#ashe writes fanfiction APPARENTLY

[hannah-heartstrings]

Sweet Surprise

During a trip to Skingrad, Lecrinn and Garrus decide to surprise each other. Early in the timeline, though I'm not actually sure how canon it is.

The lost sweetroll prompt fic. I spent half a month writing this, finished it, and went "meh." By then I'd worked on it to the point of not being able to tell if it was good or not, and I still can't tell.

So I'll just release it into the wild and you can tell me. (I do know some things I do and don't like but I decided to keep them to the tags.) From October 2022 but I'm still accepting concrit on it.

@druidx @babyblueetbaemonster @inkysqueed

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            Cradling two sweet rolls in one hand Lecrinn held them close as she pushed the heavy door with the other. She opened it just enough to slip out, leaving the chatter and warmth of the busy inn for the street outside. It was also busy and warm but more tolerably so.

            She squinted against the afternoon sun. Now that she had the sweet rolls it was time to find Garrus, after she dragged him all the way from Cheydinhal to Skingrad it was only right he get something out of it.

            The roads were narrow between the tall stone buildings that arched above them. She weaved through their hustle and bustle. The street widened out into a fork, forward continued to more buildings and to the left, a statue of a horseman. There gazing up at the statue she found Garrus.

            Catching her from the corner of his eye he turned and beamed at her.

            She couldn’t help but smile back.

            “I have a surprise for you,” he said as she walked up.

            “So do I!” She stopped, both their smiles falling at the sweet rolls in the other’s hands. Looking back up at the other’s face they gave laughing smiles.

            “I suppose we had the same idea,” he shifted.

            She shrugged. “It’s a good idea.” His smile looked forced, he seemed to feel awkward, she didn’t know why and it was making her feel awkward too. “Well… this one’s yours,” she held one out and they swapped, both laughing a little. She noticed he only held one. “Did you already eat yours?”

            “I uh,” he glanced down, “I don’t know how much money this trip will end up costing so I only bought one for you.”

            “Oh…” she looked to her second one.

            “You can keep it.”

            “Nah, lets split it later.”

            “No, you bought it for yourself, you can have it.”

            She walked passed him. “One and a half sweet rolls is still more than I planned on getting.”

            He tilted his head, he supposed that was true. Turning he saw her sitting on the round base of the statue. He looked startled. “Are you allowed to sit there?”

            “I don’t see anyone guarding it.” Pulling the pack off her shoulders and beside her she rifled through it.

            “What if you get in trouble?”

            “Then you can just arrest me.”

            He looked around before going over to sit beside her.

            Finding a small cloth she wrapped up one of the rolls and put it in her pack. She then turned all her attention to the one in her hand, closing her eyes as she took a bite, savoring its sweet spice.

            “Mmm!”

            She looked to Garrus who was looking at his sweet roll surprised.

            “They really are better in Skingrad.”

            “Salmo’s sweet rolls are famous for a reason.”

            “Perhaps we should get more of these before we leave.”

            Her smile widened. “Does Cheydinhal have its own desserts?” She took another bite.

            “There’s the thirty layer cake.”

            She had to quickly swallow the bite. “Thirty layers?”

            “They’re thin.”

            “Why would you ever need thirty layers?!”

            “No, they’re very thin, it isn’t much taller than a regular cake.”

            “Oh… I’m having a hard time picturing it,” she gave a smirk, “I think I’ll have to see it for myself.” The smile turned more genuine. “Is it good?” She took a smaller bite.

            “I haven’t got to try one, they’re expensive.”

            The smile fell. “Oh.”

            “I like the spiced root cake the Dunmer make, and there’s one made from something called marshmerrow, it’s a little too sweet for me but I think you’d like it.”

            “I’ll have to try them next time I’m in town.”

            “I’m also quite fond of the bread they make out of yams, though,” he lowered his voice, “I’ve been afraid to try it with scrib jelly.”

            “What’s that?”

            “…Maybe when you’re done with your sweet roll.”

            Her brows rose.

            As they continued eating she looked around, gaze catching on the red leaves of a nearby tree, its branches bobbing slightly.

            He stared out at the street. “I have been trying to learn more about Dunmer culture, and not judge things that are different too quickly.”

            She smirked to him. “Except for scrib jelly?”

            “Well some things are easier to respect from afar.”

            “Ah.”

            “It is admirable though, because not much grows in the ashlands they have to find food elsewhere and they managed to get multiple food types out of something others wouldn’t see as such, they’re survivors, no matter the situation you put them in.”

            She furrowed her brows. “I really don’t want to know what a scrib is, do I?”

            “No.” Tearing a piece off his sweet roll he rolled it between his fingers. “I hope that learning more about them will help me be a better guard to them, like you said, at the very least, perhaps I’ll be a better man.”

            Her smile lessened but turned more genuine. “You are a good guard.”

            “I hope so, protecting everyone is why I became a guard in the first place.” Eating the bite his eyes lit up. He turned to her. “Does the Merchant Inn still make those blackberry tarts?”

            “What?” She blinked, brain taking a second to keep up with the sudden topic change.

            “I use to get them sometimes when I was training in the Imperial City.”

            “Um…” she glanced off, thinking, before turning back to him. “I don’t know, I’ll check. If they do I’ll bring you some, unless they wouldn’t stay good… Maybe I’ll just have to bring you there,” she smirked.

            “Hopefully that can be soon,” he turned back to his sweet roll.

            She looked surprised. Did he mean he wanted the tarts soon or did he like her dragging him places? She looked away as she couldn’t contain the grin spreading across her face.

            Turning back to him she saw he was staring at his dessert, the same awkward look as when she gave it to him. Seemed whatever had been bothering him never really went away. “What’s wrong?”

            “I am grateful, truly, but since I wanted to surprise you didn’t know what I was doing and bought some too.”

            “So now we have three sweet rolls,” she was confused as to how this was a problem.

            “I just feel bad you had to pay for two.”

            “Oh…” she glanced off with a smirk, “don’t worry about that.”

[melodicbreeze]

Author Portrait

get to know the author behind the blog! repost, do not reblog.

Basics Name/nickname: Ash Age: 26 Pronouns: they/them Years of writing: 10+

Reflection I saw others doing it back when roleplay groups were huge on Facebook. I started getting into more intensive writing in middle school when my friend and I would start writing self insert fanfics and the likes, especially when we started getting real into character crafting.

Do you have any writing routines? Not at all! I write when the mood strikes me. Usually it's not hard to get into a mood when I started working on something.

What's your favorite part about writing? Getting to create something together with someone! Also the plots. It's like, getting to read a fanfiction that ticks off all the stuff you want in one. It gets me so jazzed up and scratches the best itch in the brain.

Three things you like about your writing:

I like writing dialog! It helps that Venti is very chatty (even if he talks a lot but says little yknow). A lot of other muses I've had were pretty silent, so I thought I might stumble with dialog, but it's not really that hard for me!

I like that it's apparently good enough to gain some roleplay partners who want to write with me, haha.

I like that it lets me meet people! I've met some great friends, and my wonderful boyfriend, because I write!

A question for the next person! Write a question for the next person to answer. Once you've answered it, leave a new question for someone else to answer. From Vênus: What's the most challenging thing and character you've written, and why?

The most challenging writing I would say has to be on my previous main blog. I wrote Ryou Bakura, and he was a very quiet type. I had to work a lot with introspection, thoughts, and setting while writing him because I couldn't lean on dialog to keep the thread moving forward. I don't think there was one specific thread that was more difficult than the others, just that in general.

Anyway, it was great to learn and practice the "yes, and" of roleplaying. Responding to the previous reply being the yes, and then furthering it being the and, so that not one mun is solely moving the plot along.

My question for you: Is there a character from media you disliked that you then grow to really like because of a specific mun's portrayal?

Tagged by: @predvestnik

Tagging: @viridianwins @sylvctica @deiscension + anyone who wants to!

[myrammmortal]

Chapter 39, either the writing has gotten better or this is the hacker chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own the HP series and I am not the real XXXbloodyrists666XXX.

AN// I am an extremely immature pathetic idiot girl, I know. Out of boredom, I crack this girl's passy for fun (and it took less than 8 minutes to do it too) and will probably get in a shitload of trouble. Which I probably deserve 'cause I'm being a troll right now. Meh.

And I present to you MY crappy part in this story. (And take note I haven't even finished reading this fic yet, but instead skip over to skim chapter 38.) Flame, laugh, do whatever you want "preps."

I, the American retail wearing british-german vampire Sue, coughed up blood.

Satan kneeled down beside me.

"Noooooooooooooooo! Don't die!"

I gave him a rueful smile. "I'm sorry. It's something I had to do, to fufill my duty as the noble gothic Mary Sue."

Satan sobbed. "I love you Paul Darkness Omnipotentia Brick Face Landers."

"I love you two. I'll...I'll see you in hell." I mumbled, already finding my surroundings fading to black.

Frau Schneider suddenly popped into the room for no apparent reason. She frowned when she realized the room was oddly quiet, but at the sight of Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers' lifeless body, she screamed. Her face became pale with horror. She screamed for the healers, Daddy Till, Mcgoogle, and every single gothic person she could think of. It was a long, long, long, long, long, list. Still not sure why her parents old neighbours were here.

Suddenly, a glow started to surround the body of Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers. Everyone stared in shock. Her body started to lift ever so slowly and then, to everyone's shock, it started to incinerate.

When everyone realized what was happening, they rushed over to try to rescue the body, but it was too late, the Sue became nothing more then a pile of ashes.

A loud resounding of everyone bellowing "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...!!" filled the room.

A flash of white light from the ashes then started to bounce around the room. Everyone cowered in fear and were temporarily blinded. When it was all over, things changed.

All the silly goth clothes dropped from everyone's bodies (AN//I will refuse to explain how the hell that happened. EN: thank goodness because I don't want to know) and, in their place, clothes the characters would normally wear in canon appeared on their bodies.

When everyone got over the shock of becoming free of the gofick power, everybody cheered. Everyone started singing 'Ding dong the sue is dead...' Well, that is, until all the HP characters realized the true implications of becoming more canon like again.

All the characters who were supposed to be dead fell to the floor, their bodies cold and lifeless. Harry and Voldemort started dueling. On the left side of the two, the battle of the Light Side and the Dark Side were reaching a climax.

And, because the replacement author also likes to screw around with canon, Richard and Frau Schneider fled the scene and got married.

Meanwhile...

Down in hell, Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers shed a single tear because of her current situation. A situation that would live on for all eternity. Or at least until the end of fanfiction time.

She lost it all, but she knew she had to remain strong. Nothing would ever break her down.

She looked down over her pale body, and frowned. 'Where are my emo clothes?' She asked herself in confusion.

And then it occured to her...

For her shirt, she was wearing a bright pink polo with a little seagull on the (right or left? I can't remember) side. Below that, she was wearing a denim miniskirt with the "destroyed" look on it. Paired underneath that skirt were leggings with a little moose at the bottom. And then Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers realized, on her shoulder, she was carrying a pretty bag with an eagle on it that said Live Your Life written all over the bag.

Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers supressed the urge to scream. Here she was decked out in clothes prep to the extreme wearing stuff from Abercrombie and Fitch, American Eagle, AND Hollister.

Panicked, Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers hastily tried to take off the Hollister polo, but underneath it, there was another Hollister polo underneath. Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers frowned, and looked under her shirt. All she saw was a bra underneath (dare I point out it's from the Aerie line available at American Eagle?). Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers tried to remove the shirt again. But to her frustration, there was yet again another polo to replace it. Every polo more preppy and pink than the last.

"THIS IS UNLOGICAL AND DOES NOT MAKE ANY SENSE!!" Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers bellowed out to the air. She failed to see the irony in her statement, how hypocrytical her words were, seeing as she was practically calling the kettle black here.

Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers slit her writs and mumbled to herself, "Omigod."

/End Crap Fic.

AN// Oh yeah, if you wanna see the original content this chick had planned for this chapter, I accessed it through the document manager thingy, which I copied and pasted, so you can read it tomorrow

Editors Note: Thank you to whoever added the smallest bit of sanity to my perfect hell. I wish the whole "story" would've ended here but then again, I can't live without Daddy Till, Evil Twin of Flake, Sometimes Flake, Frau Schneider, Oliver Who Was Once Named Navel, Richard and Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers.

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY #2

TBBW C30 - Sneak Peak

Finally, I have something written for the next chapter of The Big Bad Wolf at the same time WIP Wednesday comes around in the week! Thank you to @stars-and-darkness for reading over this and helping me get Klaus' characterisation right. And kudos to Joseph Morgan for portraying such a complicated character but like damn is Klaus hard to write. I'm still not sure if I've got it spot on. But eh, this is fanfiction.

Anyways, here's part of the flashback that opens chapter 30. Fun fact: originally, I didn't plan the flashback between Sam and Klaus in chapter 27, in fact that was improvised when I started writing the chapter. However this flashback was always going to be here, as it's quite a significant one.

______________________________________________________________

1992, Minnosota, Superior National Forest

North East Atlantic Pack Settlement

Klaus woke up gasping, his panicked heartbeat ringing in his ears, and as his body jerked, trying to escape the phantom hold on his heart, he reached under his pillow and grasped the handle of his dagger, sweeping it out at an opponent that wasn’t there. Only then did he freeze – back braced against the bed’s headboard, blade pointed out into the dark – realising this was not the place that haunted his dreams, nor was there a familiar figure lurking in the shadows. This was his room in Lycaon’s cabin – there to the right, upon the set of drawers, were his collection of records sat next to the antique player. To the left, beside the window where the moonlight cascaded in through, stood his easel, a half-painted canvas fixed in place and paints scattered across the surfaces nearby. He was alone. He was safe. A few doors down, he could hear Lycaon’s heart beating, breathing softly in his sleep.

Klaus lowered the dagger, his shoulders slumping as he tried to catch his breath, letting the blade fall uselessly from his fingers, down onto the bedspread. The covers were a mess of tangled sheets, the rumpled duvet cast aside in his alarm, and Klaus only waited a second for his heart to calm down before pushing his legs off the bed, landing his feet on the floor. He threw the sheets completely aside, grateful for the prickle of cool, blissful air tickling his sweat-drenched skin. And then he let his head drop into his hands, trying to ignore the way they shook as he scrunched his fingers in his hair hard enough it was nearly painful, wanting the distraction. He’d let his hair grow out a little, even since arriving at Lycaon’s. Nothing as extreme as the haircuts he had sported in earlier centuries, but the strands had grown long enough to curl into their natural state, hanging over his eyes and teasing the nape of his neck. The stubble decorating his cheeks and chin was similarly a few days too old. Enough to look unkempt.

He'd been staying with Lycaon and Sam for about a week now, adamant his stay would only be temporary. But Elijah’s continued efforts to locate him had passed being a simple annoyance and crossed into dangerously hostile territory after his brother started systematically making his way through all their family’s estates, looking for Klaus with vicious efficiency, compelling the staff, even slaughtering the rare few vampires bound by loyalty when they denied him information. Elijah had even taken to, in a rare show of pettiness and rage, burning any art pieces he found, leaving the ashes for Klaus to find (or for his minions to report back about – Klaus was not foolish enough to show his face in person, well aware Elijah was trying to flush him out). Apparently, Elijah had even thrown a particularly beloved art piece Klaus painted in the 17th century into the grand fountain of their Italian Villa in Tuscany, the water running red with blood from the vampire’s head he’d thrown in with it. It was a travesty, was what it was. Four centuries worth of aged art – gone, destroyed, just like that! Not to mention competent sirelings were hard to find and trusted ones even harder. He’d have to train another one now and who had the bloody time for that?

Anger at the situation that had befallen him was good. Better, even, than the fear that was starting to creep into his chest as Elijah started to get too close, familiar with his tricks. And Klaus knew that once his brother found him, it was not a friendly chat that Elijah sought. No, Klaus knew what it felt like to be hunted, had spent centuries running from a monster after his head. This time, he knew he was not the predator in this game of cat and mouse.

Elijah didn’t just want revenge. He was out for blood.

All because Klaus had let his temper get the better of him. He’d never had a great record with it to begin with, true, but even he could admit his words spat out four decades ago had been...not quite thought all the way through.

The last century had not been his best. Ever since the fall of New Orleans, since Marcellus… and then Chicago, daggering Rebekah and saying goodbye to Stefan, Klaus had been unbalanced. Emotionally… charged. Particularly quick to ire (to which the witch coven in Spain’s Alicante province could attest to in bloody detail). His loneliness had started to gnaw at him in a way it hadn’t since his time under The Curse of the Five, spiralling into a miserable despair that was only quenched by violence. So, when his brother had found him in the cobblestoned streets of London’s supernatural underbelly, right in the middle of vampire territory, he’d been relieved to see him – until Elijah greeted him with a fierce fist to the jaw.

“Is it true?” Elijah had demanded, when he’d heaved himself to his feet after their following fight, looking down on his brother’s beaten form with barely controlled fury. “Did you do it?”

At the time, Klaus had thought he knew what had inspired Elijah’s ire. They hadn’t seen each other since that fateful night in New Orleans, where they’d split up, fleeing Mikael’s wrath in different directions hoping it would give them a better chance at escape. It had worked, but Klaus received no word from Elijah, and although that was a good sign – the news of the death of an Original by The Destroyer’s hand would not be easily silenced – he and Rebekah had spent the next decade on edge, not knowing about their brother’s state and unable to contact him, fearing Mikael’s interception. But there had been no Rebekah with him then, when Elijah found him, their sweet sister sleeping soundly in her coffin. Her absence and the implication of it (Klaus daggering Rebekah, again) was a pathetically predictable reason for Elijah’s fury.

The punch to the jaw, and quite possibly his brother’s entire stance, all high and mighty, superior in his morals and honour, had pissed Klaus off no end. So, instead of explaining why he had daggered their sister – foolishness, going back for Stefan, he had already handled it, Stefan knew nothing, he would be safe – he dragged their confrontation out, deliberately being abstruse.

“Do what? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Elijah. I’ve done a lot of things.”

“Is our family gone?” Elijah had spat at him then, losing his patience with such vitriol that Klaus had felt his eyes widen, shocked - and even slightly afraid - as his brother advanced. “Did you discard their bodies in the ocean like useless trinkets?!”

Klaus had been so thrown by the accusation, he had frozen in shock, unable to say a word in his defence. He wouldn’t- He would never do such a thing. To throw his family into the depths of the ocean, to forever be encased in a watery grave for the rest of eternity, caught in between life and death - it was a fate he feared could happen to them, not something he would do to them himself. And to see Elijah looking at him like that, like he believed Klaus was capable of such a crime, could hurt their siblings in such a way-

It was one thing to have the world see you as the villain, the monster in children’s nightmares. It was another to see yourself as such. But it was an entirely different beast to see the same condemnation on the faces you loved, the faces you trusted.

“I didn’t want to believe father. But Rebekah is not here. Kol, Finn - they are not here.” Elijah had continued, taking his stunned silence as confirmation. The mention of Mikael - the implication that Elijah had believed such a thing because Mikael had accused him of it - landed a heavier blow than Elijah ever could. What had Elijah been doing? When had he spoken to Mikael? What else had been said? “But it is true, isn’t it?”  

Klaus should have denied it. Told the truth. Pleaded with Elijah to believe him, if that was what it took.

But he had spent his life fighting other people’s beliefs. Spent his childhood trying to prove Mikael wrong, to make him believe he wasn't a weak disappointment of a boy, but a man grown, a warrior worthy of his father’s name. He’d spent his first few weeks as a vampire trying to convince his mother he wasn’t a monster, and then pleaded with her more still, when she took his wolf away, believing that with it running free, he would always be little more than a beast. An abomination. And then as the decades passed, as the centuries followed, it was not his parents he had to prove wrong, but his siblings. Finn first, who always hated what they were, but was doubly disdainful of Klaus, now knowing they were not brothers by blood. Then Elijah, who watched Klaus sacrifice his honour to protect them all, slaughtering all their enemies brutally and ruthlessly in the name of not greed or ambition, but family and found him lesser for it. Rebekah was no better. She could be as violent as the rest of them, it was true, but there was still a naivety to her. A longing to love and be loved in return. She didn’t see the risks of betrayal and heartbreak, and so when Klaus tried to protect her from it, in a way no one had protected him, she cursed him for it, turning her own back on him when it suited her. And then Kol - who never looked at Klaus with disdain or disgust, still stared at him in fear sometimes. Like he no longer recognised him.

It didn’t matter if his siblings had once stood by him when Mikael cast him out, declaring him their brother, no matter what their father decided. It didn’t matter that they promised to help him break their mother’s curse, accepting him for not just who he was, but what he was. Those words and promises were hollow when their actions no longer reinforced them.

In the end, what was the point in fighting people’s perceptions, when they would never believe you anyway?

So Klaus didn’t fight it.

Didn’t deny it.

Elijah had already decided who he was. What he was capable of.

Maybe he was right. And that? That was the worst thought of all, making him indignant with rage at the injustice of it all.

“Yes.” He had answered, voice steady in challenge, watching as his older brother’s face twisted with pain, relishing in returning an ounce of the hurt Elijah had caused him with such an accusation. 

Elijah’s words were a lie. What was one more, in the grand scheme of things?

A great deal, he came to realise.

When Elijah came at him, the raw pain on his face twisting into hate and blinding rage, Klaus had fought back just as viciously, the two of them barely walking away in one piece that night. And now, decades later, the wound of that two-sided betrayal still stretched as far and as wide as a ravine, haunting him, invading his dreams, twisting his memories into nightmares.

They were getting worse. Fear of Elijah’s pursuit or simply the familiar loneliness encroaching him on all sides made for a poor mental state. Any night, he could be haunted by ghostly echoes of the past. Henrik. The night of his first turn. The binding of his wolf. The Curse of the Five. The burning of New Orleans. The memories all swirled together, twisting into familiar and unfamiliar shapes, macabre and frightening. Sometimes Mikael thrust the white oak stake into his back as the theatre burned around him. Sometimes Kol stabbed him through the heart with a dagger tailored just for him in the middle of The Abattoir. Sometimes Rebekah left him to Mikael’s beatings, no longer coming to his defence, no longer standing between him and Mikael’s sword like she’d throw herself on it to protect him. And then sometimes, like tonight, Elijah would rip his heart out, no longer believing his lies, just like how Klaus had ripped out their mother’s. Justice served; a heart for a heart.

Klaus inhaled shakily, squeezing his eyes shut, hands clenching in his hair hard enough it hurt as he forcefully pushed such thoughts away.

[bangtanficarchive]

It's here...

October 13th…

PARK JIMIN'S BIRTHDAY!

To celebrate our Jiminie's birthday, Bangtan Fic Archive has gathered some of our favorite Jimin fanfictions into a BIRTHDAY EXTRAVAGANZA MASTERLIST!

Featured are Park Jimin fanfictions from various genres and au's for your enjoyment. Check them out and don't forget to give the author's some love!

Enjoy!

🎂Taboo Attachment by @kpopisthereasonihavenolife

→Young innocence and an unhealthily stupid-lack of common sense lead to you accidentally summoning a demon on your 13th birthday. Somehow agreeing and forming some contract with the said demon, they disappear and so does your memory of it. 10 years later and finally financially stable enough to start college, you wake up with an ash-grey ring in your right ring finger. Despite your efforts, the ring will absolutely not come off. Now, all of a sudden your demon returns and apparently 13-year-old you got yourself engaged to this demon man. | PG-13 | fluff | violence | angst |

🎂 Lovely Demons by @kpopfanfictrash

→ As penance for a crime committed long, long ago, the Witch Council banished you to the feared Tholoss forest. Your sentence was one hundred thousand days of solitude – or death, whichever came first. Your only hope of salvation comes from the demon names routinely sent your way; creatures who escape the inner circles of Hell and pose a threat to the mortal realms. For each demon you kill, days are removed from your sentence. For years you’ve existed, biding your time, until one morning you receive a name which throws your entire world into chaos: the name of Park Jimin, High Prince of Hell himself. | M | smut | fluff | angst | romance |

🎂 Beneath the Water by @jungshookz

→ His legs were sparkling. You looked up from his face slowly and towards his legs, your head tilting in confusion when you were met with the sight of… well, it certainly wasn’t a pair of legs. What the fuck? | PG-13 | fluff | angst | humor | violence |

🎂 Cry Me A Galaxy by @army-author

→ In the emergency room on Christmas Eve, a celestial being comes to answer your whispered prayer. | PG-13 | angst |

🎂 The Voice In My Head by @fresh-outta-jams

→ Soulmate AU | PG | fluff | angst |

🎂 Unorthodox by @chaoticneutralwriter

→ You can’t tell whether you’re fortunate or not to have a guardian demon who thinks it’s funny to go around looking like your idol crush BTS’ Park Jimin. Writing Prompt; Everyone has a guardian angel except you. You have a guardian demon. He deals with things in a much more violent fashion, but much more effective. | PG-13 | fluff | angst | horror | violence | romance |

🎂 Baby Bear by @an-exotic-writer

→ You look forward to coming home to your boyfriend in his human form. | G | fluff |

🎂 Blessing and a Curse by @btsmosphere

→ You are the unlukiest person you know. Park Jimin seems to be the exception to the rule. But when strange dreams start haunting you, Jimin begins to piece together the events that have followed you your whole life… | PG-13 | fluff | angst | romance | humor |

🎂 Countdown by @army-author

→ Your soulmate watch is set to go off on the same day that you meet BTS with your little sister… | PG | fluff |

🎂 Mon coeur T'appartient by @jiminspjm

→ "Just let me love you." | M | smut | romance | fluff | humor | violence |

Bangtan Fic Archive does not own any of the fanfictions or photos featured in this post. All rights reserved to their original creators.

[asummersday]

43, 55, and 58 for the writers ask game! <3

tumblr deleted my answer like twice for this one asjdskdsksf

43. is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

most ideas/tropes that i want to write and haven't yet are often longfics, because those take a lot of time and energy (see my wacky update schedule for ataimw because plot is HARD)

i want to write a casefic for another fandom i'm in, i've had the idea bouncing around my skull for a while, and maybe one day i'll get to it! i hope to!

55. have you noticed any patterns in your fics?  words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

here's a fun fact about me: i suck at noticing my own writing patterns lmao

i DID notice that for patrol scenes (especially ones that end up in like. fights) i usually put the characters in a warehouse. i think it's because it's easier to write, since a warehouse is simple enough to describe: big space, catwalks, windows if you want to break em, maybe boxes of smuggled goods idk, etc). but also it's like a good generic bad guy location

i only noticed this because a friend brought it up, but apparently when there's a lot of high tension in a scene, i tend to use italics a lot.

as for expressions uhh. that ones the hardest because i dont reread my stuff as often as i probably should, but i know that i often use stuff like "their head buzzed with static" when the character is like concussed/having a panic attack/etc

sometimes when a character is about to pass out, i like to say "they felt as if they were underwater/everything sounded muffled" etc etc

58. do you have a favorite piece of figurative language you’ve written?

ohhh i don't reread my own writing often enough to have a quick answer for that one lmao

this is a recent one, from chapter 4 of all the ashes in my wake, but i really like this bit i wrote

Donnie’s words loop around and around in his head like a record on a turntable.

ty for the ask!! 💜

fanfiction writing asks

[freedfromthegalactichivemind]

Pondering my existence in this fandom...

I am not sure how much longer I am going to be here.  Personal musings under the cut.  

Okay, ramble-time.   I am still engaging as far as reblogging some art I like and reading Sweary She-Ra, which is a nice distraction.  I have not felt at all like engaging with fan theories or fanfiction ideas or any goofy fun stuff for the last several days for reasons that should be obvious to people who regularly follow this blog.  I am grieving the loss of someone very close to me and haven’t felt much like doing anything.   I’m also in the “herding cats” mode of family and friend interaction in regards to figuring out what to do with my loved one’s things and the whens and hows of a memorial service.  A weird way in which it might tenuously link back to fandom here is that it seems like we all agree to do something that is eerily similar to how I wrote clone-funerals in my original Horde-clones series.  There are definitely differences, I had clones see each other’s bodies as important to say goodbye to and we are planning to say goodbye to ashes.  However, a lot of what we are planning is more celebratory rather than grim, recognizing all of the little things that made my nephew up as a person, an individual, especially the goofy and the geeky and not a damn priest or preacher in sight (not needed, not welcome).  There is just a little bit of spookiness here in that I wrote that stuff 1-2 years ago and it makes me wonder if something in the spiritual realm (if there is one) was preparing me for something that I did not foresee.  I just wrote those stories after a thought of “what would happen with clones on Etheria post-canon in terms of remembering their fellows who lived and died without names and freedom” and they wound up being this whole entire thing in which I was contemplating my thoughts on death and it came... completely out of the blue.  These stories were not prompted by losing someone and having to deal with it.  They came before it and were like some kind of preparatory course.   And it’s some very off-canon fanfiction for a dumb cartoon.   I’ve found myself fading just a little for this fandom, even before this event.  I had lost most of my “friends” in it and was lingering on (making the new blog here) in part out of a sense of spite.  A “No, you don’t get to kick me out.”  I’ve had an awkward relationship with it, feeling like I just can’t review fanfic and art by a number of people (not just people who’ve blocked me) but over on Ao3 and such because “Okay, is this person I only ever kind of sort of knew, barely knew or even is new to the fandom going to enjoy a compliment from me, or are they going to be one of those people who erase all of my reviews?”  There are people in this fandom whom I didn’t even know / new to the fandom who didn’t see me have a meltdown who have treated me thusly - blocks review-deletion because, apparently people have talked about me, spread rumors and some people just don’t judge people for themselves.  This has left me over the past year feeling very awkward, even afraid to engage with new people in this fandom and with old hands who weren’t involved with the people I was fighting with with the “Am I bothering people?” idea, a feeling of being gatekept.  I know for a fact that the person who runs the Entrapdak fandom-events has blocked this blog (although only barely knew her), which means to see event-calendars, I’ve had to rely on reblogs by the fandom at large or my non-fandom viewer blog.  And, oh, yes, I’ve done Entrapdak-work, using the calendars out of spite.  Like “You might try to gatekeep me, I’m here, anyway.”   However, I have felt some of this spite fading.  I didn’t want to do the Entrapdak-Month (full month) this year because I’d felt a little tired for big fandom-events after doing a Legend of Zelda work prompt month and doing some of the mini-Entrapdak things. I felt like just writing what I want at my own pace and didn’t see any prompts in the collection that struck me with much inspiration.   If I had been planning on participating, I definitely would have dropped it, because of the tragedy in my life.  As it is, the one little fanfic I was working on is on hiatus indefinitely and I might take it down.  (Not that it has more than one or two readers who don’t review, as it’s a Horde-clone centric fic without Hordak and Horde Prime is only mentioned).  Also, it’s a general fic, lacking any hot Horde Prime x clones or clone on clone action (I’ve always felt a little weird in the clone-fandom for definitely not being into that).   What is more is that I am feeling ashamed right now for having too much of my life taken over by this fandom.  I got in touch with an old friend.  I hadn’t talked with her in a while because I thought she was too busy for me.  It turns out that she had avoided me because she’d thought that I’d abandoned her for this fandom. We misunderstood each other.  I got hyperfixated on She-Ra and she was not interested in it at all and I got too into my “She-Ra friends” (most of whom turned out to not be friends at all in the end) and had neglected my friendship with her.  I, in turn, had thought she had gotten too busy with her work and family-life.  I told her about my nephew because she had known him - not too well, but she’d met him.  (She reminded me that, yeah, we’d all played Cards Against Humanity together - good God, my memory’s a bunch of Swiss cheese).  We got to talking - I wanted to reconnect.  Matt was basically my best friend, a constant in my life and we’d had our insular little family and I really need to rekindle with friends / this has made me realize that I need more real friends in my life.  This friend and I used to be close before getting busy and my stupid hyperfixation drifted us apart.  She was actually mad at me.  I basically did the Entrapta “Are you mad at me?” type of speaking.  (And informed her of my autism diagnosis, which i think is pretty much why I don’t read between the lines well at all and didn’t realize that she was actively avoiding me).  This was a whole mess, but... we are talking again.  It’s horrible that it’s a death that got us back to talking, but I do want to do the things I used to do with her, like our silly Legend of Zelda / Fire Emblem Awakening roleplays, and maybe if we mutually play Kid Icarus again (fandom where we’d met) we can have something again.  Or she might realize she’s mad at me again.  I do not know.   As it is, I feel embarrassed that I’d let this fandom do this to us.  I was a bad friend to someone who was an actual, real friend who cared about me for the sake of a bunch of fake friends here, my silly shipping-interest in something she just didn’t vibe with.  Ultimately, my “friends” here scolded me when I was having clear mental health issues (and no, I am not claiming uwu victim blamelessness here, I was an asshole to some people on the Discords, but people whom I thought I was actual friends with who could clearly see I was in danger are what I’m talking about here)... And, well, I got accused of plagiarism over a mistake, continuing accusations of that after I thought the misunderstanding had been cleared up and I’d done what I was supposed to do to resolve the situation in regards to eliminating joint-fanwork, and ultimately someone infulential in the fandom doing a callout post on tumblr calling upon the entire Entrapdak fandom to not talk to me, telling everyone that I was just a manipulative bitch and insinuating that my very clear and public suicidal ideation was being faked.  In other words, my “friends” in this fandom drove me to a stay in a psychiatric hospital which... was actually more traumatizing to me than the events I am describing here.   Meanwhile, my late nephew was the one who contacted people to SAVE MY LIFE and my friend whom I was drifting away from because of the stupid fandom found out about what happened and was concerned for me and asked about me, even though she hadn’t talked to me in a while at that point.  I regret not being a better friend to her.  Reconciling might actually mean me giving up this fandom.  (No, she has nothing in particular against it, it’s just... it being a thing that sucked me away from her).   I probably will still participate some, because I like the show, the themes and the characters, but I’m realizing now that a lot of my new friends in this fandom are kind of arm’s-length friends still.  I’m not in any core friend-group and I really don’t know any of you all that well.  Certain former “friends” are absolute shit and Fuck You.  (You won’t see this, you’ve blocked me).  Some of my fandom-participation is just habit, or even a bit of spite, which is fading.   I know who my true friends are.  I have just lost one due to his health problems, which I had no control over.  I lost another one due to entirely my own fault and I’m trying to get her back.  I expect to become less and less interested in this fandom that has been incredibly painful for me as time goes on.   Thank you  / apologies for listening to my ramble if you clicked on it. 

[bemusedlybespectacled]

Hihi 😃👋🏾

1 What was the first fandom and/or pairing that you wrote fic for?

8 Do you listen to music while you write? If so, share a song that’s been inspiring you lately.

17 What fic are you most proud of?

1. What was the first fandom and/or pairing that you wrote fic for?

Eragon. Not even joking. My first couple of fics that I wrote as fanfiction on purpose were the type of jokey list fics that were popular on LJ at the time (like "101 Things I Will Not Do At Hogwarts"), except FF.net didn't allow fics that were solely lists, so I got around that by having the list and then a little blurb of actual plot at the bottom demonstrating the things on the list.

8. Do you listen to music while you write? If so, share a song that’s been inspiring you lately.

I don't typically listen to music while writing – it's distracting most of the time – but I do get inspired by songs. Most recently I have been listening to Dust & Ashes from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 and having deep thinky thoughts about how it's a perfect Stede song.

17. What fic are you most proud of?

Hands down The Retrieval Job. It's my most polished and longest fic and I spent a lot of time trying to get the show beats exactly right.

Secondmost one is actually The Vinegar and Honey Affair. It's apparently really well-liked in the greater TMFU fandom and I had no idea. XD

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

You know how I said I'm back on my Pokemon bullshit?

The internet's working well enough to watch episodes on my phone if I don't mind it freezing every now and again!

Yesterday it was letting me joltingly watch short youtube clips. I found a site that seems to be loading quite well though! And apparently there's new Misdreavus content in the newest season, so, you know. Hyperfixation mode, ACTIVATE!

I'm gonna ramble a little, okay? Okay.

I'm being a total Ghost Pokemon nerd and smiling at the Gengar (the voice acting for the Pokemon in this season is really good actually, still says their names but sounds a bit more animalistic and they have LOTS of personality!), also grimacing at the guy who abandoned it and said nothing but bad things happened when he had it, and I'm not gonna lie, the story of abandonment and ghosts being blamed for someone's bad luck are really close to my heart because I've invested a lot of emotion in a story like that with my fanfiction.

(The Misdreavus I gave my trainersona was abandoned and the Mismagius has a serious Problem^tm with the way humans treat her species. And humans in general really, which also probably softened my heart to this particular episode, which also involves character developement for the Gengar on not trusting humans... I got legitimately Mad about that trainer. Nexus mode activated too, apparently.)

Makes me wonder though. That Gengar was Very powerful, they made a point of both showing And telling that. How did it get so strong with a trainer that said he couldn't win battles while he had it? Was it already powerful before he captured it?

Fun canonical tidbit though that ghosts besides Mismagius can curse humans, so that's fun.

And the way Misdreavus is animated in this season is so fun??? Both the "hair" and the "dress" twirling around constantly, that's neat! (And the little sparkle in those eyes I adore so much!) I mean, having spent the vast majority of my life around animals, I already have a sort of default Writing Mode with Creatures Being Expressive and like. Alive. I played so much Pokemon Stadium 2 and Pokemon Battle Revolution, and also played with Misdreavus so much in Pokemon Amie and Refresh, that my brain defaults to imagining them flowing and waving anyways. Despite how the anime and movies have them just... static and sliding around. I imagine, for a levitating ghost type, they emote through body language that is also affected by the way they flutter around!

Why yes, I HAVE thought about this very deeply for 15 years, how can you tell? ;P

Seriously though, writing Pokemon emoting has always been one of my greatest strengths with that fanfiction. And that was a fact well before Amie!!!

Also, sidenote, note to self: I need to slip in something about Jess hearing of a haunted Pokemon lab at some point. Maybe. I tried keeping count of how long the Gengar was waiting and I THINK I counted three years, and there are boyfriend-instigated plans to meet up with Ash n co a la Sinnoh Seasons later in the fic, so I have to figure out if I'm going to care about the timelines on that in regards to Ash's canon... Probably not though.

[pixelsandpins]

I just spent this afternoon and early morning writing the most self-indulgent 2495 words I’ve ever written because I was stressed as hell. 

It’s also on Ao3, but heck to tumblr and their links not showing in tags apparently. Here it is, under the cut. 

A Year Later: Hugo

(A @dreamdaddygame ficlet)

Dadsona/Hugo (Obvs)

Teen, Fluff (mild cursing and slight innuendo)"And this one's called a camel clutch."

The entirety of Hugo's weight is on my lumbar, and his hands are threaded under my chin, pulling my head back.

It's awful.

When we were still on leg locks, it was sexy. Now it's just a literal pain in my ass...and neck...and back. But it makes him happy, and I'm only a little sorer than usual the next day.

"How's that feel? Do you like that stretch, honey?"

Oh my god, he's getting a sick kick out of this, isn't he?

"Ew. Really?"

When I look up, Ernest is standing in the doorway of the office looking down at us with a very particular shade of contempt. Hugo drops my chin and immediately moves off of me.

"It's not what it looks like. We were just wrest-"

"Wrestling. I know. Gross."

Ernest starts walking off.

"Wait!" Hugo calls out, and Ernest leans back lazily to appear in the doorframe again. "How was your weekend with Mike?"

"Fine. We went to the water park, and he bought me some games."

"That's great. So you had fun?"

"Yeah sure." Ernest shrugs and stomps off down the hall. We can hear the door to his room slam.

Hugo hops onto his feet, then pulls me up, being sure to give me a quick peck on the lips along the way. I could definitely stand for something a little heavier, but we both know we need to get dinner started.

The thing I had underestimated most when Amanda left for college was my willingness to actually cook a meal for one. I had been living on nachos and salami sandwiches for a solid six weeks until Hugo had soundly chastised me into eating dinner with him and Ernest as much as I wanted. This certainly made it easier when Amanda told me she'd gotten an internship that would be keeping her there for the summer.

I like to think that in the year Hugo and I've been together, Ernest has come to at least tolerate my presence, but it's so hard to tell with that kid.

When I help with dinner, my duties generally consist of leaning back against the sink and looking pretty. Maybe occasionally passing Hugo a spice or two. This time's no different, but there seems to be an extra bit of tension in Hugo's shoulders as he lifts a pot out of the cabinet and fills it with water.

"Something's bugging you. What is it?"

"Just...the usual," Hugo sighs. "I get...frustrated. I don't mind Mike taking him out to do fun things, but I just wish he'd leave something for me. It undermines my authority when he can just go to his other dad's and get the things that he has to earn from me." Hugo places the pot down hard on the stove and sets it to boiling. "And you know I've talked to him about it."

I did know this. Intimately. I had heard half of multiple heated conversations about it.

"I wish there was something I could do to help."

Hugo moves away from the stove and comes to stand in front of me at the sink. His fingertips find the counter top on either side of my hips, his chest pressing against mine. He leans in and gives me a quick peck that turns into the something more that I was pretty keen on before. He pulls away and rests his forehead on my shoulder.

"It's enough that I have someone to bitch about it to." He kisses me under the bottom edge of my jaw. Then my neck. Then the edge my collarbone under my shirt.

"EWWWWWW. IN THE KITCHEN? REALLY? I'd rather you go back to wrestling." Ernest is standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Hugo makes a clear point of not backing away from me this time.

"Spaghetti will be ready in about twenty minutes, so don't get too into one of your games or anything."

Ernest rolls his eyes and goes back to his room, again.

 When I get out of the shower later, Hugo is sitting in the middle of the bed staring down in irritation at his phone. He's only put his boxers back on which is just excellent, really, but anger doesn't look good on him.

"Boop." I press a finger to the space between his crinkled brows. "What's goin' on, teach? Someone about to get detention?" Hugo tosses the phone onto the bed and rubs his eyes under his glasses.

"One of the games that Ernest brought home. It was one I specifically told Mike not to get him, so I texted him, and he says 'oh, I'm sorry, it was a gift that my boyfriend got him.' And I just….we had an agreement. We had an agreement that if either of us brought new people around, we'd get to meet them first before Ernest. And he's been good about it before, you know? I know he's dated people. But it's like...as Ernest gets older, Mike thinks he can just let up on the rules, and now is the WORST time for that. We need to be able to show solidarity if Ernest is going to get his act together."

"Well, I mean….to be fair, I've never met Mike after all this time." I sit down on the bed next to him, careful to arrange my towel to not get the sheets wet. Hugo leans on my shoulder.

"That's different. You already knew Ernest because we were friends and neighbors. And I told Mike when we started dating for real. I even invited him to come meet you, and he could never find the time. Because he's a dick." Hugo lets out a huge exhale that rattles his whole body.

"From what I've heard, Mike's always been kind of a dick, right? Is this some advanced tier dickage we're dealing with?"

Hugo chuckles a little.

"No. I think...I think this time, it's possible, that I might be the dick."

"Whatchu mean?"

He sighs one of those impossible sighs again.

"Nothing. You staying over?"

"Why do you always ask that? Because you know I am."

"I know. I just like hearing you say it."

He bites my ear a little then runs his tongue along the inside of the outer ridge.

"Hugo. I don't have another round in me, and if you keep doing that…"

And he keeps doing that. And I'm already apologizing to my future self for how sore I'm going to be in the morning.

 I'm waist deep in a marathon of Doomsday Wedding Planner when there's a knock on the door. Hugo's got meetings after school, so I know it's not him. It's rare he comes here, anyway; I'm the one who goes to his place. When I go to answer, then, I'm not sure who to expect. And yet, still, I didn't expect Ernest to be standing there, bored looking with his school bag hanging off his elbows.

"Uh...hey," he drawls. Then he just stands there. Waiting for…something...I guess.

"Did you want to come in?"

Ernest shrugs and pushes past me into the living room, flopping down into the recliner. He still doesn't say anything until I sit down on the couch catty corner to him.

"I heard you and Hugo talking last night," he says with pretty much no pre-anticipation.

Oh, he heard us talking. Oh god, then he probably heard everything. OH GOD, THEN HE'S PROBABLY HEARD EVERYTHING THIS WHOLE TIME.

A year's worth of mortification sets in as one lump sum.

"Is he mad at Mike about his new boyfriend?" Ernest asks, staring at the now muted TV as it flashes through a montage of the chicest wedding chapels/bomb shelters on the east coast.

"No, kid. It's just...grown up stuff. Why are you asking me, though? Should really be talking to your dad about it."

"Because he'll say what you just did. That it's grown up stuff. Does he think I can't handle it? It's really fucking annoying, honestly." He rests his head on his hand.

Well, shit. I have to do some unexpected dadding, and I'm not even wearing my dad pants. Frankly, Ernest should be glad I'm wearing pants at all considering my usual lounge attire. Amanda was usually pretty easy with this sort of thing. I almost shared too much with her, though, I guess.

"Okay. Well, I'm not one of your dads, so will a man to man talk work?"

He looks as me for the first time, dropping his arm onto the armrest and raising his eyebrows. I guess that means I should keep going.

"Being a parent is...hard…"

Wow. Elegant.

"Luckily, you've got a partner. You're a team. You can work together. You argue, yeah, and disagree on how things should be done, but, generally, you've got each other's backs. When you're a single parent, though, it's even harder. You're doing a job meant to be a team as one person. It's...well...it's fuckin' rough, dude. Seriously."

I can't believe I'm swearing in front of my boyfriend's son. Whatever. It's not the worst he's ever heard from me, apparently. OH GOD I'M REMEMBERING, AGAIN.

"And the trick is that we're not supposed to let you guys know any of this is happening. We're supposed to sort of just keep everything under control without you ever knowing that we're all really just playing it by ear. Anyway, your dads pretty much have the worst of both worlds in a lot of ways. They've got all the bickering over how to raise you, but they're both trying to do it alone." When I started I had no idea where this was going, but hell if this isn't some damn fine fathering I'm doing. "So, I guess what I'm trying to get at is that there's some stuff that parents and grown ups have to deal with, but we don't want to worry our kids with it. And we don't tell you not because we don't think you can't handle it. We just don'twant you to have to handle it. It's not your job. It's ours. Am I-uh-making sense?" He's in his default bored face, so I can't tell if he's actually listening.

"So Hugo's not mad at Mike?" Earnest says flatly. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"Hugo's got some…concerns related to Mike, but no, he's not, necessarily, mad. And he's certainly not mad about Mike's new boyfriend. So just...let dad take care of this one, okay? You don't need to worry about it. That's what we're here for."

Ernest stares off and away, thinking…maybe? It seems like a slightly different shade of apathetic, at least.

"But, you know, you can always talk to Hugo. He'll listen. Or...me...you know...maybe...if it's weird talking to him…" I add hastily, just a little worried about the door I'm leaving open.

"Okay." He's says it short and sweet, gets up out of the chair, and robots his way to the door, avoiding eye contact the entire time. "See you later tonight, I guess." The door half-slams behind him when he leaves.

 It's a week later when, instead of retreating to his room with his plate, Ernest sits with us at dinner. Hugo and I stop playing footsie under the table immediately to look at him.

"I haven't actually met Mike's boyfriend, yet. I know you were mad about that, but you shouldn't be. But Mike's got a bunch of pictures of him, though, and he told me about him and stuff. And he said that if it was okay with you, he wants me to, like, meet him." Ernest goes silent after having his say.

"Well, okay. I'm fine with that. I'll e-mail him later." Hugo darts a few quick glances at me, unsure. Ernest pushes his food around his plate a bit.

"I think we should all, like, get together. You guys and Mike. Just...together. Everyone." He pushes his outstretched fingers together to make them interlock a few times. "Because...I don't like it when you and Mike fight. You guys get pissy with each other and you think I don't know, but I do. Like, I'm not stupid. So I just thought...Well, I mean, we're supposed to all be a team right? We're supposed to work together...and stuff...or...something."

It's apparent Ernest is struggling to properly convey big thoughts with small words and growing a little frustrated with himself that he can't properly.

"Ernest," Hugo says softly. He reaches out across the table and places his hand in top of his son's. He looks like he wants to pull away but doesn't. "If that's what you want I'm more than happy to oblige. I'll talk to him tonight."

"Cool," Ernest replies. He pulls his hand away, picks up his plate, then vanishes like a ghost into the back of the house. The door closes quietly.

"You did something," Hugo accuses.

"Why the very idea. I'm offended you would even suggest such a thing." I flick my fork at him in defiance.

Hugo smiles at me.

"Did you father my son in my absence?"

"Again, I'm utterly shocked you would think so little of me."

He puts his hand on my thigh.

"Whatever it was, thank you. Really." He leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

"I didn't really do anything," I admit. "He just asked some questions and we just sort of...talked."

"And he listened, so you must be some kind of teenage boy whisperer."

"I'm just not his dad, is all. You remember what it was like to be that age. There are just some things you feel weird talking to your parents about, and I'm not his parent. I'm just some guy."

"Hm. Well, you're a little closer than you realize, I think." He waggles his eyebrows at me a bit.

"I don't-uh-what do you mean?"

"He included you in that 'us' earlier. And he came to you, didn't he? And he certainly sees you more than his other dad, nowadays." Hugo flashes half a grin at me.

"You know I was just getting used to not having to parent, anymore. No one told me I was going to have to put in a few extra years. And with a boy, of all things."

"If he starts calling you 'dad' before me, I'm going to lose it."

"Hey, if you need someone to call you 'daddy,' I can help you out."

Hugo stares me down over the top of his glasses.

"Oh? Really?" His lips meet mine then pull away slightly. "We can always give it a test run." When he kisses me again, the tip of his tongue touches my teeth. Then I remember and push him away just a little.

"I think you might need to consider some possible sound proofing options."

[robo-cryptid]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Overwatch (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Sombra | Olivia Colomar, Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Jesse McCree, Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe & Jesse McCree, Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu Characters: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe, Jesse McCree, Sombra | Olivia Colomar, Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu Additional Tags: Character Study, Past Relationship(s), Family Issues, Doom and Calamity is the endgame here, Trust Issues Summary:

Love is a verb. Her parents taught her that early on: said one thing and did another, so she knew which was the truth. They didn’t even try to find her when she left. She took their butler and everything, and they still didn’t come looking. If she’d needed more proof, that’s where it was.

Love is in the doing, and they did fuckall.

---

Patreon subscribers got to read this fic last week. You can get early access to fics by becoming a patron for as little as $2 a month! For $5+ a month, you get to help me decide what the rewards will be!

[myotomespace]

Lancelot’s sip of temptation continuation:

As the title says, this is an extension of the ending of the story with my mc... i'm not sure why the hell i wrote it in the first place but here we are .w."

WC: 476

Warning: none

Tagging: @alloveroliver Because you told me to tell you and to thank you again for helping me :3

The next morning, however, was a nightmare.

“Ugh” Sylvie groaned, head resting on the dining table, her eyes closed to prevent the light from making her feel any sicker than she already was.

Kyle entered the room, raising his eyebrow at the sight that met him. “What’s this? Hungover, huh? Hang in there.”

“Please don’t rub it in, Kyle.” She could hear the amusement in his voice…And he was right. Normally, you’d only find Kyle in this position every morning.

(I’ll never try to get Lancelot drunk again! He’d just drink me under the table like last night.)

That morning, the number of hangovers in the Red Army’s headquarters increased by one.

A few minutes later, two of the officers headed into the dining room and were greeted, by not only Kyle but ALSO Sylvie, laying unceremoniously on the table, so ill for this beautiful sunny morning.

Edgar looked very amused, while Jonah next to him was confused for a good minute before he stomped over to Kyle, intent on lecturing him.

“Kyle! What have you done to Sylvie? How dare you get her into your unhealthy habit?”

“Stop screaming, it’s too early! And I did nothing, why are you blaming me?” he groaned, his eyebrows scrunching at Jonah’s loud voice.

“It’s not early. It’s almost 10 am-” Edgar corrected, moving to sit on his chair-“Did you have fun drinking with our king, Alice?”

“H-How did you know? …Ugh…” Sylvie raised her head too fast from the surprise, which she immediately regretted as a wave of dizziness hit her. “I think I’m going back to my room…” She stood up and left before Jonah could start lecturing her too.

A few hours later…

“How are you feeling, Alice?”

A worried Lancelot visited her after being informed about her miserable state by Jonah and Edgar.

“I’m better, thank you!” she opened her eyes slowly, still laying on her bed, deciding that it might not be wise to sit up.

“I’m sorry…I should have paid attention to how much you were drinking.” He moved to sit beside her on the bed, smoothing her hair slightly with his hand.

“Please, don’t apologize!” She declared quickly, trying to reassure him “it’s my fault. I should have stopped when it got too much for me, but…” She looked up at him, a gentle, almost shy smile on her face, and continued. “I love spending my time with you King Lancelot, and yesterday was no exception.”

She was too cute for own good sometimes.

He couldn’t stop himself from pressing a light, lingering kiss on her forehead. “I enjoy spending my time with you too, Sylvie.”

“Get some more sleep. I’ll visit you again later.” He stated, standing up and heading for the door. “Okay” She closed her eyes, and let sleep claim her, her smile joining her to her sweet dreams.

[jess-p-edits]

Writeblr and WIPs Introduction

Here to write, share, and encourage! Writing asks very much appreciated, but no pressure! I genuinely love hearing about the works of others as well!

I’ve been writing truly horrendous fanfiction since my sophomore year of high school on a private writing blog. Now I can proudly say it is slightly less horrendous, still on that private writing blog.

Writing:

Definitely on the ace spectrum, but I love writing romance in particular. Most of my writing, fics or original works, is very character driven. I love worldbuilding, but purely to provide a deep backdrop for the characters. 

I write short fics for myself as writing warmups, focus on one main work in progress, and one novella to avoid burning out on the main WIP. I greatly admire people who can juggle multiple WIPs. If I don’t focus on one main one at a time, I’d never get anything done! Details below. I hope you enjoy them! They are a blast to write!

I am currently working on a high fantasy romance. Currently 70k words and about halfway through.

Main WIP: The Hour of Magic:

Summary: In a land still reeling from the blessings and horrors brought about by a magical apocalypse a century ago, a king with a reputation for isolationism abruptly brings together representatives from disparate kingdoms, though no one quite knows the king's true intentions. As a part of this apparent call for an alliance, the king's own commander of the guard and a monster-slaying warden of the north culturally clash as they learn how the "other side" is reconciling with an irrevocably changed world.

✨ Full summary for The Hour of Magic

📖 Start reading it here!

Side WIP: Rot and Ash (tag #WIP: Rot and Ash)

Summary: A (seemingly) gentle healer and a monstrously transformed knight reconcile with the attempted destruction of their home, the realm of a slain tyrant king. Unabashedly inspired by Dark Souls, along with Berserk, Bloodborne, low fantasy stories, and the artwork of Abigail Jill Harding.

A monster romance novella, just for fun.

This will be about 20-40k words. Just a palette cleanser as I work on my main story!

The inhabitants of the priory had no use for the gods anymore, but they raised their clasped hands in veneration of a sturdy roof.

Favorite books:

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik

Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett

Sabriel by Garth Nix

The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune

Scythe by Neil Shusterman 

Profile pic: Picrew Link

[hella1975]

Okay but I REALLY feel the “can’t have people close to me watch the thing I love and obsess over” because they’ll be like “yeah it was okay” and I’m sitting here like okay but did you get the symbolism. Did you notice the foreshadowing. What about the orchestra. And not to like toot your horn but that’s me with taob cause I have a friend who isn’t into atla and rarely reads fanfiction since middle school and really only did for smut. But I talk to him about taob and how I’m so inspired bc of it and like the callbacks and the metaphors and the way that taob Zuko is written is so. Close to my heart (like you said about ash) like I cannot be normal about him bc. He’s just like me fr. and I’ll tell him all this and he’s like “lol avatar fanfiction” and I’m like damn. I will crawl in a hole and die cause NOW I’ve just admitted to watching and enjoying a kid show AND reading fan fiction and now it’s like. Okay time to not show interests ever again. Let alone me talking about writing my own ff bc that’s even more personal and embarrassing. Anyway taob is my favorite and that Zuko is maybe the most Character Ever for me. Another friend wanted to read it and I was like uhhhh actually no. I’m not telling you what it is. I will cry if you see it even slightly different than I do. Imagine if they didn’t like Tomnook or something???? I’d kms actually

this so much though!!!!! like i actually really appreciate you sending this bc it really made me realise how dumb i was being about banana fish. like it is completely valid to feel this way. you saying this didnt make me go 'yeah tbf it's Cringe to talk about this stuff and you shouldn't do it'. no matter which way you turn this, it's just so apparent that invalidating something someone is passionate about is a super shitty thing to do, let alone if that passion runs deeper into personal/relatable territory. like who the fuck does that! cut that shit out! that makes THEM a dick, not you. im hot bc id never do this to someone no matter how much i didnt get their hyperfixation and we as a society really need to fucking normalise that

[caricature-of-a-witch]

Apparently You Think You’re Going To Die Tomorrow

Fandom: Doctor Who

Characters: Gomez!Master/Missy; brief mentions of Ohila; mentions of past Companions

Pairing: none

Word count: 2371

Summary: Missy receives a visitor who gives her something she never wanted to see: the Doctor's confession dial. She hasn't permitted him to die yet. (set before The Magician’s Apprentice)

Author’s note: This was inspired by a Tumblr post forever ago, and I actually wanted to go somewhere completely else with it and it was supposed to be longer, but I can't find my notes anymore and if I don't post it now, I never will, so here you go.

AO3 | Fanfiction.net

When Ohila found her, Missy didn’t think she was doing anything that warranted anyone’s alarm. She had installed herself on Nothakk, a relatively small moon orbiting a gas giant that in turn was orbiting a blue sun. A great part of the population had been at war until one and a half of their years ago, and in the still very obvious chaos left behind it was easy for her to make a quick career through various reasonably powerful political positions. The planet itself wasn’t of much interest to her and she couldn’t care less, but she knew the rebels turned politicians had access to downright absurdly large reserves of a specific metal she needed for another project. It was almost impossible to find the material anywhere else, and gaining access by also gaining the former rebels’ trust was decidedly the preferable method over attempting to find it and take it by force. And who knew, she might need their cooperation in the future, which meant she’d rather avoid making enemies at this point.

All in all, she wasn’t making an effort to hide, but she also wasn’t expecting anyone to find her. The Doctor wouldn’t even have a reason to stop her anyway, seeing as she was actively helping with the necessary rebuilds. That she was doing it for self-serving reasons was hardly relevant.

“My Lady, you have a visitor.” Missy looked up from her tablet. A grey-skinned native stood in the arched doorway, his tail respectfully curled around his right ankle. “A Lady Ohila, from the Sisterhood of Karn.”

Missy paused. “Send her in, please, Udzil.” Her mind rapidly flickered through possible reasons for the Sisterhood to seek her out, and came up blank. They weren’t overly fond of Gallifrey, so it was unlikely that the Time Lords had anything to do with it. It could be a trap, of course, but then she’d have to give Gallifrey credit for creativity. The Doctor wouldn’t send anyone else, he’d barge in himself and demand she stop immediately, before he even knew what she was doing. It was possible they didn’t even know who she was and this visit was entirely unrelated to anything.

A figure entered the room with slow, measured steps. Missy eyed the red robes and failed to be impressed by the slight dramatic flair. “Greetings, and all that. Hello. What can I do for you?”

The figure slid off her hood, revealing a strangely motherly face with sharp eyes, and nodded at her. “Master.”

That wasn’t the name she went by anymore most of the time, and certainly not the name she went by on Nothakk. Her eyes flickered to the door before fixing on her visitor. “Not quite, at the moment.”

The woman’s lips twitched, if only for a moment. “I am Ohila, of the Sister-”

“The Sisterhood of Karn, yes, I know.” Missy waved her hand impatiently, and then smiled. “It seems introductions are unnecessary. Tea? The tea here tastes a bit like mud, I found, but it’s drinkable.”

Ohila shook her head. “This isn’t a social visit.”

Missy refrained from rolling her eyes when she didn’t go on after that. “Oh dear. I was hoping for a pyjama party. What is it, then? Have I offended the Sisterhood? Do you want me to join? I’m not going to join. I’m very flattered, obviously, but no.”

“The Doctor sent me.” With that, she placed a small object on the table between them. Missy looked at her, shrugged, looked down at the object, and felt her blood slow down and freeze in her veins.

She hardly noticed as Ohila left.

Missy stared at the small disc in her hand, at the letters, the lines and circles that told her exactly what this was, as if she could have any doubts about it. And she had doubts about it, for Rassilon’s sake, she had to have doubts about it, forced herself to doubt it, to look at it from every possible angle no matter how convoluted.

Maybe it was a trick.

Maybe it wasn’t actually him who had sent it, but someone else, hoping to lure her out.

(Except that no one else knew, could know, of this custom.)

Maybe it was sent by him but was still a trick, because who would have more reason to lure her out than he did.

(Except that wasn’t what he did, that was never what he did, he didn’t actively seek her out, it wasn’t how they played.)

Maybe he thought it was funny. He might have acquired a sense of humour even more questionable than usual, or a taste for more obvious cruelty. Maybe he was waiting for her somewhere, laughing at the idea of her arriving in a frenzy, counting on her to actually be worried about him. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, wouldn’t, couldn’t do that, could she?

(Except that that was even less like him, it wasn’t something he’d laugh at, she wasn’t even sure it’d be something she herself would laugh at for long, and that left only one possible conclusion, and it wasn’t one she was willing to accept, it wasn’t, it couldn’t be –)

“My Lady –”

With a snarl, she grabbed her multifunction device and blindly fired it in the direction the voice was coming from, hearing the sizzling impact a moment later. She must have hit the wall, because the sound was instantly followed by panicked shuffling. She didn’t care. Her eyes were still fixed on the unassuming golden disc. Maybe she’d read it wrong. Maybe it wasn’t his. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

She left Nothakk ten minutes later, projects and rebels and metal forgotten.

Just as she expected, calling his phone or any other communication device was of no use, but she still tried. She just wished he had a voicemail, then she could yell at something with his voice at least, instead of snarling at the empty air. She wondered if his psychic paper would pick up her thoughts so he would get the full force of her anger in writing at least, but it wasn’t a very reliable method of communicating through space and time.

Missy closed her eyes, breathed out slowly, deliberately. She needed to focus.

What did she know? Next to nothing. He was going to die, and she gritted her teeth and pressed on – the Doctor was going to die, the Doctor, who jumped into every impossible situation with the laughably optimistic belief that he was going to survive somehow, was now so certain of his death that he had a confession dial delivered to her. He was going to die. (She considered briefly that he might have sent it to her in the hopes she’d find him and save him, but that didn’t seem right.)

The messenger had been of the Sisterhood of Karn, but if Ohila hadn’t told her where to find him when she had the chance, it was doubtful that they’d be willing to help. Maybe they didn’t know anything themselves. She couldn’t waste time.

The confession dial would only open once the Doctor was dead. They were operating on separate timelines right now, so it was hard to say how much time she had – when the moment of his death would merge with her present, their timelines aligned. When the dial opened she’d know it was too late, that she hadn’t gotten to him in time and couldn’t save him anymore without ripping the universe apart.

She wasn’t sure she wouldn’t do it anyway, universe be damned. She hadn’t allowed him to die. She wouldn’t have it.

She made a list of times and places and ticked them off one by one. The moons of the Medusa Cascade. The beginning of Earth, when humanity was just starting to develop. The coordinates that used to mark Gallifrey’s location even if it wasn’t quite there, and on the way there she cobbled together a temporal scanner to see if he had been there in the past or would be in the future, relative to the moment she arrived, but nothing. She visited the Library where River’s data ghost resided, without much hope but she had to be thorough. She generated an algorithm to suggest the most likely places and times all over the universe, places where he had been happy that he might want to revisit because he was sentimental, places where he’d been sad that he might want to revisit because he was a masochist. Places that meant trouble, because what better way to go for the Doctor than to die fighting an impossible fight in the name of freedom or peace or whatever else came to his mind. Places that might in some way be difficult to avoid if they called for him, because if he knew he would die if he went there – why would he go if he could choose not to? What could make him accept his own death as inevitable and imminent?

She tried to trace his TARDIS but he either had strengthened its defences or powered it down to standby mode. She scoured the universe up and down, forward and backward and right through the middle and found nothing, and then she took half an hour on an empty desert moon where she staggered to the ground and screamed because her mind was tying itself in tight, painful knots and she couldn’t do anything else for a while.

When her throat was raw and her fingers bloody from beating at sand and stone, when she was calm, she ignored the universe and turned her focus to Earth. He hadn’t come to UNIT for help, not even paying a visit to the Brigadier. Torchwood knew nothing, and she retreated quickly when their systems alerted the team to an intruder in their database. Any other time, she’d have enjoyed watching them run around like headless chickens trying to find who the hell had gotten in and how. Now, she didn’t even stay until they started reacting.

Companions, every single human one she knew about. Perhaps the Doctor found it comforting to visit them one last time, at times where they were still alive and on the planet. He could even talk to them, most wouldn’t recognise him, not this him, not at a point in time before they had ever come with him. Barbara and Ian. Polly. Jamie and Victoria, and he was nowhere to be found, wasn’t checking on Jo, Sarah Jane was clueless, just like Harry and Tegan and Peri and Ace, and Missy didn’t know why she even remembered all their names.

She weaved in and out of Rose Tyler’s timeline until it vanished, stood on an empty beach in Norway in 2006, shoulders hunched against the biting wind as she stared at sand and waves, not even trying to sort out the tangle of emotions burning her heart. She watched Martha entering her home, with a short wary glance at the woman in the strangely Victorian dress at the street corner, like she felt something off about her but couldn’t tell what. Donna, and then Amy and Rory who had travelled with a Doctor she hadn’t met, and he wasn’t there. She didn’t bother with Clara; he wouldn’t go to someone he’d have to explain himself to.

She didn’t let herself think about how much time had passed, how much time she had already wasted, without coming even a single step closer. There was no information, nothing to build on, he could be anywhere in space and time, and it wasn’t enough for her to make a plan of while her brain spun in circles and threatened to slip into panic. She couldn’t find him.

Maybe he would find her.

Exhausted, with shaking fingers, she set the coordinates to the next best insignificant planet she could think of. Cuypah in their year 319-6 had developed space travel advanced enough to traverse between galaxies. Missy didn’t waste time trying to conquer the planet. The first blast obliterated half of the second-largest continent before they even knew they were under attack. She had calculated just the right amount of time, gave them the opportunity to form a makeshift defence, let them send out a few messages and ships to ensure the word would get out before she launched the second attack.

He would hate her for this, for the seemingly mindless destruction of an innocent planet that held no interest to her, but if she could draw him out like this, it would be worth his hatred.

When he didn’t come, and she was watching from above as the planet burst into beautiful shapes of flame and smoke and ash, she thought she might just hate herself.

Her fury was beyond screaming now, made her steps sluggish and her eyes sting no matter how much she blinked, and instead of raging at an uncaring universe once more, she buried herself in a corner of a mostly empty room.

When she emerged, after two hours, forty-seven minutes, and twenty-four seconds, her mind was made up. She had vowed that she wouldn’t allow the Doctor to die, and therefore he wouldn’t die, no matter what it took.

She neatly fixed the hair that was hanging in wild strands all around her face, replaced the faintly gritty, scorched dress with a different one, washed the blood from her fingers and hid the shadows under her slightly reddened eyes with a layer of meticulously applied make-up before she returned to Earth, already programming her device with flight plans.

She ran. The Doctor extricated his pet from the Dalek casing, and Missy ran, because he was serious. Even if she had saved him, even if she had saved Clara, even though she had let herself be dragged along to Skaro for no reason other than to save the Doctor, even though he had ignored her and denied her and shown not an iota of care. Even though he must have known she would have stopped him, would never have let him kill Clara Oswald, and he still left her behind.

Surrounded by Daleks, knowing the Doctor was long gone, Missy wondered if it was worth it.

[everwitch-magiks]

RWRB Fics Roundup

Hey y’all! Once upon a time I had the ambition to post links on here to all the fics and new chapters that I publish on AO3, and I think it’s safe to say that I’ve been an absolute disaster at that over the summer. In my defense I’ve just had so much to write, but that’s not much of a defense seeing as it doesn’t take ages to chuck a link on here. Anyhow. Bottom line is, I’ve severely neglected it, and it’s gotten to a point where I’m just gonna make a post with links to everything I’ve written since June (ish) for you to peruse, so you can see if there’s one that you didn’t catch wind of that catches your eye now. Neat, huh?

So, without further ado, the links! The fics! Let’s go.

Completed works

Love At First Bark General Audiences, AU, tooth-rotting fluff. 3K. “I still don’t know your name, do I?” Henry watches Alex where he’s crouched down in front of David and gently scratching David below his chin. David absolutely loves Alex. Henry can relate. “It’s David,” Henry supplies. “Cool,” Alex says. “And what’s the dog’s name?” Henry blinks at him. “... David?” “What?” Alex exclaims. He looks from David to Henry and then back at David again. “Wow, okay, that is a choice.” Henry wants to sink through the earth and never come back up again.

Shameless Explicit, AU, Henry has a reputation. 14K. Henry has a lot of sex. A lot. He's young and in college and there is no shortage of men to fall in bed with. What better time to explore what he likes and what he fucking loves, as well as to catalogue how to make his many, many partners feel as good as possible? It’s all part of the learning experience. And Henry is a very dedicated student.

Alex has been inescapably aware of Henry ever since that one time they kissed. You don’t just stop being aware of the guy who basically caused your sexuality. So when Henry propositions Alex at a lame frat party, Alex accepts eagerly. Maybe this is exactly what he needs. Maybe, if he can just have Henry once, he’ll have a better chance of finally getting over his embarrassing fixation with Henry. It's worth a try.

When The Time Is Right Part four of my sex club series. Explicit, AU, dom Henry and sub Alex. 16K. “Maybe I could challenge you more,” Henry suggests, his eyes carefully trained on Alex. “And hold you accountable for longer. How does that sound?” “That sounds fucking amazing,” Alex tells him, the words coming out in a rush. “Yes. That. Please.” “Alright, then.” Henry offers him a sly grin. “Alex, love. You just gave me a wonderful idea.” It’s really something, how quickly Alex’s heartbeat picks up. “Oh? Do tell.” Henry’s grin widens. He looks alarmingly pleased with himself. “How would you feel about a staycation?”

When Alex asks Henry for something a little more intense in the bedroom, they end up taking more than just their sex life to the next level.

Out For A Bite Explicit, AU, suspense and supernatural elements. 3K. Henry's eyes fly up, zeroing in on the reflection in the mirror. There, behind him. The man from the bar. He looks different in the fluorescent bathroom lights. Sharper. There’s a look in his eyes that has Henry shivering all over again. It's greedy. Hungry.

He’s staring right at Henry.

Henry's throat feels dry. His heart beats madly. He's heard whispers of this place, and more importantly of its patrons. He thinks he knows what this man is.

ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn’t have fallen in love with) Explicit, AU, Alex and Henry in DIY Punk & mainstream pop punk, respectively. 34K. Teenage music sensation Kensington have taken the world by storm. With their cool leather jackets and wickedly distorted guitars, they're a pop duo that packs a punch. Or at least they sound like one—their lyrics unfortunately lack any semblance of depth. Alex can't fucking stand Kensington. But thankfully, he doesn’t have to. He’s not likely to cross paths with those British pop losers during his final semester of high school in Texas. And even if he did, he'd never let some stupidly attractive blonde take his focus away from the goal that Alex has worked towards for years: winning the Austin Band Slam with his latino punk trio.

But when Henry comes crashing into Alex's life, with his intriguing piano pieces and piercing blue eyes and slow, purposeful kisses that make Alex burn with want, Alex finds that he might need to reevaluate his stance on both pop losers and distractions. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s better off keeping Henry at arm's length, since it's so painfully evident that Henry will never love him back.

Never Tell Me The Odds Teen and Up Audiences, canon verse, an outside perspective on First Prince as well as a story about a certain Star Wars mural. 2K. "Wait!" Alex yells up to the driver. "Stop! Stop the car!" Up close, it's beautiful. Two stories tall. He can’t imagine how somebody was able to put together something like this so fast.

Ash had never imagined that they'd get the chance to actually meet Alex Claremont-Diaz, and much less get the chance to tell Alex about how that very special Star Wars mural came to be. Although of course, Ash never would have met Alex if it hadn’t been for Farida. Farida and her bold courage, and her warm compassion, and her sometimes infuriating (but always endearing) stubbornness.

yrs. faithfully (with nowhere to go) Explicit, canon verse, a lazy morning in bed leads to something more. 3K. When Alex and Henry wake up together the day before their anniversary, they're genuinely planning on getting out of bed and spending the day as productive members or society. Truly, their intentions are honorable. But a trip down memory lane gets them reminiscing about that night exactly one year ago, when Alex had come running through the rain to deliver some choice words about obtuse fucking assholes.

As Alex and Henry start to relive the memory, they quickly realize that they both remember it intimately. So intimately that they might be able to pull off something of a do-over.

Gadgets and Gizmos A-Plenty A companion piece to dearest Hattie’s soulmate fic. Mature, AU, a look into Henry buying sex toys. Yes. That’s the fic. 2K. There’s a bunch of regulars that Amir knows by name (and, unavoidably, by kinks), but most often Playtime gets one-time visitors. Which makes sense, really. A lot of people don’t seem to want to step into the same adult toy shop twice. So Amir is always a little extra curious when there’s a repeat customer, especially one who is this attractive. And, interestingly, one who’s come back so soon.

The tall, classically handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes left Playtime no less than five hours ago after having purchased a medium-sized, fairly standard vibrator well suited for anal play. And now he’s back. Because apparently, he’s found he needed another vibrator.

If Sex Was A Sport We’d Be Winning Mature, AU, a classic Olympics hookup. 3K. It's remarkable, truly, that Alex didn't even want to be here. He only came all the way to Ariake because June was determined to watch a bunch of prissy ponies strut around to music. Still, perhaps the true Olympic experience lies in the wide variety of disciplines. Or, perhaps, it has something to do with chatting up a pretty blond behind the stables and getting him to show you the inside of an Olympic tack room. As Alex quickly takes to Henry’s sweet smiles and easy confidence, he realizes that just a few stolen moments with this man might turn into his most cherished memory from the Tokyo Olympics.

Alex knows better than to get attached, though. He and Henry live an ocean apart. There’s no way this quick fumble in the stable equivalent of a supply closet could ever lead to anything more. Right?

Talk Dirty To Me Explicit, AU, dom Henry and sub Alex. 9K. Henry studies Nora’s expression for a moment. There’s something about her favourable account of this guy she claims not to want to sleep with again that doesn’t add up. "But you're still not interested in taking him on?"

"He wants more than I'm willing to offer," Nora says frankly. Henry’s always liked this about her—how she doesn’t skirt around the hard facts. It's a part of what makes her so good at dominating. "But you know what? For you, he'd be kind of perfect."

Henry has been active in the local BDSM scene for years and there’s no shortage of men who’d love nothing more than to find themselves at his mercy. But Henry is on a break. He’s not looking for a new partner, but he’s also not expecting to become so intrigued by the man that Nora insists he should meet. Alex is a newcomer on the scene who doesn’t yet know exactly what he wants, much less with who. There’s no way that he could turn out to be exactly who Henry needs. Right?

Date night (please toy with me) Explicit, canon verse, a night out leads to some fun with a toy. 4K. This… this is new. They’ve talked about trying this, about what it’d be like to conceal some of their intimacy in plain sight, about what it would feel like to try and reclaim what is most private to them by flaunting it without anyone even knowing, by daring to take risks again. They’ve agreed that they’d still need to be careful, but they’ve also agreed that it would be interesting. That it would be fun.

And apparently, Henry thinks tonight is the night for it. “Do you trust me, love?”

“Yeah.” Alex swallows. He picks up the box, studying it for a moment. “Do you want… what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to go to the bathroom,” Henry says evenly, “You’ll find everything you need in the box. Then I want you to come back and sit down. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Alex taps the box, grinning in Henry’s direction. “I expect we’ll be leaving soon?”

Henry smiles slyly. “If you’re good, yes.”

Ongoing works

Hashtag Soulmates Mature, AU, Henry writes fanfiction. 23K and 7 chapters so far. Alex is perfect and handsome, the golden boy, everybody’s secret crush. So there is absolutely no way that he is the reader who screeches in caps lock every time that Henry posts as much as a drabble. There’s no way. Except Alex just closed his browser fast as fucking lightning, but not before Henry had gotten a good glimpse of the page Alex had open: AO3. ‘Don't Stop Me Now’, Henry’s current wip. The one that Henry literally just updated.

Sweet Jesus. Could it really be?

That... is all! It’s been a productive summer. I’m very excited to continue writing Hashtag Soulmates, and also to start working on a few upcoming First Prince fics that I’m planning on writing. Stay tuned for fics! ♡