna play mean? I can do that.” 

His fingers close further around your throat and the increasing pressure ever so slowly clouds your mind, until your mouth falls open and you whisper his name.

“Hm?” 

You try and move your core against his thighs but you’re too far away, his hand keeping you in place. 

“Do something”, you hiss as he just keeps watching you, an amused smile on his face. 

“Did you forget your manners, baby?” 

You roll your eyes but decide to play along. “Please, do something.”

“But you look so pretty like this.” 

Your hands fly up to his arms and you groan, but he just chuckles. “I told you, I can be mean. But I’m starting to get impatient too, don’t worry.”

His hand leaves your throat. All the blood comes shooting back, an intense clarity that leaves you gasping. You only notice that he has taken his shirt off when he leans back down towards you, reaching for the hem of your own t-shirt. He looks up at you, a question in his eyes, that you answer with a quick nod. Then he finally pulls your shirt up, making sure that his fingertips travel over your skin along with it, showering you in goosebumps. 

He pulls the fabric off of you and you reach for him, fingers connecting to the smooth skin of his chest. You let your hands run down his stomach when he leans down to kiss you, trailing along the waistband of his sweatpants. His breath hitches when your fingers dip into his boxers, but he reaches down to stop you.

“Nu-uh. You first.”

He sits back on his heels and pulls on your leggings, throwing the piece of clothing behind him absentmindedly. You’re in front of him only in your underwear now, nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric of your sports bra. 

“You’re fucking hot, you know that?”, he mumbles, and you feel your cheeks heat up before he grabs the hem of your panties and pulls. Cool air hits your core, and only then do you realise how embarrassingly wet you are already. He looks down at you and curses under his breath. 

“Fuck, look at you. Already soaked, and just for me?” 

You nod, “only you”, breath hitching as he lazily moves two fingers all the way up your entrance until they are pressing into your clit. You start moving against him on instinct, eyes rolling back as you finally get some relief. He lets you, for a few seconds, before pinning your hips down to the sofa. Your eyes snap open, a desperate whine leaving your lips.

“Hush, baby. I’m gonna take care of you”, he mumbles, before leaning down and licking a broad stripe along the way his fingers just did.

It makes you absolutely lose your mind. Your hips buck up and you moan loudly, hands flying into his hair, just to grab onto something, anything, to keep you grounded. The tip of his tongue dips into your entrance and your head tips back with a groan. His left hand holds you steady, before he dives in again, nose brushing past your clit with every movement. Your thighs tremble, you’re already way too close even though he barely started yet. You feel yourself clench around nothing.

“Channie, please …”, you sigh, and he looks up at you, tongue not leaving your body. 

“Hm?”

The sound reverberates against your sensitive skin, and you shudder, looking down at him. Fuck, he looks good. Lower part of his face covered in your slick, curls sticking to his forehead, he laps at you like a starved man. 

“Can you – fuck, Channie, fingers, please – “, is all you manage to choke out, but he has mercy on you. 

You feel the tip of his finger tease your entrance and you clench in anticipation, before he pushes in and you close your eyes again, a desperate moan leaving your lips. He curls his finger upwards, and you know he’s close, so, so close to where you need him, but he isn’t quite there yet. You can feel the high approaching, can almost reach for it.

“More, please”, you press out, brows furrowed, and he adds a second fingers, curls up, and hits the spot. You swear you see stars for a second. Your mouth falls open, a string of incoherent words tumbling over your lips, and you feel him smile against you. It almost sends you over the edge on its own. 

“Found it, hm?”, he mumbles, and you hum, every muscle in your body tensed. 

“Look at me”, he whispers. 

You somehow manage to lift your head, moaning at the sight before you. He dives down again, holding eye contact and your fingers pull on his hair, coaxing the sweetest moans from him. He curls his fingers up once, twice, and you snap. Your high washes over you with an intensity you’ve never felt before and he flattens his tongue against you, helping you ride out your orgasm with long strokes. Once you finally stop clenching around his fingers, he slowly removes them, making sure not to hurt you. You still wince at the sudden emptiness. Finally, you untangle your fingers from his hair.

He climbs up until he is face to face with you and you blink until he’s in focus again. He smirks at your blissful expression. “D’you have fun?”

You decide to tease him. “Eh.” You shrug. “Was fine, I guess.” 

“Fine?” He stares at you in disbelief. “Clenched around me like you were holding on for dear life, but you say it was fine?” You chuckle, but the determination in his face sends shivers down your spine. 

“Okay. You know what, I’ve had enough of your attitude.” 

He sits up on his heels, before getting up and taking off his sweatpants, pulling his boxers off right with them. He reaches down for his pocket and pulls out a condom, ripping it open with his teeth, and rolling it over his cock, before he kneels back down, slowly pumping himself. 

“Let’s see what you say after I’m done with you.”

His lips crash into yours and at the same time, you feel his fingers on your clit. You hiss at the slight overstimulation, but pull him closer by the neck, moaning into his mouth. You can still taste yourself on his tongue and it makes your stomach flutter. Then you feel his tip push against your entrance. He pulls away to check in with you, but you pull him back in. 

“Please, Chan, need you”, you pant against his lips, and he groans, before pushing into you. 

It's an entirely different sensation from his fingers and both of you moan at the same time, before he bottoms out and stills, fighting for his composure. He begins moving ever so slowly and you appreciate that he wants to be careful, but something inside you wants him to lose control. You lean up and drag your teeth across the shell of his ear, drag your fingernails across his back. He shivers, his arms buckling and his forehead falling onto your shoulder. His pace picks up and you kiss him on his pulse point, before whispering into his ear, “fuck me like you mean it.” 

He stills. You let yourself fall back down grab one of his hands, leading him towards your throat. “Please.” 

A smirk curls up the corners of his mouth. “I knew you could use your words.”

He pulls out almost completely before he bottoms out again and closes his fingers around your throat. Everything around him becomes hazy, he’s the only thing in your mind, the only thing you see. His hips snap against yours at a relentless pace and you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, instinctively lifting one of your legs. He grabs it and pushes it up against your chest, changing the angle, and finally hits that spot again. Your eyes roll back, moans tumbling from your open mouth as he keeps slamming into you, before slightly adjusting his position. His hand leaves your throat, and your mind refocuses, his thumb pressing against your lips which you open oh so willingly, sucking his thumb into your mouth.

“Fuckin hell”, he groans, rhythm turning sloppy as he watches your lips wrap around his finger. “Such a good fucking girl, hm?”

He pulls his thumb out with a pop and you whine, but he hushes you. “Impatient”, he tsks, before rolling the pad of his thumb over your clit. Fuck, you’re still so goddamn sensitive. His hips snap against yours again and then he hits the spot inside you. 

“’M close”, you moan, and he nods. 

“Come on, let go for me, baby”, he answers, breathless, and it pushes you over the edge. When you thought your first orgasm was intense, it was nothing against this one. You feel so fucking full of him, he feels so right against you, and then his finger leaves your clit, and he falls towards you, hands on each side of your body, riding out his own high. His arms are shaking from the strain, and you push up to press your lips against his. He moves inside you and you shiver before he gives you one last peck and carefully pulls out. 

You fall back against the cushion. He removes the condom, before crawling back up and snuggling against you, propped up on his elbows on each side of your face. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

It makes you blush, and you turn your head to the side, suddenly confronted with what just happened. With whom it just happened. He sees the change in your expression immediately. 

“Hey, look at me.”

You obey him and see the softest smile on his face, before he leans down and gently presses a kiss to your lips. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hm?”

His fingers are playing with your hair, eyes intently fixed on you. You sigh. 

“I – don’t know what this means. To you.”

He raises one of his eyebrows, “but you know what it means to you?”

Your heart lurches in your chest and resumes beating at a much quicker pace because yes, you do, and you hate having to admit it. You don’t know if you should admit it. 

He kisses you again, longer this time. When your lips separate, there’s this softness in his eyes again. “Tell me what it means to you. Please.”

This is the truly dangerous part. Anyone can have meaningless sex, but it wasn’t meaningless, at least not to you. This is where the consequences come in. This is where you have to admit that you just ruined a perfectly fine friendship. You take a deep breath. You trust him. If anyone would be able to uphold a friendship after this, it would be Chan. So you steel yourself, and look into his eyes again.

“I like you a bit more than I originally planned to”, you whisper, not daring to speak up. 

You’re close enough that you can feel his heartbeat. It quickens after he processed what you said, but where you expect him to tense up and leave, he leans down to kiss you again. You’re completely dumbfounded. 

He holds your face and you close your eyes, simply enjoying the gentle pressure of his lips against yours. When he breaks the kiss, you steel yourself again. Your breath hitches when you open your eyes, his own swimming with emotion. 

“I’m so glad you said that”, he whispers, thumb brushing against your cheek. “Because I do, too. And I was so scared this would be a one-time thing for you. I don’t think I could have lived with that.” 

There are tears pricking in the corner of your eyes for the third time tonight, only this time you allow them. He leans his forehead against yours and you wrap your arms around his neck and then you stay like this, just breathing each other in. And you feel like your sleepless nights might have just become a bit easier to bear.