#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]

[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.

[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. 

[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."

[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”

[its-a-ittle-bit-cold]

Piece by Piece

1.8k

Mitchell!reader x dad!Maverick

series masterlist

my masterlist

a/n: I know, I know. Im starting a new series even though i haven’t finished by hunger games one, my clone wars one or my marauders one. I also have marvel series i started on ao3 that i haven’t updated in literally years.. and don’t even get me started on ted lasso.

I guess inspiration just strikes when it strikes.

anyway, here’s the fic

summary: Arrival to North Island means visiting the nearby Navy Bar, the Hard Deck, which is run by your dear friend Penny Benjamin. Of course, you’re not the only visitor that night.

warnings: verbal abuse, drinking, character death, trauma, unedited

It’s strange, how in just a few hours, your whole life can totally and completely change. In just a few minutes, the strangest things can happen - the worst and the best.

In the span of five minutes, you solidified your top spot in the top gun academy. 

In the span of two, you ruined your relationship with your mom.

In the span of one minute and thirty seconds, Your best friend died because of a choice you made.

And within five minutes of that incident, you weren’t too far behind. 

In one minute, sifting through a box your stepfather sent you, you find a picture you’ve never seen before: Your mother, wearing a smile you’ve never seen on her face before, wrapped in the arms of a handsome navy pilot, all teeth and jawbone and eyebrows. 

And with thirty seconds of your arrival at the Hard Deck, that very same pilot comes waltzing in. 

Penny pauses her conversation with you, about how you’ve been, what you’ve been up to, how sorry she is for you, and strikes up a very similar conversation with him.

They have history, you can tell. 

Penny taps the counter over the barstool next to you - one of the only ones available in the crowded bar.

It only takes his polite smile to cement it in your head that this is him. 

This is your father. 

You don’t let anything show through, though. You stir up your shirley temple and smile, introducing yourself as majesty. 

“Ah. I’m in the Navy, too, you know. I’ve never met a Majesty before, though.” 

“Well, sir, this is a Navy bar… and I was on leave up until just recently. It doesn’t surprise me that you haven’t heard of me, since I was stationed in the Peninsula before , and everything there is pretty hush, hush.”

“Maverick,” he says, smiling again, but genuinely. He holds out his hand and you shake it. “Pleasure to meet you, Majesty.”

“likewise, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I finally see someone I know.” 

You bounce off, holding your drink tightly, acting as if your whole life hasn’t just been shaken up by a chance encounter at one of the many Navy bars in North Island. 

Approaching the group of other lieutenants, you steal a glance back at him grinning at Penny with the same stupid lovestruck expression that you saw in the photo.

Yep. That’s him. 

Maverick watches Majesty’s retreating form before she disappears in a group of rowdy pilots, wondering where he’s heard that name before. Majesty. 

He vaguely remembers some news from the peninsula about a year ago, but as the lieutenant had said, the news from there is very limited and very filtered. Something about a pilot whose call sign was Duchess…

“Uh oh.” Penny’s deadpan voice interrupts his thoughts. “You’re thinking. That’s never good.”

She slides him his beer and he laughs softly at her joke. 

“You know that pilot- Majesty - well?”

Penny glances over to where she disappeared into the group of pilots. She’s laughing along with the group while playing pool. They watched her take a shot.

The first thing he thinks is, she sucks.

“Yeah.. She’s a nice girl.” Penny starts deftly making a drink with the confidence of someone who’s done it a thousand times. “She watched Amelia for me when we were going through a divorce. Truly a lifesaver for both of us.” Penny meets his eyes. “She’s had a hard life, that one, and she’s not really ever had a reprieve from it, either. It’s good to see her laughing again.”

He sighs, knowing there’s a lot of pilots who joined up to get away from difficult families. 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t recognize Bradley Bradshaw himself walking in until he walks up to Majesty and plants a kiss on her cheek,

He raises a hand.

“Penny, check, please?”

You’re having a surprisingly fun time at the Hard deck. You haven’t been clubbing since before you were deployed, and certainly not to a bar.

Who would you go with?

but the pilots you’ve met - and the old friends you’re seeing again are nothing but kind. (at least, to you. It’s been five minutes and Rooster and Hangman are already going at it) 

Phoenix introduces you to the pilots you don’t know, but there aren’t many. You swim in the same circles as most of them.

You line up a pool shot and slide the stick quickly, aiming the white ball at a general cluster of colored balls, and missing all of them completely.

“Now that,” a cocky voice begins over your left shoulder, “That was an astoundingly awful shot, your highness.”

You turn to face Hangman, who’s significantly taller than you, but you still stare right into his eyes. 

“I’ve never played before,” you defend. “And it’s Majesty.”

“Sure it is, darlin’. Lemme show you how to shoot pool.”

You cross your arms.

“Are you going to mansplain eight ball to her, Bagman?” Natasha- Phoenix - juts in. 

“Yeah, are you?” You ask, voice intentionally provocative, meant to make him splutter. Frustratingly, he doesn’t, only coolly lines up a shot - making it perfectly. 

“No, I’m offering to explain how to play properly, so it’s more fun for the both of us.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

Before you can respond with another teasing comment, the music shuts off, making way for a loud, unhappy groan from almost everybody in the bar.

You hear the familiar intro to Rooster’s favorite song, (It’s the only one he learned how to play) and hand the stick off to Bob, whose wide eyes widen even further.

“That’s my cue to leave,” You announce to the group. “I can’t listen to this song for the fifty-thousandth time.”

You blow a kiss to Phoenix and wave to the rest of the pilots, hugging Fanboy, a close friend of yours, and bid adieu to Penny, slipping her a twenty.

“Thanks Penny. See you later, yeah?”

Penny winks at you and waves. You lean into the door and press out into the cool night air, the sound of the ocean suddenly the only sound you can hear - besides Rooster’s muffled voice and piano playing. 

You walk around the bar, getting ready to head back to base. The last thing you expect is to meet eyes with Maverick, who looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Sir? Are you okay?”

Your voice startles him out of his daze. He shakes his head slightly. 

“Yeah. I’m good.”

His eyes drift to Rooster again through the window, a peculiar expression passing over his face.

“…Well, I’m headed back to base. Have a good night, sir.”

You turn around, hands in your pockets, beginning the short walk back to the barracks.

“Wait. Do you mind if I join you?”

You shake your head ‘no’ and stop to wait for him to catch up with you. How strange is this, the man you just realized was tour father walking with you back to the barracks. 

You walk down the beach in silence, watching the waves crash on shore. There’s not much to say. 

“Are you here for the mission?” he asks eventually, finally, one of you breaking the silence. 

“I.. actually don’t know, sir. They didn’t tell us anything but the fact that we had to be in class tomorrow.”

You meet his eyes, briefly analyzing his face before turning your gaze back to your boots in the sand. There are some features, you suppose, that are similar in your faces. little things, but if he’s your father, you definitely take after your mother. 

“So.. yes. Then you must be a damn good pilot. Penny seems to think so.”

You laugh.

“Penny has what I like to call ‘Mom goggles.’  She thinks everything I do is the greatest thing ever.” 

It’s his turn to laugh.

“‘Mom goggles’? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Well, you’re not married. Give it time and you’ll figure it out.”

Maverick puts his hands up.

“Hang on. How’d you know I’m not married?”

You gesture to his hand. 

“No ring on your finger. And by the way you were shamelessly flirting with Penny literally all night.”

“I was not!”

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. 

This could’ve been us.

you clear your throat, looking out over the sea. The sun has fully set, now, and you’re getting close to base. You yawn, covering your mouth. 

You turn up the path to the base, in a comfortable silence when the your phone rings. You fumble through your pants, unzipping the pocket where you’ve stashed you phone. It reads one word, one you’ve been dreading. 

Mom.

 You cast Maverick an apologetic glance and then take the phone  call. 

“Hey, mom. What’s wrong?” You can hear the resigned sigh in your voice. Captain Mitchell has stopped walking, waiting for you. You shoo him away, not wanting to inconvenience him more.

Your mother’s voice is unintelligible. Staticky and blurred. 

“My baby!” she finally says in words you can understand. “Where are you? I came home and looked in your room and you were gone!”

You rub your eyes. 

“Mom. You’re drunk. Where’s Kevin?”

Usually, by this point, Kevin, your stepdad would step in. 

Maybe, you think, somewhat bitterly, he’s come to his senses and left the crazy lady. 

“Out,” is all she says. “You’re not still running around with the Navy, are you?”

She’s says the word Navy like it’s a slur. 

“Mom-“

“Because this is just a phase, (y/n). You’ll get over it and realize that I was right all along. You don’t belong on the battlefield, you belong in school.”

“Mom, as a matter of fact, i love my job and i’m not planning on leaving it anytime soon.”

This is a conversation you’ve had many a time. Almost every time she’s drunk she calls you up to criticize your life choices. 

“Then you’re a failure.”

“Gosh, I really wonder why I left.”

That’s when you hang up, abruptly cutting off your mother mid sentence. 

You make it all the way to the barracks before you angrily start punching things. The nice thing about living on base again is the free gym available to you, so you change into a ratty old shirt and shorts and go down to the officer’s gym, where punching bags are already hanging. 

You do a quick job of wrapping your hands, then begin the assault on a bag, sending it swinging with a punch.

You keep going and going and going until your knuckles feel like they’re bleeding or broken or at least bruised, and all the stress and anger with your mother has burned off. 

You hit the shower after the gym, then collapse into bed.

Your phone is lit up with four call notifications and twenty six text messages from your mom, which you promptly ignore, silence your phone and fall asleep.

“Duchess, fly away!”

“Get out of there!”

“It’s okay.”

“Majesty!”

Your eyes snap open, your back and arms are covered in sweat. You hold your breath in and let it out, trying to calm your heartbeat. 

You glance at the clock. 

Jesus Christ, it’s only three in the morning. 

This mission can’t come soon enough.

—

btw i know nothing about north island or the navy

[spotsandsocks]

Okay Spotty, Spotty pleaseeeeee 😭 actually genuine question because I'm honestly in awe of you and your talent but do you have any advice for writing long fics?? Or what is your process?? Because you always seem to be posting chapter after chapter of a new multi chapter masterpiece and I just asddghhjkllll?!?!?!

I WISH TO LEARN FROM THE MASTER 🙌🏼

Big love xx 💕😘

Oh my darling meegs! What a message to get!! I might have to frame it and take it out on the days that I’m feeling down about my writing.

First off thank you, thank you thank you , secondly master is definitely not what I is! 😂 but I appreciate the appreciation and I’ll admit I do seem to have kicked out a lot of words in under three years 😉

But seriously here’s my thoughts on your question. Got a bit long so under the cut.

No idea. That’s the honest answer which is obviously no good to anyone but let’s have a think about it together and see what we come up with…

I guess one thing will have to be I’m old 😂 well let’s say older 😉 and that means practice even if I’ve only been writing for three years. I”m going to sound big headed here but I think I’m pretty good with words in a lot of different contexts, I get compliments at work for reports and emails, especially how I explain things (written and verbal) to the people and children I work with. I’ve been doing that for 27 years and that’s got to help right?

I just wrote a line in author buck fic “make words dance across the page for a living”

When I’m writing it does feel like that… again with the fear of sounding cocky I’ve always been quick when writing anything, I don’t think first then write it, the words just come out, for example I have no idea where this sentence will go or finish. There is very little planning in my head about anything. I was that annoying person who finished exams early because I just threw up ideas on the page and they managed to fall out coherently.

So the writing bit just kinda happens whenever I get to sit down and write.

The longer fics the lost and found, the pern ones and Good knight are usually ten ish chapters deep and those chapters ready to share (mostly) before I start posting anything. This means I’m ahead of myself and can share and keep writing the newer chapters.

I usually… usually have the shape of the ending in my head when I start writing. Sometimes it’s the first thing I have , I knew how good knight would end months and months before I started those chapters and got almost 100k into the story before I got to include the first of the concepts that started the whole damn thing 😂

in other situations the whole thing moves with me the Ravi of it all in shifter fic didn’t happen till at least halfway through and I’ll be honest I got lucky with some things I had already written fitting what I wanted to do.

About getting time to write, I multitask, write while tv is on, in bed, at work (sometimes far too much… shame on me I know but I’m on top of my work and fulfil my commitments and they don’t pay me enough to go above and beyond, I’m also mostly in charge at work so no one is gonna tell me off either 😏 )

I write when I should be doing other things, read so much less than I used to and ignore 80% of dull household activities to prioritise the words. I write on my phone and iPad so it can come with me wherever I go and spare moments are dedicated to some editing or writing.

Ideas hit me while I’m driving and I’ll get key moments or fix a plot issue while I’m driving to work then have to hold onto it until I can find a pen! Not always easy! Sometimes I scribbles down ideas that hit me non sequentially so I can add them later - this leads to the odd incoherent email to myself if the idea hits in the middle of the night. 😳

I do tend to write in order ,usually heading towards that ending I’m already vaguely seeing. I write with chapters in mind and the length I want for them. GKSP and TLATF I was aiming for 10k. Author Buck I’m aiming for around 5 ish. The Pern ones esp the first one is much more erratic because I really didn’t have a plan there!

I write for a while then I’ll come back and read what I’ve written for that chapter from the start tweaking it and then carrying on further.

I read and read each chapt a lot!! A lot! And tweaks happen right to the last minute.

I work well under pressure, better maybe! I was writing 10k of chapter a week for shifter fic for the last 4weeks cos I’d caught up with myself! Was a bit stressful I’ll admit that but good too.

I started publishing author!buck for that reason, it had been sitting around for a year with maybe 20k/30k written and I thought the only way to drive it and me on was to start sharing. I will not let you all down once I start sharing,

Got really weird towards end of GKSP actually because I was worried I’d mysteriously die before I shared it all! Had several contingency plans in place to make sure the basic plot got shared! Strange little spot that I am!

Depression/burn out helped me too during the second year of writing. Writing was literally all I wanted to do so i dedicated all my spare time to it. When I went on meds some of the ideas slowed down which i didn’t like much at all! I was worried for a while but things settled down again, I don’t have as many wips anymore which might have something to do with that. Tend to write one fic at a time now. Kinda … unless inspiration hits!

Anyway that’s my story, not sure it helps in anyway and it got long so if you’re still reading this, well done and thanks.

Oh and a lot of cups tea have been sacrificed along the way… just looked up and another one’s gone cold 😉

[safetycar-restart]

Heyy. So I've had a brain rot recently and it's about charles specifically about redbull charles like it is in the d/s au and he was in Ferrari and was feeling like he failed at being a f1 driver ( but ofc its bc of the team and strategist not bc of our golden boy) and reader manages to convince him to leave Ferrari and that they can secure a seat for him in redbull (maybe the reader works for redbull or smth) and charles after being failed yet again by his team he accepts the readers offer and joins redbull and then he is so much happier (bc he doesn't have to stress that the team might sacrifice him or that the car is going to be shit) and at the end it's like happy soft vibes

It can be also a lestappen fic if u want and by the way your writing is literally amazing ❤

And if u don't to write it u can just ignore the ask ,thank u and have a good day/afternoon/night 😊💛

Okay so I love this and I kinda ended up starting a new AU with this somehow? We already have a poly!lestappen d/s au but um, I guess now we have two of them because I love this. I'm gonna use the tag of 'teammates lestappen d/s au' for this.

So my thoughts immediately went to you being the Red Bull team dominant? So obviously max is already your submissive.

I think max really feels for Charles, because he knows exactly what it's like to have so much pressure put on him and to feel not good enough and like he's failing. For pretty much his entire racing career, his dad ensured he had dominants who were extremely strict and for whom nothing is ever good enough.

And so when he sees Charles so clearly struggling and he sees how the entire of Ferrari just leaves Charles out to dry and how Charles's dom never takes him out of media days or tries to protect him, he really feels sorry for him because he knows exactly what that feels like.

He tells you about this, because now that max has you he honestly has no idea how he managed to function the way he was being treated before, and he knows Charles is being treated like that now.

He and Charles have always gotten along well, and so Max introduces you to Charles, because he knows you are exactly the type of dominant that Charles needs.

Charles gets along so extremely well with you from the moment he met you, especially because you just provide Charles with so much gentle guidance? He's desperate for any kind of genuine love and care from a dominant, so for him to go out for lunch with you and max and have you order for him and then instruct him to take a drink of his water and call him a good boy? It's everything. It's by far the highlight of his week and his poor heart aches when you leave with max and he knows he has to go back alone and later that day his dominant will come over and punish him for something he didnt even know of.

I think it would actually be max who first tells Charles to leave Ferrari and come to red bull. You had been thinking that of course, but you were trying to come up with a delicate way of suggesting it.

Max, meanwhile, just blurts it out one day. You were having dinner with them at your apartment, Charles and max kneeling and Charles is talking about how Ferrari weren't listening to the feedback he gave them from his hours in the simulator and max just goes 'Just fucking leave already, christian would love to give you a seat. come join us."

Charles is shocked. He kinds just stutters for a moment and then makes up some excuse and practically runs out the door.

You arent too happy with max of course, but he was absolutely correct in what he said.

You have to have a conversation with Charles about it, and in order to make Charles speak to you, you have to get his number from max and actually order him to meet you. You'd normally never do that, but you need him to listen to you.

You tell him that he deserves better than Ferrari, and that you would be so honoured if he joined you and max. Which naturally makes him start crying and he ends up coming home with you that night and scening for the first time with you and max.

(I am obsessed with this, we need to talk more about it)

[captainmera]

I cant believe I gone this far into the Caleb fic without realizing flapjack isn't present lol, when do you plan on bringing the best boy into the story? Is he gonna be Caleb's emotional support birb ? What's you headcannons on the lil rascal ?

I want Evelyn to give him some palistrom wood, once she hears of his passion for woodwork. :)

I want Evelyn and Caleb to encourage one another in areas where the other is a little insecure.

Some character arc thoughts: SO SPOILERS

Caleb starts off as a depressed pessimist who feels stuck in life and powerless. Like this is all he'll ever be and that there's no point in having dreams when they're unrealistic.

His dream being to tell stories, make figurines for those stories (as he can't write or read) and give the figurines to people who feel touched by the story the figure is in. He wants to bring his own kind of magic to people, the kind that can bring people out of the dark headspace he's in - which are stories of various types. Stories helps him escape and feel like there are good things after a hard journey - that then, perhaps, the same is true for him.

He dismisses his dream because he feels like it's just.. not true. He's just being a dreamer.

Subsequently, of course, Evelyn thinks that sounds a lot like how Palistrom carvers work, a profession that's very scarce in the demon realm as it takes someone with a lot of heart and imagination (and willingness to give away that love) to create unique palismen.

Caleb needs someone to unchain him from the ground he's fasten himself too out of fear of floating too far into the sky. He's allowed to fly.

And Evelyn,

I haven't had the chance to go into her yet, as this story is mostly (right now) told from Caleb's POV.

But Evelyn is a powerful witch and very talented. People often say she's wasting her time doing research on something as useless as the human realm. That her potential isn't reached. She's an extrovert, who wants friends, but they take advantage of her for being powerful and well-known for that. (Kinda like Gus!)

She has no genuine friends. But she cares so much, and means so well, and keeps getting let down.

I want for Evelyn to make Caleb realise he's not powerless, that his dream isn't silly or even unachievable. That he's allowed, actually, to break away from the strict rules. He can be the flamboyant exccentric who tells stories if he wants to be.

I want for Caleb to show Evelyn that she's not just her talents. He has no context of why or how she's "wasting her potential", he thinks she's amazing. Not because she's poweful, but because her heart inspires him. To him, she's fun, she's free, he likes her in places where others find her annoying (but feigns not to be to stay in her favour). Caleb is forward with her, has been from the start. She needs someone to grab her arm and ground her a bit, not to chide her, but because they care and know that she'll be upset if it doesn't go the way she thought.

They level each other that way. :)

And I want them to have fun with each other, be playful and snarky, honest and... Because of how they met and started, they have no reason to not be honest.

SO, AS FOR FLAPJACK!!!

I wanted him to carve him, after Caleb dares to open up a bit more.

And because he's a human, like Luz (and I guess Hunter??), he's limited on what kinda magic he can do. So flying, mainly, and maybe zip-zaps. But to him, that's incredible.

And also terrrifying. Because that makes him a witch. But also, now he has a buddy he can babble on and on with.

"NO DON'T, AGH, STOP! You can't follow me around! People will think you're a familiar!! ... Actually, do you know what kinda flowers Ev likes?? Can you make flowers? No? Hm.. Help me find flowers then."

Kinda like how Hunter panics at first and is all SHOO SHOO and then ten seconds later babbles his heart out to the bird.

Flapjack becomes one of those emotional support animals. lol.

[phantomrose96]

Chrissy help how do you keep motivation for such huge writing projects?? I've seen you posting about abot for a long time but I just clicked it and it's got like 360k words. My guy you are incredible and if you've got secrets to share I'd be very interested. Major props to you

(ABoT)

I'm hoping to resurrect Dickinsonian-era "paid by the word" writing gigs and retire off ABoT Kidding! kidding! I make 0 dollars and 0 cents off ABoT do not sue me IP holders.

More genuinely it's a couple things I guess. One big and simple one being just--I really like the story. It's long because there are a lot of parts I like and wanted to tell. Another is spite, because for a long period of time between 2017-2020 I thought I would never be able to come back to the story so it's something of a "fuck you look what I made anyway."

But I really REALLY think the biggest part to this all was the (tough, but doable) process of learning to be okay with this story taking however long it's gonna take, and being however long it's gonna be.

Back in the days when Tumblr was really a hub for fandom, fandom attention was extremely fleeting, and when you had any of it, it felt like it was always moments away from vanishing. Tourmaline, my 80k Steven Universe fic, I wrote in the span of just over 2 months. I had a chapter out roughly every 2-3 days for that entire sprint. I'm proud of pulling that off. But my main motivation for doing that was absolutely the fear of losing people's attention and interest if I dawdled even a little.

Early-days ABoT was like that too. The first 9 or 10 chapters were all posted in intervals of about 2-3 days apart. I was staying up extremely late to do this which wasn't good for me and I was doing it because I was afraid of losing people's interest and I was getting more intimidated the more I realized how long ABoT would likely be. And then for school and life reasons, my update schedule absolutely had to slow. And I was having a bad time because it was like I could feel myself losing readers and losing relevance, and the backlash was growing, and even when I was finding the time to write I'd started burning out hard on my passion for the story. I'd get frustrated with my own plot and characters, and you can't write a good passion project while frustrated with the characters.

And then I kinda quietly admitted defeat because the stress and the backlash were too much to handle and I couldn't wring anymore of this from myself. After a 1 year, 2 years, I was pretty much sure my readership was long gone. I still thought about the story constantly! I still cared. I just figured I'd missed my window and would never be able to come back except to backlash.

Then just shy of 3 years, I said "fuck it, actually" and wrote the next chapter (okay it was a lot more complicated than "fuck it" but that would take too long to explain.) And in FACT, a ton of the readership came back! It was an extremely warm reception! And new readers, too. Just a lot of really warm, positive feedback. Which absolutely blew my mind because it was completely at odds with my feeling that things needed constant updates to cling to relevance. And the idea of "well if they waited 3 years..." has helped me a lot with allowing time and breaks between chapters. I don't burn out on them. I edit them more. My update schedule's been more like 2-6 weeks between chapters, rather than days.

Allowing that down time, letting ABoT be a steady jog instead of an all-out sprint, has been absolutely crucial to getting as far through it as I am. Even right now, it's been pretty long since chapter 45. I dove super deep into putting ch45 together and I kinda needed some time off after to decompress and step away to not risk burn out. Which was very needed and helpful and now I'm back to chugging through ch46.

There was an old comment, I think on Reddit, that I read years ago which has stuck with me ever since. Someone was recounting a conversation with a single mother who was considering going back to college to get her degree, but was hesitant to do so because she would be 40 by the time she graduated. To which the other person responded "You'll be 40 anyway."

And "you'll be 40 anyway" plays in my head a lot. Like, ABoT's been going for almost 6 years. Well 6 years were going to pass anyway. ABoT might not be done for x-many more months. X-many more months are gonna pass anyway. Time's gonna happen anyway. So I'm not worried about whether this thing is still going by then or not. I'm just keeping at it until it's done.