#because i genuinely think this fic is far from good as well but i guess i had to post it to exorcise it or something

[daughterofhecata]

so uh i've posted my first actual fic* since *checks notes* fucking july. someone be proud of me.

[*the writer's month double drabbles and the >1.5k ficlets don't count. and the single <1.5k ficlet doesn't count either because that was pretty much written in two (2) sittings with about a little thought as the other ficlets]

[p0orbaby]

mary earps jealous fic please

reader jealous and mary reassures her or mary jealous and opposite

Watch Your Step

warnings: alcohol consumption, just zero lack of girl code, oblivious mary?

a/n: I wrote this in like an hour so don’t judge me if it’s shockingly bad

word count: 981

-

You’re not insecure.

You’re not.

You swear.

But as you watched a leggy blonde make Mary laugh, a twinge of jealousy pricked at you.

You tried to brush off your unease, but being wedged between Mary and the wall you couldn't help but overhear snippets of their conversation.

"Mary, you've got the best sense of humor," the girl exclaimed, her laughter loud over the music of the bar.

You bite your lip, feigning interest in your own surroundings. How the leather of the booth stuck to your skin. The bitter taste of your martini. Deep down, you knew Mary was just being friendly, but the irrational pangs of jealousy lingered.

Mary glanced over her shoulder to find you tracing your finger around the rim of your class. "Hey, love, come join in. We were just talking about the game last night”

Suppressing the knot in your stomach, you turned alight in your seat with a smile. "Yeah, it was intense”

The person, still oblivious to your internal struggle, continued their peacocking with Mary. "You should've seen her saves, absolutely incredible”

You nodded, forcing yourself to engage. "Hard not to miss them when you're part of her back line”

The blonde shoots you a quick glance, seemingly registering your presence for the first time. “Oh, you play too?”

“Yeah, I’m on the team,” you replied, your tone dry and blunt and not unnoticed by your girlfriend.

Mary caught the tension in your response and subtly shifted the conversation, attempting to include you more. “We’ve got quite the dynamic in defense. Keeps the goals at bay, right, love?”

You nodded, managing a tight smile, your eyes briefly locking with Mary’s in silent communication. The blonde, sensing the shift, excused herself to grab another round of drinks, leaving you alone with Mary in the dimly lit booth.

Mary turned towards you, concern etched on her face. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, all good. I just didn’t realise you were sharing your brilliant sense of humor with the whole bar”

“Hey, what’s really going on?”

Mary is far from stupid. And you’d been together far too long to think she’d get caught up in your lie.

You took a deep breath, appreciating Mary’s genuine concern. “Yeah, just… I guess I got all up in my own head for a moment. It’s silly, really”

She eyed you, unconvinced by your answer.

“You do realise she’s flirting with you, right?” You say.

Mary’s expression shifted, a combination of realisation and concern etched across her features. “You think so?”

Edit, Mary was far from stupid, sober.

“I’m going to pretend you’ve not noticed the way she looks at you because it’s dark in here, okay?”

If you had it your way, you’d get up and leave. But you knew better than to try and outmuscle your way past her.

“Baby”

“Don’t, Mary” you say, your throat tight with emotion as you train your gaze back onto your drink.

“Look at me, love” she instructs, a hand coming up to your chin to turn your head to her. Though your eyes don’t meet hers at first. “Y/N”

Your name rolled off her tongue, a soft plea in the dimly lit booth.

You give in and look at her when her thumb strokes the spot just above your cheek.

“I don’t like that people are fighting for your attention,” you admit. “They talk and talk like I’m not even here. It pisses me off”

Mary’s eyebrows raise, and she chuckles softly. “Well, sorry for being so damn popular. Didn’t realize it bothered you that much.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms petulantly. “It does bother me. A lot actually”

“Okay, okay,” Mary concedes, though her smirk tells you she’s still very much amused by the situation. “So, what’s the plan? Stay here and be grumpy, or should we find a place where it’s just us?”

“I don’t know” you sulk.

“No? Shall I decide?”

All you give her is a shrug.

She hums lightly as your lack of cooperation, her eyes sliding from you to her drink, wrapping her hand around the glass, and finishes the rest of it off in one large gulp.

“Home it is then” she says, sliding out of the booth and holding her hand out for you to take.

Though as soon as you’re upright, she doesn’t lead the way to the exit like you expect her to. She pulls your body flush against hers, curls a hand around the back of your neck and guides your lips to hers.

It was a dirty little thing. All tongue and teeth and the lingering taste of her gin martini. It caught you off guard enough that your hands stayed suspended by your sides, whilst hers grabbed at your waist and angled your head to give herself better access to you.

Only when she finally feels you melt against her is when she pulls away, wiping her mouth dry as she does.

“I’m yours. You’ll do well to remember that”

If she didn’t grab a hold of your hand again you’re sure you would’ve collapsed. Her words causing your legs to turn to jelly and your head to spin with something other than alcohol.

Mary doesn’t mess around pulling you towards the exit after that. Either she’d had enough of your tantrum, or she has plans for the two of you at home. Her reasoning didn’t matter in the end, when a figure stood out amongst the blurry bodies you were being dragged past.

It was quite poetic really. How time slowed as you locked eyes with her. The way her face was lit with the blue and red lights from the decorative neon signs littered around the bar, spotlighting the disdain she had for you.

Her scowl was returned with your triumphant smirk.

You weren’t insecure.

You just didn't like people coming after what was yours.

[iiseult]

Hello, I was wondering what the life of the female reader would be like when King Baldwin was not a leper. I mean, what would their life be like together as a married couple?

𝐵𝒶𝓁𝒹𝓌𝒾𝓃 𝐼𝒱 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈: 𝒩𝑜𝓃-𝓁𝑒𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝐸𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃

CWs → fluff, smut, probable historical inaccuracies, she/her pronouns, afab reader, mentions of religion, childbirth

Note: I know this took like over a month to get to, but in my defense I was working on completing the first arc of my multichapter Baldwin x reader fic. Also, if anyone’s interested, I started posting an alternate version of that on ao3 that’s in third person and from the perspective of a girl named Semele. As far as actual writing goes I think it’s much better quality simply because I don’t have to do all that corny second person bullshit or use the words “Y/N.” That’s a real pain in my ass. Anyway! 

Wordcount: 852

King Baldwin’s standards are high. He is a gorgeous young man with the world at his fingertips and he wants a woman, not a girl, to explore it with him. 

She must be good. She does not need to be rich or noble, but she needs to be selfless and kind and bold. And he needs someone who can match him in intellect so he doesn’t get bored. 

His hair frames his face in charming golden waves that fall to about his chin. His eyes are a deep cerulean, lined by long lashes, and his lips are pink and shapely, if a bit on the thin side. The nose is strong and straight, the jaw is square and sharp, the cheekbones are high and structured, and the skin covering it all is smooth and healthy. A light smattering of tiny freckles paint his nose and cheeks. His body is strong, with substantial broad shoulders, and what muscle he has is subtle but genuine. 

Sometimes his movements are awkward, a little different from other well-bred boys his age, and perhaps that’s what makes him so appealing. So mysterious. And, by the way, he certainly is appealing. 

Every woman that lays eyes on him, and even some that have never had that honor and know of him only from word of mouth, want him. Every woman thinks she can somehow be good enough for him. Of course, maybe one in one thousand of them actually is. 

When a lady finally catches his eye, it would be for her wit or her bravery. Perhaps she would beat him in a game of chess, or speak out against what she thinks is wrong. The more cruelty in her smile, the more attractive she becomes. 

When he proposes, it’s very romantic, very personal, and above all, very private. Though he surely makes the experience memorable for his future wife, he doesn’t do anything over-the-top. It does not involve other people, and perhaps it doesn’t even take place at a particular spot. The most important part of the proposal, after all, is the words he is speaking, the vow he is making. He puts his silver tongue to good use, so that saying no isn’t even an option anymore. How could she possibly turn him down? 

 He can’t wait to get his hands on her. The wedding night is something he has long been looking forward to, knowing that it would be worth it to wait for the right woman, and of course, it exceeds his expectations. How could he have guessed how soft, how supple her flesh would feel beneath him? How sweet and yielding? There was nothing that could have prepared him for the feeling of warmth that wholly enveloped him the first time they made love. It was something that could never be recreated by his own hand. It could only ever occur by the soft hand, or the cruel, relentless lips of his young wife. 

His body is young and robust, as is hers, and they are both brimming with passion and want. The first month of the marriage is spent mostly alone together, trapped in an endless cycle of tiring each other out, sleeping, waking, and doing the whole damned thing all over again. It would take no time at all for the seed to be planted in her fertile womb and a baby to begin to grow. 

Seeing his wife pregnant would only make him fall in love with her more, if such a thing were even possible. Now she is carrying a little miracle inside her, and to him, the world around her positively glows. He is, in a word, infatuated. So proud. He takes her into town and practically parades her around, the curve of her swollen belly growing more and more obvious under the fabric of her gown. Isn’t she beautiful, he would say to Raymond, and to Sybilla, and to anyone else who was unlucky enough to engage him in conversation. 

During the birth, he stayed by her side. He was the one to wipe the sweat from her forehead with damp towels, to hold her hand and cry softly from seeing her in such pain. He loves her so much, and he was going to love that baby, too. He was going to positively spoil it. That is, if it didn’t kill her! He cries more than she does during the birth, and though he does everything he can to ease her pain and help the midwife speed along the process, mostly he can do nothing but stand around and wring his hands and look helplessly at his love, his eyes swimming with wild fear and affection and awe. She’s so strong, how is she doing it? 

Once the baby is born, though the sheets of her bed are soiled with various fluids, he lays down next to his wife and holds her in his arms and she holds their baby in her arms, and they all sleep, a perfect family. The baby is going to look just like her, he thinks, and he will love it. 

[lovelybucky1]

Bad Guys Win

Kinktober Day 13- Knife Kink

part two of "nice guys finish last" but can be read as standalone fic

warnings: AFAB!reader, horror movies, referenced violence, knife play, dirty talk, under negotiated kink, dom/sub dynamics, 18+ minors DNI

main masterlist

kinktober masterlist

Ever since that night Anakin got you high and confessed his desire for you, you've been spending a lot more time together. You're still just friends, but now your relationship has a lot more benefits than it did prior.

Tonight Anakin invited you over because he had the house to himself. It was far too casual to be a date, but he got pizza delivered and there was cold beer on the table, so at least he made an effort.

You had no delusions about why you were there. It's a hookup between friends. Good friends, sure. Ones who care about each other very deeply, but it was still just sex.

That's why you were confused when Anakin grabbed your arm and led you down the stairs to the basement. It's technically unfinished, but it was a large area rug, a couch, and a TV hooked up with your brother's PlayStation.

He told you it was movie night and rifled through the shelf of movie cases. He chose Friday the 13th because it was fitting for the day. You fondly rolled your eyes at his joke and joined him on the couch once he got the DVD in the player.

He pressed up against your side on the couch and pulled the classic yawn move and put his arm around you. It was a bit odd to cuddle with Anakin like this, but you know him well enough that the closeness wasn't uncomfortable. The closeness did, however, allow him to feel every twitch of your body.

You jump when Jason pops out of no where, jostling Anakin.

"You okay?" he asks, chuckling.

You scoff. "I'm fine."

"Are you scared? Don't worry, your big brother will protect you," he jokes.

You elbow him in the ribs. "Don't call yourself that, freak."

Anakin just laughs and turns his attention back to the movie.

When it gets to the final chase scene, you're squirming with anxiety. You know it's just a movie, but the suspense gets you to. Anakin looks down at you with a smirk on his lips.

"Would you fuck him?" Anakin asks.

Your head snaps to the side, looking at him with furrowed brows. "Jason?"

"Yeah," Anakin says.

"You mean the crazy killer with the knife?"

Anakin adjusts his position so he can see you better. "Yeah. I mean like, you don't have to think he's hot. But if it was me, would you fuck me?"

What a weird fucking question. You can't tell if he's genuinely curious or if he's fishing for some kind of compliment.

"I guess," you shrug.

"If I had the mask and the knife?"

"Yes, Anakin," you sigh, getting annoyed that he's talking over the climax of the movie.

"Would you like it if I chased you?" he asks, his voice suddenly taking on a different tone. "Would you be my final girl?"

You raise your eyebrow at him. "Is this a sex thing?" you ask.

"Yeah," he smirks. "Think about it. You'd play the little, innocent helpless victim and I'd be the big bad killer. Maybe you got wrapped up in a relationship with a guy who's a bad influence nothin' but trouble," he says as he leans closer to you. "He brings you right to me and I have to have you. I get him out of the way first, and after that, you're all mine."

You lean back as Anakin advance, but when the back of your head hits the couch, you realize you have no where else left to go. Your heart begins to race in his chest as his eyes look over you hungrily. You can't deny that you're getting a little excited despite not knowing what Anakin is up to.

Suddenly, Anakin shifts. He leans up a bit and reaches behind him, searching for something in his back pocket. He reveals a small silver pocket knife that glints in the light from the screen.

He flips the blade of the knife up and you can see the sharp silhouette in the dark. It's only about three inches long, nothing like Jason's, but this one is real.

"I've got you now," he smirks.

The arm around your shoulder turns from comforting to restraining. He's holding you firmly in place by your shoulder with his other hand being occupied by the knife.

"You're crazy," you breathe.

"You want me to stop?" Anakin asks, dropping the knife for a moment.

You consider, but you're open to trying new things and this is obviously something that gets Anakin going.

"No," you say. "Just don't kill me."

Anakin grins, his white teeth glowing in the dark. He raises the knife again and lets the tip of the blade catch on the fabric of your shirt.

"I'm not gonna kill you, you're too special. I'm gonna keep you for myself."

Anakin is now leaning over top of you, blocking your view of the TV. His hand holds your shoulder firmly and his knee is resting on the cushion between your legs. You're trapped, but you don't want to get away.

Anakin tips your chin up with the flat of the knife, making you look at him. He tilts his head condescendingly and looks at you with pity.

"You're lucky I'm the one who got you. Some of the other guys aren't so generous. They like to see pretty things like you bleed dry, but I prefer to keep 'em wet," he says.

You're unclear of the story that goes along with this little fantasy, but you suppose that's not necessary to play the role of the helpless victim.

"Why are you doing this to me?" you ask, using a higher pitched voice to play up the desperation.

Anakin seems elated at your participation in his game. "Because I saw you squirmin' during the movie. This shit turns you on, huh?"

You whine when he shakes you. "No it doesn't," you say. "I was scared."

Anakin hums, not believing you. "Maybe you're more of the Ghostface type then. Would you fuck him?"

Suddenly you feel too shy to maintain eye contact with Anakin. You don't know how he read you like that, but he's right. You've always had a thing for Ghostface. Not the killing, but the voice and that flirty tone he used.

"Yeah, you fucking would," Anakin grins. "So that's your type, huh? I can do that for you, baby."

Anakin has never called you baby before and it does something to you. The tenderness of the pet name combined with the sharp metal waving in your face makes for a confusing mixture of desire in your abdomen.

Before your mind can catch up with your body to realize what's happening, Anakin has you on your back on the floor. He's kneeling over you, straddling your torso. In this position, the side of his face is lit by the TV and he looks hotter than ever. The manic grin on his lips, the lust in his eyes, the line of his throat.

"Aren't you gonna try to run?" he asks. When you shake your head no, he laughs. "Some final girl you are. Just handing yourself over to the bad guy to do whatever he pleases with you."

Anakin tosses the knife on the couch, then grabs the waistband of your sweatpants and panties and pulls them down together. You lift your hips to help him get them off and once you're bare, he slots himself between your legs and hooks them over his shoulders.

"And bad guys like me love ruining pretty things like you," he smirks wickedly.

[the-one-who-lambs]

uhh hello!! sorry if this is a tall order LOL but I wanna ask, do you have any narilamb fanfic recs? :D I already read yours and I really like bamsara’s and I’m waiting for epicaandk’s to update (that one is my fav ever <3) but idk what to read now lol

Tall order?? Naaaaah, I'm always happy to give recs. Oh boy, I'm gonna go in reverse chronological order.

If you've read all of my narilamb fics (have you seriously? I'm impressed, that's probably well over half the 150k+ I've written for this damn fandom. Also, to anyone seeing this from a reblog, my stuff is over at onethirdofimpossible!) then here we go!

You already mentioned it, but The Rehabilitation of Death is excellent so far! This one is by @bamsara who is new to the CotL fandom but apparently not new to fanfic writing; they have a really popular FNAF fic and I assume the well-deserved attention this fic's been getting is a byproduct of the popularity they've already gotten in other fandoms. :D Welcome, bamsara! Many of the fic writers in this fandom are friends with each other already, but we don't bite if you wanna say hi.

Feel No Evil and Language Barrier, both by @payasita. I always love how payasita portrays this duo (in both digital art and writing), with so much sass and repressed loneliness, knowing they're stuck together for eternity and making the best of it. (And maybe falling in love, depending on how dense Narinder keeps being.) What makes these come alive for me is how well thought out the setting is outside the Lamb and Narinder. The descriptions and weight of emotions really pop here.

LITERALLY ANYTHING written by pavi / @i-eat-deodorant. Depending on how spicy you want your fics to be he has even more here. Character analysis, diction, pacing, etc. are consistently 10/10. Top-quality banter between a sassy Lamb and tired old man Narinder. We constantly bounce ideas off each other and inspire each other a lot but I promise I'm not hyping him up just because he's my friend oh my god please just go bless your eyes.

It Was For You, O Death by blueberry-muffin-massacre (if they have a tumblr, let me know so I can tag!). An intriguing alternative ending to the final battle wherein the Lamb chooses a secret third option by refusing to give up the Red Crown and still observing Narinder as the God of Death. So many details are so well thought out and duality their relationship is nicely characterized-- both genuine care for each other and also quite unhealthy. A fine line treaded well!

Confessional by jusmove (again, lmk if they have a tumblr). Been a while since I've read it, but I love how the Lamb chips at Narinder's very carefully built emotional walls. Their personalities are very well fleshed out here, especially Narinder's cognitive dissonance at being able to process love.

Confession by @thewitchoftheweed. I didn't expect a part two to this one, but my god I was so thrilled when it did update. Narinder and Lamb with their unique and parallel loneliness and their fucked-up sense of everything. Their relationship is very rocky here, and I love how they navigate it: with tension and eventual, pained acceptance. Mind the rating.

Of Character Development and Being Dense by @calliecature. A short and sweet narilamb classic. They're both mutually pining and one of them is too emotionally repressed to realize it. Guess who.

Not An Offering, But a Gift by @checkplzjuliet. Small confession fic. I especially love how Narinder's descriptions twist the knife of his situation here, and how Lambert is a total foil for him! There are a lot of good things happening in such a short span, which is impressive.

Also, if you think you've read all my narilamb fics... I do have a secret one out there too. Just so you know.

Happy reading!

I'm already friends with many of the people here, but if any of the writers I've tagged have been kinda wanting to reach out for a while but feel a little anxious... Don't be. I've made my best friends in this fandom by literally just waiting for some of my readers to get over whatever assumption they have that I'm cool and say hi. Or being the more confident one first.

[patheticpeoplesupreme]

Fic Title if I had one:

A little piece of me in every body

a one shot

The door opened gently on one of the days he’d preferred silence. Normally, the silence unnerves him, irritates him even, but he feels far too tired to entertain himself with meaningless tunes and jokes.

“Airplane?”

He hums, not looking up from his paperwork, there’s only one person who ever calls him that, and Shen Qingqiu was the one person he didn’t mind listening to on those types of days. He thinks it’s because it’s comforting to be around someone he hadn’t made up in his head. It makes him feel real.

He felt irritated by his king a few times he’d portaled into his office. Eventually, Shang Qinghua had started to make up a mood chart—thing, to which Mobei—Jun had taken note of and respected his boundaries.

Even his martial siblings had noticed which sort of surprised him, he had assumed that they didn’t really care.

He hears some shuffling from wood clinking along wood and soon, the sound of paper flipping every few minutes.

“I’ve noticed something from Binghe.” Shen Qingqiu murmured after a while of quiet.

Shang Qinghua continues reading.

“He’s… well, sensitive sometimes. And clingy and hyperactive.”

“Mn… well, the clingy part might be my fault,” He giggled slightly, “I did advise him to be sticky in order to face your love.”

A deep sigh makes itself known, he knows the man is doing it for dramatic purposes. So he snickers before retuning his focus.

. . .

“Did you project yourself onto him?”

“Don’t all authors do?” He replies genuinely. It earns him an agreeing snort.

“Most authors do,” Shen Qingqiu amended quietly, “but this entire world… feels more like a projection of you more than any other novel.”

Shang Qinghua stops in his tracks, lifting his brush away from the paper, making sure the ink doesn’t ruin the paper, still, he doesn’t say anything.

He hid his eyes under his bangs.

“In most novels, there’s a person of every archetype with each person having a wildly different backstory.”

“My novel has that.” Shang Qinghua muttered.

“I’m getting to that.” He retorted.

“Okay??”

“It’s just that… the backstories of your characters feels like it’s overlapping.”

“Are you critiquing my bad writing again?? I’m not in the mood..”He frowned.

Shen Qingqiu shot him a dry look, “That’s not what I meant. I just meant that there’s a lot story beats that just… looks like a pattern. Parts of the story are so incredibly specific that it makes me think that… this was a part of you that you believed in. Even if 50% of the book was based on popular tropes that is.”

“Okay. And?” He asked, unimpressed, his mood declining the more he spoke. Goodness he thought he could’ve had a break today. He guessed not.

Shen Qinghua looks up at the sound of the other standing up, a weird look present on his face.

“Most of your characters, the main ones at least, have a fear of being abandoned.” He comes closer to Shang Qinghua’s table. “Do you fear that too, Airplane shooting towards the sky?”

“I think that you’re trying to rile me up on purpose,” he growled lowly, trying not to show that he had been affected by what the other man had said. He didn’t really notice. It was kind of unintentional, but now that he’d given him a bit of evidence, he couldn’t stop his mind from whirling with thoughts.

“Yue Qingyuan,” Shen Qingqiu started after a long time of having a staring contest, “was terrified of losing Shen Jiu, to the point thatwhen the man had hated him, despised him and scorned him, he never defended himself because he thought he deserved it. And even if Shen Jiu had no love left for him, Yue Qingyuan was fine with it as long as Shen Jiu stayed.”

“Mm.”

“And as an opposite, Shen Jiu was so incredibly terrified of being abandoned again, he decides to make sure no one could get close to him so that he wouldn’t be abandoned. So that he wouldn’t feel that sinking disappointment and pain when a promise made by a loved one has been broken.”

He wishes he could say that it hadn’t sounded familiar. The longer Shen Qingqiu talked, the more he sank in his chair trying not to tear up.

He wanted to ask why. Why he was torturing Shang Qinghua with this information. He tried not to think of his parents. Of his highschool group mates.

“Mobei—jun with parents who neglected him, someone who would let you hit him so that you wouldn’t ever leave his side ever again. You said that he was so desperate—“

“Okay!? So what??” He finally snapped, getting tired of these questions, and on such a bad day too, he thought the two of their were close friends dammit.

“Airplane.” Shen Qingqiu hissed, “tell me the truth here.”

“What!?” He demanded.

“How much of this was intentional and how much was a reflection of your own life?”

“Why? So you can make fun of me!? Critique my oh so tragic backstory? Tell me, ‘wow he’s such a whiny ass bitch for—“

Shen Qingqiu squeezed his hand out of nowhere, startling him so hard that his mind went blank. “Because you’ve done a lot to help me, so I want to help you.”

“S—So it’s a debt now!?” He scowled, his defenses building itself up very quickly, (channeling his inner shenjiu amirite) trying to push Shen Qingqiu’s hand away, but to no avail, the man was firm in his hold.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you like one of my family, idiot.”

Shang Qinghua sniffled “Evil, you are.”

“Mhm.” The bastard hummed disinterestedly.

Note: sqq’s been trying to approach him for weeks, that’s probably why SQH’s in a bad mood, cuz why is sqq trying to therapise him or something, it should be his job, listening to other people and then doing the work

“I guess— I guess we can start with Zhangmen—shixiong’s part.” He whispered hours later when they’re both on the couch, Shang Qinghua’s head laying on Shen Qingqiu’s lap.

Shen Qing—no, Shen Yuan nodded.

“Obviously I don’t have a super depressing backstory like he does,” He started with a dry laugh, his gaze heavy and sad.

“I’m just... a people pleaser like Zhangmen—shixiong. Unable to say no, especially when it comes to paperwork. I guess it started when my parents started fighting when I was younger. Elementary school, I think? It was subtle. Maybe. I—I don’t remember.”

“My mom was the more emotional one. Had a short temper for all of my childhood. And… my dad was calmer, but just as temperamental.”

He thinks about when he was writing an outline about Yue Qingyuan’s and Shen Jiu’s verbal fights with each other, Yue Qi’s guilt for not being able to do enough even though he had tried. Even though it wasn’t his fault that he’d been isolated for so long without proper encouragement.

Maybe this is where Airplane had split parts of him.

He remembers the time after writing the draft, writing out all of his pent up emotions into his characters, he remembers feeling exhausted. At the time, he had thought it was solely because of the word count. But maybe it’d been because he’d been losing his heart all along.

“Mama was passive aggressive and Baba couldn’t care less. When I turned 13, no one was happy. So I tried to be what they wanted to be, I guess.”

He remembers a few chapters where Lou Binghe had met the parents of some of his wives and how they’d hated his personality. How he’d switched up a more than a few times to make them happy, and for what? In the end, most of his wives had been unhappy anyway. Enraged at her parents that he had to fake his personality to gain their approval. Sometimes it ended badly, sometimes it ended good.

Decades after writing those plots, he thinks now that maybe it’s not just a trope anymore. He thinks he can place himself into the spot of the wife. Trying to please the unpleasable.

“Sometimes it worked and they were happy with me. Mama would buy me desserts I liked, lecture me fondly and gives me a big hug. Baba would actually come hang out with me for once, promise he’ll come back after the divorce and then leave.”

Shen Jiu’s tendency to hide behind a wall of barbed wire. The man was like a rose bush with the spikiest thorns. And Yue Qi was a gardener with no gloves. He’d been waiting for years. Desperately hoping that he hadn’t been abandoned.

“When I turned 20, I saw some picture on the internet. Baba had a new family and he didn’t even come to tell me.” Shang Qinghua finally let out a sob, the first time ever admitting it to anyone.

“It—it’s not like I had a bad life, but—but it sucked being the child stuck in between, so I just gave up.”

Shen Qingqiu lifted Shang Qinghua by the shoulders and wrapped him in a warm embrace.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Mm.” Shang Qinghua sniffled.

—

“For parts of Mobei—Jun’s story I guess I just knew a guy who lashed out a lot. I mean, I was never the type to physically mean, so.” He shrugged, “i don’t know what state I was when I was writing him.”

“My friend didn’t have good parents, had a shitty uncle, I felt bad for using his story. But… he was so quiet, he never told anyone what he was feeling and in the end, I was feeling rage for him. When I said he was created as my ideal romantic partner. I guess it was because I never really knew a healthy relationship up close to write about? That’s why a lot of the wives seemed flat, I guess. Haha, you— you were right about the projection.

“What happened to your friend?”

Shang Qinghua shrugged.

“Became an overseas student I think? I remember seeing his face on the news once so he probably got all popular and got forgot about me. Think he was studying law or accounting.”

—

“I based Liu Qingge and his sister over that friend too actually.”

Shen Qingqiu blinks in surprise when Shang Qinghua has appeared during his lunch break.

“Remember?”

“Ah, yeah, how so?”

—

“Though he hated their parents, him and his sister was super close, kept in close contact always. He was a good big brother. He told me stories about her a few times.”

“So the Xiao Liu…based off of your friends sister?”

“Vaguely.”

—

“How bout you?” Shang qinghua tilted his head.

Shen Qingqiu smiled sadly, “I had two sisters and an older brother.”

“I’m sorry. It must be lonely.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t trigger the choking hazard.”

Both of them laugh at the dark humour.

—

Funnily enough I don’t have any head canons about SY’s family. I guess I like thinking that his eldest bro has a little bit Shen Jiu’s snarky ness and mood temperaments. So he’s a little defensive and a little protective.

And the Youngest sister also loved stories just like him

Youngest sister wanted to be just like Shen yuan, all smart, sassy, and kind

[rdng1230]

Any SalTommy headcanons?

Thanks for the ask I have literally So many! ok I’m putting these into categories. The first is happy fluffy fun, the second and third is something I’ll probably have to discuss in therapy next week 🙃. For reals, I almost deleted those last paragraphs because here this nice person has come to my ask box and my brain has decided to reciprocate with the most hurt no comfort shit it’s ever concocted. Ok happy stuff first!

Saltommy as besties:

they are attached at the hip and their two favorite activities are Muay Thai and action movie marathons. At some point they get overly into the Guy Ritchie British gangster type movies and Hen has to institute a “stupid British accent” jar for the two of them.

Tommy and Sal don’t hang out that often once they leave the 118. But Tommy is ride or die for Sal’s daughter. He’s the fun uncle that isn’t constantly there but when he is he does something insanely awesome like build her a treehouse or a bottle cannon or something.

The reason Gina dragged Sal to twilight was because she is bisexual and just as into Kristen Stewart as he is. When Tommy *finally* comes out it’s actually Sal that suggests Gina take Tommy to his first pride. Sal stays at home with his daughter so Tommy and Gina end up having a very fun and alcohol filled night a la the bachelor party that wasn’t. (goddammit I think I just gave myself another fic in the series to write.)

k well that’s enough happiness this is about to get insanely angsty for no fucking reason besides apparently that my brain wants me to suffer today. If your brain does not desire to feed the angst demon inside of you, for the love of god stop reading now. I will NOT be offended because I wrote the damn thing and I think I took it too far. Also it gets a lil NSFW from here.

Evil toxic fucked up Saltommy:

Tommy’s fucked up dad and then fucked up army superiors and then fucked up captain Gerrard taught tommy he was safer following the big tough guy. He knows Sal is bad for him, knows Sal doesn’t love him, but he figures being useful is good enough when he knows he won’t be wanted. He lets Sal take more than he should, usually discreet hand/blowjobs in the showers or broom closet (yeah the metaphor isn’t lost on him)

They have a horrible call where the one person they did manage to rescue suddenly codes in the ambulance. A version of Sal that Tommy’s never seen before shows up at Tommy’s house. It’s the only time Sal ever lets Tommy fuck him and after it’s over, Tommy holds him and runs his hand through Sal’s hair. They fall asleep together but when Tommy wakes up Sal is long gone. The following week Sal is absolutely vicious to everyone. He ends up getting hurt and Tommy patches him up. As Tommy sterilizes a wound just above his eye, Sal grabs his arm and stares at him. It’s an apology, and it’s also an ending. Tommy still follows Sal, always one pace behind, but they’re never intimate again.

Idk I guess doomed lovers Saltommy? Sal’s not as much of a monster but they’re still not healthy:

There’s always a heat to Tommy and Sal’s banter and Tommy genuinely wonders if someday Sal might tip them into something more. One of the 118 probies dies and Sal on some level believes it’s his fault. The night of the probies funeral Sal’s just numb and Tommy suggests Sal crash his couch. Tommy hates seeing Sal in pain like that and hovers in front of the bedroom door wondering if he should go to him. He’s shocked when Sal opens the door and suddenly they’re in Tommy’s bed. He’s surprised by how cuddly Sal is. (And if you’re like hey that sounds a bit like Booth & Brennan shhhhh you saw nothing)

after that they start sneaking around. At this point Gerrard is gone and they’re in the revolving door of captains stage. Tommy starts talking about potentially telling Hen and Chim, and Sal just knows deep in his gut that Tommy is the braver of the two of them, and Sal won’t be ready in the time Tommy needs him to be. Sal starts picking fights hoping Tommy will run off on his own. Eventually they do stop seeing each other romantically but Tommy’s still so *close* it’s driving Sal insane. He wants to run away with him and he wants to run away from him at the same time. When Bobby shows up and doesn’t know his ass from his elbow a lot of the time, Sal let’s all that anger and tension bubble up, on some level he knows he can’t bring himself to leave Tommy, so he pushes Bobby into sending him away by force.

After he moves to the 122 he buries himself in the work. He makes captain, even starts dating men, but still in the shadows. He hears through the grapevine that Tommy is dating the 118’s hotshot. He sees a photo of Tommy and Buck at the medal ceremony in the morning paper, looking so obviously head over heels for one another, and it’s the first and only sick day as a captain he ever takes.

[thatoneneuvichiliauthor]

So I'm personally a fan of fics where the characters react to their show/game/book/etc, and how they react to the things they never would have otherwise seen. What im saying is, In what ways do you think ratio would react to seeing aventurine in that last update? Seeing his past cutscenes that got shown, his conversations with his future self and seeing Aventurine's child form as well. Because theres so much there that ratio never would have gotten this perspective on otherwise and I have to wonder how hed feel about it. He probably already guessed that Aventurine had a rough life since he knows he used to be a slave, but thats different from seeing it first hand in his memories and to hear him basically admit to himself that hes tired, wishes that fate didnt curse him with his blessing, and really just wants to die. Like theres so much to explore here, especially from the view of Ratio who genuinely wants to help humanity seeing this

Oh that's a good question! The first thing that comes to my mind is that the more Aventurine expresses his desire to die, the more Ratio would be stressing out about the possibility that he might forget to open his note, that Aventurine might never know that someone did care. And he would be beyond relieved once Acheron does remind Aventurine to read it.

As for him witnessing Aventurine's past, I think that after seeing everything he went through, he would feel kind of guilty for not realizing that the power of the Harmony would put him back through all those bad memories and for not being there for him as he slowly fell apart (even though Ratio staying away and pretending he didn't care was part of Aventurine's plan). At the same time, he would also be impressed by Aventurine's resilience, by how he managed to make it out alive despite all the odds that were pitted against him. It would confirm what Ratio already suspected: that Aventurine is far more clever than anyone gives him credit for.

Most of all, I think Ratio would be dying to find a way to reach out to him, even in a situation he knows it isn't logically possible, because he sure cares so much for Aventurine, though he might not be the greatest at expressing it. I can also see him scribbling on his tablet as he writes down everything he should say/do the next time he sees Aventurine, because the last thing he wants is to screw it up and to make Aventurine feel even worse about himself.

(Oh, and after seeing all that, he would be furious at Sunday for the psychological torture he put Aventurine through)

I'm sure there would be many more things to say about his reactions, but this is what first came to me after reading your ask! And once again, thanks for sharing your thoughts about them with me 😊

[11queensupreme11]

Me: I'm going to read Arsenic blues, wishing to see what the queen has to us ❤️

After reading the note: The fuck!?

Can't believe people are really stealing your job and asking why they haven't the right to it. People are crazier every time I check is half concerning and half amazing how their brains work

Have to be nice, living in that fantasy world for free and without Isekai yourself.

Be for real and growth. Write your own stuff and don't come here asking yourself why the author is mad when you literally just committed a CRIME

Anyway, great character as always queen! ❤️

It is amazing how Loki has one type, defender of rights only person here that knows about human rights and thinks they deserve it.

Loki's the "fuck around and found what happens" god and is always hurting him but he can't scape the consequences of his own actions

Dumb bitch, you're lucky you're hot

Baldur was the first to say: they deserve to live cause you created them and if they're bad it is because you all are worse, maybe if you all learn a minimum of moral they would be better ❤️

I love him, Loki really didn't deserve him, he doesn't deserve Percy either but Baldur is... *Chef kiss*

He was the first, if you know what I'm saying, it is even wonderful how a person (god) can be so kind without knowing what it really is. It is hard to be kind, but without an example!?

Made him the god of humanity and sent him far away from Loki's (too late)

Loki: what's wrong here? Him or me?

Me: You have one chance, and hint, it isn't Baldur you asshole

(That hint of karma. Poseidon is going to lose his daughter, one as loved as Baldur and it's just his fault cause he doesn't have a heart. Love that for him. I love him but I also love the drama)

(Maybe we're more like the gods that we like to think I guess)

Thinking about it, maybe Percy being too gremlin with him IS a good thing.

No matter what, that side of her, the way she's always ready to fight but also being ready to relax with him is his... Well, Loki is always on the edge, but her giving so much kindness to him is also pushing him away.

She chooses to spend time with him and genuinely enjoy that time when he isn't tricking her (to the surprise of EVERYONE including him)

(Percy, being too kind is one thing)

At least he's learning that maybe killing and hurting your loved ones isn't the best decision.

Took him millennials but progress is progress

For now, act 4 is going to give him a ticket express to that fall to madness

Beelzebub...

Well, his trauma is stopping him right now, but I trust him to find a way, it's the smartest one so I'm going to wait before saying something

(For once, the author's favorite is one of my favorites)

(Just laughed cause that is karma right there, you were the one always making the deals with bad ends, now is your turn babygirl. Still rooting for you king ❤️)

Thanks for the chapter Queen and remember, a alive Nico is the best kind of Nico ❤️

bro omg that plagiarizer was weird af. did you see the old ask asking for permission to make an hp x pjo x ror fic inspired by mine? THAT TURNED OUT TO BE THEM. they made a third wattpad account sfahdvbjhv 😭😭😭

i made another chapter calling them out on wattpad and they deleted the books and fucked off (they'll probably be back with a fourth account 💀) but yeah, that's just weird behavior fr 😭

and also.... the thing i wrote about poseidon getting karma? yeah, that's a big ass hint for the future HEHEHEHE

and yesss percy actually does enjoy loki's company most of the times, he just ruins it by... you know, being an asshole to her sometimes, but other than that, she likes hanging out with him! she actually considers him as a friend (but beelie is her #1 bestie in the ror verse LMAO)

[olderthannetfic]

About grammar/spelling in fics… i’ve always been very keen on reading fic that’s written correctly, or at least more on the “proper” side. And stupid mistakes like “could of” or the infamous wanton/wonton or whatever could drive me crazy lol

But maybe… a year ago? Two? I found a long-since-deleted fic in some dark corner of the web, and it’s a 500k mammoth that was never completed. I’ve read it 6 times since I first found it. I’m completely obsessed with it and I genuinely believe the author was a goddamn genius creative machine that could simply just WRITE! Like I imagine her/him/them having this masterpiece of a story just hanging out in their head, constantly growing, never losing sight of the details here and there, and with such a complete understanding of the intricacies of each character’s true personalities…? Like I have never seen such consistency and depth in characters so unique and broken and kinky.

Anyway, that’s me getting a bit lost in my love for this story. The point of this ask, though, is grammar in fic. And the thing about this masterpiece I just mentioned is… the author makes sooooo many stupid mistakes. They CONSTANTLY misspell the names of canon stuff (from places to weapons to characters) and I personally believe they’re likely at least a lil bit dyslexic, or otherwise very distracted, cause they’ll have the right letters but in the wrong order, eg. “contracidtory”, “cluastrophobic” — which, ok, could also be… they’re typing too fast? (Which adds to my theory that they’re a creative machine that could just write and post basically.)

In any case, when reading, one can tell the author is well-read because they have an impressive vocabulary (that is used appropriately!) and, of course, the story is so mind blowing that I would not be deterred by mere spelling errors. But I do find it interesting that since I’ve embraced the fact that my fave fanfic ever is like this, I find myself just cracking up and thinking fondly of the author whenever they make a silly mistake. And this courtesy has extended to other writers too! Ok, maybe I won’t be fond of them, but I’m far more willing to just skim over the mistake.

I guess I won’t ever really stop having “pet peeves”, those are just human to have, but it feels as if I’ve gone over a hurdle. Of course, reading well-written, well-spaced /anything/ will always be more pleasurable than the opposite, but I feel lighter now that I care less for it. This 500k story has given me so much, and yet it gives me more. It has taught me tolerance lol

--

There definitely are types of writing skill that will shine through even when the basic surface-level stuff is a mess. You have to be awfully good though.

[spitdrunken]

I’m busy as usual lately, and if you’re new here, my interests tends to change up pretty quickly and strongly because of my neurodivergency lolol I see all your hazbin requests, and I will try to get to them <33 In the meantime, my girlfriend has dragged me into Ace Attorney (so blame her), and I cleaned up this ‘discord fic’ we wrote together, haha.

notes: dick gumshoe x female!reader (reader is very explicitly female here; please don’t go in hoping for ambiguity!), age gap (gumshoe is early 30s, reader is early 20, inexperienced reader. other than that, this is just very consensual sex. enjoy!

essentially, the entire crux of the idea is that gumshoe has a hookup app he uses sometimes, and you meet through there. you haven’t had that much sex, or just not sex with guys, but you’re bored and you’re horny and you decide- why the hell not? you assume nothing will really come out of it, anyway.

maybe there's just a far higher number of guys on the app you were on, and most of them just sent you a picture of their ugly penis or the most horrendous, sexual pickup line in existence… you'd practically given up on both the app and the male population in general, when you encounter gumshoe. who just tells you how pretty you are and asks how your day has been. he is outrageously attractive himself, and so you have to wonder whether or not he’s even real… despite the different start,i feel like he still wouldn't take too long to ask if you want to come over to his place sometime, but that's only normal and expected- it's the very purpose of the app such as the one you're using, after all! he warns you beforehand that his apartment doesn’t look like the best of places on the outside, and agrees to do anything you want beforehand to verify his identity! like sending pics of himself in certain poses, or (video)calling.

and you show up and all of your nerves just crash into you at once. you’re standing in the parking lot and you get so nervous you might as well throw up. you don’t really do stuff like this, but you were lured here by his genuine compliments and his good looks. you are almost tempted to text him that you’re going home, something came up, or to be rude enough to ghost him entirely- but there’s a little bit of guilt welling up inside you, knowing that you agreed with all of this, and he’s waiting for you and got his hopes up.

the reason you initially do go up to the door is this guilt. at your hesitant knock at the door, it immediately swings open, as if he had been waiting right beyond. you’d guessed from his pics he’d be big, but he’s really tall, and the spitting image of the pics he uploaded, rather than some of the horror stories you’ve heard.

"h-hi!!" you squeak. "i'm from the, uh, thing." you give him a little wave, and immediately feel stupid, quickly lowering your hand. your face is already on fire, and you don’t quite know what else to say.

gumshoe, on the other hand, only needs to take one look at you to be able to see how nervous you are. (while people often consider him dumb, he’s at least got emotional intelligence to make up for it. not to mention, he’s been around this block plenty of times before.)

"pal, c'mon, sit down. you look like you're about to pass out," he says, though not unkindly, and leads you inside before pulling back a chair from his dinner table. you're pretty happy to do as he says. "are you okay?"

"yeah, um-" you wring your hands together on your lap, face flushed, not meeting his eye. "i'm sorry. i don't really do stuff like this…. ever. i-is that weird? i just, uh, well…" you laugh sheepishly and awkwardly. "you were- you are very handsome, what can i say?"

he laughs, louder than you think you deserve, but it's boisterous. not laughing at you. "you sure do know how to make a man feel special, huh? but… hey. look at me." he's sitting opposite you now, a kindly smile on your face. "we don't hav'ta do anything you don't want to. we don't have to do anything at all! i want you to have a good time. both of us should have a good time. 'course, i'm always happy to have such a pretty lady in my home.. but i'm not gonna make you do something you don't wanna."

after his little motivational speech, you've calmed enough that your breathing has slowed down to regular levels.

"thank you, i really do appreciate it… um. i wanna try, at least. i bought new lingerie 'n everything," you mumble, eyes averted.

"just for little old me? you shouldn't have." dick's smile is goofy and genuine and luring you closer, allowing him to reach out for your waist.

"would you mind if i take a look? i'd love to see your pretty new panties." you don’t trust your tongue to make any comprehensible noise right now, so you just rapidly nod. "that's my girl."

maybe he keeps sitting down at the table, and pats his knee, inviting you to sit down on his lap. not right over his crotch, he doesn’t want to push you that quick and that hard. maybe you're wearing a cute little dress so he just pulls the hem up, and without even thinking about it, you reach out and taking him from it, holding it up for him,, you're very very red in the face and looking anywhere except at him, but you can hear the smile in his voice when he says ‘thanks’.

he just places one of his big, warm hands on your thigh, rubbing circles on the skin on the inside, and with the other hand he just traces a single finger up the length of your thigh, closer and closer to your panties to see if you don't get spooked. even when he touches your underwear, he doesn't go for your clit or anything like that, just running the tip of his finger over the side of it. maybe it's pink n lacy and slightly see through.

"that's so adorable," he tells you, maybe even tugging a little at the pink little bow on top. "s'like you read my mind and you knew exactly what i wanted to see! special girl."

"i- i'm sure i'm not… mmm--" gumshoe just hums in response, question unspoken. "i'm sure you've had prettier girls over." and you immediately want to hit yourself over the head for saying something like that, but it was what you were thinking.

"hah!" he practically guffaws, entirely unfazed. "you'd be surprised, pal. all i ever seem to hook are skinny little guys. which is all fine and good, love ‘em, but there are plenty who are just- if they can't be bothered to just say 'hi' before starting to talk about my dick, i just block 'em."

you can't help but laugh a little, and look at his face for the first time, meeting with relaxed eyes and a kind smile. (if you're going to catch feelings for this man, you swear to god--) "i guess we're pretty similar, then. i only got, uh, dick pics and bad one liners… you were the first one to just ask how i was feeling." for a moment, you can forget you're sitting in a stranger's lap with your dress pulled up, and his fingers centimeters away from your clit. maybe this guy just has that effect on people.

"people can be weird," he sighs and shakes his head a little. "that, or they just ask for the strangest things. i had this one guy over once, and he just straight up asked for fisting, which, y’know, never mentioned that anywhere before! how do ya even think you want my damn fist inside you, when you can't even handle my cock?"

"o-oh yeah?" you stammer out, the unspoken question on your lips (are you THAT big???!!??) obvious to both people in the room, and you don't even think about it as your eyes shift a looot lower than his face.

there's a tangible shift in the air, and gumshoe chuckles. when he speaks again, his voice is about an octave lower. "eyes up here, sweetheart." you jolt, practically spit out an apology, and he laughs again, louder this time. "no, no, i'm sorry, was just messing with ya. but you got curious, didn't ya? c'mere."

he takes your wrist, grip loose enough that you could pull away at any moment, but you don't. he places your hand right on top of his crotch, and places his own hand over yours. he is… big, and your face is burning. "i can see that you're wet yourself, sweetheart, so i think ya should know i've been hard ever since you walked through that door."

[logosbot-tm-fics]

Grumbo enjoyers! I've posted a new fic! It's a steampunk boatem au that currently lacks Impulse as he hasn't joined the team yet. He will show up later on.

Also, if you like Scar, he has a rather important role in this one, and will have that in the future

You can either read it here or on Ao3

Ready to Leap

With a grunt, Mumbo took his seat in the grand circle of the  theater, and looked over at Iskall. He hadn't been to the theater in a good while, it was just too expensive for him nowadays, and unlike what people seemed to believe, being an inventor in their current climate wasn't particularly profitable. 

Not when the big companies were selling similar products at a cheaper price, pumping out patents at twice the rate that he could on his own. Sure, they weren't as good or as developed, but that was never the focus of corporations these days – profit was the only thing on their mind.

Not to mention they were notoriously willing to steal ideas, or hire inventors and then leave them in the dust the moment that the work was complete. Something that independent inventors didn't do. They all had too much pride in their own work, Mumbo included. 

"So, who's this friend you'd like to introduce me to?" Mumbo asked curiously, folding his hands in his lap. 

Iskall smiled back at him. The two of them had been collaborators for a good while now, and Iskall had recently mentioned that there was a business opportunity they'd been offered that might be more fitting for Mumbo. They'd said they had to turn it down because their wedding date was coming up. Apparently, it involved a lot of travel and they preferred to be able to return home to Stress at the end of the day. Mumbo could understand that, though he had no such reservations. Maybe that’s why Iskall thought to recommend him. 

"You'll see,” they said ominously. “But first, let us enjoy this performance. It's free after all." 

Mumbo nodded in response. "Alright." 

Then, the lights in the audience dipped and the music began to play, something jazzy and upbeat, easily fitting for a cabaret, or a burlesque performance. Wait, was that what they were here to see? 

"Wait, Iskall, is this a bru-" Mumbo was about to ask, but was interrupted by Iskall hushing him. 

"Shh, it's starting!" They hissed, and Mumbo had no choice but to turn his attention to the stage as the curtains opened. 

From behind red, velvet drapery  stepped a person dressed in a gorgeous pink gown, covered in glittering rhinestones. Their blonde hair looked like gold, shimmering in the stage lights. 

Immediately, Mumbo knew who it was. It was someone he hadn't expected to ever see again, much less in this scenario. Actually, seeing him in this scenario might be the last place Mumbo would have ever guessed.

"Grian?" He whispered, surprised to see his long lost friend.  

Wide-eyed and disbelieving, he turned to look at Iskall next to him, and despite the darkness, Mumbo was certain that he could see them grinning.

~

"What did you think?" Iskall asked as the pair of them settled in at the bar during the interval, handing Mumbo a glass of champagne that was already paid for by whoever had invited them. 

Mumbo took the glass, sipping the sparkling drink. "Well, considering I've never seen a burlesque performance before-" He began, as he felt his cheeks heat up. "I'd say this one is jolly good so far.." 

Iskall smiled knowingly back at him. "You’re sure it’s just a good performance? You seem to be enjoying yourself quite a lot."

"I mean- wait, what's that supposed to mean?" Mumbo asked, feeling flustered. 

"Oh, nothing! I just think you might be a tad bit partial." They responded with a shrug. 

"Iskall, that was ages ago. I genuinely-"

"Ah, good people, there you are! I've been looking for you everywhere! You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to find someone in this crowd," a tall man said, effectively interrupting their conversation.  

He wore a top hat and a well tailored suit, one which put Mumbo's well-worn suit to shame. It was the nicer one out of the two he owned - the other one was patched up, and had a few stains from grease and oil. He wore it on the daily, determined to look as put together as he could, but… well, it’s not like he could afford much more.

"Scar!" Iskall said, immediately heading over to him, greeting him with a half hug.

Scar. Now that was a name Mumbo had heard before. "Scar? Scar Goodtimes? This is the friend you wanted to introduce me to? The one with the business opportunity?" Mumbo asked, feeling tricked. 

Scar Goodtimes was a rather well known conman, known for tricking people, and making them loose a lot of money. 

"The one and only!" Scar replied, tipping his hat in Mumbo’s direction. "It seems that my reputation precedes me!" He smiled, something wide and confident, the type that could fool you into believing almost anything. 

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Mumbo whispered into Iskall's ear as discreetly as he could, the room too loud for Scar to hear. 

"I'm sure that you'll like the offer," Iskall replied, whispering as well. It was said with such conviction that Mumbo almost wanted to believe them.

Almost.

Scar just leaned on his cane as he watched the two of them talk amongst themselves, impressively unphased by the whole display. 

"Well,” he nodded matter-of-factly, “Why don’t you tell me when you're done whispering secrets, and I'll show you to the dressing room so that we can discuss this properly!"

"Ah- don't worry, we're done. Lead the way!" Iskall cheered. 

Mumbo was about to protest, but as the other two began to walk away, he had no choice but to follow. 

This almost certainly would end up as a catastrophe. 

~

"What did you think of the show?" Scar asked when they were in the dressing room. 

The walls were red, with a big vanity mirror on one side, outlined in lights bright enough to illuminate the whole room. On racks around the room, costumes were hanging, each of them extraordinary and some bedazzled, and one of the walls was covered in a variety of masks, some simple and others intricately painted. 

"It was wonderful," Iskall replied politely, and Mumbo nodded in agreement. He didn't have much more to add. 

"That warms my heart, Grian sure is an extraordinary performer," Scar replied, and headed over to a table in the corner of the room. "Whiskey, anyone?" He asked, beginning to pour some for himself in a lowball glass. 

"Yes, please," Iskall said. 

"Uh, yes. Thank you," Mumbo agreed as well. 

"Ice?" Scar gestured towards the ice bucket with the glass. "Feel free to take a seat as well, no need to stand up."

"Oh! Thank you. Yeah, I'd like some," Iskall replied, taking a seat in one of the armchairs in the room that had a small table in front. 

Mumbo sat down in another one, sinking down into the soft cushion. "I'd prefer it neat, actually," He said with a nervous chuckle. 

Scar didn’t seem to notice, laughing good-heartedly at Mumbo’s request. "Oh, so do I! I can already tell that we're going to become very good friends indeed." He placed the glasses in front of them with a flourish, before taking his own and sitting down as well. "Now, Mumbo, I have a proposal-" 

He didn't get to finish his sentence as Grian suddenly burst into the dressing room, his costume in his arms, dressed in a floor length robe. 

"God, my legs are killing me!" He exclaimed, dropping the costume on the vanity table. He bent down and began to undo his heels. "I suppose the price I pay, I chose to do this, but God! High heels sure are a pain to wear! I swear, next time I'm just gonna wear work boots instead. It'll ruin the aesthetic, but I'm so tired of heels!" He complained, throwing his shoes on top of the costume before spinning around to face the rest of the room. "Anyway, hi Scar!" 

He hadn't seemed to fully notice the guests yet, or he simply didn't care. He marched over to Scar and placed a kiss on his cheek, leaving a lipstick mark behind. 

Mumbo tried his best to ignore the sting of jealousy that shot through him at that. 

"Hello, my star," Scar replied, smiling at Grian. "We've got guests." He gestured to the other two with a smirk. 

Grian looked almost bashful as he turned away from Scar, acknowledging his guests for the first time since entering the room. "Oh, hi! I'm-" 

He stopped when he saw Mumbo, eyes widening in recognition. Then, his gaze flickered to Iskall, and Mumbo watched on as Grian visibly paled. It wasn't a surprise that he took longer to recognise Iskall than Mumbo -- after all, Mumbo practically looked the same, but Iskall had gained scars and a bionic eye in the time that had passed -- but he couldn't deny wishing that Grian's eyes had lingered on him for longer.

"Hi," Mumbo greeted awkwardly, whiskey glass in his hand. 

The air in the room was slightly stuffy and uncomfortable, and Mumbo felt his grip tightening under the strange atmosphere. It was quiet, awkward, until Iskall finally pointed at Scar and Grian, bursting out with, "Forgive me for being impolite, but are you two-?" 

They let the others fill the silence, and Mumbo was suddenly slightly tempted to chuck his drink in their face. 

Thankfully, Scar only laughed. "Together?" He shook his head. 

"Goodness, no," Grian laughed as well. "No, no. Not at all." He headed over to the chair in front of the vanity mirror. "We're just friends, nothing more. Besides, he's basically my boss, it would make it a bit awkward if we were together." He began to remove the makeup he was wearing as he spoke, wiping at his eyes with professional efficiency. 

Mumbo couldn't deny the wave of relief he felt when they denied being in a relationship. 

"Oh, but I'm a good boss, aren't I?" Scar asked, slightly teasingly as he smiled at Grian. 

Grian shrugged. "The best. Never had a better boss." He replied sarcastically, removing his earrings and necklace, placing them in an ornate box. "Though, I must say, you earn most of those points by paying well." 

Scar shook his head, smiling fondly. "Anyway, back to business," he returned his attention to Iskall and Mumbo. "Now, we unfortunately don't have much time to talk, so here's the deal." He said, his tone shifting into something business-like and serious. 

It was a stark contrast to his previous easygoing, silly and happy demeanour, and Mumbo found himself caught a little off-guard. It was frightening almost, how quickly he could change personality. 

Scar continued, "I need someone who's good with technology, gadgets and such. From what I know, you two are some of the best in this city, and I'd love to employ one of you." 

Grian let out a mock offended gasp. "You need someone better than me? What a shocker," He was now standing up, robe dropped on the floor as he began to dress himself. 

Even if Mumbo tried, he was only listening half heartedly to what Scar said, far too much attention stuck on Grian dressing. Though, it wasn't for the reason one might believe. 

No, he was stuck staring at two scars on Grian's back, right where his wings were supposed to be. What had happened to them? What had happened to him? Why hadn't Mumbo heard anything from him until now? 

No one else seemed put off by those raised pink lines, continuing on like Mumbo’s world wasn’t spinning on its axis.

"Grian, I love you, but you're God awful at anything that isn't explosives, and even those are questionable at best," Scar joked, rolling his eyes. 

Grian crossed his arms as he turned around. "How dare you? They're top tier, thank you very much. You could never." He saw Mumbo staring, and winked at him.

Mumbo quickly averted his eyes, feeling a blush spread over his face. He returned his attention to Scar.

Scar let out a chuckle, sliding back into his showman persona with ease. "You're right, I couldn't most certainly couldn’t. Which is why I need to employ one of our lovely guests!" 

It was fascinating to see the shift in personality. It was like flipping a light switch, the difference between them was day and night. Mumbo couldn't help but to find himself slightly entranced by the man, he wanted to know what made Scar tick. 

"If I say yes – I’m not saying that I will, but if I do – what will that mean for me?" He asked, sipping some of his whiskey. It was very high quality, the taste full-bodied and smooth, with the deep and smokey tone Mumbo enjoyed. It couldn't have been cheap. 

"Well, you'd be employed within my company full time, and paid quite handsomely for all of your hard work. You'd have a permanent place to stay, and complete access to any and all materials that you could need for your projects. I'm more than willing to invest in you, I know that you’re experts in your field.” Scar scratched at the back of his neck sheepishly, “Plus, truth be told, I'm a bit desperate for someone who can get the job done!" 

The list of benefits was impressive, but – well, Mumbo had worked for himself for so long. The idea of working under a parent company, one of the very things he’s hated in the industry for so long, was certainly an uneasy thought.

Mumbo took a moment to mull  it over, leaning back in his armchair as he ran through Scar’s promises in his mind. "What's the catch?" 

Scar sighed. "I figured you'd ask that, you’re a smart man, after all." He took a long sip of his own whiskey, before admitting, "You see, Mumbo, what we're doing isn't exactly legal."

Grian laughed, whether at the words or Mumbo’s shocked face, the man wasn’t sure. 

"Ha! Not exactly legal is an understatement, it's straight up illegal,” Grian smirked. “Speaking of which, we have to hurry up. Time’s running out." He worked on buttoning his shirt quickly, nudging Scar with his elbow. "Scar, come on, get changed." 

"Alright, alright. Calm down, mister!" Scar stood up and began to change clothes as well, though he just replaced his jacket with a burgundy one instead of a black one, and switched his waistcoat for an identical green piece. 

"I'm so sorry to cut this short, but we're in a bit of a rush," Scar explained, as he took off his hat. "You wouldn't mind giving me that hat box?" He pointed at a hatbox on the shelf beside Iskall. 

"Sure." Iskall replied with a shrug, doing as they were asked and passing the box over. "Here."

"Ah, thank you." He took out a burgundy hat that perfectly matched his waistcoat and his jacket, bringing the outfit together into another gorgeous combination that – quite frankly – Mumbo found himself jealous of. He was so caught up in wishing that he too could own such a fine suit, that he jumped as Scar addressed him. 

"So, what do you say, Mr. Jumbo?" 

Mumbo was suddenly made aware that he never introduced himself.He wondered if perhaps Iskall had told Scar his name? Or maybe Scar had done his own research to make sure he knew who he would be offering a job?

"I-"

Then, the door flung open, and a woman was stood in the doorway. 

"Scar! Grian! We have to go!” Grian's younger sister, Pearl, yelled her wings wide open behind her. “The engine is running, the cops have shown up, and the guests have figured out that this event wasn't free." 

"Dang it!" Grian exclaimed, speeding up his movements. 

"Oh whoops!" Scar began to move quickly too, stuffing seemingly random things into a bag placed on the floor. "We'll be right outside in a second, just stay in the corridor and keep watch, okay?"

"Got it!" Pearl replied and disappeared. 

Mumbo hadn't seen her in ages either, as she had vanished at the same time Grian had. What had happened to the two of them? Why did she still have her wings intact, whilst Grian didn't? 

"Grian, pack your stuff, we have to go." Scar yelled, picking up the bottle of whiskey from the table. 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Grian shouted back, frantically putting his things away. 

"Wait, what did she mean not free?" Mumbo asked, only then registering what Pearl had said. "Did you know about this?" He asked Iskall. 

Iskall nodded. "I did, but it actually was free for us. Don’t worry about it, Mumbo." 

"They're right." Scar said as he tossed a shoe over his shoulder, digging through a pile of clothes. "It was free for you, but no one else."

Mumbo turned back to Scar with a questioning look. 

"You see-" Scar stood up straight, staring at Mumbo as he spoke. "This whole thing was a set up." 

"What?" Mumbo asked. 

Scar shrugged, instantly snapping out of his serious attention to the discussion, continuing to dart around the room, somehow calm despite the pace he was moving at. "Basically, we invited the socialites-"

"-said that the event was free-" Grian continued. 

"-got them all to show up-" Scar said. 

"-and whilst the performance was happening-" Grian snapped his briefcase closed.

"-Pearl and some people we hired, robbed their vaults at the bank." Scar finished, finally closing his bag as well and hauling it over his shoulder with a grunt.

"I'm leaving, see you on the zeppelin, Scar." Grian said, who was now standing in the doorway, fully dressed with his briefcase in hand. 

"Good, I'll be right behind you." Scar replied, smiling at him. 

"I'm sorry we didn't get to speak more, Mumbo. I've missed you." Grian said to Mumbo.

Mumbo looked at him, wanting to say something. "Grian, I-" 

But it was too late, Grian had already turned tail and sprinted away, the doorway now empty.

"Well, I'm really am sorry we had to end the meeting like this, for what it’s worth. But time is ticking and if I don't leave, I'll end up in jail. Which I'd rather avoid, considering that they haven't caught me yet." Scar said, grabbing his cane and placing it beneath his arm. "Pleasure doing business with you, shame we didn't get the time to come to an agreement." 

Mumbo felt his heart pounding in his chest as Scar spun on his heel, making his way towards the door just as quickly as Grian had. It had been a good offer, he needed the money, his business was bound to fail, and he could really use access to more materials. That, and he had missed Grian a lot, he- 

He stood up, not giving his decision any more thought. 

"Wait!" Mumbo yelled to Scar, effectively stopping him dead in his tracks. 

Scar turned around, something expectant on his features. "Yes?" He replied with a charming smile. 

"I'll take the offer." Mumbo replied. He knew that it was risky, but- it just didn’t feel right to let him leave like this. He needed to see Grian again, to talk to him properly, just like old times.

"Amazing!" Scar exclaimed cheerfully. "Better get a wiggle on then, we have to dash! Just go up the stairs to the roof, we'll try to wait for you. Say goodbye to Iskall, but don't take too long." He stepped out of the room. "Pearl, let's go!" He yelled down the corridor, before running off as well, Pearl following closely behind. 

Mumbo breathed in, his hands shaking where they hung at his sides, and turned to face Iskall. "I- I guess this is goodbye then." 

Iskall stood up as well. "Seems like it," they said, pulling Mumbo into a tight hug. "Stay safe."

Mumbo laughed, hugging back. "I will." He promised. 

They only stayed like that for a moment before Iskall pulled away, giving him a smile. Something that looked oddly proud. 

"I'll see you some other time." They said. "Now, run." 

And Mumbo didn't need to be told twice. 

~

It was surprisingly easy to find his way from the dressing room to the stairwell, and soon he was standing on the theater’s roof, a zeppelin anchored in front of him with Scar standing next to it. 

"There you are!" He exclaimed. "I almost thought you changed your mind!" 

"Not quite yet, mate," Mumbo replied, a smile on his lips. 

Scar tossed his head back in an exaggerated guffaw, "Ah, that's amazing! Climb on board, I'll be right behind you, I just want to make sure that you get on board without falling off."

Mumbo nodded, feeling slightly anxious about climbing the ladder that was shaking in the wind.

His palms were sweaty as he approached, the wind truly beginning to buffet around him as he got closer to the open air. He looked down, and- couldn't move. It was a big drop down to the street below them, at least three stories off the ground, and he'd really rather not fall off. 

"Well?" Scar asked, holding onto the ladder.

He allowed himself a second, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in, before Mumbo steeled himself and reached out a hand. Climbing the ladder, being aboard the zeppelin, those were things he’d have to get used to. Those were worth it, if it meant he got to see Grian again. 

Mumbo gripped the ladder and began to climb, keeping his sight on the even handholds above him. The climb was shaky, he truly believed he was about to fall off multiple times throughout it, but Mumbo eventually got to the top. He finally swung his legs over the side, feet touching a wooden floor, and barely a second passed before he was sinking down to the floor, shaking with anxiety from the long climb. 

Scar showed up moments after, and he only spared Mumbo a short glance before beginning to haul up the ladder behind them. 

"You came!" Grian exclaimed, running across the floor of the ship, throwing himself at Mumbo. "Oh god, I've missed you so much." He whispered, clinging onto Mumbo, as if he was scared of what might happen if he dared to let go. 

Mumbo hugged him just as tightly in reply, allowing himself to breathe in Grian's scent. It wasn’t as familiar as it used to be - hee smelled like flowers, no doubt from a perfume he'd begun to use at some point - but there was some undeniably recognisable smell that still remained underneath it. "I've missed you too." Mumbo sighed softly, happy to have his friend his arms. 

"Well, lovebirds, I seem to have missed the fact that you knew each other," Scar cooed, standing right next to them. 

Grian looked up at him. "No, you didn't.  I know you, you don't miss stuff like that," he replied. 

"You're right, I didn't, but it would've been funny," he smiled, then turned to look back down at the roof.

Grian stood up, holding out a hand for Mumbo. 

Mumbo took it immediately, feeling an urge to hold onto Grian as much as possible. "Thank you," he said gratefully. 

"Anytime," Grian replied, pulling Mumbo to his feet and not wasting any second before wrapping an arm around his waist. "You used me as bait, didn't you?" He asked Scar, brows furrowing.

Scar shrugged casually. "I might've," he admitted, still looking at the roof. "But that’s not important anymore, because - would you look at that! We were right on time." 

Grian and Mumbo peered over the edge together, looking down upon a group of cops as they began to flood onto the roof. They had managed to escape just in time. If they had been a second later, they would've been arrested.  

"Oh," Mumbo breathed, suddenly feeling a tad faint. 

Scar smiled at him. "Well then," he said, and held out his hand. "Welcome abord HMS Boatem! We hope that you enjoy your stay!"

Mumbo reached out a wobbly hand to shake, as Grian giggled next to him. "T-thank you," Mumbo stammered, as it finally began to set in just what he'd just agreed to. 

There was no going back now. 

He couldn't really say that he minded it, though. Not when the view of the city was that gorgeous, the sun slowly setting. Not when he could feel the wind blowing in his hair, Grian's arm wrapped around his waist. Not when he had finally found Grian again. 

If he was honest with himself, he was actually looking forward to seeing where this would take him, what his future would be like.

It all felt rather exciting.  

"Time to leave!" Scar said. "I'm going to tell Pearl to start driving, feel free to do anything your heart desires in the meantime."

Mumbo nodded in response, watching as he left with Grian at his side all the while. 

The two of them turned back to watch the sunset as it painted the sky in shades of yellow and red, a gorgeous inkstained canvas that felt as though it stretched out forever. 

"It's gorgeous." Mumbo whispered, afraid to break the moment between them. It felt strangely intimate and frail, like the illusion might shatter if he spoke too loudly. 

"Yeah," Grian breathed an equally quiet response. They stood in silence for a little while, Grian leaning against Mumbo, simply allowing themselves to be pushed to and fro by the wind. 

When the ship eventually began to move - after what could have been seconds or hours - Grian removed his arm from Mumbo's waist and entwined their fingers together. His hand was warm, and it fit against Mumbo’s own like a matching puzzle piece.

"Come on, I'll show you to your room," he said, beginning to tug Mumbo away from the edge of the ship.

Mumbo followed, their fingers knitted together all the while.

[sfwregressionfanfictions]

Growing pain: Johanna Mason x little reader

Summary: Johanna and (Y/N) find ways to live after the pain.

Wc: 4k

Tw: hunger games details, mentions of death and gore. Less that The Hunger Games , but more that the average agree fic.

I feel like I’ve lost control of everything since the games ended and the rebellion succeeded. After years of torture, it was over but I wasn’t over it. Mentally I was never free. I feel it lurking around every corner, in my brain and physically.

I see the faces of the people I killed in the arena and for the rebellion. I see the faces of those I lost: Finnick, bogs and so many others. I see the torture I endured in the capital and in my district. I cannot sleep due to this haunting.

I’m lucky enough not to be alone. After the rebellion won the therapist said both Johanna and I should not live alone. We both quickly decided we tolerate each other well enough, so we would rather live together than have a “babysitter”. We still have mandatory therapy appointments but most are done on the phone.

Johanna was loud and harsh a majority of the time, she seemed to have calmed down slightly since our freedom was established. She was outspoken still but she was honest and genuine. She always tried her best to calm me during my episodes, she has improved her ability to empathize but still struggles.

She says I help ground her too. I never feel like I do, but I suppose I can’t determine how she feels. She sometimes talks about how we met, she talks about how she saw me during my games while she was the mentor, and she discusses the past and who we were. Johanna has grown nostalgic, talking about the innocence in my eyes during my first interview. It’s hard to remember. I’m only 21 now, but it’s hard to remember when I was a child or when I had a childhood.

Even before the games, I fought to survive and help my family survive. I trapped animals by the fences and worked for anyone willing to pay. And not to talk about the horrors from after my first game.

Now we live in a house on the edge of the woods in district 7. Johanna has started building a log cabin farther into the woods, as she has wanted to do for a long time, it’s part of her therapy I think. I meet with my therapist meets with me every Saturday morning, and so far she’s said I’ve made no improvements.

She wants to actually meet in person this weekend so we can try a new method. I agreed, only because I knew Johanna would be in the woods. She would probably stay close enough to hear me if I scream, she’s always nervous to leave me with strangers.

Johanna had left early for the woods, claiming she wanted to get a lot of work done. My therapist showed up with a large bag over her shoulder. She made herself comfortable in Johanna and my living room. She accepts my offer of water, rejecting coffee or tea.

“So how have you been sleeping?” She asks, as soon as I sit across from her.

“Umm… The usual amount… I guess maybe a little more…” I reply shyly. I hated that question.

“That’s good that you are increasing your sleep, even just a little. That’s a huge step for you!” She said, she was sincere, but I always feel like she’s being sarcastic. “What about nightmares?”

“No change,” I said almost too fast. It’s not that there was an increase in number, it was an increase in severity.

“Okay, now I was hoping you would be willing to talk about what you were like before the games?” The therapist asked.

“God it’s been so long, I guess I was a normal child? I mean I had a family, I went to school, worked. I was the average kid in my district.” I reply.

“So what I’m hearing is you never really had time for those key parts of being a kid?” The therapist asked, “Did you feel like your needs were being met in all capacities?”

“Yeah! My family gave me the best life they could!” I yell, I felt like she was spitting on the efforts and the fight they put into providing the life I had.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, I simply meant compared to that of perhaps a capital child!” The therapist explained, “the reason I brought it up is so I could be positive that this therapy had a chance to be helpful.”

“What is this therapy?” I said reserved again.

“So it’s called age regression. It is a coping/therapeutic method that helps you reconnect to your inner child, to a point where you were safe and felt loved.” The therapist explained, “what it is, is you revert to a childlike mental state where you will have a chance to engage with like like you are that age.”

I grumble, almost embarrassed that this is even a suggestion. I think about how Johanna’s therapist told her to build the house she wanted and acknowledge the way she feels. AND I GET TURNED INTO A BABY?

“You don’t seem thrilled by the idea, however, I would really like you to give it a genuine try.” The therapist said, “I won’t ask you to attempt in front of me as I know you aren’t ready for that yet. But I would also like you to reflect if there was any time you might have accidentally or unintentionally regressed okay?”

“Yeah, I guess I can try to do that.” I signed.

“Okay, I will leave you with this bag of different items that might help you regress. And how about we call next week and meet in person the time after that?” She asked.

“Yeah, that will work for me,” I said staring at the bag as if it could come alive at any point.

She was quick to leave after that. Once I was alone, I picked up the bag. However, the door goes flying open, and in comes Johanna. She tried to play it cool, but it was obvious she wanted to make sure I was okay.

“What’s in the bag?” Johanna immediately asked, pointing her ax at it.

“Apparently stuff for a new type of therapy…” I gave up the information.

“Yeah? Morphling? That’s some good stuff to help you forget the pain.” She jabs at herself, she had an intense addiction after she was held in the capital.

“Umm… no… I don’t know exactly what is in it…” I didn’t lie, I technically didn’t know exactly what was in the bag.

“Okay,” She raised her hands as a surrender, “I have to get back to work, but I’ll be back before dinner tonight.”

“Okay, be safe,” I reply.

“Obviously, got a lot to do still!” She replied.

With Johanna gone, I brought the bag to my room. I closed to door and immediately started going through the bag. I was almost embarrassed to say that I was excited, it felt like I was getting lots of gifts.

On the top of the bag, I pulled out fake stuffed animals, a bunny, and a bear. I giggled lightly thinking of how Jo and I presented, the stuffed animals looked like us. I was fast and jumpy during my games, like a bunny. Johanna was strong and sturdy with her axe during her games, like a bear.

I go into the bag again and find a few types of dolls. Then I pull out diapers, I yelp at this. I placed the diapers very far away, I wasn’t willing to try that! I grab another item quickly to avoid lingering on the diapers. The item I pull out is a storybook. It was a picture book, it looked like something I would have enjoyed as a kid.

I dove into the bag again, this time pulling out a coloring book. I could do that and not feel too embarrassed. I continued pulling stuff from the bags, primarily toys, pacifiers, and teethers.

With everything laid out, I decided that I was willing to try the coloring books and teethers/paci tonight. The stuffed animals somehow already made themselves at home on my bed. I guess I should put on something comfortable and try what the therapist said.

Once cozy, I lay on the floor and begin looking through the coloring book. I settle on a picture of a Pegasus with butterflies. I begin coloring the picture, I start on the butterflies, coloring the wings a burnt orange. I was cautious of the edges.

Soon enough, I was done coloring the butterflies and I am feeling slightly fuzzy in the head. It was odd, it felt like when I would go to the parties in the capital and would drink the strange bubbly drinks, that always made me giggly. I was giggly now too. I notice I am not holding the crayon correctly anymore. I am gripping it in my fist, and rubbing it against the page.

I feel light, almost weightless. It is nice to feel so carefree, I am childlike again. I feel like when I was 7. I dive back into coloring, one page turns into two turns into a handful. My drawing begins to ignore the lines and I pick the most fun colors rather than the ones that would work together the best. I start sprawling on the floor, rubbing my eyes with my balled-up fist, and haphazardly swiping my hair out of my face with no grace.

I suppose it must have been a while since I began my session. Because it grew dark in my room, as the light from the window faded out of view. I whimper at the change in light, I feel silly being scared of the dark but I was so small. Smaller than when I was 7, I wanted Johanna. I always felt safe with her. However, I couldn’t let her see me like this. I felt embarrassed that this made me feel better, I should be able to deal with it like every other victor. But here I am sprawled on the ground giggling at the pictures I color, as my thumb migrates toward my mouth. Just as it passes my lips, the slamming of a door startles me. Johanna always was rough on the doors after a long day.

“(Y/N)?” She yelled out from the living room. I freeze, think big thoughts, think big thoughts I repeat to myself.

“Yes?” I yell back, I sounded wrong. I move to get up and go to the door, hoping she wasn’t set on coming into my room as there was no time to get everything hidden before she comes in. I was lucky enough to slip out before she made it to my door. I smile at the sight of her sweaty frame, she had been working hard on the cabin. Seeing her like this was always slightly domestic, she had a slight smile and her axe was left at the door.

“What have you been up to, birdie?” Johanna asked, she called me that as the first time we met, I squawked like a bird. I did not mean to she startled me and now she wouldn’t let me live it down.

“I was doing something that the doc wanted me to do…” I reply shyly, It was scary to talk about treatment. Johanna would want to know, making a comment about ‘supporting’ each other. She acted like it was important to us, but I think she just likes being nosy. “I meant to make dinner, but I go distracted…”

“You sound off, weird almost,” Johanna said bluntly, she didn’t mean it in an offensive way she just spoke like that. “How about we cook up some soup now? We got that rice from district 11 that you liked, we can try to make the rice soup seeder made that one time.”

She always seems to remember the small things that I liked. Last week, she decided to visit Finnick (He was alive but had some nasty scars from the muttations.), and came back with a Tupperware of the same dessert Annie made for her baby shower. I mentioned once that I wish I had the recipe so I could remake it, but I knew it was an important family recipe for Annie so I didn't pry.

“I would like that…” I reply, I sounded small and innocent still like a child. Johanna said nothing this time, I suppose she didn’t care enough to point out that fact.

“Start filling that pot up with water, I’m gonna clean up a little,” Johanna says walking to the bathroom, Johanna has gotten better with showers and water in general. She doesn’t freak out about water she knows is going to touch her, but surprise water still gets to her. Puddles, rain, and any splashes.

Once the pot is filled up, Johanna is out of the shower. She is dressed in a tank top and sweatpants. She looks so pretty.

“All filled up, what is the next step chef?” I asked my voice almost back to normal. I still felt slightly fuzzy in my head.

“You are gonna chop up some broccoli, and I am going to make the base and rice.” She said she was always good at delegating work.

With that, she’s pulling goods out of the pantry and fridge, and I am getting the knife and cutting block. By the time I get the large block of wood, I am pretty sure Johanna made it. If I was being honest, using a knife made me nervous still. I would start to shake and think back to my game.

I stood there staring at the board that had broccoli sitting on it, the knife in my hand. I didn’t mean to space out at this scene. I must have stood there too long, not moving. I felt a hand wrap around mine, as I hold the knife. My head whipped around only to see Johanna’s pity-filled smile.

“It’s just broccoli,” Johanna said, it was blunt. It was meant to be soothing though, it worked better on me than it would on others. Johanna did the leg work of cutting up on veggies while I just leaned back into her sturdy frame.

Johanna was always overly gentle with me, even when she was rough on me it did not compare to the roughness she had towards others. When she had flashbacks or breaks, she never hurt me. She would scream and cry, trying to get me away, but would never hurt me. When we first moved back to district 7, she would rarely shower due to her fear of it, however, I slowly got her to shower. I would stand in the way of the water and she would let the mist that bounced off me hit her. It took a while but she eventually got to a point where she was comfortable showering alone.

“You know you can tell me what your head doctor said to you right?” Johanna asked, before following it up, “Or I could call her and have her tell me…”

“I feel like that would be breaking a rule,” I giggled at her. We placed the knife down as we finished cutting the vegetables.

“Then tell me, little bird,” Johanna said, as she poked at my sides. I felt my face go red and my eyes water a bit.

“You will make fun of me, and then leave me here alone,” I reply looking down at my hands.

“Now, does that sound like something I would do?” She asked as she dumped the vegetables into the soup and left it to simmer. “What if I told you something that my head doctor told me to do that I don’t like?”

I stood there, ‘would I trade a secret for a secret?’. I nod as I pull myself onto the counter to sit.

“My doctor says it's important that I start connecting with more people and try to connect on a different level…” Johanna all but groaned out.

“Like date someone?” I squeak back.

“I suppose, something about taking care of someone I connect with and care about… blah blah blah. Like I pay attention to that.” Johanna huffed, her eyes bearing into mine as to say she wanted to say more, to be vulnerable but wasn’t able to form the words.

“Do you not want to ever have that? Someone that loves you as you love them?” I ask quickly, I was never good at hiding my feelings. I always had an affection for her, although I tried to break it. As Johanna would always refuse to love another person after what happened to her.

“I…” She starts and trails off as she stares into my doe eyes. She bit the inside of my cheeks as her eyes flicker to my lips. “Stop trying to stall, tell me what your stupid head doctor said.

I stare at her for a second before reaching my pinky out and asking her if she would still stay with me no matter what. She connected our fingers with a small scuff at my antics. I soon spoke, “So she said before we could deal with the trauma from the games and the umm… you know afterward. I have to address the trauma I have from my childhood…”

“What the f*** does that even mean?” Johanna says, getting angry that the doctor wasn’t just fixing me. I appreciate that she cares this much, but she was being loud and aggressive about it and it startled me.

“She wants me to create a safe childhood for myself…” I am still picking at my nails but I am hyper aware of her shifting next to me.

“What?” She was confused, I could almost hear the cogs turning in her hair.

“She ummm… she wants me to regress…” I finally say, Johanna still didn’t understand but she faked a smile.

“Well, do you think it will fix the screws that are loose?” She asked, it was all she could, she didn’t know anything about it. All I could do was shrug before turning my attention to getting bowls and spoons.

Johanna did not push the topic anymore, at dinner she talked about how the cabin was coming along. She said that I was going to get to decorate it, she would make any furniture I wanted. It was her way of sharing what mattered to her. Her love language

I told her the following day I was going to go into the market to get groceries and asked if there was anything she needed. She said no like always, she always wanted to be the provider. I only smiled and nodded before resuming eating my soup.

The evening was like any other, Johanna and I sat on the couch. She is reading a book about an adventure that takes place far away from here. I sat close to her, writing a grocery list. My head eventually makes its way to her lap. Her hand finds its way to my head, playing with strands, almost petting me. Johanna and I fell asleep like this, I was the first to fall asleep obviously.

This happens a lot, usually when this happens Johanna will either carry me to bed or if she is tired also she will simply wiggle in. She tries to wake up before me so I dont catch her being soft but sometimes I get lucky. I was not lucky that morning, she was gone by the time I woke up. She was most likely in the woods again or perhaps she went to speak with the lady down the street to get a new ax head made.

I did not fret over her whereabouts, she was strong and reliable. I was quick getting ready, I loved days at the market. Now that people are able to enjoy life, the market was light and airy. Kids played and danced, there was always music playing and the shopkeepers were always throwing extra into my bag, as I was a ‘leader’ in the rebellion. I always refused the gifts, I was never a leader, simply a survivor.

Today I stopped by a small flower stand, I always pause to look at them. I could never get myself to buy them, I feel like a capital citizen using money on lavish goods when people could be starving. I am aware the war is over and the likelihood of starvation is low with the new leadership.

I was in the market for about two hours before deciding to walk back to victors village. I took what was considered the long way back, and it only took an additional 5 minutes. However, I enjoyed the extra 5 minutes of birds singing and trees so tall I couldn’t see the top.

When I returned, I opened the door to find Johanna on the couch reading a book. ‘Must have decided to have a short day,’ I think as I drop the groceries in the kitchen before walking over to see how she was. Once I walk back into the living room, I see the title of the book she was reading. I freeze, “Age regression: explanations and tips”. There were other books all similarly themed.

“What are you doing?” I ask nervously. I nibbled on my lip to keep from attempting to remain grounded.

“Reading.” She said dryly, flipping the page. She was obviously enthralled by the book. She had tabs sticking out of it and a pen in her lap.

“You don't have to read that, you can act like nothing is happening!” I meekly reply. I want to cry from embarrassment, how could I be doing this nonchalantly. This is embarrassing.

“Why would I do that? That is stupid.” She didn’t spare a glance away from the book, “Do you need help with the groceries?”

“Umm… No, I can do it. You don’t have to worry about it.” I sputtered out as she finally glanced away from the page she was on, placing a bookmark in it and stood up.

“Too late, you are stuck with my help.” Johanna grunted walking past me to the kitchen.

I follow behind, looking lost. All I could really think of was ‘why?’. Why would Johanna go out of her way to do this for me? Why did it seem she was enjoying my suffering?

“Ohhh, you got the stuff for the meal we had when Katniss visited! It was tasty. When are we making it?” She asked, snapping me out of my mental tirade.

“We can make it whenever, there isn't a specific day I was planning to make it.” I reply, grabbing the bag that held the fruits I bought us.

“Cool, cool. You should read some of the books I got, they are really informative.” She said, watching me like she did during the 75th hunger games. Cautiously, ready to save me from an unseen force.

“Why did you get them?” I ask, staring at the apples I placed in our fridge.

“Well we are gonna be living together for a while so I thought I should at least know a little of what was going on in that head…” Johanna trailed off, an unsureness settling over us.

We let the silence fill the room until she lets out a forced cough. I popped my head up from were I was squatting, still holding the food I meant to put away. She spoke, “So I read that usually regressors have a caregiver, did your doc say anything about getting one?”

I shook my head, not knowing exactly what it was. I did understand she seemed bitter about it. She seemed glad to know I wasn’t planning to get one, she was rather territorial.

“Okay, for now perhaps, I could take on that role? Then my shrink is happy and I know that you are safe.” She suggests.

“Okay, I suppose that’s okay. I don’t know what that means though.” I said.

“I will teach you”

[skreebs]

Thinking about the ableism toward Jouno in the BSD fandom and it genuinely pisses me off so badly I want to hit people. I’ll be perusing the tag and looking at stuff and then I’ll see some random pop ups for AO3 and get shit like this

Now I don’t 100% know the context of this screenshot, for all I know this fic could be about him before he lost his sight, but either way it got me thinking and thinking got me angry and being angry means i need to complain. Jouno is already pretty shit blind rep, I’ll be honest. He’s the basic stereotype of “blind character has super senses because they’re blind” but can we give blind people literally ANYTHING else??? jesus christ. I’m pissed how BSD writes his blindness so as per usual I had to attempt to fix all of that myself, but attempting to fix it and removing it entirely are NOT the same and one is VERY MUCH SO WORSE. Again, not talking about this fic specifically but other ones I’ve seen that do this, or those “Jouno if he could see” edits. Spoiler alert, blind people can open their eyes.

I dont know why BSD and every other piece of media is so adamant on not giving visually impaired and blind characters white canes and just giving them "super senses" to get around it. It’s incredibly stupid and abelist to portray stuff like this. Disabilities are not super powers and thank GOD they didnt make that his ability but they still gave him that aspect and I guess it can be excused with SOME lore stuff like maybe he got really good senses from his surgeries but it just sucks that it happened that way at all? And then they don't even touch on how horrible having incredibly hightened senses to the point you can HEAR blood would be?? can you imagine hearing everyone internal organs around you 24/7 EVERYDAY? No one talks about that at all. That would be so fucking overwhelming its genuinely insane. Jouno is such a dear character to me, but genuinely when I remember him in canon without any of my headcanon explinations it’s just really sad that all I can say about him as representation is "well.. it could be worse".

I know there’s going to be at least one person saying “theres good blind rep in other shows though!!” Yes! I know! I’m super glad about that! But ignoring the bad ones doesn’t help much. You need to point out the issues to get good results. Recently, and by recently I mean about 17 hours ago, I watched/listened to the first episode of Daredevil, once with audio descriptions, and then after I watched without AD and had captions. I’m super glad that things are more commonly getting AD—it’d be a bit pathetic if the show with a blind main character was not accessible to blind people—but even with Daredevil, Matt still falls a bit into this stereotype.

Don’t get me wrong, seeing a character with a white cane has me absolutely elated, but from the single episode I’ve seen and what I’ve heard, he apparently also has some sort of super senses, and I know in the first episode he can hear heartbeats. I think super senses as a power is fine, but it’s just the fact they always give it to the blind characters. I, myself, am not blind, nor am I really visually impaired, I just wear glasses. However, as someone with a special interest in disabilities and also as someone that is disabled in other ways, seeing disabled rep fall into stereotypes over and over just really bums me out sometimes.

I think Daredevil is great so far from this one episode, I’ll probably be looking at more of it, but that is definitely just one gripe I have with it. I think Charlie Cox putting a bunch of effort into the role with the method acting and talking to people in the blind community and just all of that is amazing, I love to see that in anything, it’s just urrghh that it’s so hard to find a blind character that doesn’t have some kind of insane superpower senses with things. It reminds me of when characters with autism are so frequently portrayed as geniuses or their autism is only acceptable if it helps the neurotypical cast with “gadgets” or something. I dunno. Hard to explain, it’s 11 at night and I’m tired. Just don’t be ableist in any fandom or in real life. I shouldn’t have to even point out why this shit is disgraceful.

[lemurious]

[there's a trick to it]

A fic for @lesmis-prompts. Day 10 - trick (or treat), Day 11 - red, Day 12 - ghosts. (Ahead of schedule; but it just poured out of me; and got much longer than expected).

The real trick to seeing the ghosts is that regular people need to stop seeing you first.

There are a few other tricks, known to most of us on the streets. The ghosts can't enter a house without invitation. They can only speak one night a year, between the sunset and the midnight on All Hallows Eve. And sometimes, they show up on that night wearing a bright red vest, and talk your ear off.

Here on AO3 and beyond the cut.

They say there’s a trick to seeing ghosts, but that’s always the new kids, stuffed to the brim with old tales of mirrors and keyholes and salt circles. As if we had time to throw salt around in the middle of the street, or had a steady supply of keyholes. We’re lucky to get a construction site.

If you truly want to see a ghost, those tales are about as good as the belief that only particularly creepy spots get haunted. Old mansions, churches and monasteries, and obviously, graveyards.  

I can assure you that the graveyards are as quiet as anything, and the ones with the larger crypts, especially if the locks are rusty enough, are the absolute salvation for us once the spring thunderstorms come around.

First off, nobody goes to a cemetery in a thunderstorm. Second, in those days the folk built as if they’d need their grave for a hundred generations, and most of them were your average counts and marquises, so, marble and more marble with marble on top, and all of that so well constructed that not a drop gets in.

For ghost hunting  though, you’re out of luck. You can try the bridges, some of the older bars and cafes, the shores of the river, though the ghosts can end up wading halfway through the earth over there. Looks a bit uncanny, but they are still walking along the old river, from centuries ago.

The real trick to seeing the ghosts is that regular people need to stop seeing you first.

It normally takes a few weeks until their glances start sliding off of your body. They will never look you in the face, as if eye contact would blind them, and any kind of touch, even a brush of clothes as they’re passing by, must be sheer agony based on their response.

We get all flavors of disgust; anger, occasionally, I guess, if only because it’s really easy to get angry if you know the other person won’t be able to fight back; genuine curiosity, only from very little kids before their parents snatch them away; and pity, that’s the standard, though who am I to scoff at it, money’s still money at the end of the day, and there’s not too many stores that would give away food once it reaches the expiration date anymore, they’ve all been replaced by the posh restaurants in the five years that I’ve been on the streets.  

Time to get off them, I sometimes think, I’m getting close to college. I’ve been bumming around libraries for the last year, all thanks to Red, and also to the friendly grandma at the front desk who lets me sleep on one of these comfy couches, sometimes even passes along a mug of hot chocolate. I can read anything I want, all day if I so desire, and even when she locks up there’s a spot right under the camera, where, if I make myself really small, I can remain until she turns everything off, and then, oh glory and trumpets, I can actually sleep through the night. Too bad she’s on closing duty only once every other week.  

In the meantime, I can still get some quality reading, use a computer, so I’ve been looking at some financial aid, other kinds of help for folks like myself, though I trust the helpers as far as I can throw them, and you only need to look at my wristbones sticking out to see how far that is.

I used to worry about my weight, but that was before, when I was too young for such things, but, well, one sometimes has to live all the life all at once before one is ready for it. But I digress, as one of these fancy writers would say; I’d add especially when hungry.

I’m working hard on my reading though, been trying to get into social politics, and some history too, because Red all but threw me into the history corner in here, so I figured I’d make him proud. I’m not much for protesting though, I know Red would disagree, but it just feels so intangible, somehow.

Now the human body, that’s a different matter; how it works and when it doesn’t. I’ve literally read the big medical encyclopedia cover to cover in my first month. I think if I ever get off the streets, I’d like to be a doctor. A roof over my head is all but guaranteed, and maybe, just maybe, I could build a tent clinic, of a sort, with the money from all the doctoring of the rich.

I’ll tell Red that, see what he thinks. At All Hallows Eve, which is tonight, so, lucky me, been waiting for a year for this, and I’m not going to miss my chance.

It’s really very inconvenient that while you can see the ghosts year-round, the trick is that you only get that one night to speak to them. And Red, in case it isn’t clear yet, is a ghost.

When I first saw him, he was wearing the most absurdly fancy red vest I’ve ever seen, and looked the way that would make one want to become an artist and draw nothing else ever, but I can barely scratch a stick figure in the mud, so I think I’ll follow my new plan of becoming a doctor instead. Which I still need to tell Red about.

He’d better be at that same intersection where I met him last year, when he was standing looking all confused.

Apparently he keeps waking up every few decades or so, and it takes him a while to get used to it.

He was awfully sad about what he called the future, though, and especially when he saw me doing the mime thing.

I gave him the finger. With enough tourists, and especially with them feeling especially charitable on the occasion of the day meant to honor your dead, the miming was going to feed me for a week.

Instead, I got just enough for about a day’s worth of food, sparingly, and a long lecture about poverty and equality and justice and liberty, and I didn’t even care because I was going to follow him straight into the river if he asked me to, and with the kind of faith that would’ve probably had me walking on water anyway. Red has that effect on people.

I showed him around a bit, but he knew he could only speak for so long, only between the dusk and midnight, the normal ghost rules apply to drop-dead gorgeous revolutionaries as well, and he used all of that time to talk to me, He told me to go to the library, right before it closed, and just stood there looking at me expectantly until I gathered all my courage, waltzed in and I, as if I were a normal kid from a normal family, as if I were someone visible, asked to sign up for a card. I gave the address where I first saw Red, since I don’t exactly have one of my own. Number 28, Rue de la Chanvrerie.

This is where I’m waiting for him, because, for whatever reason he hasn’t been around much in the past year. Only a few days in the beginning of the summer, then on July 14th, then I think I saw him at that last big protest, before they decided to clear all the encampments, but maybe that was just a red jacket worn by someone else, perhaps not even a ghost.

I was half-faint from the heat, and food’s been scarce, too, and I didn’t really want to just fill myself with the cheap wine either, I get those wicked headaches. I’ve read about them. Nobody knows what causes them. I bet Red would say, nobody knows yet, meaning that I could be the one to figure it out. For a ghost from the past, he’s really stubborn about the future, and how much better it would be.

So, now I think I’ll tell him, that it’ll be medicine and nothing else for me, if I ever get out of here, and will thank him for the last year.

Also, it’s my turn to help him. You see, I asked him what he was looking for, back when I saw him and before he started asking me all these questions and telling me all these things.

Usually the ghosts have some unfinished business, the problem is that that it’s often something unfinished from a hundred years ago that nobody has any idea about anymore, so, tough luck. I’m really hoping that it wouldn’t be the case for Red.

Back then, he said that he didn’t have time to answer. When I asked him to answer whom, he looked like he was going to cry, which, well, I didn’t know what to do about it (now I do, I’ve read about it in books, there’s all sorts of things you can say to comfort someone), so I quickly asked him instead what the answer was going to be. Red smiled, seeing straight through my attempt, and said that it would be useless to me, but the answer was always.

He was right, it didn’t really help, but I am nothing if not persistent – the ones who aren’t are dead by the end of the first winter under the bridge – and I will figure it out.

And it’s finally the sunset, All Hallows Eve again, my favorite day of the year – and of course all the ghosts are breaking into their chatter saying all the things they’ve been storing all year – and here’s Red, right under the streetlight!

--

So here I am again, finishing the story. I figured I’d write the rest of it down too, because I never want to forget any of it. Especially not Red, because I can no longer be sure that he’ll be back next year, but it might not be exactly the worst thing either, even though I feel that my heart would break and I’m wondering if the grandma librarian would let me just cry in a quiet room somewhere, because tears are not a good sign on the streets.

So, I told Red everything in a single rush as if I were the one who hadn’t been allowed to speak for a year, and he said all these things about how important medicine was and how I should never be afraid of the future and never forget the past, and so on and so on, and I will write all of them too, on a separate page, keep it in my pocket, I think, or maybe memorize it, and keep it in my head.

And then I asked him, alright, since we know what he wants to say, does he have any idea where he wanted to go.

Imagine that, it was the same address I gave on my library card. That ancient coffeeshop, well, nowhere near the oldest in the city, but decrepit enough. So I figured, time to spend my dinner-money on a cup of coffee, because, hell, if I go to bed hungry it won’t be the first time even this week, and that was the only way I could get in.

Which was the only way I could get Red in, since, obviously, the regulars in coffeeshops don’t really see the ghosts, and the trick about the supernatural that they have to be invited into a house. Which is really almost the only superstition that is correct, but that’s a matter for another story.

So I got my fancy cappuccino, bowing halfway to the floor to invite Red in, and I thought he would shatter into pieces with the way he looked around that shop. I need to be a better writer to describe his face. It was terrified and heartbroken and hopeful all at once, and all for no more than a second, and then it was replaced with the kind of determination that if I had a tenth of it I’d be conquering the world.

Red zoned in on the stairs and was bounding up them while I was still scrambling to extricate myself from the rest of the patrons, since no matter how small, I was rather more substantial than a ghost, and by the time I reached the upper landing and the room in the attic, I could  hear Red’s voice cutting off, barely more than a sob.

“R”, he said, and I swear it sounded like he was addressing someone, “how – how long – how are you here – have you been waiting for me?”

“Well, I decided I was just going to sleep here, until you showed up. After all, you told me I could. Once,” said another voice, lower and raspier, but with the same echo you only get in ghosts. There’s another trick to noticing them, you need to listen carefully, but of course, it only works that one night in the year.

“How did you know? I had to be invited here, it’s not that easy, it’s -”

“Of course you would. Even if it took you a thousand years, you would. I know you doubted me, but I thought, when you smiled at me, that time – when I woke up, I thought that perhaps – that was more than enough to keep waiting. And it’s only been a year. And I can finally tell you things.”

I tried to become more invisible than the ghosts, not to disturb them. Red was leaning over the table, grasping the elbows of that other ghost, who was dark haired, decidedly less attractive, and dressed in an equally over-the-top green jacket. The way they looked at each other, though…. I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“I never had a chance to respond…” Red said, and I could hear the tears in his voice.

“You didn’t need to,” the other ghost shook his head.

“I did, though. I wanted to say – always, I will always, always…”

“Permit -?”

“Want to keep holding your hand,” now both of them were crying for real, and Red grabbed the other ghost’s hand, clutching it so hard that it would probably have left bruises, if ghost bodies worked that way. “And, if you permit me –“

That was really impolite of me. But before I made myself to walk down the stairs, and got kicked out of the coffeeshop for trying to break into the attic, I spent a while just standing there, watching them kiss each other like they were going to die, like they weren’t dead already, and listening to them whisper to each other what I couldn’t quite parse out, but I got the meaning well enough.

I wonder if Red and R have decided that they were done with this future, or if they’ll be back again next year, or back in another hundred years or so. I reckon I’ll go visit the coffeeshop just in case. Also, there may be other ghosts who need help; I’m going to be kinder to them from now on, maybe we can find a way to talk to each other even without words.

Also, I eventually figured out their names, but Red is Red to me forever, and I like R better than the full version anyway.

I decided, if they could wait two hundred years, and still didn’t give up on each other, who am I to give up after barely five on the streets. I’ll be that doctor yet, you’ll see. And maybe one day I will look at someone with just as much love as two ghosts looked at each other in a coffeeshop on All Hallows Eve.

[lovemybluebully]

hello hi yes after seeing your sign off suggestion I would like to call dibs on the spider emoji, that is me now, I am spider anon. If I make an alt I'll work that somewhere into the name. I think spiderling is someone else already but idk. It's a good name.

Ive decided im gonna try to expand my little blurb and write a full fic, and if I like how it turns out I'll make an alt and post it. Or maybe doodle a little comic, it's been many moons since I've drawn tho. I'm kind of stumped as to how I could best order the 4 facets of the idea to flow well, but in general do you have any advice for writing tickle fics?

Obligatory idea:

Wade introduces Logan to a game where you trace shapes or letters (and at some point he draws a dick because it's Wade) on the other's back and they have to guess. Logan finds it relaxing even if it does tickle, it feels nice, not that he'd admit it, and if he keeps laying down on his stomach without a shirt on around Wade thats his buisness. When Wade finally gets his turn the traces make him all squirmy, and eventually Logan just pins him down because he's drawn a star 7 times in a row and he'd like to move on now. Did Wade plan for this to happen? Or did he not think that far ahead? not even he knows.

-spider anon🕷

Awesome! Spider Anon it is! You sound like you have a lot of great ideas in your head so to see any of them come to life through a fic or a drawing by you would be very welcomed!

I don't have much advice because my writing technique is such a shit show operation, but I generally will get my main ideas and write out the scenes that are fresh in my mind first (no matter at what point they're gonna end up in the fic) and then work in my smaller ideas around them to fill in the rest. Sometimes I write the ending first, sometimes the intro, sometimes the middle. Surprisingly I always find the actual tickle scenes being the hardest to write. 😅 A lot of times I get hit with the writer's block and have no idea what I'm going to write next so then I just need to step away from it for a while to try to clear out the brain fog. Maybe even start writing something else until I figure it out. It would be literally painful for anyone to actually watch me write a fic. lol Sorry, probably not too helpful.

The tracing game sounds delightful though! LMAO Wade would totally be drawing things like dicks. 🤣 Logan would be like, "Why did you draw it so small? You didn't have to base it off of your own." I like him going around without a shirt on and plopping down somewhere to entice Wade to play the game. I genuinely think you're right that not even Wade knew what he expected when he was on the receiving end. lol He's over there drawing complex shapes like dicks, and he can't even guess a simple fucking star. 😂 You have such fun ideas. I really hope you can manage to write something.