#at least until i figure out a good place to end the fic i'm writing with him

[dinogoofymutated]

Okay, since requests are open, I wanted to ask for something, especially after seeing that you are comfortable with most male characters.

I present:

Scott Summers x fem!reader who's just a little too rebelious and annoying for his taste but he still can't help but love her? Like, enemies to lovers kind of style?

If you want to do a oneshot or headcanons is up to you, I'm just starving for Scott content.

Don't know, if you wanna do is, especially since he's not everyone's cup of tea, but I thought "hey, give it a try, maybe she wants to try someting different" so here I go

Anyway, love your work, you#re amazing <3

Cyclops/GN!Reader I've had this prompt saved in my drafts for SO LONG. Basically since the moment it came in!! I was so happy you sent this in bc i had been thinking about writing for Scott, but then I couldn't think of a good enough way to carry this out so I waited on it for a good bit until I had it down to a science!! Hope you enjoy!! Man, I started writing this and then realised I had to make a banner for him too 😭 I did this to myself tho Most of the characters I write for are written as combinations from different x-men media, but I'm still figuring out how I want to characterise Scott since he's a new character for me. Just wanted to put this out there in case I change how I write for him in future fics. (also, let me know how you feel about him in this one! Tell me if yall think I should tweak his attitude a bit :) ) Edit from the future: I started this draft so long ago and damn did it turn out long. TWs: Idk at the moment, will add if I think of any! Reader has a specific power that is kinda vague at first. I've written them out at the very bottom BUT if u read u will spoil the surprise of the fic so fair warning

Scott does not like you. At least, not anymore.

You've known each other for a long time, both coming to Xavier's school within weeks of each other. You used to be friends- or at least friendly. But as you both grew and learned more about yourselves and your powers, a gap began to form, and then continued to grow once both of you became members of the x-men.

It's not like he didn't notice your tendency for rebellious behavior before, but on the field? the two of you clashed more than ever. He's doing his best out here, and the last thing he needs as a leader is both you and Logan going out of your way to put yourselves in dangerous situations because you think you know better.

And the moment you get back to the mansion? You clash all over again- and over the dumbest things. You practically avoid him all of the time, refuse to spar with him unless you're forced, will scoot away from him if he has to sit next to you on game nights. It's like the very thought of brushing against him is enough to get under your skin.

The moment the blackbird lands, you should have known what to expect. But you're in such a good mood, with the mission having gone well despite all odds. Sure, you didn't exactly follow Cyclops' foolproof plan, but when did you ever?

Scott is standing at the end of the ramp when the doors open, watching with a rather sour look on his face as you laugh with Jubilee, the others trailing shortly behind. He crosses his arms, and you barely stop short of him, acting like you had never seen him in the first place as you sigh, nodding at the others to go ahead before finally turning to him and crossing your own arms.

"Go ahead. Say your piece." You say. It only stokes the irritation in him, and he scowls.

"You can't go one, single mission and actually listen to what I say, can you?" He snaps. You roll your eyes, knowing that if he had it his way, you'd never have gone on the mission at all. Still, you stand defiantly, unwilling to back down.

"Look, you weren't even there, you can't expect me to-"

"It would be different if I was there, but I wasn't." Scott interrupts you, and the aggravation it lights in you is practically all-consuming. You can't hold back your scowl. "You were the only senior member of the team on that plane, do you understand how detrimental it could have been if you had gotten hurt, or worse?!" Oh, what a load of horseshit. It's alway the boy scout schtick with him- I'm the leader, do what I say, If I was there none of this would have happened- what an asshole! Hell, in the second half you might have actually thought he was concerned for you and the team, but you knew better.

"Don't act like you actually give a damn, Summers." You snap. "Everyone is fine, no one got hurt, I don't see your problem." You're done with this. You're tired, sweaty, exhausted, and the last thing you want to be doing right now is talking with him. You knock shoulders with him as you brush past, but he reaches out and grabs you by the arm. You feel a mix of strong emotions- anger, concern, frustration- and thoughts swim in your head, before snatching your arm away from him like you'd been burned. He pauses for a second as you whip around and look at him, a rage in your eyes. He still looks at you with that stupid, stubborn look on his face.

"I get that you think I'm just some stuck-up asshole, but there's a reason I get angry when you do something reckless." His voice has lost the smallest a bit of fire. You scoff at him immediately, before turning away to storm out.

"Eat shit."

So no. things weren't exactly cool between you two.

It's not like you weren't friends at some point though, back when you were kids. You didn't know what happened to cause this rift, but he only really thought of you as some reckless idiot as of late, and you didn't care to learn anything else about what was going on in his brain.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean you could avoid him forever. Not when the both of you are on a team.

You only realise how much pain you're in when the blackbird's autopilot clicks on. Your suit was scuffed and worn in some areas, starting to burn at the edges of your sleeves as the protective coating started to wear away. You noticed it in the midst of battle, trying to focus on manipulating debri to a colder temperature rather than a hot one, but sometimes you can't afford to be picky in fights. Your suit may have been temperature resistant, but you were temperature invulnerable. Besides, heat did the most damage anyway.

You frown a bit at the sight of your burnt sleeves. Normally, you'd be worried that Hank would be mad at having to make a new suit again, but if anything you were sure he'd be grateful for the challenge of improving it. Scott was really the only one who would scold you for it, always coming back to the same arguments of being too reckless, ect, ect... and speaking of Scott, he was being awfully quiet right now.

The cockpit is empty exempt for the two of you, being the only two assigned to the mission. Scott is sat in the pilot's chair, and you can't really see much of him besides the top of his head. He's silent, and it makes you worried.

When you stand and walk. over to him, his face looks pained. You're sure his eyes are closed under his signature visor, his head leaning back limply in the chair, hair tussled. You furrow your eyebrows. You knew he'd be tired, but he's not usually this burned out.

"Scott? You alright?" You ask. he only hums in response. It's then when you realise what's wrong.

"Migraine?" You ask, and he hums in the affirmative. You wince at the thought. You knew he got migraines often, especially when using his mutation more than usual, and having migraines yourself, you knew he was hurting. You take a look at where the emergency aid box usually is, knowing it had painkillers, but the space is empty, and you sigh to yourself when you remember you used it on a local- Scott agreeing with you for once when you wanted to leave it with them for any more emergencies. You look back at Scott, and think for a moment more.

Scott jumps when you place a cold hand on his forehead, having settled your weight on the back of the chair behind him. It sparks a feeling of surprise.

"What are you doing?" Scott asks, and instead of his usual accusatory tone, he just sounds tired.

"Don't be a baby." You respond, chilling both hands and combing through his hair gently. Scott is confused as all hell. Why were you doing this? You go out of your way to avoid him at any cost, and then... this? What even was this?

But... he'd be lying if it didn't feel nice. Scott begins to relax underneath you as you continue to comb through his scalp, pressing gentle touches to his forehead as you do so. It's... it feels good.

"My mom used to do this when I was little." You say softly, after a long moment of silence. "Whenever I had a migraine, she'd run her hands under cold water for a long time, lay my head in her lap, and run her hands through my hair. The cold usually helped." Scott's shoulder's are sagging now, and he sighs every once in a while. Although he doesn't say anything, you don't need to ask. There's a question beginning to brim, but you answer it before he can even speak- saving him the effort of talking in the midst of his pain.

"...And it just felt nice to feel her play with my hair, I guess. 'figured it might help you, too."

You try not to dwell on whatever thoughts begin to swirl after that.

It's hard to tell when things shift after that. Even harder for Scott to understand why.

Eventually you go from avoiding him at any given chance, stiff and petty with your actions, to casual. Not quite friendly, but almost.

"And... Right hand red!" Jubilee calls from the couch, having entirely too much fun for someone who isn't even playing this game. Everyone who's already lost has dispersed, either playing a different game or having good conversation. The game of twister had started with four? Maybe five of you? But at the moment, it was just down to you and Scott. -The two of you being way too competitive to let the other win. At the moment, both of you were in a bit of a strange position, with Scott managing to crawl over you at some point. Aside from that, the game had been going on for uncomfortably long- long enough for the pizza to get here.

The doorbell rings and it's pretty instantaneous when people start to flock to the kitchen for the feast, Jubilee included. There's a flicker of panic in both of you as she quickly leaves.

"Hey!-"

"Jubilee! Wait!"

"You'll be fine, you big babies!" She calls out, giggling in her pursuit of the cheesy goodness. That just leaves you and Scott on the matt, pressed together in some places and a but uncomfortable, but awkwardly? Still competeting.

"God, that pizza smells good." Scott groans from above you, the smell of food becoming more and more tempting. You think about it, for a half a second maybe, but that competitive little devil on your shoulder gets to you before your stomach can.

"You know what? why don't you go ahead and grab a piece!" You say, causing Scott to cock an eyebrow at you.

"What, and let you win? Not a chance." He huffs. You shrug best you can, it was worth a shot! Neither of you were going to budge any time soon, determined not to let the other win. But the longer you stayed pressed together...

It's not like you hadn't noticed how handsome Scott was. Hell, who wouldn't? Even Logan isn't immune to his good looks, but obviously you weren't going to be... wierd, about it. You're just playing a game, right? But the sight of him above you, slightly flushed, shifting every once in a while while keeping his balance? It was... tempting.

It doesn't take long for other thoughts to begin swimming around, worming their way into your mind. The two of you in various states of undress... gasping, gripping onto one another... marks on his neck, your lips swollen and stained by the lipstick your wearing tonight.

Each and every thought leaves you more flustered than before, slipping on the plastic mat and accidentally knocking into one of Scott's weight bearing arms and sending the two of you colliding into the floor. You hear Scott let out a noise of pain and you're not down there for long before you shove him off of you, face burning as you grumble about his win. You stalk off without much fanfare, leaving Scott a bit befuddled.

"What was that all about?"

But regardless of how aggravated you made eachother sometimes, everyone has their breaking point...

You're surprised when Scott kisses you in the hall some weeks later, less than a second after a heated spat started to take a bit of a turn, but to be honest? You were into it.

His lips are soft, if a little chapped, heated kisses full of force and urgency before they soften just a little. You kiss him back in a similar manner his hands falling to your waist as you grab him by the collar and pull him even closer. You're quick to start moving the two of you backwards fumbling for a closet door you could have sworn was right... there.

As soon as the door swings open, you pull him inside, pushing him against the wall once it closes again and cupping the back of his neck as you pull him into another kiss. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth shoots through you as you do, and you almost giggle as his thoughts start to flood with more and more tempting situations for the two of you to be in.

After each and every dirty thought he has, you start to wonder if he even remembered your touch telepathy after having known you for so long- but hell, even if he didn't, you weren't complaining.

If u made it this far, I wanna give u details about the Reader's powers some more!! Specifically, the powers are temperature manipulation/temperature invulnerability/touch telepathy! They get a bit complicated bc reader can't light shit on fire or make ice out of the air, but they can melt shit and freeze existing water though! As long as reader touches it in some way! Due to this they're invulnerable to heat/cold for obvious reasons. Touch telepathy was added bc i love mutations with unnecessary layers (Emma frost) and... u really think I was gonna let scott get away without banging another telepath? wrONG

[starlight-eclipsed]

[aireia]

the hell is this supposed to be? — you adopt a kitten without sukuna's knowledge.

tw/cw: gn! reader, fluff + crack(?). sukuna calls you a brat. not proofread + rushed. fic doesn't make sense author just wanted to write something with cats and it sucked.

note: i'm half asleep. you do not wanna know the shit i typed out while trying to figure this fic out. —masterlist

sukuna has never understood— no, he doesn’t understand you. right now, at least. he was convinced he understood you even before you got together. he’ll never admit it, but if anyone asked him about your preferences, he probably had the answer. favourite food, colour, type of clothing, when you would start growing tired and fall asleep while on the phone.

now, sukuna has a set of keys to your apartment because he liked going over to your place more than you going to his because his brother’s friends were there, and he’s convinced that being around them could make the smartest of the smartest stupid. so, you just gave him keys. you had nothing to hide, afterall.

it was supposed to be one of those days. he knew you weren’t going to be home, and decided to wait for you in your apartment. everything seemed normal at first. walking out the lift and heading straight for your apartment, inserting the key into the keyhole… until he opened the door. 

there was a small grey blob running towards him. and now, said grey blob was pawing at his jeans, trying to climb him. sure, sukuna was tall, but he wasn’t a tree! wait, cats aren’t supposed to be climbing up trees anyway!

sukuna looked down at the kitten, slowly becoming more and more annoyed when it didn’t leave him alone. if it’s in your home, it was probably dear to you, which means he can’t kick it off. he ended up bending down to pick it up by the paw, so now he just had a cat hanging onto his fingers with its paws while it was suspended in the air. 

“kuna? what are you doing at the door—” your sentence was cut off when you saw how your boyfriend was handling your newly adopted kitten. you immediately reached out to snatch it from him, holding it close to you. you lightly scolded him for picking a cat up that way and walked past him.

he felt like air the entire evening after that. you were tending to your newfound friend so much you didn’t give him as much attention as you usually did. he knows that he rejects your affection a lot, but that didn’t mean he wanted you to stop! the only time you paid him any attention was when he intentionally sat closer to you, and even then, you barely brushed your lips against his cheek. 

sukuna was sure he was glaring daggers into that kitten on your lap. it was taking his rightful place. was this jealousy? yea, maybe it was, because the amount of happiness he felt was immeasurable when that damn cat finally got off your lap to run to your room to do who knows what. who cares? the hugs you gave him made him feel far more superior. 

as of right now, you had just gone to take a shower. sukuna wanted to take a nap while waiting for you, only to find that your cat— well technically also his cat according to you, was sleeping on your bed. he glared at it before laying on his side on the other side of the bed. 

“tsk. wonder what that brat sees in you,” he clicked his tongue, and continued to stare at it. okay, maybe he was starting to get you. the kitten was kind of cute, and kind of cuddly looking, but that wasn’t enough reasons to start liking it. 

maybe it’s your turn to stop understanding sukuna, not that you ever have, actually. he claimed that he hated your feline friend while you were cuddling on the couch, but you stepped out of the bathroom to the grey kitten asleep on sukuna’s chest. he looked pretty peaceful too, no signs of waking up suddenly and throwing the kitten off. you took a photo. it’ll be good blackmail material for later.

by user @ aireia, do not plagiarize and/or translate.

[alessiasfreckles]

Fitting In

alessia russo x reader with social anxiety

You've been with the team for a few months, but your anxiety is making it hard to find your place. When you spend lunch hiding out in your car one day, Lessi comes to find you.

A/N: this is my first woso fic, i hope you like it! i'm planning on writing a part two with real fluff, maybe taking place a month or two later. also this is basically just a self insert fic but i figured maybe someone else could relate to it, so this is for all my other girlies with social anxiety and adhd out there

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

When you joined the team a few months ago, you weren’t sure how you would fit in. And now, 3 months later, you still weren’t sure.

You had a tendency to over analyse social interactions, situations, anything really, and you knew it didn’t help your social anxiety but there was no way to shut off the constant noise in your brain. At least, not until you met her. Alessia Russo. One of Arsenal’s, and England’s, star strikers. The way she moved on the pitch was like magic, and you swore you could see glitter in the air when she laughed. The crush you had on her grew by the minute. You wanted to at least be friends with her so badly, but you just didn’t know how. 

You still didn’t really have any close friends on the team. Yeah, everyone was friendly, but there were clearly established friend groups, and you didn’t know how to find your place in any of them. When you first joined you would be invited out with everyone, or invited to people’s places for movie nights, that sort of thing. But a lot of the time you felt out of place, so worried about what to say and how you were coming across that the whole situation ended up making you more anxious than if you hadn’t gone in the first place. When you did come out of your shell and say something, you’d spend the rest of the evening thinking about what you said, if it made sense, how you said it, what you should have said instead. 

It was exhausting.

Your sleep schedule was awful, most nights you couldn’t get to sleep until 3am. You’d be lying in bed, desperately trying to sleep but your brain not letting you. You’d wake up feeling groggy, but you didn’t want to let anyone see how badly it was affecting you, so you put on a brave face in front of your teammates. Most days, as soon as training was over, you’d go straight home. You were too tired to do anything other than be alone. 

One day, at lunch, you couldn’t face the thought of trying to figure out where to sit, the overstimulation from everyone talking, the noises and smells, so you decided to sit in your car, alone. You figured that no one would miss you anyway, everyone seemed to have figured out that you were a bit of a loner by now, and they mostly left you alone. 

“Something’s up with y/n, right? It’s not just me?” Leah asked Beth at lunch the next day, scanning the lunch room as she tried to find your face.

“Yeah, but I don’t know what,” Beth shrugged, frowning. “I want to help her, but-”

“Have you guys seen y/n?” Alessia interrupted, coming up from behind them. “She’s not here.”

Leah and Beth both shook their heads. “Maybe she’s in the gym, or on the training field?”. It wasn’t unusual for players to spend their breaks hanging out in other areas, and Alessia nodded.

“I think I’ll go see if I can find her,” she said, and Leah nodded. 

“That’s a good idea, Less. Maybe you can figure out what’s wrong.”

Alessia peeked into the gym, but it was empty. She thought maybe you were walking laps, so she checked the training field, but you weren’t there either. Now she was starting to worry. The two of you hadn’t talked much, but she always listened to what you had to say, and got the feeling that there was a lot more to you than you let on. Deciding to check the car park to see if your car was still there, her face brightened as she found it. When she realised you were sitting inside it, her brow furrowed in confusion. 

You look up from your lunch to see Alessia stood a few metres away from the car, looking at you with a small frown on her face. Is she upset with you? Your eyes meet, and you freeze for a second before raising a hand to wave awkwardly. Her frown clears, and she comes over to the passenger door. 

Knocking on the window and opening the door, she leant down. “Can I come in?” she asked, smiling sheepishly. 

“Uh, yeah, sure!” you reply, sitting up a little straighter, mind racing. Why is she here? What does she want from you? 

“So, um, what are you doing out here?” she asks gently, glancing down at the lunch on your lap.

“Oh, um, sometimes it’s just a lot, you know? Everyone talking and all of the noise. And I never really know where to sit,” you trail off, laughing awkwardly, inwardly cringing at yourself for saying that. 

“I get that. Sometimes some of the girls can be so loud! Like, Katie, didn’t you ever learn what an inside voice is?” she laughs gently, and you smile. “And you know you can sit wherever you want, right? None of us are going to bite you.”

“Haha, yeah, I know, I just…” you shrug, face burning.

Alessia turns to look at you, worry lining her face. “Y/n, is something going on? Has anyone made you feel unwelcome here, or anything?”

“No, everyone’s been so nice, I promise, no one’s done anything,” you start rambling, anxiety rising in your chest as hot tears start to well up in your eyes. You bury your face in your hands. “I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing.”

Suddenly you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, pulling you in to a tight hug. You stiffened to the touch but Alessia’s arms held you gently, and slowly you relaxed into it. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmurs, and you feel your breath returning to normal.

After a minute she lets you go and you let out a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry,” you sighed, wiping your eyes.

“Y/n, you don’t need to apologise, it’s okay, I promise,” she says, big blue eyes full of sincerity. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

You shrug, not knowing what to say. “There isn’t really anything going on, that’s the problem. I just, my brain is just, I feel like everyone else got like, a manual telling them how to exist and how to talk to people and how to have friends, and I didn’t get the manual. You didn’t get a manual, right?” you ask, looking at her with a wry smile.

She smiles apologetically. “Nope, no manual.”

“Well, it was worth asking,” you laugh. “Things just seem to be really hard for me when everyone else finds them easy, you know? And I’m just so tired all the time, but I don’t know why, I barely do anything, I’m so lazy.”

She frowns at that. “You’re not lazy, y/n. Do you get enough sleep?”

You laugh at that. “Oh no, definitely not. Most nights I don’t get to sleep until like, 3am, sometimes 4am.”

“What, why?” she asks in shock. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I just can’t sleep a lot of the time. I try to, I lie in bed with my eyes closed, but there’s just too much going on in my head, it feels like my brain is actively working against me.”

“It’s no wonder you’re so tired then!” she admonishes you gently, and the look she gives you makes you fall for her a little more. 

“I’ve always had trouble sleeping,” you explain. “Ever since I was little. And I’ve always found social situations hard, too.”

“I’ve always hated meeting new people,” the blonde admits, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s gotten a little bit easier, I think, especially after the Euros, I had to do so many interviews and media things, it helped kind of desensitise me to it, but I still don’t like it.”

“Huh,” you say quietly. You never would have guessed that she felt that way. “You always seem so confident.”

“All just a part of my effortlessly cool persona,” she grins, winking at you. You laugh, and she gives you a look of fake hurt. “What, you don’t think I’m effortlessly cool?”

Smiling, you tilt your head. “As long as you believe you’re effortlessly cool, that’s all that counts.” you tease. 

Suddenly, Alessia’s phone buzzes. “Oh, we should probably head back in. The others will be glad to see you, they were worried when you weren’t there at lunch.”

“Really?” you ask, surprise clear in your voice, but it quickly turns to worry. “Oh no, am I not meant to leave during lunch? I’m sorry, I just thought-”

“Woah, hey, relax!” she puts a hand on your arm. “Y/n, you’re allowed to do what you want during lunch. The others were just worried about you because you’re a part of the team. Our team. That makes you a part of our family.” 

You smile sheepishly. 

“Now come on, let’s get going. I don’t fancy giving Jonas an excuse to make us run extra laps, do you?”

[hyperfixation-fix]

Yo yo peeps! I'm finished my long-fic Throwing Stones at a Glass Moon, and I want some help figuring out what to write next...

Some excerpts of my early drafts are below the cut, if you're curious!

Marylene one-shot:

A year later, after getting outrageously drunk at one of the Marauders’ first illicit parties and predictably ending the night by chucking her guts up in the dorm bathroom, Marlene had climbed groaning into Mary’s bed.

“Make it stop, Maryyyy,” she whined, flopping face-down next to her and tugging pathetically on her sleeve.

“Make what stop, love? The consequences of your actions?” Mary teased, unsympathetic. She wasn't too sober herself, but had at least had the good sense to pace herself and was feeling a little superior. “I did warn you not to try to keep up with Black.”

“But James did!”

“Yep, and I'll bet you a tenner your dear Captain ended the night just the same way you did.”

Marlene groaned again, and Mary softened.

“Have you had any water tonight?” she asked, already reaching for the cup on the bedside table.

Marlene shook her head, still face down in the pillow.

“Here, love, sit up and have a drink.”

She sat up and drank the water obediently. When she had finished the water, Mary took the glass and put it back in its place.

Marlene watched her blearily, warm brown eyes reminding Mary so much of a sad puppy that she couldn't help but pat Marlene’s flushed cheek affectionately. “Oh Marls, you poor sweet thing you,” she laughed teasingly. “Let’s get you into bed, eh? You'll feel better after a bit of shut-eye.”

Marlene nodded sadly.

In the end, she’d fallen asleep in Mary’s bed, curled up on her side as though trying to hide from the impending hangover.

Wolfstar one-shot:

The wolf was ravenous and spiteful, that first full moon of 1977. The transformation was as slow and torturous as it had been the night before, and the wolf persisted long after it was complete. It roamed restlessly around Remus’s mind, snapping bitterly at every passing thought until Remus’s world was little more than biting pain and blood-tinged confusion. He writhed weakly on the floor of the shack, human body begging for rest but lupine mind refusing to let it.

Through the haze of pain, Remus became vaguely aware of a scent familiar to both man and wolf. The wolf pined for it and his body reached out spasmodically, a name forming on lips so chapped that they split immediately. Remus tasted blood. And then, mercifully, the scent solidified into gentle hands on his face and a soft voice in his ear.

Sirius held Remus’s head in his lap as his body convulsed, shushing him softly. As the wolf recognised the scent of its playmate, the thrashing slowed and stopped. The wolf retreated with a final, mournful whine that escaped Remus’s lips from deep inside him.

“It's alright, it's alright,” murmured Sirius.

Australian uni AU:

Remus made his way slowly across the strange, empty grounds of Hogwarts University. The air was still and hot, thick with the scent of scorching asphalt and eucalyptus trees baking in the summer sun. The patchwork shade of the gumtrees lining the path gave little relief from heat, and Remus felt sweat bleeding through his shirt at the small of his back. That summer had been the hottest on record (as had the summer before, and the summer before that), and even the doubtless well-watered greenery of the campus was greyish and singed. The Freo Doctor, as the cool offshore breeze was lovingly nicknamed, had clearly not been doing his evening rounds.

Overhead, a magpie sang out a pretty string of threats, and Remus ducked quickly into the shade and relative safety of a bridged walkway. Magpies rarely swooped this late in the season, their chicks having long since flown the nest, but he had heard far too many horror stories of beak-blinded children to test his luck. Bending over to shield the dim screen from the sunlight, Remus consulted the map he had photographed on his way in. The building to his right must be the library, which meant that student services should be straight on and to the left. At the very least, it would be well air-conditioned, and Remus would take his wins where he could get them.

Keeping his head ducked in case the magpie decided to launch an attack anyway, Remus trudged on along the red-brick path. It was dreamlike, he decided, walking like this through the university in off-season. Surreal, in that over-bright, too-crisp way dreams sometimes had. Somehow, the grounds felt even less real now than they had the last time he was here. He'd had to get high as balls to get out of bed that morning, and it was a morbid kind of funny, really, for him to be here now, sober as a judge and twice as respectable, and for the whole thing to still feel so much like a dream.

[dittaturamonegasca]

I think there should bé a fic where anyone from the grid would be third wheeling Landoscar, like, have you seen how these two interact.

So, I lack the ability and the time of f1writingbyme and LestappenForever to make this idea into a proper work like they did for "How (Not) To Third Wheel Lestappen" (check it out on Ao3 if you haven't already, definitely worth it) BUT BUT BUT, I can tell you how I think most of the grid would react in third wheeling Landoscar!

1) I feel like we should spare Checo, cause honestly this man has had enough as third wheel of Maxiel and Lestappen, I don't wanna give him extra traumas, SO –

2) Logan Sargeant: this one I really feel guilty about. Cause I like the narrative of him and Oscah being besties and still I cry over the sad edits of Logan just left behind. I think Landoscar with Logan has the most space for improvement?? I forgive Oscar even tho he definitely ghosted the poor Logan for the whole honeymoon phase with Lando (it's been almost two years, Osc, get a grip). I have a feeling Logan will speak up at some point and this would shake Oscar a little, so maybe he would be the more aware and more involved third wheel, possibly? They'll end up doing triple video-games championships with Lando and Logan mocking Oscar's gaming skills, mark my words.

3) Carlos Sainz: my man how does it feel to know you've wasted your chance (multiple chances, lets be real) for good? I have mixed ideas about this one, cause I think it would probably being more like Lando struggling to keep them both as close as possible resulting in Oscar being rightfully jealous 👀👀 so the third wheeling situation would be like Lando trying to involve a very annoyed and confused Carlos in their things (safe for work, ofc). I don't really see a way out of it.

4) Daniel Ricciardo: I mention him but I can't really explain cause honestly my idea of Daniel third-wheeling Landoscar is either him babysit them around Australia and bonding with Oscar over weird aussie habits OR OR OR something very NOT SAFE WORK so ( ... )

5) Max Verstappen: I love to think he'll remain an unbothered king, you know? Like he's well aware and a bit upset that his crepes companion invited someone else (beside from Daniel) to their dessert dates and that the two of them acts like lovebirds even without an actual physical contact. He'll probably send SOS texts to Charles and Daniel until a topic of (his) interest comes out and honestly at that point the power of maxplaining will win over pretty much everything and everyone. At the end of the day Landoscar turn out to be the real victims.

6) George Russell: poor thing was originally invited for a golf morning from Carlos (Landoscar were already supposed to attend), but Chili called off last minute so Georgie ended up with just the others two. LET ME TELL YOU he jumped off the golf cart cause he saw Lando placing a hand on Oscar's thigh and feared for his life. It took several minutes for them to notice he was aggressively walking behind. He was also hit by a golf ball because Oscar distracted Lando for a second too long, I guess you can figure out the rest.

7) Special mention to the PR and the McLaren team in general who's main job rn is having them to SIMPLY F O C U S outside the pit for like interviews and debriefings. I can picture Lando losing it after hearing a single compliment like "SO YOU THINK I'M PRETTY", cause ✨babygirl✨ energy hitting here and there, even tho he has tried to be somehow a model for Oscar, at least for what concerns work. Indeed I pity trainers and strategists bc ofc Oscar listens at them, but image them trying to explain a concept to him just for Lando to get there and rephrase it in the dumbest way possible and Oscar going like OHHHHH NOW I GOT IT, COULDN'T YOU EXPLAIN IT THAT WAY?

8) This is mostly a guilty pleasure but do we all agree they torture the entire f1 group chat with their subtle flirting?

IDK if this was what you had in mind but I really REALLY had fun writing it.

So let me know what you think in the comments down below, if you agree or if you want me to make it longer and/or more detailed or just to focus on a specific one in particular?

Again, my dms and box section are open to discussions, requests and any sort of (respectful) thing!

PEACE OUT 🤌🏻❤️

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 | 𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬

⬷ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞┊ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ┊ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

pairing: minho x felix (minlix)

genre: dancer!minho/artist!felix. brothers best friend troupe. college au. age gap (abt 4 years). minho pov. extremely dark themes throughout, including smut - MDNI, 18+ only.

word count: 3.2k

the playlist 🗡️

a/n: I've written sooo much of this recently, I'm literally on chapter 10 already!! 😭 I have plans to probably make it 15 chapters long, which I feel like is a good length for the type of story and narrative im fitting into once piece. I wanna make sure all of the loose ends are tied off in a perfect kinda way before I move onto the next project. ☺️ this is the first chapter where we get some TRUE backstory on what really happened between minlix during the time when they were growing up... there's some insinuations in this chapter that will make a lot more sense later on in the story haha... but for right now, I hope you guys are enjoying slowly putting the puzzle pieces together~ 💗

🗡️ - ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ other cool stuff ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋread my rules & guidelines here! ࿐ྂ

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. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ skz fic recs [sfw ver]! ࿐ྂ

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). do not copy, spin-off, or write inspired work based off of this fanfic without full permission to do so. ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

̶﹒⊹﹒ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴜsᴛᴇʀ ᴀ ғʟᴀʀᴇ  ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇʟʟ sᴏᴍᴇʙᴏᴅʏ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ sɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ！،، 🌌  𖥻 𓂃 ʙᴜᴛ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ ɪs ᴀɴ ɪɴᴅᴇx ғɪɴɢᴇʀ  ᴘʀᴇssᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴘs╰╮ 🌑

  After the night of the party at Felix’s place, Minho never uttered another word about it. As soon as he had stepped into the door of his shared dorm with Chris, and his best friend saw the defeated grayness of his face — the stormy crimson rage in his eyes — Chris quickly figured out what had happened. 

  But Chris never dangled it over his head that he had been right the whole time. Instead, he just gave Minho a long hug and said goodnight to him. 

  Minho’s other friends acted similarly, pretending that everything was fine and that they definitely hadn’t heard rumors about the party that night and what had gone down at Felix’s Dorm.

  So instead of focusing on the past and shit he couldn’t change, Minho threw himself into his studies. He and Hyunjin had a big project they were working on together for one of their fall semester exams, which took up most of his time. And when he wasn’t spending hours at the studio practicing on campus, he was at his apprenticeship gig, teaching young middle-schoolers classical and modern dance styles. 

  Lee Minho was a very busy man, that, everyone knew. And he also knew that the more cloudy his mind was with dark thoughts, the more he’d push himself. The more he’d work, work, work, until one day… he'd face an ugly burnout. 

  But for right then, he was completely fine. Surely, the burnout was very far down the road… 

  He couldn’t help but hear the rumors, though. About Felix and his crazy friends and the times he was caught having sex with all kinds of people around campus. Minho even saw it with his own two eyes once — when he stopped at the cafeteria to grab a quick bite for lunch before heading to his critical dance theory class. He noticed movement in the very back corner of the place, and there… Felix was. 

  Blond locks disheveled, immaculately dressed, and dripping in pearls and light violet hues. There was a girl with fire-engine red hair right beside him, seemingly resisting the urge to climb onto his lap at that moment. They were making out like there weren’t at least a hundred people around them and it wasn’t an open, public space.

  Felix had his hands wrapped in the girl’s firey hair, and the purple against the red of their aesthetics caused a shocking display of colors in Minho’s mind. But mostly, he tried to ignore it all. Just like everyone else around him was doing. So he quickly grabbed his food and escaped from the cafeteria as fast as he possibly could. 

  There was no use sticking around to watch another person stick their tongues down Lee Felix’s throat. There was never any use in crying over spilled milk. 

  “Minho— what the fuck has gotten into you? You keep misstepping on this part when just a few weeks ago you were doing fine.” Hyunjin said a week later, frustratingly running a hand through his dark locks. They had been in the practice room on campus for most of the day, tirelessly running through the choreo for their routine. The exam’s deadline was in a week and they couldn’t afford to laze around until then. 

  Taking a long swig of his cold water bottle, Minho pressed his back against the practice room’s mirror, offering his friend a deep frown. “I’m sorry Hyunjinnie, I just— I don’t know, haven’t been myself lately…” 

  He let his voice drawl on into the silence after that. Because they both knew the catalyst for why that was. The practice room grew quiet after that since it was just the two of them what with it being so late on a Friday night. Everyone was busy partying outside the campus grounds or in their dorms sleeping off the stress of exams. 

  “Is it… Felix?” Hyunjin asked, slowly sitting down beside Minho and taking out one of his fidget toys from his gym bag. The guy always had at least five on him at all times — claimed it helped calm him down when he was stressed. Spinning the pink and black fidget spinner between one hand, he reached over and squeezed Minho’s knee in a comforting gesture. “You know, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But it’s just that… we’re all kinda worried about you. We just wanna help as much as we can.” 

  Turning his head to look at Hyunjin, Minho noticed the way his friend's dark brows were wrinkled with concern. The way his eyes sparkled as they searched his face, pulling for any answers he could find there.

  “I know, and I’m really sorry. It’s just… I guess, I didn’t expect to see him again, after such a long time. Chris never talked about him or where he was planning on going after high school, so it kinda came as a shock.” Minho said slowly, trying to find the right words as he shrugged nonchalantly. But the feelings he had were anything but nonchalant.

  “Are you mad at Chris for not telling you? I mean, it is kinda weird that he never really mentioned his younger brother, but I suppose that’s because he felt there was no need to. It’s not like you and Felix were best friends growing up, right?” 

  Even though Minho knew Hyunjin was right, his words still hurt. Hurt like ice picks digging into his heart, ripping it to shreds with each bit of truth and reality. 

  Even still, Minho could feel the wallowing sadness bubble up inside of him. “Y-Yeah… we had an… interesting relationship growing up. He was always seen as the annoying, little innocent younger brother. We didn’t hang out that much, but the times that we did— it was nice, I guess.” Minho found himself playing with the battered hem of his oversized t-shirt, completely avoiding Hyunjin’s gaze. Because Hyunjin was perceptive like that and could read anyone like a book with just a single glance. 

  Hyunjin let out a long sigh, slumping against the mirror behind them. “I think I understand, though. To some extent. It must feel weird, seeing him again after so many years, and to have him be so changed,” Minho watched, as Hyunjin’s long fingers spun the fidget in his hands over and over again. It was relaxing for Minho too, even if he wasn’t the one playing with it. “He’s the opposite of how you always knew him, you know? That’s gotta hurt in some way. I’m sorry, Min, that’s a lot to deal with.”

  Minho’s eyes trailed over to the studio’s windows, noticing how dark it was. How late it was becoming. He could just barely catch a glimpse of the moon shining high up in the sky, already halfway across the sky. “It’s not just that, though… sometimes, we’d hang out without Chris. When he was out of town for a school field trip or some dumb shit like that.” Minho’s voice came out as quiet and soft as a dove’s feather. Almost like, if he said it too loudly, the whole campus would hear and berate him for details. 

  There was a long bout of silence after that. It felt like a confession that he had never made before. He could feel Hyunjin tense up a little bit next to him, just from knowing that this was extremely sensitive information and vital to the situation at hand. 

  “Does… Chris know about this?” 

  Of course, that’s the first thing Hyunjin would ask. Always putting others first. It was a sensible thing to wonder, too- since Chris was their best friend and Felix’s younger brother. 

  “Not really,” Minho whispered, swallowing against the dry lump that was starting to form in the base of his throat. He could feel his heart slowly constricting in his chest at the topic change. He was fine talking about their childhood and shit, but not… that part of it. “I mean, yeah— he knew we sometimes hung out when he wasn’t around, but I don’t think he realized how… impactful that shit was to us.” 

  He was still staring out the studio’s nearby window, still studying the half-crescent moon. And the more he looked at it, the more he was reminded of… his face. Milky, like the moon, shining always and— 

  “When you say impactful… what do you exactly mean by that?”

After Hyunjin's question, there was a long bout of silence. As Minho's thought paused in his head, and he weighed his options... tell the truth, or keep lying about the past once again? In the end, he chose the former. 

  “I mean like, we fucking fell in love with each other.” 

  After that admission, the air in the studio suddenly constricted. Like a bowstring, everything drew taught and frozen. And just like that, Minho was turning his attention back to Hyunjin. Studying the look on his face. For a moment, he was entirely surprised, and then that melted into gentle understanding. 

  “And I’m assuming Chris never knew about that part?” Hyunjin simply asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow as he spun the fidget in his hands a little faster. 

  Letting out a sardonic kind of cackle, Minho flashed his friend a fake, bright grin. “Yeah, because it’s definitely not weird that an eighteen-year-old was in love with a fucking thirteen-year-old.” He gave Hyunjin a thumbs up, trying to brush it off like it was simply a funny joke. But in actuality, it was a lot deeper than that. 

  Hyunjin stopped playing with his fidget then, reaching out with one hand and taking ahold of Minho’s. He squeezed it tenderly, forcing Minho’s attention back onto him. Hyunjin’s face melted into sympathy, eyes dancing with a myriad of emotions. “I’m sorry, that must��ve been a lot to deal with. But really, the age gap isn’t that absurd. I mean, I knew plenty of couples growing up that had even bigger ranges than you guys.” 

  Minho squeezed Hyunjin’s fingers back, noticing how the feel of human touch was keeping him grounded in reality at that moment. Helping to stop his heart from beating out of his ribcage and chest. “I know. But it just… it felt different between us. I don’t know, it’s really hard to explain. We just— we bonded over our shared depression and love for video games and art and—” 

  “Sounds like you guys had a lot of similarities.” 

  “Yeah. And now… it’s the opposite.” 

  Slowly, Hyunjin began drawing senseless shapes across Minho’s palm. And Minho knew why he was doing it — Hyunjin could always understand when Minho needed help, needed someone to guide him through returning his thoughts to normal. 

  “I can see that. I think, you probably liked Felix for who he was back when you were growing up. That innocence, and how it sounds like he looked at the world with rose-colored glasses on,” Hyunjin started in a quiet tone, tracing hearts on Minho’s skin and making the older man giggle a tiny bit. “But now, he’s changed a lot and it feels like a bucket of ice water was just thrown over your head. Even still, you have to remember that you’ve probably changed a lot too— you’re not the same young boy that Felix fell in love with. And five years is a big gap of time to have not seen each other, so you have no idea what Felix went through during your absence to have such a metamorphosis in his adult life now.” 

  And just at the mere thought of Felix going through such bad hardships in his past that he turned out to be so degenerate and crazed in university, Minho could feel his entire body tightening up. He squeezed Hyunjin’s hand, practically feeling his racing pulse in the pit of his throat. 

  “Oh fuck— I hope nothing like that happened to him. I don’t… I don’t know what I’d do if—”

  Hyunjin squeezed his shoulder tightly, bringing him out of his reverie of panicked thought. “Min, stop. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But what I meant is… He’s probably experienced things that have made him change into the person he is today. Try to understand things from his point of view." 

  Minho leaned his head against the mirror at his back, squeezing his eyes shut. And as soon as he did, he saw visions of Felix. Of being in high school alone back in their hometown, suffering all kinds of shit at the hands of the cruel kids there. He didn’t want to imagine it, but he also couldn’t be naive. He knew the kinds of people that lived in their small coastal hometown in Busan. He knew how mean the kids at school could be, how merciless. And Felix probably had walked in there as a beautiful beacon of light. Minho didn’t even want to imagine the kind of shit he was probably put through at high school alone. 

  “He threatened me when I was leaving his place during the party. He told me to never come back to his dorm.” Minho blurted out, clearing his head of the depressing visions of Felix growing up. Instead, he focused on the way the younger man had looked at him that night, near the elevator. So full of rage and anguish. “He was so fucking angry with me— and goddamn it but I was so mean to him.” 

  “Having a shitty college house party be the first time you guys hang out in almost five years probably wasn’t the best idea,” Hyunjin said slowly, finally pulling his hands away from Minho and focusing back on his fidget. “It’s understandable why you two would be on edge with each other. There’s a lot of water and shit under the bridge.” 

  Carding a few fingers between his hair, Minho pulled at the roots as he held his head in his palms. “Hyunjin he was teasing me at the party with his friends— he was trying to fucking make me jealous, I swear to God.”

  “Well… did it work?” 

  “I— I guess… I don’t know!” He burst out, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. “Sorry, I just… I hate feeling this way and not knowing what to do about it.” 

  Hyunjin let them sit in the quietness of the practice room for a little bit after that, allowing Minho to collect his words and thoughts. Minho could slowly feel his breathing regulating again and his heart beating at a normal pace once more. 

  “So then does that mean… that you still love him, Min?”

  Staring down at his clasped hands, Minho studied the way his hands were so calloused from dance practice. He did as much as he could to help the problem — exfoliated and moisturized — but nothing seemed to work except taking a break from dance. Which was never going to happen. 

  “No,” He finally said, shaking his head slowly. But even as the words left his mouth, they didn’t feel quite right. “I mean, it would be stupid for me to. We’re both so different from who we were during our childhood. And we're too far apart in age and maturity."

  Hyunjin shrugged slowly before he shoved his fidget toy away in his duffle bag and took a long swig from his Pocari Sweat bottle. “I mean, it really isn’t that far-fetched. At your core, you guys are still the same people. You just hang out with different friends and lead different lives these days. But you’re still interested in the same things as before— art and video games and whatever other shit.”

  “Hyunjin, no. It’d be fucking weird. I’m a senior and he’s a freshman. I'm going to be graduating in under six months and he just started. There’s no way in hell I’m dealing with that bullshit.” 

  Just then, Minho’s friend finally stood up from his spot on the hard, wooden floor. He gathered up his things and then offered a hand out to Minho. Taking ahold of it, Hyunjin hoisted him up and offered a slow grin as Minho grabbed his bag. 

  “You guys are both adults now. That kinda taboo shit you felt back in the day is irrelevant now,” Pulling out his car keys, Hyunjin started leading them to the front doors of the studio. Hyunjin shared a dorm with Changbin that was about a twenty-minute drive from campus. “So my advice on everything? Just go with whatever your heart and mind wants. If that’s to never speak again, great. But if that means something more… I’d say, do it.” 

  Minho offered him the best smile he could muster at that moment, completely depleted of all energy and emotion. “Thanks, Hyunjinnie. You’re the best and I’m glad you’re such a good friend and listener to my crazy problems.” He said, squeezing Hyunjin's arm just as they made their way outside into the chilly autumn air.

  “Now we should both go home and get some rest. We need to replenish our energy for that stupid exam next week.” Hyunjin said, stepping over to the nearby parking lot and unlocking his electric Toyota Camry. “Oh, also— I’m gonna be gone all weekend. My family’s celebrating my grandma’s ninetieth birthday back in our hometown in Jeju.” 

  “Have fun and take it easy Jinnie. I’ll see you on Monday for another ball-crushing week of practice.” Minho shouted across the parking lot, giving Hyunjin a wave as his friend rolled his eyes sarcastically. 

  And then Minho was watching Hyunjin pull out of the lot and drive off. Suddenly faced with the silence of only his presence, he realized how heavy his shoulders had felt before talking about everything. Just like that, Hyunjin had helped him tremendously. Without Minho even realizing it, he had been holding onto a lot of shit for the past few weeks. Seeing Felix, and going to the party that night, definitely stirred up a lot of murky feelings inside of him. 

  Sure, nothing was solved and he still had a lot to process and work through. But the fact that he was even strong enough to get it out of his system accounted for something. 

  As Minho walked back to the dorm that he shared with Chris, he decided to fling himself into the work of perfecting the choreo for their exam. That way, once Hyunjin came back from his weekend trip, they’d be all ready to go for the final few practices. 

  Besides, distracting himself from everything with a long weekend in the studio would do Minho a lot of good. 

  Help him take his mind off of it all. 

  Take his mind off of thinking about Felix and what they used to be and what they could’ve been and— 

  Yes, dancing would suffice as a therapy.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

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[roseverdict]

Writing Commissions Open!

Hey howdy hey, guess who's broke and whose brain has latched on to the idea of getting a bike or a trike to get places other than the one (1) coffee shop in walking distance!

YEP. I need to open commissions.

However, I do have at least one thing going for me- I'm told I'm fairly good at writing things! Fanfic things, at least. While I'm not dumb enough to outright go "hey, pay me to write fanfiction," I figure I can at least point out some fanfics I've written that seem to have gone over well as examples of my work, since that's most of what I've got for proof of my skills.

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I'd show more, but Tumblr won't let me add more images, and even these fought me Tooth And Nail when I was trying to format them properly. Truly a functioning website.

Hopefully these kind of give an idea of the vibes I'm strongest with, too. Pricing and rules will be under the cut. I do have a target I'm trying to reach here, but depending on how well this goes, I might end up keeping commissions open indefinitely. We'll see. :D

DM me if you're interested!

Things I'm Comfortable Writing:

Original Storylines (Brief primer on the world/characters I'll be writing with will be required)

Things like the pieces shown on my AO3 account

OCs

Y/N-style pieces (both with and without the actual usage of "Y/N")

Mild Romance

Gore/Severe Injury

Body Horror

Whump

Look, if it's in the Danny Phantom phandom and basically nowhere else, I'm probably just fine writing it, despite its intensity xD

Things I Will Not Write:

Smut. There's no shame in enjoying it, I just. Don't.

Incest. Absolutely NONE. Even leaving aside the whole debate about whether or not people should ship incest ships, I would not be able to enjoy writing it, which would make the resulting work of low quality, which would be a huge waste of time for everyone involved.

Pedophilia- specifically, ships with a minor and an adult multiple years their senior. See above. 17yo x 18yo is pushing it, but depending on the circumstances, I might allow it. They aren't exactly in completely different phases of life there. However, I'm in my 20s and don't particularly want to think about or write about kids the age of my youngest brother dating people my age or older, you feel me?

Bigotry presented to the reader as a positive thing. I'm not gonna write your favorite heroic character declaring OOC that minorities are terrible people. If you want something from the POV of a character meant to be terrible, such as someone like Fire Lord Ozai in AtLA, however, I may be willing to write it.

I reserve the right to refuse any commission and not have to explain why. Person-to-person, though, this will likely only come up if someone tries to commission something that crosses these lines and refuses to acknowledge such.

Payment: 5¢ USD per word. This works out to…

$12.50 for 250 words

$25 for 500 words

$50 for 1K words

and so on.

I'll need half the payment up front as a deposit, then the rest upon completion. If, for whatever reason, I fail to write the commission, you will be refunded in full.

If you pay me for a given number of words, I will do my best to stick to it. I will make sure you at least get your money's worth, but if I just can't quite fit the writing into the given limit, I won't charge you for the extra words. Call it 100 words or so of wiggle room.

A commission for a fic 1K or larger that runs 100 words or less over the intended length will not cost extra

A commission for a fic between 500 and 999 words that runs 50 words or less over will not cost extra

A commission for a fic 499 words or below that runs 25 words or less over will not cost extra

A commission for a fic that has enough going on to run over that limit will result in me contacting you to ask for either a scaled-down plot or payment for the extra writing.

I will not consider calling a commission complete until I can hit the target wordcount at minimum.

If it should happen that I just can't make a scene stretch to the full wordcount, but you still want to keep what is written, the words that were not written will be refunded.

[wrongcaitlyn]

i wanted to know if you have any plans for the og campers???? like luke, clarisse, silena, beckendorf, etc etc

this is SO funny bc i was literally JUST talking to @wronghuntress about them like a few hours ago😭😭 BUT to answer your question,,, it's sort of complicated. bc i didn't realize that i was doing it until like a good way into the series, but i've been unintentionally picturing pretty much all of the og campers/people from the main pjo series as part of the acting side of hollywood, whereas i've been leaning more toward, like, toa/side/minor characters for the rest of the main cast! this makes sense to me because like, nico and will get their big moment in toa, and apollo's a huge character too. percy and annabeth are actors obviously, but i did give them some connections to nico - but either way, i guess i just saw all of those characters as not really having any sort of connection to nico & will (even though i'm the hugest fan of will being close with clarisse and silena and beckendorf- he was totally will's bi awakening it's canon u heard it from me)

but anyway im getting off track, i've sort of had like a completely separate plotline for them going on in my head (not really detailed at all, i'd have to think about it more), dealing with more of those og characters, including percy annabeth and grover! i'm not entirely sure if that'll ever be included in the main fic seeing as they don't have much connection to nico's storyline specifically, but who knows... maybe a spinoff fic one day? i definitely won't be able to write some long 100k fic for them but i'd love to dive into that!

the only thing that i DO see happening is - if you remember this, a while ago, i mentioned the possibility of a third fic or some future plans for nico to write a musical to get that egot, namely hadestown. while the idea was being organized in my head, i've been thinking of silena as helping nico write the musical and playing eurydice, and then ofc i'd love having beckendorf play orpheus - i think he gives the vibes?? or is that just me???

and then jenna (wronghuntress) gave me the BEAUTIFUL idea earlier today of this... silena and charlie as actors, specifically broadway/musical theater actors (though im sure they have also been in some other projects), clarisse as silena's bodyguard,,, and im usually so against love triangles but like. there's so much potential there - again, nothing's finalized, i dont even know if i'm gonna write it, i don't really have ANY plans other than potentially making nico contact silena when he wants to work on his musical and having them + beckendorf work together for the demo recording - it's all VERY vague and blurry so we'll see if i come up with anything more to fall down that rabbit hole!

and as for luke, i pretty much have this: he's an actor, at some point he was prob friends with annabeth after working on a show together or smth, and ends up getting cancelled. for what? i'm not entirely sure yet, but it's probably very shitty for the internet to turn against a hot white guy. actually that fact might make him getting cancelled very unrealistic. but like it's my fic so that's what i'm saying happens! unfortunately he prob still gets roles and he's prob still like a millionaire and stuff but in general: bad person. though he probably (and thalia, because she used to be an actress too before running away) were in a movie/show/something with annabeth when she was young and they kinda mentored her/helped her learn the ropes before her big break. they started a club of neglected child actors which eventually turned into just annabeth, but at least she has percy and reyna and jason and piper and magnus on her side now :)

so long story short: i don't have specific plans, but they're all actors and definitely have a lot of lore that one day i would like to try to figure out!! for now i'm still very focused on tgol/the side stories that take place in THAT main timeline (so right now it'd be 2020-2024), whereas all of the main drama/plot in the actors' timeline would be happening BEFORE talk your talk (percy + annabeth + thalia + luke + silena) (around 2008-2015) or AFTER the greatest of luxuries (silena + clarisse + beckendorf + chris(??? i have no idea what's going on with him?? he's prob famous somehow but idk??? or maybe like childhood friend tis the damn season vibe. god there are so many fame tropes i have yet to unlock and so many characters i have yet to mess with) (around 2024-2026)

thank you for the ask!! i hope that one day when i have some more time to make some playlists, properly listen to hadestown, and learn more about musical theater/broadway/acting in general, i'll be able to answer the question more thoroughly!!

[jelzorz]

The Crack Quartet Timeline BC I'm sleep deprived and obsessed. Some housekeeping before we get into it:

For those unaware, the canon crack quartet, is rayllum and the following insane trio of ships: claudiez, sorpeli, and corterry

You read that correctly

I got dragged onto this boat unwillingly so now all of you have to suffer too.

These are my hcs and I've already written some of it into fic (linked for convenience).

It's important to note that the crack quartet can only ever take place 10-15 years from the end of canon. Everyone involved by this point is a fully consenting adult. Please keep this disclaimer in mind before you all start coming at me.

Now that that's out of the way

Some of you may have read the seed, so you may know already that I hc Soren and Corvus to be pretty steady at least until the end of the war, where the trauma is too heavy for both of them to be healthy about it. Soren ends the relationship and Corvus informally leaves the council. He's always preferred the serenity of the forest to the hustle and bustle of the castle anyway, and he returns every now and then to give Ezran reports about how things are going among the surrounding towns. It's on one of these journeys that he meets Terry, and their passing knowledge of each other is what gets them talking over a drink in a tavern. Corvus is doing his job and listening for gossip. Terry wants know if he's heard anything about Claudia. All the drama aside, it's nice to see a familiar face and to talk about old times.

In Katolis, Ez and Rayla bully Opeli into taking self defence lessons with Soren after she insists Ez keeps up his swordfighting lessons when she herself has never touched a weapon in her life. If you haven't already read the seed, this is how sorpeli starts. Soren and Opeli have been p good friends for years now, and he has never considered her a mother figure the same way Callum and Ezran might have. He was essentially an adult when everything started so he hasn't ever really needed that guidance, but he's always had a ton of respect for her too. He is 24/25ish when he realises he's caught feelings. He asks her to dance at Callum and Rayla's wedding. He starts having tea with her in the mornings and walking with her to Temple Hill (ia163a)

The month before Callum and Rayla's wedding, the kids are called away to a skirmish in a little town near the border. Ez goes for a wander through town to assess damage and how much they'll need in funds to repair everything when he finds a small clinic that desperately needs financial support. This is where he finds Claudia. She is tending to the medicinal herbs in the garden when he rides past. She's been going from town to town trying to make up for all the trouble she caused by assisting in their clinics and apothecaries under the name Lissa. Ez recognises her immediately. He knows he should tell the others. He does not. He is 14/15.

Claudia tries to leave but the other medics beg her not to. They need her help and her knowledge of medicinal herbs and potions. There's no one to replace her. She stays for a little longer, intending to leave the following week when a cart arrives bearing equipment and support and the king's seal. There is also a letter addressed to Lissa. In it, Ez promises her that her secret is safe, and that she will always have a home in the castle if she wants it.

For a while, everything is fine. Callum and Rayla get married, and castle life is pretty stable in amongst the political squabbles and the trips to quell conflicts in the surrounding towns. Soren hangs out with Opeli pretty regularly. Ez is writing letters to Claudia and personally funding the clinic she works at. Callum and Rayla start trying for a baby. Rayla falls pregnant three years after their wedding. She is 20ish weeks along when Claudia comes home.

Callum, snake boi that he is, is Not Having It. Claudia is thrown into a cell on arrival and he insists on exiling her as a minimum but Ezran, who's been in contact this whole time, knows she's been trying to make amends for her mistakes. He demands a trial on her behalf. Soren agrees. Opeli, as a stand in for Justice, argues that a trial is the fair thing to do. Rayla looks at Ezran, realises something else is going on, and agrees that a trial is the better way to go. The sentence her to service within the castle. Callum is Not Happy about it. (ia165)

This is one of the biggest disagreements Ez and Callum ever have. Rayla does her best to placate them both but she is also pregnant and doesn't want to deal with it. Frustrated that his brother won't trust his decision making and keeps treating him like a child, Ez spends more and more time with Claudia, who trusts him and treats him like an adult, until they're courting in all but name. Callum HATES this but reigns it in for Rayla's sake who's stressed enough. She goes into labour at the end of that summer and suffers a post partum haemorrhage so bad that the only thing that can fix it is Claudia's knowledge of Xadian herbs. The midwives kick Callum out of the room to let Claudia in and Ezran lets them. Rayla and the baby are both fine thanks to Claudia but Callum is FURIOUS with Ezran for allowing it to happen.

They're so caught up in the drama that no one notices Soren and Opeli having drama of their own. They are now having secret, hurried meetings in each other's quarters, knowing how absolutely Forbidden it is, especially for Opeli, both because of her age and her position as High Cleric, but they can't stay away from each other until Opeli starts throwing up in the mornings and she breaks it off in her panic. Rayla is the only one who notices and goes investigating. She is the only one Opeli allows to know of the situation. Rayla goes to Claudia to find the appropriate herbs to help Opeli with her Dilemma, and Claudia figures it out on her own 1) because she knows her brother, and 2) she's not an idiot. Rayla takes the opportunity to thank her properly for saving her life and their friendship begins here, while the boys are still at odds with each other. Opeli does not take the herbs in the end. (the fruit)

Opeli miscarries. She collapses during a council meeting, and it all comes out while the castle doctor and Claudia are attending to her. Callum and Ezran realise how stupid they've been because of the way they hadn't even noticed and they are speaking to each other again by the time Opeli is in recovery. Callum accepts Ezran and Claudia's courtship and does his best to process both this and Soren and Opeli (ia164) and things settle down again for a little while. Opeli resigns from her post as High Cleric and attempts to do the same from the council but Ez refuses her resignation and keeps her on informally. Soren and Opeli are married in a quiet ceremony. Opeli finds herself pregnant again six months later.

Viren returns to the castle that same year. It's Claudia's return all over again: Callum demands he be executed on the spot. Ezran wants to give him a trial. Claudia begs them not to kill him through her courtship with Ezran, her relationship with Soren, and her friendship with Rayla. Soren votes no, for himself and for Claudia. Rayla votes yes because, tentative friendship with Claudia aside, she can't trust Viren, especially not with her and Callum's little one running around. Ezran votes no because he wants to be a better king. Clio, the new High Cleric, Opeli's old 2IC, votes yes as the stand in for LJ. Barius, too soft hearted, votes no. Opeli is the deciding vote. She also votes no and all hell breaks loose all over again. (the snake).

Anyway, this is where we're up to. Obviously there will be more as I update the snake but I don't wanna give anything away BC hooo boy that drama is a doozy. I know, okay, these ships are Insane but the extrapolation you can do is just so Delicious and the drama is absolutely *chef kiss*

Now with part 2: electric boogaloo

[rancidpancakebatter]

hey, i hope you're doing amazing! i was wondering if you could write a tasm!peter fic based on the song 'honest' by the neighbourhood? it can be reaaally angst, i promise i won't complain, not even a little bit! thankk you soo muuch in advance, i love your writing! ♡

You want angst? I'll give you angst

Honest by The Neighborhood [P.P.] | The Playlist

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: Peter is lying. Peter has been lying. And now you have to find out why.

Content: Swearing, Alcohol Consumption (legal age), Mentions of blood (Spider-Man injuries but nothing too graphic), break up,

( Paylist | Masterlist | Fic Break down: 1|2])

A/N: I'm making my way through my asks and It's been great. Thank you for all that submit things to my ask box, I love seeing it :))

You pace your room, a vexing mix of emotions swirling in your gut. You had to talk to him. You couldn’t keep doing this. You were confused. You were angry. You were hurt. But really you were scared. You were scared for Peter. You couldn’t understand it. You couldn’t understand him.

You were supposed to have a date last night. You had been looking forward to it all week. Your boss had been up your ass lately, demanding you reformat your analytics debrief six different times. There was family drama your mother was constantly updating you on and asking for guidance in a situation you were too exhausted to deal with. And you hadn’t had a chance to go grocery shopping (due to the overtime you had to put in), so your cabinets were bare and your fridge bereft.

All-in-all, not a good time. Peter had promised that he would see you. That you would be together. But instead, you waited in your fancy dress and painful shoes for four hours, drowning your sorrows in wine and staring at your unanswered texts. Waiting, always waiting.

Peter had always been a bit flakey. He would often ask to reschedule or push back plans, garnering some excuse as to why he couldn’t make it on time. It was a bit annoying, but not the end of the world. Peter liked to take things slow, and you respected that.

You went on seven dates before he kissed you. You'd been dating for six months before he said I love you, and you didn’t sleep together until a month later. You figured Peter just had a fear of intimacy, but he seemed to be trying, and you didn’t want to pressure him. But he has pushed you too far. Your patience is gone. 

The wine was almost empty; you had ditched your glass a while ago. There was no point in keeping up with social etiquettes when it was just you. It’s not like you were going to share it with anyone. Not anymore, at least.

You heard a knock on your door and made no attempt to answer it. You were playing music, but it wasn’t loud enough to warrant a visit from any neighbours. You didn’t feel up to a social call, so you continued to wallow. 

“(Y/n)? (Y/n), honey, it’s me. Can you open the door please?”

For a moment, you thought it was a hallucination. Your drunken mind stringing you along, taunting you with the one thing you wanted. 

He knocked again, “(Y/n), I know you’re in there. Just open the door.”

You scoffed and took another sip, “Look, your mad; I get it. I understand, and you have every right to be. I’m so, so sorry. Please, I- I want to apologise.”

You felt your body temperature rise and anger slowly build in your veins as it pushed out the self-pity you had once been filled with. You took unsteady steps towards the door, the cold tile against your bare feet making you shiver.

You undid the deadbolt but kept the chain in place, opening the door and peeking your face through the gap. You just looked at each other for a moment, a silent stare down. Your gaze held a certain animosity, while his was filled with relief, though it grew confused when the door stayed in its partially opened state. 

“Can I come in?” You say nothing as you continue to stare him down.

“Please, I know you’re mad-” If he says that again you just might scream. Actually, that’s not a bad idea. 

“You don’t know anything, Peter.” Your words slur together, and the t’s don’t come out just right, but you’re sure he understands precisely how angry you are with the venom you spit out alongside his name. 

His brows furrow as he looks over your face. “Are you- are you drunk?”

You keep your glare intact as you think over your answer. You could lie, but you didn’t need a mirror to tell you that your cheeks were adorned by a familiar warmth, and your lips were surely tinted with an obvious magenta stain.

“Yes, but that’s none of your business. Good night.” You move to close the door, but Peter’s hand stops you. 

“Uhng- Wait. Ow, shit- just wait a second, please.” You slowly open the door again, not for his pleas but for his expressions of pain. 

This time you look at him, really look at him. You can see a bit of blood on his lip, a bruise on his cheek, and his hand holding his side. You feel a chill run down your spine. 

“Back up.” He takes a step back, taking his weight off the door while you undo the chain lock and usher him inside. 

You set him on the couch and winced along with him. You rushed to your bathroom and prepared a warm washcloth and some band-aids you found under the sink. Maybe you should invest in a first-aid kit. You had never needed one before.

You returned to Peter’s side and raised your hand to his face. It wasn’t really necessary, his eyes have been locked on you since entering. But you lifted his chin anyway, a silent promise to hold him close.

You wiped gingerly at his lip, wiping away any dried blood and grime. It was obvious that he had wiped at it a few times. 

“I’m so sorry. Really I-” You lightly pinched his chin. 

“Hush. I don’t need an apology. I- I just…Peter, are you okay?” You could feel your eyes watering, tears swimming forth and resting on the verge.

In his eyes, you could see the once-sweet cacao of his irises tainted by fear and distress. It pained you to see it, so you stopped looking. You grabbed his hands instead, gingerly wiping down each finger, tracing the tendons and fate lines. 

“I’ll be okay.” His hand was still holding his side, and you moved it, slowly lifting his shirt to look underneath. 

The wound stretched from his lat to his hip, twisting toward his stomach. It looked like a giant rug burn. No, more like a scrape you would get on your knee after tripping on the sidewalk. Only deeper. You could still see bits of gravel lodged between the flesh, and you grimaced at the thought. That had to be so very painful.

You wished you had rubbing alcohol so you could clean it. A wound of that size, that exposed, was sure to get infected. You used the rag as gently as possible and mumbled a sorry every time he hissed. You didn’t make much progress before he grabbed your hand, calling your name sweetly. 

“Hey, hey. Just leave it be. Really, it’s fine.” He tries to comfort you with a smile, but it’s tired at the edges, his drooping eyes not matching the expression.

You can feel yourself choking up but try to swallow it down because Peter needs you right now. He shouldn’t have to be the strong one.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, “Wh-what happened, Pete? Who did this to you?”

He swallows before he answers.

“I…got mugged.” You tense for a second.

“You got mugged?” If Peter noticed how your concern drifts, he made no comment on the matter.

“…Yes.” You drop his hands, let go of him.

You turned your body away as you stared at the wall. Your tears were dangerously close to falling. This is when your patience broke. This exact moment. It snapped, stretched too thin and tested too often.

It shattered along with your heart, shards scattered across the uneven floors of your apartment. The wine in your system did nothing to dull the pain of heartbreak. You felt every crack and splinter as it slowly broke apart, then burst all at once.

“Are you sure?” Your voice is cold, your capability for sympathy floating away in waves. 

You saw him tilt his head in confusion from your peripheral. Any other time you would have thought it was adorable- compared him to a Yorkie or a Spaniel- but his act of innocence only made you angrier now.  

“Yeah…why?” 

You remained silent as you got up from your seat, walking around the back of the couch to the side he was sitting on. You grabbed his backpack, tucked into the side as if he had hidden it, and dropped it on the coffee table. Peter’s eyes widened at the site. 

“So you got mugged…and your backpack is still in perfect order?”

The canvas was unstained, the zippers undamaged. The bag was in its normal state of distress. You watched as his face began to flush, and his mouth opened and closed uselessly.

You waited for a response, but when he refused to give one- you pushed forward. You unzipped its pockets and pulled out the valuables that were all unharmed and very obtainable to anyone who wanted to take them by force. 

“You got mugged, and they let you keep your camera, your laptop, the Beats I got you for Chanukah, and your wallet with… ” You dramatically counted the cash in front of him, “forty-two dollars in it?” 

“It- he…uh… ” You tapped your foot as your arms rested firmly in a crossed position. 

“It wasn’t a successful mugging,” He finally settled on. 

“What happened? Exactly.” Peter squirmed on the couch a bit as if running from your anger. 

“He, uh, stopped me. And then he took out a… knife. And then he told me to give him all my stuff, and when I started to run, he knocked me down. We fought for a bit, and then I got away.” Peter looked you in the eyes while he uttered, which only infuriated you more.

“When did this happen? Where? What did he look like?”

You continued to grill him as he fumbled through each answer he gave you. Your anger climbed with every word he said. He might have been able to convince May, but you knew his tells. 

Usually, he would ramble, giving entirely too much context to a situation, caught up wholly in the story. But when he lied, he said as little as possible. Peter fidgeted a lot. If he was sitting, you could bet one, if not both, of his feet, were bouncing. But now he sat before you almost perfectly still. Shifting his body around slowly, his discomfort evident.

“Peter, how the fuck do you get yanked across the concrete hard enough to get an injury like that? Did you get assaulted by Mike Tyson? It looks like you were hitched to a truck and dragged.” You ask, angrily pointing at where his hand continues to rest on his side.

“You’ve told me this story three times now, and not once did you mention that. I’m not buying it; just tell me what happened.” You watch as Pete shifts again, propping his elbows on his knees as he brings his head into his palms.

He sits there for a moment before he ruffles his hair and sits back up. “Okay, you got me. I-I fell on my skateboard. I was just embarrassed about it.”

“You missed our date…because you were skateboarding.” It wasn’t a question because that wasn’t the truth either. "You're telling me that you hurt yourself this severely, and disappeared for however many hours because you randomly decided to ride your skateboard for the first time in almost a year, and you were embarrassed."

Peter broke out into another story, but you blocked it out. You weren’t a particularly violent person, but Peter was pushing you to that level.

You clenched your fist as you fought the urge to grab everything within reach and chuck it at his incredibly thick head, maybe knocking some sense into him. You felt like you were losing your mind. You were seconds from snapping, and you weren’t sure what that would look like.

Your head was pounding, and your buzz was long gone. You weighed your options for a minute before releasing a terse sigh, cutting off his newly woven tall tale.

“Are you gonna bleed out and die tonight?” You still couldn’t look at him; you focused instead on memorising the phosphenes dancing behind your eyelids.

“No, I’ll be okay, I promise.”

You almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his statement. Here you were, arguing over his blatant dishonesty, and he thinks you’ll accept his promise? You felt sore from the way your muscles had been tensing.

“Then get out.” You didn’t need to look at him to know how pitiful he must look. 

“What?” He sounded so small, and you felt bad for a moment, but only a moment. 

“I said, get out, Peter. If you can’t be honest with me, then…just leave.” You finally open your eyes, utterly defeated.

He stood, taking a step toward you but stopping when you backed away. “(Y/n/n), I’m telling you the truth-”

“No! You’re not! And I don’t want to hear another word. Not tonight.” You held your head in your hands, blinking back tears. 

He froze, staring at you incredulously. He looked completely distraught, and while you wanted to feel bad, all you could think was maybe now he understood how you felt. Just how terrible this exchange made you feel.

You didn’t really want to kick him out; you wanted him to hold you close and tell you everything was okay. You wanted him to change into his sweats and scold you for stealing his sleep shirt, forcing him to remain shirtless. You wanted him to complain about you keeping him up by staring at him while he tried to sleep. You wanted him to retaliate by rolling over on top of you, peppering you kisses and pretending to fall asleep like that.

You wanted to go back, return to normalcy. But the damage was done, and no patchwork could turn this around. 

You pushed his backpack toward him, across the table, and that seemed to break him from his trance. He slowly threw it over his shoulder, giving you a tearful glance before he walked to the door. You followed him to the threshold, and he only took one step into the hallway before whipping around to face you. 

“Not tonight…but when?”

You hastily swiped a tear that had fallen from your eye, “I need space. I need to calm down and think before we discuss this anymore.”

Peter's jaw quivered slightly before he forced the muscles to tighten. He turned, and his heavy steps echoed in the hall. You close the door behind him and finally let the tears fall. Your body racked with sobs as you sunk to the floor, the exhaustion catching up to you. You felt utterly deflated, devastated by Peter’s inability to just talk to you, to be honest. You ended up falling asleep there. 

Three days had passed. Peter had texted you thrice. That night he told he was sorry and he hoped you were okay. You didn’t respond.

Obviously, you weren’t okay, but you didn’t know how to communicate that without blaming him and inevitably starting another fight. He texted you again halfway through the next day to ask how yours was. You had spent it fighting the urge to go to Aunt May to cry to her instead of your playlist of heartwrenching songs.

You knew she would give you comfort and support, knowing exactly how it feels to be lied to by Peter, but you also didn’t want to put her in that situation. You didn’t tell him this; you didn’t say anything. The last message Peter sent you just read: “let me know when you’re ready to talk. I’ll be here.”

As you paced around your bedroom, you think you’ve finally reached a mindset that was level-headed-adjacent. You had calmed down significantly.

You didn’t like feeling angry. But for you to get as upset as you did, was borderline unacceptable. You had to acknowledge that Peter’s lies had been gnawing at you for a while so you could begin to heal. And now, as the sun sits high in the sky, you bask in its beams. You sit on your bed and hug a pillow to your chest; your phone weighs heavy in your hands as your thumbs hover over your keypad. 

You had come to the conclusion that you were both at fault. Peter had lied. He had lied often. He had scared you. He kept you in the dark, but you made it your home. You never called him out for it. You never communicated your fear or concern, or why you felt you needed him to tell you the truth. But you also realised that being open and honest, that communication, came with trust.

If Peter wasn’t coming to you, it was because he didn’t trust you, and you had to open your mind to the possibility that that could be your fault. You decided that needed to be the basis of your conversation. And you were finally ready to do it. You were determined to save this relationship.

You texted Peter that you were ready to talk, and for once, he responded immediately. You felt a little bad that he hadn’t heard from you yet, but you didn’t want to lash out; you were looking for a resolution. You asked to meet at his place, “I’m home all day.”

You go over everything you want to say as you walk down the street. It was a forty-five-minute walk between you and Peter’s place. You could take the bus, but you wanted the walk. You wanted the fresh air and constant motion. You were nervous, but if you were walking, you didn’t have to focus on it. 

When the door opens, Peter’s eyes light up. As if looking at you brightens his mood alone. He wore a timid smile, and his shoulders were tense, but his eyes twinkled in the hallway fluorescents just because they fell on you.

He invited you in and sat down on the couch. He attempted to make small talk, and you tried your best to answer without saying anything that may garner guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter suddenly blurted out. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued, “I missed our date, and I didn’t text you. I am so, so sorry. That wasn’t okay, and I promise to do better.”

You took his hand, and he seemed to relax a bit. “Peter that- yeah, that sucked. But that’s not what I’m upset about.”

You could almost feel Peter’s nerves, like his anxiety was shooting out of the pads of his fingers and into you. “I am worried about you. You are often…harmed in some way or late, and you can never tell me why. And I just- I’m-”

Maybe it was your nerves you were feeling. “I’m worried you don’t trust me. I wanted to know if there was something I could do to remedy that.”

Peter grips your hand a little tighter, “I trust you. Of course, I trust you.”

His words soak into your skin, and you feel anger bubbling within you. But it’s not just rage; it’s exhaustion. You’ve done this song and dance, and the tune no longer excites you. You know now that there’s no way to avoid it. If he claims it’s not you then you have to confront him. But you didn’t really want to. You knew the question but feared the answer. The words lodged in your throat, and it felt harder to breathe. 

Say it, You thought. You should say it.

“So, then, why do you lie?”

He pulled back from you slowly enough that you could feel him slipping away. 

“I don’t.”

Another lie. 

The anger grew as it bubbled in your gut; it was close to a rolling boil. The steam is building, creating pressure. 

“Cut the shit, Parker. I know you weren’t mugged, and I know you weren’t on your damn skateboard. Why won’t you tell me what happened? Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are! Just tell me!”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

He looked at you like it pained him to say it. As if in some way, he knew how this hurts you, and it hurt him too. But he couldn’t know. He couldn’t understand. 

“Peter, I’m kinda losing my mind here. I mean, you are always late or busy, but it’s never with your job. I’ve caught you several times using May as an excuse, not realising that I was with her. And if you do show up, you’re covered in bruises. You have scars that you can’t explain. And anytime I ask about any of it I get vague, nonsensical answers. Why? Why can’t you tell me what’s going on? I wish you could be honest with me.”

His face falls. You see the guilt flash across his face for the briefest of moments, but then it’s gone, replaced by an expression of faux ire as he stands from the couch. He stands up straighter, his shoulders squared and fists balled at his sides. It was a defensive stance, and he fell into it so naturally, you wondered how often he did.

“Tell me this: Why’d you stick around; why’d you stay with me? If you know I’m lying, why?”

If you didn’t know him, you would have been hurt by his tone, filled with disdain and contempt. But you knew Peter Parker. He was trying to push you away again.

He would go through these cycles where he would shower you in adoration, tell you that you were perfect and amazing, and how he was so lucky to have you. But then he would freak out. He would ghost you and act distant. When you could finally pin him down, he would confess that he felt he didn’t deserve you or the love you poured out for him.

The fact that he was doing it now frustrated you to no end. You could feel your hair greying.

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! Jesus, Peter, I love you. And I knew you had some issues, but no one is perfect. And I’m not asking you to be. I’m just asking for you to be truthful with me. And if you can’t do that, I’m asking for an explanation. What am I doing wrong? How do I fix this, Peter? Please, give me something, anything!”

You were pulling at your hair, on the verge of tears. Your breathing erratic. You felt like you were going to explode; your atoms were seconds from throwing off electrons left and right until they all decayed and left you in a pile of mush.

“What- You’re not doing anything wrong, okay? You’re great, amazing even. It’s not you.”

Peter placed his hands on yours, pulling them away from your head and placing them over his heart. You steady your breaths in time with his.

“Then why? Why do you lie to me, Peter?”

“It’s to keep you safe.”

“Safe from what? What are you running from?”

“Look, I can’t. I can’t tell you, alright? I can’t put you in danger like that.”

It was Peter’s turn to tense and your turn to soothe.

“Hey, we’re in this together. We’re supposed to grow and learn and chase our dreams together.” You intertwined your fingers and bring them to your lips. “ Peter, if you're in danger I want to know. Let me help you, please.”

Something in Peter snaps. His eyes are now cold as he pushes your hands away, taking a step back. If he had walls up before, you were now looking at a fortress. Fort Knox. Castle Rock. 

“You. Can’t. Help. Me.” He spoke the words with finality. “Do you hear me? I don’t want your help.”

You felt his words rip and tear through you, taking part of you with them. A deep cut by a serrated blade. You did your best to apply pressure to the wound, to keep going- to make him see. 

“But that’s what you do. When you love someone, you help them. You do it all the time, whether it’s carrying my groceries up the stairs when the elevator’s down. Or when you run me a bath after a stressful day-”

“That’s different, (Y/n).” You shake your head furiously.

“No. No, it’s not. You help me because you love me. Let me do the same.” You’re pleading with him at this point; your dignity lone gone. 

Peter looks to the ground and says nothing. You feel your heart sink; he says nothing. “Peter?”

Still nothing. “Peter?”

You feel like you might vomit. “Do you…Do you love me?”

Your ears are ringing in the silence. He finally lifts his head, and his eyes are rimmed with tears, but still, he says nothing. 

His hesitation kills you. This is it. This is your end. Peter Parker doesn’t love you. The last bit of hope in you fades, and you feel hollow. His love had died, and so have you. The revelation is almost enough to bring you to your knees. 

“I couldn’t save it,” You whisper so faintly one might mistake it for a draft from a leaky window. “I couldn’t save it.”

You cry. Hadn’t really done that in front of Peter before. You’ve teared up sure, maybe had one or two slip, but this was something else. This was a steady stream down both cheeks. This was raspy gasps from your chest. This was ugly. 

And Peter just stood there. 

You collapsed onto the couch as you started to shake. You felt like everything was falling apart. If you thought your heart had been suffering before, you were wrong. It had now been obliterated.

There were no shards or mess, only a plume of smoke and a singed cavity where the muscle once was. It burned and burned, eating itself alive until there was nothing left.

You wondered if this is what stars felt- this fear, this betrayal- before they succumb to their own crushing gravity, exploding with a grand flourish…and then nothing. 

You wiped your face. He had lied to you for the last time. You held no sympathy for him. You found it hard to believe that he didn’t love you, but if you were right, what does that say about Peter? He was deeply hurt. You saw glimpses of it when Peter would lose you in the store, when he would wake you up with a night terror, when he lied. You loved him, for better or for worse, you did. But you couldn’t do this; you deserved better. 

You stand and grab your bag, throwing it over your shoulder. You make it across the floor and to the front door before Peter says anything.

“Wait, where are you going?”

You bite your tongue, holding back as many scathing comments as you can. Most of them call him out for pushing you away and being upset when it works. But instead, you settle on something else, something you think is a little nicer. 

“I hope you find a way to be yourself someday.”

When you look back at him, he looks like he’s seconds from shattering. But maybe once he falls apart, he can build himself back up. You hope he does. 

“I pray for the best for you, Peter.” And that was true. Even as you shut the door behind you, even as you silenced his notifications on your phone, even when your friends shit on him- trying to make you feel better. You hoped that he would get the best life had to offer. You hoped it would be a little kinder to him.

Taglist: @andrews-lovr, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @djdre92, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @preciousbabypeter, @princesskittycatofmeowland, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

[threerattsinatrenchcoat]

Raaaatt I wanted to ask sooner but I kept typing your Ao3 name instead and not finding you.

I see you've answered a lot but I think not these 3:

18. 27. 28.

18 share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a fic

I have so many of these! I keep all of it so I don't feel bad deleting them in the first place haha. And to reuse them, maybe!

---

"Good. Rub my orbuculum and I'll give you good fortune." (from wizard smut, of course)

---

(Talking about his time in Avernus)

Rolan even—don't tell Lia and Cal—left a few times on his own and talked himself up to any devil who would listen, taking the lessons they offered solely because they thought it was funny to indulge mortal pride.

---

(this is from an earlier version of Three/Four, when Lakrissa was really nihilistic. This is also a rough draft but I did like like "doesn't mean I want to start now")

"When I do, I'll rot. Every part of me, everything I did, who I really am, dissolves into the void. I return to what I was before I was born: nothing. This means I can do anything. No one will remember my successes, no one will remember my mistakes. I can even do nothing."

Alfira was listening, arms crossed.

Lips dry, Lakrissa continued, "Just because I believe what I do doesn't mean I want the rot to start now, while I'm still alive. There's still dinner to cook. There's still your music. Besides, I want to read Silfy's next newsletter. When nothing matters in 1,000 years, it makes me want to focus on the next five. Years, days, sometimes it's only hours. But I want, and I care."

---

(This one I'll probably reuse but at this exact moment it's deleted)

According to the woman running a con out front (at least until she tried to sell Olly a glass ring and found herself on the wrong end of two Zhentarim blades and one Zhentarim magic hand) the way to trick their mark was to have the room set up already. Don't approach her; have her approach them.

The con artist was kind enough to suggest a layout, and only after a few friendly smacks. Nice to meet another professional.

---

OK that's enough, sorry, I get excited.

27) favorite part of the writing process

I like the part where it's all flowing like ink, and there's a feedback loop between thinking and writing and putting down words just hypes me up for the next words. I get dizzy and amped up.

I also like when a story is waiting on me to figure out one key thing, and it all feels like it's pieces of separate fabric held together by loose thread, and then I find the missing thing and the thread pulls tight and it comes together. I don't get this on very often, but when I do it's incredibly satisfying

28) least favorite part

The slog of writing all the parts that aren't fun. Sometimes I wish I could write AND THEN TIME PASSED and we all just pretend the appropriate character development/plot/whatever happened, haha.

I also hate when I have something I like and realize I misread or misunderstood some lore or missed a plot hole that's a huge plot hole. Or bad pacing. Pacing is probably my weakest bit, I take 3 sentences to say the same thing over and over and sometimes I spend all day writing and only get a few hundred usable words.

[dogwooddiaries]

Writer's Tag Game

tagged by @strangethings-everywhere and @effervescentyellow thanks for the tag! <3

Rules: Answer some or all of the questions below. Tag your fellow writers. Enjoy!

Link to your masterlist: My tiny master list is here on ao3

Favorite and least favorite genres to write (angst/smut/fluff, etc): I have a hard time writing and not including at least a little angst, so I guess that's a favorite. Not sure about my least favorite; still figuring myself out. Maybe fluff?

Favorite characters to write for? well I only write Bobby and Don really :) I have an oc that I kind of adore for this newsies thing I'm trying, but it's been different/hard making an oc...

Which one of your works is your favorite? I'm so happy with finishing Undo Me and figuring out how to get to where I wanted to go. I had fun with my melodrama and angst and unoriginal use of light as a motif and the dash of chiasmus in the plot. I also really liked where I ended up with Sneaking Around because from concept to completion, it took a couple of hours and just came to me without a bunch of planning/drafting - so like the total opposite of Undo Me. These two favorites are also my lower kudos fics :')

Which one of your fics was hardest to write? Why? Undo Me was the biggest thing to wrestle with for sure. I knew where it was going but I didn't really know the route. It was very much a Flannery O'Connor experience of "I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say."

What is your favorite fanfic by someone else? in a show of rebellion to this singular question, I have written an essay. Like others said, fic after fic in this fandom is impressive. I love seeing the various styles, AUs, structures, etc. It's fun to see the creativity in the different works. I'll note a few much loved ones here but could never get to them all. Can You Tell I Have Been Revised by @arokel had me obsessed and in a chokehold with Don's journal and Bobby's choices when the ball was in his court. Let the Sea Roll High or Low by @kjxlll was an incredible piece of just being immersed in the time, place, and alllll the slow aching feelings. Everything felt so of the time, I recall this story in sepia tones. Kiss Me Tender by @shadowquill17 resides in my brain still, I think of it often. Stitch Me Up, Send Me Back Out to Dance by The_Hobbit_Ninja (sorry, don't know their tumblr!) was one of the very first I read in the fandom and god, I wish they still wrote for the fandom; so good. It always leads to you in my hometown by @borealopelta gutted me in the best awful way that I still feel a little unhealthy about. On the Border by @teaforarteza ate my brain, it was everything - angst, incredible smut, feelingsssss. Also, @seasidesandstarscapes 's constant new ideas and inspiration in their one shots always astounds me - if you haven't yet read their vampire au do it!! (trust me! I don't even do vampires!) @strangethings-everywhere 's WWII AU was an inspired idea to put Bobby and Don in that setting. I want to acknowledge @effervescentyellow and her as beautiful as you fic - it broke my heart while simultaneously stitching it back together. Finally, my darling and beloved The Cormorant by @sparrow-in-the-field is still in progress, but I adore it and have a probably dysfunctional obsessive relationship with it and I don't care. :D

Basically my summer vacation was made up of reading fanfic (and very occasionally writing it), can you tell?

Tags: If I mentioned you for something above OR you just want to jump in, please consider yourself tagged! <3

[chiimeramanticore]

Part of the Band - Chapter 12 - Tell Me The Truth

Chapter summary: Dook spends a day at home.

A/N:

halfway through writing this chapter I realized CDs weren't invented until like 1981 and weren't brought to America until like 1983 but I've been "fuck it we ball no post-upload edits" about this fic since day one so I didn't change it to a cassette. just assume this fic takes place in a universe where everything is the same except the CD was invented 5 years earlier lmao in actual news: we're finally entering an arc of the fic I've been waiting for for literally months. I've been sitting on this exact chapter for months. and after all that time I am still afraid the end of this chapter is gonna seem like I'm jumping the shark w this fic lmao. bear with me! I know what I'm doing! you just gotta trust me 👍 all that said I hope you enjoy the chapter as always! thanks for reading :]

Chapter word count: 2,173

<- Chapter 11 - Chapter 13 ->

Read it on AO3!

It's Sunday.

When Dook wakes up, Beach Bear is already gone. This isn't out of the ordinary by now– Dook knows Beach Bear spends his Sundays at the beach. It's sort of his thing. He could be gone anywhere between a few hours and and all day, honestly. Depends how the waves are, he figures.

Dook has come to take these days for himself. Write some music, clean up the place a bit... He owes Beach Bear at least that much for letting him live here for so long.

After standing in the kitchen idly eating an untoasted bagel, Dook decides that that's good enough to get to work. He turns his attention to the counter, sifting through the pile of notes, receipts, and other stuff they've left there over the week. He tosses what he knows they won't need, and organizes the rest.

As he lifts up a notepad to put it back in its drawer, Dook reveals a CD, still in its case. Scribbled onto the front in Sharpie: "Ballroom Dancing." This is the CD he saw in Beach Bear's car a while ago. He didn't know it ended up here. Beach Bear seemed embarrassed of it at the time, but... Dook eyes the radio next to him.

...But he doesn't have to know, right?

Dook pops the CD out of its case and into the radio's CD player.

The CD whirrs to life, and out comes the sound of Beach Bear. He plucks at his guitar a few times, warming up at first, before beginning to strum a song. He hums along in accompaniment for a while, and then begins to sing the lyrics. Dook recognizes this song– it's by Paul McCartney. But hearing it in Beach Bear's voice is a whole new experience... Though, he is admittedly aware of his infatuation with his voice.

Awareness doesn't stop him from being completely entranced by the recording, though. It's just Beach Bear and his guitar– a far cry from a finished cover– but the smallness of it almost feels more personal. More intimate. Like he's performing just for him.

But eventually, the song ends, and Dook is reminded how he stands in Beach Bear's house without him. Silence falls over the kitchen once more. Left with only his thoughts, Dook can only imagine one thing.

"Beach Bear can sing," he says aloud to himself. How come he was so nervous about this? He's fantastic!

He puts the CD on again, returning to cleaning as he listens. He should bring this up to him when he comes home. He should encourage him to sing in the band! That would solve their singer problem for sure.

Dook's cleaning eventually brings him to Beach Bear's bedroom. He hasn't been in here in some time... not since he slept here. Even then, it was only for a couple hours, and he wasn't conscious for most of it.

He hasn't accustomed to this room fully, even after all this time. Something just feels too intimate about it. Sacred, almost. Maybe he shouldn't clean in here.

Still, Dook finds himself stepping into the room, his feet meeting the plush carpeting.

The silence of the room hangs over him, the air still. The very act of being in here is a disturbance. The posters on the walls watch him. Dook walks over to the desk and runs the tips of his fingers gingerly over the top of a notebook left out there. His hand then comes to rest carefully on the top of the chair parked by the desk.

Old photographs are pasted just above the desk. Some feature Beach Bear himself, where others look like they were taken by him. He spots Queenie in a couple of them. There's a wolf, a dog, a gorilla... Is this the rest of the Wolf Pack?

Beach Bear himself in these images looks different, too. Tougher. Maybe even meaner. Dook remembers the day him and Queenie fought... the way he held her against the wall like that. The way they were both able to hurt each other. Did they learn that back when these photos were taken? How long has he been capable of that?

What would it take for him to do it again?

Dook pulls back from the desk, shaking the thought from his mind. It's not something worth worrying about. Besides, he shouldn't stay in here much longer.

·–—–·

It's been several hours, and the sun has begun to set. Dook has occupied himself with writing a full arrangement of "Ballroom Dancing." They've got a full band, and with Beach Bear singing, it would be something perfect to work on at band practice! He's almost giddy for Beach Bear to come home so he can show him the work he's done.

Almost on cue, Dook hears the door unlock and open. He stands excitedly, ready to meet him at the front of the room.

"Beach Bear!" Dook says enthusiastically. "I'm–"

"We need to talk," Beach Bear says.

Dook's smile fades, a pit beginning to open in his stomach. "Uhm– Sure, about what?" He asks, trying to retain some of the pleasant tone in his voice.

"I was at the beach today," Beach Bear says, "and you'll never guess who I ran into."

"...Uh," Dook's mind begins to race. Should he play dumb? How much does Beach Bear know? He probably knows everything, right? If he doesn't, maybe he can convince him he's done less wrong? No, that's a bad idea. Maybe this isn't even about what he did. He doesn't know it is. He doesn't know anything.

"...Fatz?" Dook offers finally.

"No," Beach Bear says, unamused. "I saw Mini. And we got to talking. She told me some real interesting stuff." His voice drips with barely concealed annoyance.

"O- oh," Dook says meekly, offering no other information.

"Where is that outfit you picked up yesterday, anyway?" Beach Bear asks.

"Uh–" Dook grabs the bag he left at the side of the couch, bringing it over to Beach Bear. He reaches inside, pulling it out just enough for him to show that it's real. "It's here, see? I got it yesterday."

"Okay, where'd you get that from?" Beach Bear continues, relentless. "Because according to her, you didn't spend the money I gave you for a costume, on a costume. What happened to it?"

"I..." Dook stutters a few times. "I have the costume. Are you gonna trust her saying that?"

"Mini's a real jerk sometimes, but she's not a liar, Dook," Beach Bear says. "And right now? I trust her a lot more than I trust you."

Dook feels a knot form in his throat. "I...!" Lying is only going to make this worse. "...I got the costume from Billy Bob and Looney Bird. We made it together."

"Where's my money, Dook?" He asks, relentless.

"I... I don't have it," he admits.

"What did you do with my money, Dook?!" Beach Bear takes a step toward him, towering over him. Dook steps back instinctively. His heart races.

"I- I–" He stammers. "I don't have it. I didn't... I was gonna spend it on the costume. I wanted to spend it on the costume, but I–" He stutters a few more times, unsure how to soften the blow. May as well just come out with it. "W- when you met me that night, and I wasn't doin' so hot, I– I was kinda... reliant, y'know? And I– I don't know what I was thinking that night, I dunno why I went back there. I dunno what's wrong with me. I love spendin' time with you, I've liked all the time we spent together, I just– It– It felt familiar. It was what I used to." The words spill out of him, hasty and messy.

"You... you spent it on booze," Beach Bear says. His voice is low, but his stature doesn't relax even a bit. Then, "You spent all that money on alcohol!?"

"I knew I shouldn't've when I did it!" Dook cries.

"That doesn't make it any better!" Beach Bear shouts.

"I know! I'm sorry!"

"And to find this out from Queenie, I–" He retreats a bit, if only to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe this! What were you thinking?!"

"I don't know!" Dook's voice breaks a little. "I don't know what I was thinking!"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I– I didn't want you to be upset with me...!"

"I am upset with you!" Beach Bear snaps. "I'm more upset that you thought you could just get away with it! What, that you could just sweep it under the rug? That I wouldn't notice? That it'd just be a funny story later down the line?"

"I–"

"Do you know what I could've done with that money, Dook?"

"I–"

"Do you know what I have had to do since then just to keep the damn house?! I had to go crawling back to my parents again!" He falters for a moment, as if he wasn't planning to tell him that. "I..."

"You–? You didn't have to do that!"

"Yes, I did!" Beach Bear says, just as angry once again. "I had to call them and– and all but beg for the money to keep the house ours! I had to– I had to tell them I was over the being a guy thing! I had to tell them I was wrong and delusional and everything else they wished I was...! Because of you!" Beach Bear pokes him forcefully in the chest. The tip of his claw is sharp.

"Beach Bear–"

"Because I trusted you!" He pokes him again, getting even closer now.

"B- Beach–"

"I liked you, even! I thought you were my friend!" He's practically on top of him now. "And what do you you do but spit in my face?!"

Beach Bear pushes Dook, who stumbles and falls to the floor. He isn't hurt, but he's terrified.

"Is... Is this what you were keeping from me?" Dook asks. "You said you weren't being truthful with me."

"Do not try to turn this around on me," Beach Bear says.

"I'm not tryin' to, I–"

Beach Bear sighs sharply. "I cannot believe this. I cannot believe this!" He turns, beginning to pace the distance between Dook and the front door. "Who do you think you are?"

Dook begins to stand again. "B... Beach Bear, I–"

"I can't," Beach Bear says. "I can't be here." He turns for the door once more.

"Beach Bear–?"

Beach Bear opens the front door, leaving the house. Dook scrambles to his feet, chasing after him.

"Beach Bear, wait!" He calls. Beach Bear is already getting into his car. "Wait, please! Don't leave! I'll– I'll leave instead! I'll go! Don't leave, please!"

Beach Bear pulls out of the driveway.

"Beach Bear! Beach Bear! No! Please!" Dook attempts to chase after the car, but it's too fast.

"Beach Bear!" He tries once more. But he's left alone in the street now. "B..." The words die in his throat.

He feels empty. He feels destroyed. This is all his fault.

·–—–·

Dook stares blankly at the papers he left on the coffee table. What he once was so excited over feels embarrassing now. It's been a few hours since Beach Bear left, to where, he has no clue.

He's considered what he should do when he comes back. Apologize profusely was the first idea, obviously. Maybe he could prepare some sort of grand gesture, like making him his favorite meal... but he's got no idea when he'll be back, and it would be a shame to let the food get cold. Maybe he should just leave. But if Beach Bear returned to find Dook gone, that might cause distress all over again. But to do nothing feels like he doesn't care...

The phone rings. Dook springs up to answer it. It's probably Beach Bear, calling to make up with him, right? Maybe chew him out some more, but at least he'll have the chance to apologize again.

Dook picks up the phone. "Hello?"

"What the hell did you do to him?" Queenie snaps.

"Wh– Huh?"

"What did you do?" She repeats.

"I–" He stutters a few times, recounting his memory. "When he got home, we argued. Obviously. Then he left. I haven't– I haven't seen him in a few hours."

"Well, what did you say to him?!" She presses.

"I didn't say anything! I apologized!"

"Well, you must have done something," she insists, "because he's in the hospital!"

Dook freezes. "He's... what?"

"He's in the hospital," Queenie repeats. "I don't know what happened yet, I just got a call now. We're leaving now."

Dook isn't sure what to say. He's in the hospital? What happened? What did he do? This is all his fault.

"Meet us there," Queenie says, and then she hangs up.

Dook holds the phone to his ear a moment longer, still stunned. Then, finally, he puts it back on the receiver. Guess he's going to the hospital.

[true-blue-sonic]

Gooood evening dear author‼️

So for the headcanon thingy

ൠ - random headcanon

☼ - appearance headcanon

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

☾ - sleep headcanon

For Shadow and hmmm Sonic?

I LOVE your interpretation of Shadow in your fics! Especially in New Beginnings. It's not usual to see someone write Shadow this well and accurate!! And not only Shadow. You write every character so well!

Good evening🍀 Thanks for the compliments, I'm glad to hear so!💕 This made me realise I actually haven't written Shadow so much at all, haha. He does intrigue me; I'm always curious how he and Silver would interact when not on a mission. They seem to be on good terms in London 2012 3DS, at least!

Shadow:

ൠ - random headcanon

I figure he sometimes goes to the ARK to ensure it doesn't fall into disrepair more, as a homage to the home he shared with Gerald and Maria. He definitely knows the place best out of anyone still alive, but he'll never be able to out-know Gerald, considering Gerald is the one who built the ARK in the first place iirc.

☼ - appearance headcanon

I think he wouldn't mind the fact that he looks so Black Arms-y, considering he left the past behind him and all. But if anyone tries to ask about it, they're gonna get the most pissed look possible sent to them, which probably terrifies any ol' mortal into immediately shutting up and leaving the topic be.

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

I think also he would appreciate Earth's nature and views, what with growing up on the ARK and all. I like the idea of him tending to flowers that the Lego game showed. Plus, I can imagine he figures out what flowers mean so he can plant ones with meanings he appreciates.

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

Rouge is the only one who can talk him down with words when he's irate, and even then that's not guaranteed. Considering Omega was made to contain him and was used to capture him in '06, I think he'd be the only being capable of stopping Shadow by physical force; perhaps not even Sonic would be strong enough then!

☾ - sleep headcanon

I think GUN could have lent him a place to stay somewhere so he has a roof over his head, but I figure he either crashes at Rouge or just stays outside (like under the highway in Battle) to sleep, not unlike Sonic. I do think him being UltimateTM means he can do better than Sonic with less hours of sleep, but probably not for days on end.

Sonic:

ൠ - random headcanon

Collects off-model unofficial merch made in the likeliness of him and his friends when the items are really ugly, because he thinks it's funny. He's got a few boxes stowed away in one of Tails' workshops that has the stuff in there, that he pulls out at parties and such for a good laugh with his pals.

☼ - appearance headcanon

I think Sonic would be open to many crazy things in truth or dare, but dyeing his quills is one thing he'll refuse to do when dared to XD

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

He doesn't have as much technological know-how as Tails for sure, but I can imagine he likes tinkering with the Tornado and seeing if she still works properly!

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

No matter what it is he's doing; if he spots someone getting bullied or a person being mean to someone else, he will intervene and chew the assaulter out. Afterwards he'll far more kindly ask the victim if they're okay, and hang out with them for a while more with jokes and such until they're smiling again.

☾ - sleep headcanon

I love the idea that he is on an active mission to find the weirdest sleeping spots possible, ranging from tree branches so thin it's a miracle he doesn't fall off, roofs of random houses, lounge chairs just left outside, the seat of the Tornado, Tails' tails, beds in guest rooms from friends (who promptly get a heart attack when they wake up in the morning and he is just There), and so on.

[youareiron-andyouarestrong]

Answer the Questions and Tag 5 Fanfic Authors

tagged by @mosylufanfic, thank you friend!

1 . How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I think I had been telling myself stories in my head since I was old enough to think coherently, but it wasn't until I was in college that I realized that I could write those stories down, and actually put them in the world to be read by other people.

2. How many fandoms have you written in?

According to AO3, I have written in twenty-six fandoms, not counting whatever's lurking in my writing tag in my blog. The fandom I've written the most for is Rogue One.

3. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

I started writing things to be read in the spring of 2013, so...eleven years. which is insane to think about.

4. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I read a lot more, but I am trying to set aside dedicated time to write...at least once a week.

5. What is one way you’ve improved as a writer?

I think my phrasing has improved a lot. I love writing long, involved descriptions and worldbuilding, plus snappy banter, which is a thing I think I've gotten a lot better at in the last eleven years.

6. What’s the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

not weird per se, but I definitely looked up Indian wedding traditions for my Kanej mehndi fic and Punjabi names for children (also for a Kanej kid!fic), not to mention I tried to figure out how London neighborhoods work for a Lockwood & Co. fic (I still don't know).

7. What’s your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

The fact that anyone comments at all is a fact that continues to blow my mind, but anyone who tells me that they loved a turn of phrase, a description, or that one particular sentence flowed/hit home/stuck with them? may they be blessed in their endeavors forever.

8. What’s the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

I wrote a Mad Max: Fury Road prompt/fic where all the characters had beast aspects/animal traits but they weren't were-animals, or something like that? Idk, I really wanted to write tiger!Max and lioness!Furiosa, so that's what I stuck with. 9. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Multi-chaptered!! It is so hard for me to sustain a continued story with an actual plot. my latest Lockwood & Co. piece, passed down like folksongs was the better part of a year's worth of labor, not to mention heroic beta-ing, and me going back and adding and rewriting and adding some more.

10. What is the easiest type?

Anything in media res, where I can just jump right in and get to the "good stuff," like the kissing or the action. Too often I get bogged down with the "how did we get here?" or "wait, they were against the wall, now they're on the floor? how did that happen?"

11. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

Google Docs is the most convenient, also for sharing purposes, though if a document is like, my thesis work, I'd probably use Microsoft or something more permanent. Someday I'll save up enough to get Scrivener...like a grown up.

12. What is something you’ve been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

I really want to write a sprawling Lockwood & Co fic that's like, involved family trees and weird anecdotes about the Lockwood family, and how ghosts like exist in other places. I would also want to start introducing original characters in different works, but I'm always afraid they'll end up sounding too much like a self-insert. But I'll get there!

13. What made you choose your username?

I had just changed my tumblr handle, and I didn't want the bother of having to keep track of two usernames! so I borrowed a line from a tumblr poem that I admired: "youareiron_andyouarestron." it stuck, and that's been my name ever since.

tagging @dangerously-human, @cats-and-metersticks, @menina89, @linearao3, and @oneofthewednesdays, if they want to!