#but right now it's going to the WIP graveyard

[kiestrokes]

「 25 Hours: Hard, Soft & WIP-mas 」

I came up with this just a little last minute, and was unsure if I could commit to it. It is busy season at work, and it is busy. This is my full disclaimer that I may not get all 25 parts posted! These are not holiday themed, if you want something festive, I have a kinkmas list I did for BTS two years ago that you can find here.

25 different idols in the style of one of the below options:

1) Part of a WIP (that may or may not be in the graveyard) 2) A hard hour paragraph/drabble 3) A soft hour paragraph/drabble

Set list of idols is TBD, tentative list is below, but it is subject to change as some of these will be written as I go/inspiration strikes. These are just a way of me sharing WIPs and ideas that I do not have the time to finish right now. Think of them as a gift or a stocking stuffer as @minisugakoobies referred to them as 🤗

「 MASTERLIST 」

Jung Hoseok of BTS WIP 🪦

Choi San of ATEEZ

Bang Chan of Stray Kids WIP

Xu Minghao of Seventeen WIP

Yoon Jeonghan of Seventeen

Park Chanyeol of EXO

Kim Namjoon of BTS WIP 🪦

Han Jisung of Stray Kids WIP

Kang Yeosang of ATEEZ WIP 🪦

Wen Junhui of Seventeen

Na Jaemin of NCT

Doh Kyungsoo of EXO WIP

Kim Mingyu of Seventeen WIP 🪦

Yang Jeongin of Stray Kids

Jeong Yunho of ATEEZ WIP 🪦

TOOK A PERSONAL SICK DAY, SORRY!

Yuta Nakamoto of NCT

Boo Seungkwan of Seventeen WIP

Say My Name Pt. 2 WIP

Kim Hongjoong of ATEEZ WIP

Lee Felix of Stray Kids WIP

Jung Wooyoung of ATEEZ WIP

Ten Lee of NCT

BM of KARD WIP

Seo Changbin of Stray Kids

FIN.

[court-jobi]

AAAAH i love your bakugo x biker!reader series every time you post a new story I get so excited their relationship is so cute and your writing is so compelling I just have to read them over and over again

Awwww anon!!! Thank you so much!!! That is high praise, and I appreciate you sharing your love for them so much~ Methinks I need to start a little timeline for that sweet n' spicy reader... and perhaps give you a lil sneak peak into an idea I've had recently where biker!reader is a bit cheeky... all in good fun, right?

To catch up on this series and my other MHA fics, check it out here!

Bakugou x biker!reader WIP incoming...

Picturing UA holding a Work Study Expo -a new initiative by Midoriya to help connect would-be heroes with Pros they may not know yet; namely for the hero courses, but also with added attention for the support students!

Enter our darling biker!reader. Reader is sandwiched by Kirishima and Bakugou to come attend-- the boys both RSVP with a unanimous 'yes' seeing a UA reunion tour in the making, with Bakugou particularly excited to take you there to see his former school since you'd received your secondary education elsewhere.

You're happy for it too; gives you just a little more insight into the place that had a large part in building him up to the hero status he is today...

...until the three of you are checking out the figures across the reception space-- and you freeze when you spot someone. Kirishima clocks it as a starstruck response and despite your harshly whispered word of denial, he makes off in golden retriever fashion to go get them.

Bakugou would be... a bit intrigued to see this reaction from you. Not that you weren't allowed your idols (even though he feels no one holds a candle to Allmight by default), but he was curious as to why you would look so... antsy. It wasn't quite a 'Deku' level of floundering - but that purposeful squaring up of your shoulders and avoidance of his eye contact altogether gave him cocky cause to tease you further.

"What, scared to meet your heroes? Figured you'd be plenty used to that by now."

"Shush,heisnotmyhero."

"Oi--" Bakugou cocks his head to the side, effectively forcing you to look at him over your predicted line of sight. "What's your issue then, angel eyes?"

With an unavoidable storytime bubbling in your gut, you run the risk to see if you can sum everything up for him by the time Kirishima comes back-- or at the very least, figure out the nearest exit to gracefully disappear to for the next fifteen minutes or so....

You pull him aside lightly by the wrist, closer to one of the tables of handouts for the event.

"Okay... You have to remember one thing, promise?"

"Yeah?" Bakugou chimes back, entertained.

"This happened before I met you."

His interest doubles, but smile falls, "...yeah?"

"I have not thought about it one day since.."

"... yeah?"

"Remember how I told you," you tread lightly as some students pass you by with some excited waves, "-when I transferred here, I had to work with that proviso license from the Commissions office 'cuz of the whole 'double-triple-check' applicants' liabilities clauses? And mine took forever and a day, because of all those traffic violations that were completely legal where I was last stationed?"

"Uh-huh."

"And that meant I took nothing but graveyard shifts for the first, like, six months... so I basically broke ground solo before the agency could pick up my contract?"

"Uh-huh...?"

Reader sets the scene for a particular alleyway they'd been stationed at, something of a traffic stop role and in prime position for hopping onto the freeway if needed. Helmeted with your visor up, you could keep on coms while getting a little bit of fresh air to keep you awake.

But it's also the sort where villains make their playground meetups and cause some trouble for unsuspecting folks. It's easy work- though trouble could crop up at any time....

Enter the hero you caught sight of across the room: the man you'd watched string up a trio of baddies so expertly, you knew they were never gonna get anywhere near you, so why flinch?

The hero who'd snidely commented how he coulda appreciated the help, but who you assured with a saucy 'you had it under control, hon'.

The hero who you proved yourself to by jumping into action together in a bit of an impromptu high-speed chase.

The hero who ultimately caught your name, but chose to call you 'Speedy' after your impressive performance. Who said you were no rookie like he thought.

The hero who chipped the lip of your helmet in thanks and patted the rear of your bike in a casual move before setting off into the night again, sufficiently making a mark on your fluttering heart as your new favorite hero of Japan.... who you cannot believe you with and who is now approaching over Bakugou's shoulder:

"... AIZAWA?!?"

"Eraserhead," you corrected gracefully.

A flurry of emotions crossed Bakugou's largely incredulous face, though he settled on merely repeating,

"You flirted... with Aizawa?!"

Forcing Bakugou to lower his volume was a lost cause, but you could control yours, "I had-not-met-you-yet-- remember that!"

And was it considered flirting? You could barely get a read on the guy

"Nah, I'm still stuck on my fucking teacher hitting on you... and you called him what?? You know how fuckin' old that guy is?!!"

"Thirty-nine." you fire back immediately.

"--HEH?"

And you can't stop-- though you have the gall to look a little sheepish.

"Scorpio. Ambidextrous. Has a white cat named after the title character of Samurai Jack."

"...."

"Went on Present Mic's show a few months back.. not that I had a notification or anything for when it aired-"

Bakugou stands in a rare moment of silence. Disbelief, rage, shock, and maybe something heated lay behind his eyes, but you honestly can't tell which is going to win out.

".. you're fucking with me."

"I am not."

"

"Absolutely not! Kats, he is never going to single me out of an entire room here, and think back to one patrol night out of thousands, that's ridicul--"

"Bakugou... 'Speedy'."

Alongside Kirishima's proud presence who had been anxiously awaiting this interaction stood Aizawa: fitted with his off-hours eyepatch but who clearly did -in fact- remember you.

As long as you avoid Bakugou's absolute stare of death, you can properly school your reaction to be one of perfect charm; as always when meeting other Pro-Heroes. It's not like you still hold any feelings whatsoever with this man... but you'd truly rather have this conversation anywhere else than beside your darling Katsuki, who's about to blow up if you so much as smile at his former homeroom teacher.

"Should I be scared that you remember me sans helmet, or flattered?" you offer pleasantly.

Aizawa gives a little bow to you before straightening up with a smooth reply, "I never forget a face."

If looks could kill, Shota Aizawa should be collapsing on the spot under Bakugou's eye. And even if you think it's a harmless comment, you know for a fact you'll be paying for it later.

--Scene--

To be continued, m'loves?

TLDR; Bakugou:

[mrsshabana]

Aaah there are so many I want to see but for now could you show Mafia!Demon!Gyutaro?

I'm so glad you picked this one because it is one of my favorites too! This fic takes place in the AAO au. But if Gyutaro didn't go to college and joined the mafia with the other moons instead.

If you aren't familiar with my Against All Odds au, basically demons live among humans similarly to Tokyo Ghoul. But they don't have to eat humans, they can survive by eating any raw meat. Though some of them will still eat humans anyways.

Content: 18+ MDNI, Gyutaro x female!reader, violence, kidnapping, sexual themes

✧:･ﾟ→ My WIP's

𝑴𝒂𝒇𝒊𝒂!𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏!𝑮𝒚𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

The world of demons was foreign to you, but in the blink of an eye you were thrusted into this life and demons became all you knew.

The only other humans you ever interacted with were the other girls. Girls who were in the same unfortunate position as you.

You were no one special before. Just working your way through life like the rest of us. And that’s how he found you. You were the perfect candidate really. Young, attractive, and weak. He was sure you’d be profitable. Abducting you in the cover of nightfall as you walked home from work after a graveyard shift.

Your abductor, the demon with the two-toned hair, took you to the black market. Selling you to an illegal exotic dancing club. A place where humans are kept captive for the enjoyment of demons. Forced to wear lingerie and dance behind nichirin bars.

This became your new normal.

You hated everyone here. The other girls gave you a hard time because you were new, and the owner of the club didn’t help. She’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, with stark white hair, two-toned just like the demon that had abducted you.

For some reason, that demon often came into your thoughts. As you sit in the back room, preparing yourself for your upcoming scheduled dance, you think back to him. His appearance was terrifying, but something about him intrigued you. You’ve been an exotic dancer for only a week, and you haven’t seen him since that first day. 

Too distracted by your lingering thoughts, you barely notice the other girls shuffling out of the room. You’ve been surviving by following what the other girls do, the girls that have been here for years. And an uncanny feeling begins to form in your gut. One that tells you that you should follow them. So you hastily finish your hair and makeup, slide on your heels, and make your way towards the door. 

And that is when you bump into him.

In your panicked state, you open the door too quickly without realizing what’s on the other side. Walking into the man’s chest, with a huff you slip on your heels. Falling right on your ass, at the feet of the only demon you recognize in this place.

Glowing eyes stare down at you with a frown. His lips downturned in an annoyed scowl. Looking down at you as if you are his prey, his frown changes into a toothy smirk, showing off his sharp teeth. 

Every nerve under your skin burns, every muscle in your body aches with the desire to run. But you find yourself frozen at his feet. Staring up at him like a helpless puppy.

“I-it’s you…” you whimper as he quirks a brow at your acknowledgment. Crouching in front of you and reaching forward to grip your cheeks with the rough pads of his fingertips. He hums as his grin widens, turning your face side to side, inspecting you.

“Oh so you remember me? How sweet,” he coos.

Quickly getting bored, he rolls his eyes and stands, “Get up,” he orders.

“R-right,” you stutter, struggling to get back on your feet. Once you are able to stand properly you bow and apologize, “I’m so sorry for my clumsiness, please forgive me sir. I-it won’t happen next time.”

He takes a step forward and brings his hand below your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He’s pleased by how you speak to him, it’s so different from how the other girls react to him.

“So eager to please, I’m glad I found you,” he chuckles before releasing you from his grasp, “and no need to be so formal, just call me Gyutaro from now on.”

You nod and he pushes you aside, “Now scram.”

After that day, you learned who Gyutaro was and why he frequented this place. This club is owned by the Kizuki, otherwise known as the most dangerous demon mafia in the world. And Gyutaro is one of their top members, along with his sister, Daki, who so happens to be the manager here.

Gyutaro comes once a week to collect the money that the dancers have generated, and once a month he’ll bring new girls if there is a need for more dancers.

Every time you’d see him, you’d politely greet him. A part of you hates him for bringing you here, but you begin looking forward to his weekly visits, even though he rarely acknowledges you.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

You’ve been here for a few months now. Things have gotten alarmingly mundane. Your previous life becomes a distant memory as you’ve even forgotten what the warmth of the sun feels like on your skin…

Putting on your lingerie, slipping into a pair of stockings and heels before you exit your quarters. 

Daki waits for you in the backroom with a group of other girls. Something must be going on. Daki never bothers to interact with the dancers much unless she’s scolding them.

“Girls, listen up,” Daki yells in an aggravated tone, “we have some special guests tonight so be on your best behavior!”

She then begins pointing to girls out of the group, instructing them to come to her, “and… you,” she points to you, “the rest of you are off for the night.”

She picked a dozen of you from the group, “Ok girls, you’ll be having some very special customers tonight,” she smirks, “Come with me.”

You all follow her out onto the dancing stage, where nichirin bars separate you from a group of men sitting in front of the stage.

She instructs you to stand in a line. And your heart sinks at what she does next.

Pressing a button behind the stage, the bars begin to lower until there is nothing separating you from the men that sit in front of you.

And what do you know… there he is. Gyutaro sits nonchalantly with his legs spread wide, a lazy smirk on his face. He’s wearing his usual attire, ripped black jeans, black leather boots, and a black button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His birthmarks and various tattoos are visible on his exposed skin. 

The other men you don’t recognize.

Daki turns on the music and shouts, “If you're chosen, give him a lap dance. If not chosen, you're free to go back to your quarters for the night.” 

What the fuck is happening right now. As far as you know, this doesn’t happen. They never allow girls to get in such close proximity to customers for safety reasons. Having half naked women flaunted in front of blood thirsty demons is a recipe for disaster, which is why the nichirin bars have always stayed between the stage and the customers. The only time a girl is allowed to give personal dances is if the guests pay a hefty price… and even then the dancer usually never comes back.

They begin going down the line, each man pointing to a woman of his choice. And for some reason, you’re relieved when Gyutaro points to you. Feeling a heavy weight lifted from your shoulders. 

This doesn’t go unnoticed. Gyutaro’s smirk is wiped off his face when you flash him the tiniest smile as you make your way to him. You shouldn’t be happy about this. He knows you know who he is and his status within the mafia, so why are you so eager to see him?

After each man has made his selection, Daki takes the remaining girls backstage. Leaving you vulnerable at the hands of the Kizuki…

Dim lights flicker as you stand between his legs. Gyutaro’s gaze trails down your body, pupils hesitating when he reaches your breasts, and stopping when his gaze reaches your thighs.

This is quite awkward for you. Yeah, you’re used to dancing for guests but Gyutaro has never been one of your guests. He’s always just been the guy that comes to collect the money, you never viewed him as a customer. But orders are orders and in this place you know you have no choice. So you begin to dance for him.

“Stop,” Gyutaro says sternly, grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward, “Sit…”

You nod and do as you're told, taking a seat on his lap, straddling him. He rests his left hand on your thigh, and brings his other hand up to your face. Moving a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Why so eager to see me?” words drawn out, his hooded lids stare at you with a lazy expression.

“I-I was just glad that you picked me…” you blush, feeling your body heat up.

He hums, holding your hips down as he rolls his hips upwards. A hard bulge can be felt through his jeans, rubbing directly on the wet spot shamefully forming in your panties.

“I can’t imagine why,” he growls.

You lean forward to hold onto his shoulders for support, “You-you’re the only one I recognized…”

Gyutaro can see right through you as you spit out a half truth. Trying to convince yourself that that is the only reason that you were happy to see him. That you haven’t formed some sick attraction towards him. 

“Well, I was happy to see you too,” he smirks, caressing your cheek, “so pretty, so obedient, so eager to please… so sweet to me every time I come by each week.”

His praises make the tightness in your chest worsen, you feel like you can’t breathe. Your whole body feels hot as he leans forward to kiss your neck. Nipping at your collarbone with his teeth. Your small acts of kindness and simple decency towards him have caused him to grow a liking to you. Forming foreign feelings towards something that he only viewed as food before.

Tilting your head to the side to give him better access to your neck, you look beside you. The sight makes your blood run cold.

The man beside you, a demon with platinum blonde hair and rainbow eyes, is busy ripping out the trachea of one of the dancers. Blood covers his mouth, pooling beneath him on the floor. Looking further down the line you see similar acts. 

You seem to be the only girl left alive.

Gyutaro instantly senses your panic. Feeling your pulse increase drastically under his lips as he kisses your neck. You begin to squirm in his grasp, but he keeps you seated with a firm grip. Your breathing becomes choppy and panicked, whining as tears blur your vision.

“Hey hey hey, you’re ok,” he coos and wraps his arms around your waist to pull you close, “I’m here with you, doll.” 

“P-please…” you whimper pathetically.

“Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” Gyutaro grabs your face, forcing you to look at him, “You trust me don’t you?”

Through hiccups and sobs you respond weakly with a nod, “Y-yes.”

“Good girl,” he groans, “It’s just me and you right now… don’t worry about anything else.”

[t-lostinworlds]

A Strange(r’s) Comfort | Peter Parker

A/N: had this idea right after i saw nwh which was...years ago now lol. rewatched it again recently so here’s me dusting off a wip that’s been sitting in my drafts. basically, this is just me giving peter some comfort in a way, bc that boy really needs one :((

》 PAIRING: peter parker x female!reader 》 TROPE/GENRE: strangers to lovers (mostly implied); soft angst; hurt/comfort 》 SUMMARY: Peter found a strange comfort in the graveyard, no less. But hearing about your day-to-day had been the highlight of his. And when one night led to the both you showing vulnerability, suddenly, Peter didn't feel so alone anymore. Maybe a stranger's comfort wasn't so bad. 》 WARNINGS: Spoilers? (i mean it’s been a while); bad jokes/puns (one about chicken & one about sex lmao); peter eavesdropping (sorta...ya know, enhanced hearing); it’s mostly set in the graveyard so...; mentions of: death, car accident, drunk drivers, being in jail for a moment, petty theft, peer pressure; and overall just dealing with grief and peter & reader bonding over their experience with grief. 》 WORD COUNT: 5.2k+ (issa baby fic)

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ P. PARKER MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

Some might consider it unhealthy, but was there really a 'right' way to deal with the loss of someone you hold near and dear to your heart? They might even say it was excessive, but who were they to police him? They didn't know what he was going through. They could never understand what he was going through.

A part of him had excused it with his wounds being fresh, that with time, he'd be able to learn not to dwell too long on the remnants of the people he loves. Maybe with time, he'd be able to move on, something that seemed so impossible at the moment. But he'll get there—well, he hoped so, at least.

Either way, there was no doubt that everyone handled grief differently.

For Peter Parker, that was visiting May's grave every day.

Once was enough.

That was what he limited himself to, at least.

But still, it was barely enough to settle the demons in his head. Barely enough to stop him from replaying the scene over and over.

Peter had been recalculating in utter desperation as to what else he could've done better, what else he could've done more to save her.

That was what it was like most nights.

Some nights, though, his mind would switch things up a bit, thinking that maybe he was going about it wrong. Maybe it was a case of what he shouldn't have done.

Those nights Peter sometimes found himself picking apart every choice he'd ever made before it led to that point.

Maybe if he hadn't chosen to go on that stupid school trip to Europe then this wouldn't have happened. Maybe his identity wouldn't have been revealed and it wouldn't have led for that first domino to tumble, knocking over the rest that made his life turn for the absolute worse.

Or maybe, he didn't need to go that far back in the past. Maybe he simply shouldn't have chosen to question Dr. Strange's decision to send those villains back to where they came from immediately.

But sadly, that was all there was to it.

Peter's thoughts were simply and only just a whole bunch of unanswerable maybes.

Maybe this, maybe that. Maybe he owed it to them to try his best and fix things, maybe he didn't owe them anything at all. Maybe it was the wrong choice to try and save everyone, maybe it was right.

Aunt May said he did the right thing.

But it didn't feel like it sometimes.

Hell, it didn't even feel like it was even worth it. And no matter how much he tried to tell himself that it was right, his thoughts still managed to convince him that every. single. choice he made was simply wrong.

It wasn't even difficult to come to that conclusion anymore. Because ever since he got bitten by that spider, his loss considerably outweighed all his wins. And from then onwards, it just felt like he kept losing, and losing, and losing, and losing.

Right now, the most mundane thing he'd been losing lately was sleep, at the very least.

He'd gotten a job as a delivery guy at this small chicken joint a couple of streets down his apartment. Some might call it cheating—in his opinion, it was simply taking a shortcut—but he'd leave the bicycle they'd lend him in an alleyway and just swing the chickens to their destination. Sure, changing in and out of his suit was a bit tiring but it was definitely far better than dealing with New York traffic.

Apart from that, he'd also begun with some freelance photography work, dusting off the old DSLR camera Ben and May got him. He got decent at it a while back. But it got long forgotten the minute they bought him his first video game console, two years later.

He was starting off small, from random birthday parties to taking photos of restaurants or any establishment that was looking to use the pictures for ads or whatever. He was up for anything, anyone who didn't mind getting an okay photo at best.

There wasn't much to it, though, since nobody was really keen on hiring someone who didn't have experience. As a matter of fact, he didn't even have a high school diploma. Which had now led to him sacrificing countless hours of studying for his GED tests.

So, it was safe to say that he was handling a lot, especially juggling it with his still ongoing nighttime patrols.

Yet all of that seemed so much easier compared to what he had to deal with once he was lying in bed, wide awake even if it was past midnight. What went on in his day-to-day was only a fraction of the reason why he was losing sleep because his damning thoughts just had a habit of being so loud once everything else had quieted down.

It was hard as it was dealing with grief, even though he for sure had dealt with it more times than needed in such a short amount of time.

But what was more difficult about it this time around, was dealing with alone.

And Peter Parker was truly and utterly, alone.

No fellow Avenger to advise on ways to deal with this. After all, they were the only people who could understand even the slightest bit of what he was going through.

Saving the rest only to fail at saving one, losing someone in the midst of fighting for the rest of the world.

No Happy to offer some guidance on dealing with the loss of someone near and dear to you. Or for him to just be there as someone Peter could relate to, just like when Tony had died.

No Ned and MJ to give him company, offer their different ways of comfort as best as they could. They weren't there to simply make him laugh, offer that tiniest moment of reprieve, distract him with their theories and arguments about anything and everything to help him escape from, well, everything.

Right now, Peter had no one.

Going from having the people he truly cared about be only one call away, to suddenly being someone labeled as 'unknown number' in their contact lists, it was difficult.

But maybe he would just learn to live with it.

And maybe the first step to being able to live with his grief was to visit May frequently.

It didn't matter what time of the day it was. Whether it was early morning or just a few minutes after lunch, or when the sky started tinting orange as the sun slowly set. Midday or midnight, dusk or dawn, it didn't matter as long as he could visit her just once.

Maybe a part of him was hoping that by some miracle he'd hear her voice again, telling him, even if it was the last time, that you're going to be okay.

Peter needed it, so badly. He needed to be told that things would turn out alright because him being fine? It seemed like a far-off dream at this point.

He'd been to space, been to the mirror dimension, fought villains from other universes, been the center of a spell that erased people's memories and made them forget who he was.

Surely hearing the voice of a loved one that had passed wasn't too much to ask?

Yet every day, every moment he ventured into the graveyard, he was met by silence.

Well, aside from the distant hum of New York as life moved on. There was also the deep howl of the wind at night, a few cracking branches accompanied by the soft coo of crows.

Some would probably find peace from all the white noise, but Peter couldn't say he found any comfort in it. He'd only grown accustomed to it, used to tuning out the rest of the world to avoid being reminded of a life he once had.

Still, quietness had always been typical during his visits.

That, until one Saturday afternoon.

•••

Peter sensed another person approaching before he could even see them.

The soft crunch of fallen leaves was what he heard first, followed by a soft humming of some holiday song.

He looked up from the book he was reading, curious eyes landing on someone carrying flowers, a slight pep in her step which was unusual given the location.

Still, there was something about you that Peter couldn't help but be drawn to.

"There we go, all nice and clean," he heard you say, rustling of dried leaves and the soft brushing of clothes following suit. "And flowers well hydrated with bottled spring water."

You were talking to yourself.

It was a habit, he assumed. You just seemed comfortable doing it, as if you were having a mundane conversation with someone else.

Peter found it oddly endearing.

"I brought your favorite this time Dad because I am sure you're complaining to Mom why I always bring her favorite flowers," you explained with a soft laugh. "I sometimes forget you're a flowers type of guy, too."

No—you weren't talking to yourself.

You were talking to the gravestone.

His curiosity piqued even more.

It wasn't that you were being loud, either. Not at all. You were speaking softly as you typically would if you were by yourself in a graveyard, no less.

But because of his enhanced hearing, he simply couldn't help but listen.

"Sorry I haven't been here for a little while, just been busy with you know, moving, college, finding a job with a minimum wage that will not cover rent alone so what even is the point? We look for a job to survive but when we do find a job it doesn't even pay you enough to get by? Some people don't even hire you because 'not enough experience' and I'm like, duh? I'm trying to gain experience hence why I'm applying? Who even invented this shithole?"

Peter found himself nodding along, unable to argue with your claims when they were filled with nothing but the truth.

"Sorry, sorry, it just doesn't make a damn sense," you sighed. He could almost hear you rolling your eyes. "Anyway, I then have other adult things I really don't want to deal with like learning how to deal with taxes and stuff which is so dumb given I'm close to broke and—where does my tax go, anyway? Some politician's tenth vacation to the Bahamas, probably."

For the first time in a long while, Peter cracked a smile.

"Ugh, I am sorry, I promise I don't come here only to complain to you guys," you said, "But I am doing okay…"

He couldn't really explain the 'why,' but the soft tug in his heartstrings was definitely real when he heard the melancholia in your voice.

"The holidays are coming up," you said softly, the slight shake in your tone unmistakable. Yet as it rushed to the surface, it was just as quickly replaced with a chipper one.

"They always tell me how you both are watching over me now. But I don't know if I really want that," you sighed exaggeratedly. "Not because I hate you guys. But imagine if I was having sex? I really don't want to think about you 'watching over me' because it's really uncomfortable."

Peter couldn't stop his snort, his eyes widening as he spared you a glance. He was as grateful that you didn't seem to hear him.

The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was eavesdropping—well, maliciously, at least.

"It's a joke, Mom. See, Dad gets it."

Silence hung in the air after that, a sudden gust of wind blowing away the leaves that littered the snow-covered grass.

But he had a feeling the shake in your voice wasn't because of the cold.

"I really miss you guys…"

Peter left at that.

He didn't see you again for the next few days, probably because he never did visit at the same hour of the day. He never actively tried to see what time you were there, either—if you went every day at all. He'd just become a stalker at that point.

So, every time you did cross paths, it was entirely by chance.

The next encounter was when he brought his lunch with him to the graveyard. He'd caught sight of you sitting on a pink blanket that was laid out on the grass, legs crossed with a box of pizza to your right.

Instinctively, you looked up and over your shoulder when you heard his footsteps.

Your eyes immediately locked with his.

Pretty was the first word that came to his mind.

Beautiful, when you offered him a sweet and warm smile.

"Hello," you greeted.

Peter couldn't help but smile in return.

"Hi."

Nothing else was said after that.

You both respectively ate your lunches in your little corners, your soft humming bringing a comforting peace, one he still couldn't quite explain.

And from there on out, Peter learned that you did go there every day, but it was only either at lunchtime or late in the afternoon.

Because whenever Peter went during those times, you were always there.

As he said, he never actively tried to be there whenever you were. He didn't change anything with his routine. He still went there at random times of the day.

You and him crossing paths simply happened.

And most of those moments, Peter couldn't help but listen in on your rambles.

It might have been wrong, otherwise, creepy, but it wasn't like you were unaware of his presence. You weren't being loud, but you weren't exactly whispering into nothing either. If it were an unenhanced being, they would still hear you, but maybe only slightly inaudible. Peter just had the ability to make out your words a little clearer than the average person.

Besides, all your stories had been mundane at most, quite adorable at best.

Like that one time you ran into a post because you saw a cat wearing some boots and a clear raincoat across the road. Or that time you missed your stop in the subway because you kept talking to a Corgi who was lounging comfortably in their owner's backpack.

"His little legs were so cute!"

Like he said, adorable.

But if it was something personal, though, he'd learned to tune it out. He made sure to keep those matters out of his ear, leaving your private conversations, well, private.

Yet your silly and terrible jokes, your gripes about society and the unfairness of the world, to your little story times and mundane gossip of what you'd heard on the street, Peter couldn't help but tune in as if he was listening to the morning radio.

It made Peter feel lighter somewhat, a feeling he never once associated when being in a graveyard.

He didn't know if it was your stories, or if it was simply hearing that soft tone of your voice. Either way, he found it comforting, which was so strange.

Never had he ever thought he would find comfort from a stranger, no less.

A strange comfort.

•••

"People always ask why did the chicken cross the road. They never ask why the chicken didn't cross the road."

Peter perked up in curiosity, ready to hear another of the many jokes you'd completely ruined.

He found it absolutely hilarious how you were churning typical and old punchlines into horrible ones.

The funniest part was, it seemed like you were doing it on purpose.

"Why, you ask? Because they physically can't anymore," you said, pausing for added effect. "People enjoy eating chicken legs way too much."

Peter's eyes grew wide, gaze landing on the chicken leg he just finished. He couldn't stop the sound that escaped his lips.

It was a mix between a wheeze, a laugh, and a cough.

Loud enough to get your attention.

"Hey," you called, voice sounding closer. "Are you okay?"

"Oh—uhm, hi," he stammered, caught off guard when you were now suddenly in front of him. Clearing his throat, he nodded. "And yeah, I'm good,"

"Do you need some water?" You offered him a bottle.

"No, no, I've got my own," he declined, lifting his bottle. "But thank you."

"Oh okay," you said, smiling sweetly. "It just sounded like you were choking or something so I wanted to make sure if you were alright."

Peter blushed.

"No, I was…uhm—" He scratched the back of his neck. "I was holding back my laugh."

You tilted your head, bottom lip jutted out and Peter found himself thinking of ways to smooth out the little crinkled on your forehead, maybe kiss—wait what?

"Why would you do that?" you asked.

Shit.

Did I say that out loud?

"Sorry?" He blinked at you.

"Why would you hold back your laugh?"

"Oh," he sighed, mostly in relief. "Just didn't want to seem creepy and I wasn't…eavesdropping or anything but I uhm—heard your joke." Chuckling shyly, he smiled. "It was pretty funny."

"Funny because it was bad?" You raised a knowing brow. "If you say it was good then I'm really going to question your sense of humor."

"It was really bad," he admitted, breathing out a laugh.

The way your smile brightened made Peter's heart do a funny thing.

"Thanks," you giggled. "I pride myself in my bad jokes."

"Yeah," he breathed out, willing his heart to stop being so goddamn weird, what is going on with you? "And sorry for not helping the chickens cross the road."

You stared at him confused.

That was until he pointed towards the bag on the ground that had the logo of a chicken on it.

Your hearty laugh rang in the air.

Peter found himself growing warmer at the sound, the burn starting right in his chest and spreading to the whole expanse of his body.

"I—whew, sorry, wow," you heaved after a moment. "Haven't laughed like that in a while."

Both of you fell silent after that—not an awkward one. If anything, it was pleasant, like there was an unspoken understanding being exchanged with a simple look.

"This may seem like weird advice but try and talk to them," you softly said.

Peter looked at you, confused.

You gestured toward the tombstone with a sympathetic smile.

"They might hear it, they might not, there's really no way of knowing," you explained. "But what more could you lose if you try? Plus, you'll get it off your chest and that's always progress."

"I—" Peter nodded, the corner of his lips curling up. "Thank you. I'll keep it in mind."

You smiled at that. "I'll see you around."

"See you around," he hummed, gaze never leaving your figure even as you left, his eyes steady on the path you walked on as he mulled over your words.

It was kind of weird advice, but at the same time, it made perfect sense.

Peter didn't question it nor did he judge—who was he to judge? After all, everyone handled grief differently.

But as he sat down on the ground, eyes steady on the lettering of May's name, he found the words flowing out so easily.

"Hi, May I—" Peter took a sharp breath, blinking away the sting that started to settle in his eyes. "Wow. It's been a while since I've talked to you, huh?"

It started out simple, filling her up with what was new with his life recently—the job, his education, all those mundane stuff.

But then as he shifted from one topic to another, he inevitably started talking about all the things that felt so wrong. And once that train left the station, it was so difficult to stop.

It wasn't a complaint. It was an unloading of the baggage he'd been carrying around alone for quite some time now.

All the loneliness and grief, the boiling anger and consuming regret, the love and the love lost, to the bleak look of what his future held.

Peter didn't realize he was crying until a soft gush of wind brushed his cheeks, the coldness making him catch his breath with a shiver.

And then, a small white butterfly flew right in front of him, stopping momentarily before disappearing into the now setting sky.

Peter let out a breath.

Lighter and relieved.

It could've been a coincidence, or maybe it wasn't at all.

But what more could he lose if he took that as a sign that she heard him?

So with a small, tearful smile, he sighed,

"Thanks for always hearing me out, May."

Since then, he'd grown to tell May about his day. Some were tougher than others, while some were snippets of his new life—mundane and simple but starting to become fulfilling the more he looked at it from different perspectives.

As the weeks passed by, Peter's everyday visits became every other day. At first, the guilt of missing a day was heavily consuming. But it didn't take long for it slowly turn into a soft lull—still there, but not as bad as it used to be.

There was one other thing he hoped for whenever he wandered into the graveyard, though.

To see you again.

If it was one last time just so he could say thank you, then he'd take it.

That didn't mean he wasn't wishing for it to be more.

•••

The hair on every inch of Peter's body stood up when he heard it.

It was definitely not his spider sense going awry. This was very much a human reaction.

Well, he could imagine that when the first thing a person would hear as they venture into a graveyard in the dead of the night was crying, even the toughest men would get spooked.

But as soon as Peter located the source of the sound, his heart broke.

He wasn't expecting to find you, sat on the cold ground alone, hugging your knees to your chest, body shaking with sobs.

His first instinct was to fight whoever it was that made you cry because how fucking dare they?

But with a controlled breath, Peter walked over to you, making sure to step on dried leaves so you'd be aware of his presence.

Your head snapped up at the sound, puffy red eyes landing on him.

His frown could only deepen as he slowly sat beside you, offering you a tender smile with his arms wide open.

You stared at him with furrowed brows, eyes switching between his face and his open arms, downright confused.

Peter couldn't blame you. After all, you didn't know him.

He was ready for you to yell at him for being a creep, to scream at him to get lost. He was prepared for you to push him away—hell, punch him in the face—and run as fast as you could.

But instead, your lips quivered, a broken sob following suit. With your head hung low, you fell into his embrace.

And Peter hugged you as tightly as he could.

He didn't say anything, didn't feel like it was needed. He simply held you close, rubbing circles over your back as he gently rocked you from side to side.

Crying it all out until you couldn't anymore was, most of the time, the best thing you could do at the moment.

So he let you.

Only when your sobs turned to sniffles to soft shaky breaths did you pull away. 

"Your shirt," you gasped shakily, bottom lip jutting out as your eyes began to water again. "Oh no, I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," he reassured, squeezing your shoulders before reluctantly letting you go. "I wouldn't have offered you a hug if I minded."

"Thank you," you whispered. "I really needed that."

"No worries." He nodded with a small smile. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's just—" you sighed, wiping your face with the sleeves of your coat. "It's my first holiday alone so it's been kinda tough."

"Me too," he hummed, smiling sadly when you looked at him, a mixture of surprise and understanding crossing your face. "My parents have been gone since I was a kid, and I was left with my uncle and aunt. My uncle died a few years ago so all I had left was her but now she's…"

"I'm sorry," you softly said, your hand finding his.

You gave it a squeeze.

Peter squeezed back.

"I only had my parents growing up," you started, gesturing at the tombstone. "Didn't get to meet my grandparents, never really met many of my relatives because they're all halfway across the world, so now it's just me."

Peter didn't know what it was, exactly. Maybe it was the warmth of your hand still holding his and your kind eyes bearing no judgment or pity. Maybe it was the sheer comfort you provided, one that he still couldn't quite explain.

Either way, he found himself sharing what it had been like for him. Sure, he left out details to keep his deepest secret uncovered, and to come and think about it, it was mostly things connected to Aunt May. But Peter definitely spilled way too much to someone he barely even knew.

He did not regret it one bit.

"I promised to protect her and I—"

"I'm sure you gave it your all," you assured.

"Not enough to keep her alive," he scoffed, tone far more bitter than he intended to. He caught himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, sorry—"

"Never apologize for how you feel," you said firmly.

Peter nodded, his attention caught by your thumb that was absentmindedly running circles over the back of his hand. You'd been holding onto it as you listened to his story, and he found himself not minding it at all.

If anything, a part of him wanted you to never let go.

"But I get it," you breathed out. "The whole 'this is my fault' thing."

"Was it an accident?" he asked softly.

You nodded. "Car crash. Some drunk frat boys thought it was a good idea to test out how fast they could go in their new truck into an open road."

He frowned. "That's not your fault."

"It is," you insisted. "They wouldn't have been out on the road in the first place if they weren't coming to pick me up in the dead of the night." Shaking your head, you scoffed, "I wish I could say I was at a friend's house but they were coming to bail me out of jail."

Attempting to lighten up the mood, Peter softly bumped his shoulder with yours. "Am I in the midst of a troublemaker?"

That earned him a teary chuckle.

He took it as a win.

"Not quite," you sighed, your smile fading. "Got hung up with the wrong crowd. They kept teasing me that I was too much of a miss goody two shoes and that I should live a little."

"Peer pressure is one nasty thing."

"Yeah well, I still did it." You shrugged, anxiously gnawing on your bottom lip. "A group of us were walking home from a party and we passed by this random minimart on the way. My so-called friends thought it was a good idea to dare me to steal one thing from the store, to break my 'good girl' streak as they put it.

"They all gave me ultimatums, one of them was either I steal something or they'll tell the whole school that I was the real definition of 'The freaks in bed are always the quiet ones' so my loser reputation is no more. They said they can't hang around me anymore if I kept being the loser of the group. It was tough because they were all the friends I had."

Peter couldn't stop the surge of pure anger that ran through him. "They sound fucking horrible."

"Yeah, and I was stupid enough to go along with it." Shaking your head, you chuckled, tone void of humor. "It wasn't even the owner who saw me, it was some random white woman yelling bloody murder as if I was burning the goddamn place down. And the second my friends saw the security guards? Oh, they ran, left me there to fend for myself."

Peter unclenched his fist, settling to rub circles on your back instead.

"It was one candy," you choked back a sob, gesturing towards the tombstone. "But the punishment feels—"

Peter wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in for a side hug when you started crying again.

"And you know what hurts most?" you whimpered, fisting his jacket as you laid your head on his shoulder. "Knowing that the last memory they had of me was just filled with disappointment."

"I'm sure that's not true," he said softly, squeezing you close. "They loved you."

"I know they did I just—"

"Wish you could go back and change every decision you made?"

You lifted your head off his shoulder and looked at him, eyes glossy yet he saw the flicker of gratefulness in them.

Peter felt it in himself too, an appreciation to finding someone who could understand even the littlest bit of what he was going through.

"Yeah," you shakily breathed out, letting out a soft laugh as you wiped your nose. "God, what a way to celebrate the holidays, huh?"

He chuckled at that, nodding.

It was definitely something, crying your heart out, spilling all your trauma to a stranger in the dead of night at a graveyard.

But there was only one thought that stayed at the forefront of his mind.

Peter didn't feel so alone anymore.

"Yeah," he hummed, a shy smile playing on his lips. "But I'm glad I'm not alone."

Your whole face brightened, your fingers interlacing with his.

"Me too," you said, smiling. "We're going to be okay."

Peter felt some weight lift off his entire back at those simple words of reassurance.

"We're going to be okay."

Teasingly bumping his shoulder with yours, you hummed, "I'm Y/N, by the way."

You both laughed at the absurdity of it, getting to know each other's pain, regret, hurt and grief before even getting the chance to know a name.

"Peter," he sighed, squeezing your hand. "Peter Parker."

Later that night, he somehow gathered up the courage to ask if you wanted to get some hot cocoa with him. And when you said yes with that smile he'd grown to adore so much, Peter had an inkling that you wouldn't stay a stranger to him in the long run.

But for now, as you laid your head on his shoulder, your soft breaths visible in the cold air, tiny snowflakes on your lashes, face glowing underneath the moonlight, warmth and contentment bloomed in his chest.

Peter was smiling.

Genuine and pure, and perhaps a sign of a new beginning.

A stranger's comfort wasn't so bad, after all.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

↬ thank you for reading hun! reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed, feedback is always appreciated <3

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© t-lostinworlds, 2023 ✘ I do NOT give any permission to repost, translate, & use any of my works (writings, gifs, dividers, etc.) on any platform, with credit or otherwise. Please respect that. Thank you.

[phneltwrites]

"may never make it out challenge" thank u @saynomorefic

Post a 1-5 paragraph excerpt of a WIP / fic idea that may never make it out of your drafts but is near and dear to your heart

let's not talk about the graveyard of ideas but this one has words in it. tagging

This is omegaverse but I think I never decided if it was beta4beta (a hilarious concept already) alpha4alpha or beta4alpha but regardless it takes the o out of a/b/o

“He’s going into bond shock,” Felice says.

Simon pulls the phone away from his ear, double checks that he’s connected to a call and not hallucinating. “That can’t be right.”

Felice makes a frustrated noise. “Did you buy into that bullshit about how mate rejection syndrome only happens to omegas?”

“No!” Simon’s mom is a nurse. She’d be so disappointed if he did. That’s not why. “That’s not… whatever. I’m coming.”

Marcus looks up. He’s got Simon’s coat in his hands. “Where are you going?”

Simon waves him off. He takes his coat. “I’ll call you later,” he says to Marcus, “I have to do something.” The pizzeria is on the bus route so he goes to the stop. The wait is less than five minutes but it’s interminable, knowing that Wilhelm is in shock. He gets on the bus and it doesn’t help; now he can’t even pace around to deal with his energy. He tries to take deep breaths to stay calm, but it isn’t working well. No one is sitting in any of the seats near him, all of the elderly passengers giving him looks out of the corner of their eyes. 

He walks directly to Wilhelm’s door with no one to stop him now that Malin and the guards are outside. He knocks and Felice opens it immediately. He takes a step and she puts a hand on his chest. 

His top lip pulls back. “You called me here,” he says.

She looks at him, eyes sparking. “You really think you can go in like that? Smelling of him?”

Simon isn’t going to back down. “And what about you? You’rehis room; you’re both always covered in each other.” He hears the whispers at school, the titters. Crown Prince Wilhelm found himself someone more appropriate. People are speculating like Simon doesn’t exist, like Wilhelm never came to his house, never curled up against him, never told him he loved him.

“Simon?” Wilhelm’s voice is weak. They both forget their posturing, turning towards the bed in unison. Wilhelm is pale, lips almost white, and he’s shaking even though he’s under a pile of blankets.

Simon steps fully into the room and then he takes his coat off. Then his shirt. He wouldn’t let Felice stop him but the idea of bringing Marcus in here turns his stomach. He crawls into Wilhelm’s bed in his boxers. Wilhelm latches onto him immediately, arms wrapping around Simon. Simon lets him, helps his uncoordinated limbs grip on. Simon arranges them, lifting his chin enough for Wilhelm to bury his face in Simon’s neck. Wilhelm breathes him in with gasps. Simon can feel the edge of Wilhelm’s teeth when he exhales and he has to suppress a shiver.

“How did he get like this?” Simon asks Felice, holding Wilhelm against him. He can’t resist smelling him in return, face buried in Wilhelm’s hair. He took Wilhelm’s sweater but it’s nothing in comparison to having him for real. There’s a spicy scent to him, like cinnamon, that Simon could never get enough of.

She’s standing halfway across the room, hands on her face. “He saw you kissing your boyfriend at the competition. I found him outside maybe an hour later and it’s been getting worse.”

This is what doesn’t make sense to Simon, because he did pay attention in class, and also, “Hey, Wille,” he says. Wilhelm is lying still in his arms. He isn’t shaking anymore. “Can you talk?” Wilhelm makes a small whining sound, which Simon takes as a no. “Can you tell me why this is happening? You told me you have bond damage.”

“What?” Felice asks. Simon forgot she’s still here. “No, that’s not right. I mean, look.”

She’s right. Wilhelm shouldn’t be able to go into bond shock if his ability to bond is damaged. And it has to be bond shock just based on how much better he is with Simon here. “His family bonds…” realisations are falling in Simon one after the other like snowflakes.

She slides her hands under her hair. “I’d rather not. He hasn’t been talking to them since they made him lie, and I’m worried that they’ll…” What could they do? What could they possibly do. They can’t take Wilhelm away from Simon in this state, not if they want him to recover.

@margotdanslebois @toffeelemon @astronicht @dulosis

[sentfromwolves]

✧—CARVE THE STARS ⌈ a wip re-intro & march challenge intro ⌋

✧ GENRE: sci-fi fantasy ◈ STATUS: redrafting from scratch ♫ PLAYLIST: here!

Two hundred years ago, humanity expanded to the stars only to find a cosmos filled with graves. But then their children began displaying the strange ability to commune with the alien ruins scattered across the planets, waking ancient, extrasolar mecha from their sleep, and turned the struggling colonies of first generation space explorers into the fledgling galactic nation of Sol Galatea. 

Now, anyone with Resonance—the ability to interface with the alien mecha known as Relics—is conscripted by the government to pilot the near-impervious alien tech, and if the psionic overload doesn’t kill them first, the burgeoning rebellions at the edge of Sol Galatea’s controlled space will. Wren Akane knows this well—he’s been on the run from conscription ever since he was old enough to walk. 

His luck runs out when he accidentally awakens an ancient Relic in the desert of his planet, only to be embedded with the memories of its last pilot and the revelation that the war that littered the cosmos with graves is far from over. But no one believes Wren when he tells them that continuing to wake the Relics will bring the hostile alien empire that destroyed them back to Sol Galatea’s doorstep. Not his estranged father, who forces him into conscription to avoid the government executing him instead, nor Wren’s ex-childhood friends, who both have Relics of their own.

Only Wren’s rival pilot, Marek Khalid, seems to listen to a word Wren has to say. But Marek isn’t interested in saving Sol Galatea. He has big plans for what to do when the aliens arrive, a rebellion to lead, and if Wren isn’t on his side, he’s in his way. With time running out, Wren must soon decide how far he’s willing to go to save the people that never tried to save him��or if Marek is right, and he should let the stars burn instead.

🌃 SETTING ―

Two hundred years ago, the star system now known as Sol Galatea was a graveyard filled with alien ruins, ancient, crumbling structures, and millenia-old secrets abandoned to the dust.

Now, Sol Galatea thrives. Humanity has moved in, and after the first generation of children born to the star system began showing signs of Resonance—the mysterious ability to commune with and control the ancient alien relics littered across the star system—technological advancement surged, turning the scattered colonies of first generation space explorers into a powerful, isolated nation among the stars.

A number of planets, thriving stellar stations, and moon colonies compose Sol Galatea's controlled space. Territories are composed of rings that spread outward from the heart and capital of Sol Galatea, Tower Meridian. The Hecate Fracture, which encompasses the fringe planets of the system and the furthest reaching colonies, are desolate and often neglected by the interior, despite being mined aggressively for resources, as well as Relic-tech. Tensions have been rising recently between the Tower and the Fracture, and rumors of rebellion are stirring.

But with the Relic pilots on the side of the Tower, the only chance of success for a rebellion would have to come with help from within the capital. Or beyond the stars that humanity now calls home.

💥 THE CAST ―

⌈ WREN AKANE ⌋ ◈ — relic pilot & desert cryptid . trans he/they . twenty-two

Brazen, hungry for adventure, and allergic to commitment, Wren Akane is the son of explorers and a child of the desert. Born and raised in the Hecate Fringe on the backwater planet of Terra-9, Wren's Resonance scores are off the charts—and if they had ever been discovered by the Tower, Wren would have been under their control since the day he learned how to walk. After waking an ancient Relic in the desert with intimate links to Sol Galatea's forgotten past, Wren must contend with whether or not he's willing to save a galaxy that never tried to save him, or let the stars burn.

⌈ MAREK KHALID ⌋ ◈ — relic pilot & rebellion leader . cis he/him . twenty-four

Charismatic, power-hungry, and disgusted by the system that brutalized him from childhood, Marek Khalid wants nothing more than to set Sol Galatea on fire and watch the whole galaxy burn. His Relic is ancient and powerful, and while it has granted him secrets of the past, Marek has kept them close to his chest. The arrival of a wildcard Relic pilot threatens to throw his plans into disarray, particularly when Marek discovers that their Relic might have deeper connections to his than anyone had thought possible. But Wren is devilish, addictive, and a bad fucking idea...unless Marek can convince him that burning Sol Galatea back to ash is better than letting it continue to crush them both beneath the heel of its boot.

⌈ YEONGBI SEO ⌋ ◈ — relic pilot & botanist . cis he/him . twenty-five

Originally an aspiring botanist from the dusty planet of Terra-9, Yeongbi Seo was taken into custody by the Tower shortly after his sixteenth birthday when his Resonance abilities began manifesting after an accident out in the desert. Though he still works in the hydroponics labs on-base at Heartforge as a botanist, more often he is relegated to work as a Relic pilot after unearthing a behemoth mecha from the jungles of Ceridian-12. His on-again-off-again relationship with the infamous pilot, Marek Khalid, is thrown catastrophically into mayhem when his childhood ex-friend arrives at the base in chains with a Relic in tow. After all, Yeongbi might care for Marek, but he has always loved Wren more deeply than anything or anyone else in all the universe, and despite all the bad blood between them, that has not, and will never change.

⌈ KB KAVINSKY ⌋ ◈ — relic pilot & engineer . trans she/her . twenty-two

An explosive, fiery Relic pilot that hits like a battering ram and pulls no punches, KB Kavinsky is one of the most well-liked Relic pilots in active rotation. Infamously known as one of the only people able to take Marek on in close combat and have a chance at winning, KB is loyal to a fault and when she's not training on the mats, she's working in the mech shops with other engineers. After an accident on Terra-9 led to both her and her childhood friend, Yeongbi Seo, being conscripted by the Tower, KB never expects to see the one person that got away that night walk back into her life. But Wren is just as addictive and dangerous as KB remembers. And despite all the anger she still has toward him, she'd still set the world on fire just to protect him from harm.

⌈ MARSDEN NAVARRO-ORTEGA ⌋ ◈ — relic pilot & hacker . cis she/her . nineteen

One of the two Navarro-Ortega siblings, and often the bigger menace between the two, Marsden is one of the youngest Relic pilots in active rotation, and not because she wants to be. Angry at the system and angrier that she's trapped at the Heartforge while her brother is missing somewhere beyond the fringe spaces of the Hecate Fracture, Marsden wants out, and will crush anyone in her way to get it. Too bad she hates Marek Khalid, one of the only other pilots that seems to want to break the system as badly as she does. But the two despise each other after a fraught childhood spent together, and while Marsden is all for dismantling the system, she's not a homicidal maniac like her brother's ex-boyfriend. Wren Akane might just be the help she's been looking for all along to put her plans into action...but a wildcard is never trustworthy, even if Marsden needs Wren's help to finish the job.

☄️AUTHOR'S NOTE / WORDS INTO POTIONS PROMO —

Hey all! Some of you might recognize CARVE THE STARS from a long time ago. It's finally getting a rebrand from how I'd initially envisioned it when I'd first started working on the draft back in 2017. Though the core cast is the same, much of the world is shifting to hold the vision I have for this heart project, and I'm excited to work on a revitalized first draft for this remake. I have no set deadline right now for D1, but I'm aiming for summer 2024! For the month of March, I'll be participating in @moon-and-seraph's Words Into Potions event! Thanks so much for creating such a fun writing event to help motivate everyone set goals and work together to complete them this March, friend! My march goal will be 25K on D1 for CTS, while also revising HIS BODY A BROKEN LAW for first round beta ideally in the April-May time frame. If you're interested in beta reading HBABL, feel free to DM me here or on discord. I'll also be making a beta call post for it soon! I'm remaking CTS's taglist from scratch, so if you're interested in being on it, let me know. Excited to fill this writeblr with the WIP that really started it all and got me into this cool community. And if you're also participating in the march challenge, or just wanna yell, feel free to come talk to me about your wips! >:33 let's GOOO!

[eternallytxt]

Pretty (wo)Man TEASER

Warnings and Themes: cursing, alcohol consumption, fluff, comedy, some angst, childhood best friends to lovers, rich!reader, socialite!reader, fake dating trope

Words: projected to be 7k ish

Playlist: Trust Fund Baby - Tomorrow x Together, Perfume - NCT DOJAEJUNG, Those Eyes - New West, Diamonds + And Pearls - DPR LIVE, Good Looking - Suki Waterhouse, Don't Let Me Go - Cigarettes After Sex

Summary: Soobin and (Y/N) have been friends since kindergarten. Yes. (Y/N) (L/N), the future inheritor to one of the biggest luxury fashion brands in the world, and Choi Soobin - just Soobin. Now, "just Soobin" is going to be posing as (Y/N)'s fake boyfriend for a celebrity wedding. But first, he needs to look the part (courtesy of his best friend and her daddy's money, of course).

A/N: would you guys believe me if I said I've had this concept in the drafts since I was 15? (yes because I have a wip graveyard)

Anyway, I love cheesy 2000s rom-coms (yes I KNOW Pretty Woman is a 90s movie), so I wanted to write one, and Soobin is very much rom-com male lead coded. Hope you enjoy it!

She’s been a part of my life since I was six.

I remember I was playing in a sand pit at my neighborhood park. The sand was wet, courtesy of the rain the day prior, so it was perfect for packing together sturdy sand castles. I didn’t have to worry about sharing the space since the park happened to be empty. The whole sandbox was my metaphorical oyster. My mom was on a nearby bench, reading her book, and my older sister and brother were playing on the swings. 

I was used to playing by myself growing up. Don't get me wrong! I actually enjoyed being by myself most of the time. I was more of the read-comic-books-alone-at-home type. Plus, I had a huge imagination, so I could entertain myself in a doorless, windowless, toyless room for hours on end.

I had just begun digging a moat for the sand castle (my best one ever, in my humble opinion) when a girl about my age appeared in front of me with her hands clasped behind her back. “I really like your sand castle,” she had said, a sweet grin pushing up rosy cheeks.

The girl looked way too clean for a kid, especially one playing at a muddy old park. Her hair was glossy without a single strand out of place and tied up neatly, topped with a blush pink bow. The sparkly dress she wore was the same color, and so were the flats that adorned her feet. She reminded me a little of my sister when we took our family photos last year.

I frowned a little, then shrugged before continuing to dig. “Isth ok, I guess.” 

You see, I had just lost not one, but both of my front teeth, so I talked with a slight lisp.

 Barely a moment passed when the girl plopped down right next to me, getting sand all over her dress. I stared at her wide-eyed and she stared right back at me with a grin, now showing off her missing two front teeth.

“My name is (Y/N)! Can I play wif you?” I was confused as to why such a princess-ey-looking girl wanted to play in the dirty sand. All my sister wanted to do was play with her Barbies, nowhere near dirt. But I was a pretty chill kid, so I shrugged my scrawny shoulders again and replied, “Sure. My name is Soobin.”

We played for what seemed like forever in that sandbox. At one point, I noticed an equally polished-looking man in a suit speaking to my mom on the bench. (Y/N) told me that that was her  “assistant, Seunghyun.” I didn't know what that meant at the time. Neither of us knew what it meant that (Y/N) was an heiress, either, but it was apparently very important.

After that day at the park, my mom organized play dates with (Y/N) through Seunghyun, and she soon became my best friend. For the most part, I went over to her extremely large house. I met her mom and dad, who both dressed a lot fancier than my mom and dad.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was the heiress to the multibillion dollar fashion conglomerate, CROWN. They weren't clothes that my family could afford at all, but people that were famous and extremely wealthy could wear once and throw away. Of course, our five and six-year-old minds didn't really understand just how important that was, nor did we really care. All we really cared about was playing and doing things best friends did together.

19 years passed (yes, nineteen) and our friendship never faltered. We both watched each other go through different phases (including my secret crush on her when I was 15, but we don’t need to talk about that). We had fights of course – never anything too serious, but they still happened. They typically always ended with me going to reconcile almost immediately after, but (Y/N) beating me to it with a phone call, wailing and crying about how much she missed me already. She was secretly very sensitive. 

As I grew older, I began to have this nagging feeling that (Y/N)’s parents didn't approve of our friendship. After all, she was extremely rich and important. I was just….Choi Soobin. Normal, not rich Choi Soobin. (Y/N), of course, knew of my anxieties, and was always quick to reassure me. “Soobin, we've been best friends since we were kids. Do you really think that I care if my parents don't like you? I like you, and that's all that matters!”

I was now 25 and (Y/N) was soon to be turning 24. I’ve since moved out of my family's apartment and into my own shortly after college. (Y/N) had also moved out, but into an expensive penthouse. The major difference was that I made just enough for rent and the bills, while (Y/N)’s penthouse was covered by her parents. She tried to beg for something smaller (and further away), but “the heir to a multibillion-dollar business isn’t going to live in a little shanty”, so that was the end of that argument. Instead, she became my non-roomate roommate. Weekends I wasn’t caught up with overtime work and (Y/N) with a photoshoot or party were spent on my couch with a popcorn bucket, fast food, and whatever shows we were feeling that day.

That's where I was today, sitting in my tiny Seoul apartment with (Y/N), watching the first episode of a new slice-of-life anime on Netflix. My head was in (Y/N)’s lap, fingers absentmindedly playing with freshly washed hair as my abnormally long legs hung over the other arm of the tiny two-seater. A perfectly normal way for best friends to hang out.

Her ministrations suddenly came to a halt. “Hey, Soob?”

I looked up and saw (Y/N)’s glowing colors flickering across her features, her eyes still glued to the TV screen.  “What's up?” 

She finally looked down at me and, when she saw my eyes on her, a small grin grew on her face.

“My cousin is getting married and I'm in the wedding party, so I need a date. You wanna pretend to be my boyfriend?”

Pause…WHAT?

coming soon

[allmightskitten]

From the Abandoned WIP Graveyard:

"nutritious and good for your bones" a.k.a the Shuggy Omegaverse AU

tags: post-Marineford, this segment is SFW, alpha shanks/omega buggy

☆

If Shanks was to believe what everyone on his crew kept telling him, Buggy actually wanted him here.

It was approaching their fifth day sailing side by side since their chance encounter on these seas. The navigators of both crews had advised on the same exact path and pace– despite Buggy's relentless efforts to convince his own navigator otherwise– which had lead to some helpful collaboration during the spotty storms that hit them. The storms came and went at random, sometimes twice a day, but everyone was growing used to it, following what was by now a true and tested procedure to handle one as soon as it hit.

When it wasn't stormy, the seas were deceptively calm.

These periods provided the best excuse for good alcohol-fueled parties and feasts, an irresistible draw for any pirate. Having two crews present meant even more food and booze, so no matter how feared the Red-Haired pirates were, Buggy's crew didn't hesitate to accept their invitations.

These periods also provided the best excuse for Shanks to go seeking his oldest friend.

It started with business, because he knew how cagey the clown could be, and when Shanks started to run out of captain-to-captain discussions he could frame as 'business', he grasped at every chance he got. Buggy sometimes let his guard down and laughed at things he said or got along with him too well until he noticed and went cold again. Unlike Shanks, Buggy didn't exactly act like he was thrilled to be in this situation.

"No, no," Beck grumbled at Shanks's half-hearted offer to help repair some damages sustained to the mast from the last storm. "I know you're itching to go see him. Get out of here."

Shanks scratched the back of his head, having the good grace to feel sheepish.

"It wouldn't be right if I didn't help around the ship..."

Beck stopped what he doing to turn around and look at him dryly, with no appreciation or amusement.

"I think you would be doing both our crews a huge favour if you just slept with him already. The pheromones from both of you are absolutely insufferable to those of us who can detect them, so. You can help by..." He made a vague gesture with his free hand. "...sorting out whatever the hell it is you've got going on with Buggy."

Shanks was briefly dumbfounded, before his shock turned to embarrassment and he sputtered.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Buggy doesn't even want me here."

Beck raised an eyebrow so high up it touched his hairline.

"Oh, he wants you here, alright. You probably can't smell it because that's what he always smells like around you. Do us all a solid and fuck that clown, will you?"

Shanks choked on his spit, indignant, but before he could start an argument, his first mate left his post and headed with a bunch of planks in the direction of some other repair works, leaving Shanks uselessly staring after him.

Beck was not even the first person to tell him that these past few days.

The original plan had anyway been to go looking for Buggy, this time with a peace offering of some good sake he'd coveted in his cabin for a while, so that was what he did following this interaction. Beck's words echoed in his head.

Could he really not detect what everyone else was apparently catching in Buggy's scent?

☆

A/N; I apologise profusely for abandoning this one, but if it makes things better it was just gonna be pure filthy smut (the title is a reference to the, um, lactation kink that's supposed to happen–) with no other substance, so!

[amethystina]

Hi ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

I hope you are doing well and feeling better ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

I would like to ask the following questions from the Fan Fic Writer Asks that you recently relogged:

7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now?

8. What project(s) are you currently working on?

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

I apologize for being greedy 😅

May you have a happy new year ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Hi there! I'm exhausted and a little wonky, admittedly, but I'm hanging in there 😊

7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now?

Please don't ask me that 🤣 I have so many. Like, WIPs are one thing, but ideas? I literally can't count them because they keep slithering around at the back of my mind, steadily growing or, sometimes, fading in favour of other ideas.

But, if I'm to give a rough estimate, I'd say I have around 70 ideas percolating away right now. Not at the same time or with the same intensity, but there are a lot of them. Though, to be fair, very few of them will ever see the light of day because I can usually tell when an idea is worth writing or not and therefore try not to entertain them all. But that doesn't automatically mean that they leave me alone, you know? So I have to carry them around for however long it takes before they fade.

Which, I shit you not, can be years.

My ideas are as stubborn as I am, in other words.

8. What project(s) are you currently working on?

While I have a lot of WIPs, I would say that I'm currently working on three projects with a bit more vigour. And those are:

Who Holds the Devil - Does this even need an introduction at this point? The long-as-fuck Devil Judge fanfic that won't leave me — or anyone else — alone. I love it. But god knows when it'll be finished. I'm hoping to be able to post a new chapter in a not-too-distant future.

A New Dawn (Begins With Us) - A Black Knight fic I'm hoping to finish during 2025 because there are only four chapters left and that's, like, 40k. I can bang that out in two weeks if I am at the top of my game. Unfortunately, I'm not at the top of my game, but still. It's doable and I'm going to do it.

Will You Tell (If They Ask About Me) - A Losers oneshot that I dug up from the WIP graveyard because I really like it and I miss Cougar and Jensen. Should hopefully not be too difficult to finish.

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

Here's a snippet from the aforementioned Losers fic Will You Tell (If They Ask About Me). I don't know if there's an actual audience for it anymore, but I'm just really excited about it so yeah. That's what you're getting 😆

___

Jake exhaled and closed his eyes. He felt pleasantly lethargic, tired, and perhaps a little sore, but blissfully happy all the same. Lying there in Carlos's bed, listening to him breathe, was a much better end to his night than Jake had dared hope for. He was definitely going to appreciate it to the fullest.

"Let me know when you're ready to go again," Jake mumbled. "It might cost me the last couple of brain cells I have left, but I want a repeat performance."

The laugh that bubbled out of Carlos was both fond and a little startled, as if he hadn't expected to laugh but was too endeared not to. His hand wandered from Jake's shoulder, burying in his hair instead, and Jake eagerly raised his head when Carlos twisted to give him a deep, enthusiastic kiss.

"You are—"

"Insatiable?" Jake suggested, grinning against Carlos's lips.

Carlos smiled, too, his other hand rising to run reverently along Jake's jaw. Without his permission, Jake felt his heart skip a beat.

"Wonderful." It looked like Carlos meant it. "Absolutely wonderful."

22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

Nine times out of ten, yes. I don't always know the journey there or the exact details of the ending, but I always know what point I want to reach before I start. That said, I'm not against certain things changing as I go along and, more than once, I've tweaked the events of the ending because I ended up exploring something in the middle that I then had to tie into the ending.

So while I know the general idea of what I want, I keep it loose enough that I can change it as I go along. I would feel too hindered if I didn't. The one time I did try to plan it in detail to the very end was my first fanfic The Thunder Moon Chronicles because that's what I was told that I should do. But I found that around 60% of the last instalment had to be altered compared to my original plan, simply because the story had evolved in a way I couldn't predict when I first structured it.

That's not to say that I ever lost track or control of it — I am very much in control the entire time I write — but rather that new and better ideas kept popping up as I was writing it and I wasn't stupid enough to discard them just because they weren't in my original plan. Sometimes, the story just has to be allowed to evolve, otherwise it might feel stilted or stagnate (or at least that's the case for me).

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

Oh, for sure. I've almost written myself straight into a panic attack a couple of times because I get so into it. I have a tendency to try and picture the emotions myself as I write them in order to better convey them and that can get a bit risky — especially with panic attacks. I've had them since I was fifteen so they're easy for me to trip into on accident.

I have also cried once or twice when I write because I, again, sink into the emotions a little too much. But it is, in all honesty, surprisingly rare considering how emotional some of my fics are. But that could be because I don't cry easily.

The most memorable occurrence by far, however, is Until Death Do Us Unite, especially the yet-unwritten bonus chapter. Because Jong Woo is so unstable, I become a little unstable when I write him or ponder his emotions too much. If I try to imagine how detached and unmoored he must feel when he's having his episodes, I end up feeling very unmoored myself. So I'm currently not allowed to think too much about it because it's so distressing 🤣

But if we mean upset as in "angry at my writing" or "upset it doesn't go my way" or even "I'm so upset with these characters" then no, not really. I can get annoyed if I have to do rewrites and certainly be displeased about the actions of some characters, but the writing process itself doesn't upset me.

Thank you so much for the ask! And it's okay to be greedy, don't worry 😉

Happy New Year to you too! 💜

Fanfic Writer Asks

[vesanal]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊The 8th Day of Writemas₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Hiya y’all!! Day 8 is here!! So here is the invite post and here is the day 8 prompts! I wanna say thanks so much for all of the support and thanks so much again @agirlandherquill for hosting this event for all of us!! I really like the prompts for today too. :D

Prompts used:

Feeling: The ache of the wind snatching air from lungs

Dialogue: "Can you forgive me?"

Setting: A graveyard

Today gave me strong Perci vibes and I love to write for him so here is more lol. My tragic boy I love him so yeah also this one is going to be much shorter because I’m extremely busy rn and should be studying instead of writing but here I am LOL Anyway,

Read about the WIP here!!

Please enjoy!

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

Snow covered the once freshly filled dirt hole in the ground. A snowstorm brewed around the Across the fenced in grounds, hundreds of stone graves covered the area that looked just like the one Perci stood before. Each one had a name, a family that they belong to. A family that was stripped from them long ago, fighting a seemingly endless battle. One that still cursed the land of gracious Pytharios. So, effectively, their deaths were all for naught.

Locking his eyes back to the headstone in front of him, Perci read back over the words engraved into it that he had seen thousands of times before. 

“Can you forgive me?” Perci began, hanging his mouth open trying to properly articulate himself as the wind whipped the right words out of him, “I wish I listened to you. You were right. And I was wrong. You wanted to protect me and I never listened.”

He stopped himself before he could unload all of his thoughts out to a simple stone sticking out of the ground. He panted frantically. The heavy winds wanted to knock him on his feet for voicing his silly concerns. This was war. All conflicts get solved through it. It was necessary to live. With life comes war that’ll take it from you, along with everything else. Perci, almost falling over, stumbled as a burst of wind crashed into him. The bleak, loveless winds knew better than a sentient being, of course.

“I shouldn’t have gone against your will. I just thought that—Well—I—I thought you would appreciate me following in your footsteps. I see now what you meant then. Why did I go? I just wanted to learn some magic and get a job to help out you and mom. And then I got good, too good for my own good! And then— the… mandate. I didn’t want any of this!” 

Perci half expected the grave to answer, fully knowing the man below would never answer anything ever again. He scoffed at himself for being so naive. 

“I suppose I would be following in your footsteps now. Graduated. Drafted. Then, finally dead. In a graveyard surrounded by thousands of other men who were given the same cruel fate as I have on this day.” Perci managed to wheeze a few gasping laughs of it all but laughing wouldn’t help him now and he knew it. He really was as good as dead out there, as far as he knew about the strange world beyond the familiar horizons that he would soon leave behind in the coming days.

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

(PLEASE tell me if you wanna get added to a tag list here because I genuinely don't know who to tag lol. I'll edit this and add you in!! <3 )

TAGLIST SO FAR: @sunflowerrosy @seastarblue

@thebookishkiwi @viridis-icithus @corinneglass

Our wonderful host <3 → @agirlandherquill Have a lovely day everyone!!

[blazinghotfoggynights]

My Mind Did That Thing Again!

You know, where it sees something, then takes off in a random direction for no reason other than it can and it's fun. So, I had a crazy thought last season and it just kind of...experienced an accelerated unchecked growth spurt today after reading the info about the next ep's and the upcoming eps's titles. *looks at the titles of the remaining episodes* 🤨

I have a WIP that I began the night the lightning strike episode premiered last season. Let me preface this by saying the fic is nowhere near complete. (I'm in no hurry. That is the beauty of fandom. You can offer a fic forty years after a show ends and the devoted fans will still be there.) The plan is still for it to be a series with several entries, all of which are multi-chaptered.

Why am I bringing this up? Because it's that time again folks where my imagination runs wild and I ask you all to play 'I know this is crazy, but just hear me out and humor me". For those who have seen this game, participated, and maybe even enjoyed it, you are awesome!

So, the game is played just like the title states. Let's go! (I put the insanity under a cut. If you move forward, I am not responsible for anything that happens!

We know Shannon and most of Eddie's family are supposedly going to appear in the next ep, right? (I say supposedly because you can't really trust anything that gets leaked. Remember that karaoke scene?)

What if it's because Eddie Diaz is balancing on a thin wire between the living and dead? He is close enough to the other side to see Shannon, but still physically hanging on in this plane.

You're probably rolling your eyes and wondering, "What the hell does this have to do with last season?" That's okay and I will tell you.

What if, all this time, we've been viewers of Eddie's coma dream? What if the person who actually died and had to be revived was Eddie? Everything that has happened since then has all been a figment of his imagination.

I'm not saying this is plausible, probable, or practical. I'm just having some fun. (I write. I paint. I am creative. Some say cray cray, but what is normal anyway?)

Now, if I look at what has transpired between then and now, I could point out a few things that could support that theory. (You can call me crazy later. I'm used to it.)

1- Eddie was hit by the lightning.

Eddie was hit first, but just hopped right up? I know some people will say the lightning threw him, but let's look at simple science. To be affected by the electricity, he had to experience the electricity. It was powerful enough to throw him off the truck.

Eddie was hit.

2- Eddie was not in Buck's dream.

Why? If it is really Eddie having the dream, but imagining it is Buck, it's possible he can't conjure a dream version of himself.

I thought it was interesting that Christopher was in the dream and asking Buck for help. Maybe it's Eddie's subconscious reminding him that Christopher will be taken care of by the man he trusted enough to give his son to should he be incapacitated.

3- The scene at the graveyard.

Why on Earth did they go to the victim's grave? Don't they have a rule of letting go at the door? Why would Eddie go to the cemetery and stand over the grave of someone he did not know having a heart-to-heart with Buck?

4- The death doula wasn't a doula.

She was death. Natalia taking Buck away the first time could have been Eddie coding. In his dream, Buck was leaving him, when in reality he was leaving Buck. Natalia coming back could have been Eddie moving toward death again, but managing to escape it's grasp once more. The final breakup? Eddie was resurging.

5- The bachelor party.

What about Eddie Diaz in the past six seasons would point to what he and Buck did? He got smashed, destroyed a hotel room with a bunch of strangers, and all in the name of a bachelor party for a man who didn't want one and was not even there.

The party could have been his subconscious rapidly processing a lot of information, both conscious and subconscious, suddenly. The drag queens? Come on now. Everything with that show is intentional and that scene was disjointed, chaotic, and completely unhinged. None of that is Eddie Diaz.

6- Marisol

Eddie is not into that woman. He is clinging to her for some reason and he fast forwarded through the relationship. Did the Eddie Diaz of seasons 2-early 6 seem like the type of father to let some woman he barely knows supervise his son's dates, babysit Christopher, and move in?

Or was it Eddie's mind simply pulling a woman he had met briefly into his subconscious and building a story around her?

(For those who are science nerds or just fascinated by psychology, there is a theory our minds can't create faces and every person in your dream is someone you have at least seen in passing.)

6- Tommy

It has been mentioned soooo many times how similar Eddie and Tommy are.

That is all I will say on that topic.

For now.

If you made it all the way through, I will end it by saying this.

This may be a crazy idea about the show, but it will happen. If it doesn't in canon, it will in fic. This is why I love fandom. 😁

[sarroora]

Sarroora's Art & Fanfiction Update

September - October

God, last time I did an update post was back in April, so here goes -

Still on the hunt for full-time design work, but no luck so far. The economy here's falling off a cliff but I go to bed every night with a smile knowing 60,000 Zionist companies went outta business lol

My commissions will unfortunately be closed from September till the end of the year, as I'll be very busy those months balancing between many deadlines and obligations.

Here's a quick summary of projects I've been working on, and some Works in Progress:

Chapter 13 of Cats, Gangs and Leaders is out, after nearly 6 years of hiatus. Updates from now on will be only on AO3, not FFnet.

Chapter 14's being worked on. I really wanted it to be out in time for the Blu Ray release of Top Cat, but that's Sept 19 - so there's no way I can catch that deadline aaaaaaaa. But hey, at least know the working title so far is 'Acey Deucy with the Little Choochie'

Chapter 15's outline is mostly done but obviously some stuff will be left for last or changed when Chap 14's completely done. Working title might change, but for now it's 'Sometimes they Come Back'

Sticker sheets and sketchbook designs to be ready for possible future bazaars (focus on: Pokemon, SpyXFamily, misc.)

Still rather behind on Chapter 3 of the sequel of my Detroit: Become Human fanfic, The Only Truth that Sticks. I've missed writing it so much but I gotta get it right. Working title is still 'A Graveyard of Connors' ;)

Some iconography for a friend's app design

Other WIPs:

A bunch of sketches/concept art for scenes from CGaL and Top Cat in general

Wall art for a client's space

The polls winner illustration (Donald Duck)

The 3 Cabs 2024 redraw (redrawing one of my 2018 sketches)

Wednesday Addams (a Jenna Portrait)

[tightjeansjavi]

Reflections for 2024

So, this year…it’s been a lot, yeah?

I feel like I have been on this constant ebb and flow of emotions all year. I have spent more times crying and struggling with my sense of self and purpose, than the time I have spent living.

This isn’t to say that there haven’t been good moments, because there have been, I just feel incredibly lost in life.

I have this melancholy feeling when it comes to my space here, within not just one community, but multiple. This is no one’s fault, as we’re all constantly changing—for the better, or for the worst. That is just what happens in life. I have gone from primarily writing Joel x reader and mostly smut, to stepping away from reader all together and writing original character inserts instead.

I don’t regret making this change because there were moments where I was forgetting who I was writing for: myself. I believe I am not alone in this feeling because we, as humans, seek validation whether we are open to admitting it or not. (There is nothing wrong with wanting to feel validated and appreciated)

But I personally struggled with accepting the fact that I did seek that validation through my writing. Numbers don’t matter—but who are we really fooling? When a fic of mine did well, man, I felt like I was invincible. And I think that feeling consumed me, truly. (Inflated ego. I won’t deny it)

and then there was the guilt—the guilt of not posting as much, not interacting on the same level as I once was. I felt guilty if I let something sit in my inbox for too long or if I didn’t answer a comment right away (if at all) and guilt harbors feelings of negativity. This is when I found myself beginning to stray from writing and being in this community all together. (There’s more, but I’m not going to rehash every detail) and I contemplated deactivating all together, but I could never push that button, which, maybe makes me a coward because in the grand scheme of things, this is just an app. It’s a silly little hellsite, but it’s more than that. It means something to me. And the thought of losing that part of myself made me feel sick.

I did realize that I needed to make a change, and so I took some time away from this space, came back, left again and I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt. I stopped checking to see if mutuals were in fact still my mutuals. I stopped worrying if people liked me, I stopped thinking about the things I have no control of, and once I made that change, I started to feel a lot better.

And now, well, I feel indifferent, but also at peace? I don’t know how to conceptualize my feelings into one sentence, but what I can say is that I feel a lot better than I did around this time last year.

I cannot promise that I will ever revisit x reader, but I don’t see myself giving up on writing. I’m still working on my Marcus Acacius fic which I actually intend to hopefully turn into a book (fingers crossed) it’s truly challenged me as a writer, and has forced me to stick with something for a period of time and not just recklessly abandon like my graveyard of WIPS 🪦

Anyway, I have so much love for you all, truly. Thank you for reading my stories, and listening to me yap, and have my moments, and continue to love me, because maybe you see apart of yourselves in me, and my characters. Or you just relate to my human experience. Whatever the reason may be, I’m forever grateful.

I wish you all warm holiday season, and a happy new year.

-Gi

[magnus-sm-writes]

WIP Intro: (Demon) Hunting for Love

Genre: queer paranormal romance 

Status: (rough) drafting 

Synopsis: Quincy is a son of Satan, but he’d much rather be stirring up trouble on Earth than struggling to be next in line for his father’s throne. When a demon hunter nearly catches a fellow demon, Quincy sees an opportunity to both be owed a favor by said demon and scare the shit out of a human. But he finds demon hunting with Otto more interesting than it has any right to be, and for the first time, he thinks he might actually trust someone.

Logline: A demon wants to scare the shit out of a human; instead, he falls in love.

Literal Logline: Human makes son of Satan a soft boy.

Vibes: Rainy nights, creaking floorboards, Top 10 Demonic Activity videos, reading Creepypastas late at night when you’re young, the smell of dust, playing with Ouija boards, going to haunted houses, overgrown grass around abandoned buildings, long conversations with your best friend, jean jackets over hoodies, graveyards at night

Inspiration: Buzzfeed Unsolved, CreepCast, Gravity Falls, Good Omens, found footage movies

Tags: Friends to Lovers, First Love, Cuddling for Warmth, Idiots in Love, Paranormal Investigators

Quincy, Devilspawn

(Insta: dragoncuspid)

Despite being a child of Satan, Quincy has little interest in participating in the power struggles and back stabbings in Hell. He wants the upper hand in every situation and gets a bit panicky when he doesn’t have it. Quincy has never had a real friend before.

Otto Jackson

(Insta: delanodeej)

An online demon hunter recovering from a recent “cheating” scandal, Otto is placing a lot of pressure on himself to gain his old following back. He’s determined to find a real demon, this time, not knowing he nearly caught a demon in a previous video. With Quincy by his side, he’s certain he finally has a chance.

Excerpt: 

“Hey, editing Otto. Put in the exact amount of years,” Quincy says. “And throw a party hat on me.”

“Why do I have to put a party hat on you?”

“You’re not editing Otto. But I want to have a party hat because it’s never a bad time to throw a party.” Quincy stretches out his legs. “Anyways, yeah, I’m not discounting our ancestors or whatever. I’m saying that, in a house that’s been empty for a little longer than thirty years—throw in the date of the murder attempt—, it’s kind of a miracle it hasn’t rotted apart by now.”

“It was inhabited until the two-thousands. The family sold it off—”

“Okay, so it’s been abandoned for twenty years. Whoo-hoo, ten less than I originally thought. That’s still a long time without upkeep. It’s like… shit, man, we could’ve fallen through the ceiling.”

(Edit 6.18.24: I updated Otto's face claim since I use Tre Samuels for 2 other projects and even though I think he's really cute, that's a lot of projects.)

[wyked-ao3]

Q/A

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 38

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 660k words so far

3. What fandoms do you write for? Supernatural, Hannibal, Fantastic beast.......... so far with hopes to expand into about twenty or so other fandoms..but supernatural is my hyper focus right now

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? I'm going to list six due to one is only high due to a bot hitting it with 57 kudos and that would be #1 "alternative ending to blood doesn't end in family with 66 kudos" #2 is sometimes angel's need to learn when to shut up with 56 kudo's #3 newt is clueless with 48 kudos #4 newt was impulsive 41 kudos #5 dragon rider 32 kudos and #6 is Will falls in love with Hannibal in ten scenes 31 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Always although I'm shy I tend to probably talk to much due to that..so sorry if I'm annoying it's the nerves

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? The cliff I regret everything about that one

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Do I have to pick? I write a lot of happy endings I hate sad

8. Do you get hate on fics? No but I am open to feedback be it good or bad

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes I do wrote it although I am not comfortable writing it i would rather hint at or imply at it than write it but I have posted smut

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Yes I have only posted one so far ....not particularly happy with it but it's out there......my next one will be better and less oc involved

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No...I have not

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No I have beta read a few but not co-written although I am open to it

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? That requires me to pick a fandom longer than a few days....no I have several ships all of which I adore

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? The first original story I was working on that I deleted everything too a while back (over a year ago) ....I liked it but had to many flaws and needed redone.... slightly regret it but it is what it is

16. What are your writing strengths? Creativity and ability to jump plot to plot

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Punctuation and self doubt

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I have used endearments from other languages and will be adding cussing to it soon... but full sentences not likely as I would worry I would offend someone

19. First fandom you wrote for? Fantastic beast

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? That's hard....I think Fang's would win that but I also love feather's and candy

blank for copy and paste below

How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

tag people you want to ask

@adhdprincess @gods-graveyard @theneverwriter @lillybaaaka @wolfgiselle

[mm-nani-fics]

RPF Fic: Khaotung's No Good Very Bad Night Out (Excerpt)

Hello if anyone knows boner fic then...well I had once started writing a sequel which is the same story from Khaotung's POV we haven't actually gotten to the night out part in this excerpt but its still cutesy best friend assery and I thought I'd let it air outside my docs wip graveyard Rated PG for Khaotung essentially being in horny jail this whole fic

---------

It hits him like a ton of bricks

First’s big, glistening eyes, the distraught in them and the silent plea as he looks back at Khaotung.

How many times has Khaotung seen this very sight before? First knows exactly how big he can make his eyes and how effective it is in getting him absolutely anything. 

From Khaotung or otherwise.

But something about seeing it an inch from his own face after having tasted First’s lips and telling him what he means to him - even if it was as Ayan to Akk - somewhere in the space between his ribcage the words ring true and entirely short circuits Khaotung’s brain. Akk and Ayan’s first kiss, wonderfully romantic and tempered with the doubts and terror of a teenage boy falling in love with another teenage boy…

…and all Khaotung can think about in that moment are various scenarios of First looking up at him just like that, wide eyes thoroughly wronged but begging for it, while Khaotung holds him captive against an array of surfaces; mostly, but not exclusively, horizontal.

‘Cut!’ P ’Golf’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he’s glad for the distraction even though the slight note of irritation makes Khaotung cringe inside, ‘Khaotung, don’t wait so long before saying your line. Just slowly count to three in your head and say it, okay?’

Khaotung nods and shakes his shoulders and hands to bring his focus back, surely he can survive three seconds of looking into First’s soulful eyes without losing his mind entirely.

*

Khaotung does make a valiant attempt to rationalize his newfound desire to see First cry. More specifically, crying because he’s overwhelmed with pleasure, preferably delivered from Khaotung himself. His obvious reach is character bleed. It’s Ayan and his obsession to poke and wheedle into Akk’s life also has Khaotung gagging for every sliver of First’s attention. 

It doesn’t matter that he already possesses the lion’s share of First’s attention. No matter how much First fusses over him, laughs because of him, worries about him, follows him around or heck, even gets mad at him - nothing seems to satisfy his desire to monopolize First’s time.

But it’s not weird, obviously, because Ayan is the same about Akk. So when Khaotung’s every waking thought is just one degree separated from straight up locking First in his basement, it’s purely because he’s an excellent actor deeply invested in genuinely portraying his character.

His carefully constructed reasons as to why he suddenly wants his best friend to choke on his dick starts falling apart rather quickly when First gets injured. It’s three weeks of break from filming and while Khaotung is enjoying this interlude from Ayan and a chance to decompress, his affliction involving First has acquired an alarming prognosis. It’s growing within him like a bottomless pit. The more he feeds it - and with First clinging to him like a helpless kitten he’s been feeding it a lot - the further he loses sight of there being an end to this hunger.

Khaotung still did okay when he felt too guilty to have impure thoughts about First when First was freshly injured and the helpless kitten act was less of an act.

Right now though, First is clasping his mostly healed hand and looking up at Khaotung with the most devastatingly needy expression, eyes so big that the only place for it to go is straight to Khaotung’s dick. First even throws in a little, ‘Ai’Tung~~~pleaaase it hurts’ to really fuck with his sanity.

First is trying to convince Khaotung to run down to the 7-eleven to replenish their stock of beer while Khaotung tries to prolong the pretense that he won’t do it. He can’t admit to First it’s because of how much he enjoys First acting cute and wilful around him and thankfully First is too drunk to notice. 

First has just finished consuming the last beer can in Khaotung’s house, his third of the night and it has colored his cheeks with a pretty blush that makes Khaotung’s heart race alarmingly fast. First presses his toes against Khaotung’s thighs, gently trying to pry Khaotung’s butt off the couch and smiling with that mischievous little quirk of his lips. 

First is comfortably lounging back against the armrest like he’s in his own house and has his head tilted to the side as he repeats himself, ‘Please, Ai’Tung. I’ll do anything you ask me to.’

Khaotung has to wonder if First knows exactly how much danger he is in. It’s not entirely First’s fault that Khaotung’s little malady has turned every little exchange of theirs into an opportunity for First to invoke the temptations of Aphrodite upon him. 

The unfortunate nature of their long friendship means that they often play silly little gimmicks with each other. This particular gimmick happens to involve First acting slutty and making innuendos that Khaotung is supposed to laugh at. Then Khaotung is supposed to take him up on his lewd offer and fulfill First’s request. But the incredulous thing about this gimmick is this next part where Khaotung is actually not supposed to make First do anything lewd! This is somehow First’s way of communicating to Khaotung that the pile of dishes in his kitchen sink has reached a critical mass offensive enough for First to wash them for him in exchange for a paltry favor.

He remembers how it started. 

First had had enough of Khaotung’s mess one day and just cleaned his room for him like a scorned mother on a mission. But then he’d gotten yelled at because he accidentally threw out a valuable art print that Khaotung had just bought. First defended himself with the excellent point that he could have never known what it was because it was still inside its packaging and Khaotung was using it as a coaster. 

Nevertheless, a sweep for precious possessions is currently basic protocol before First is allowed to tidy his room. Somewhere down the line they added whatever this eyelash batting, body offering thing is that First insists on doing (that Khaotung has unfortunately always heavily encouraged).

Now though, Khaotung is ready to vacuum his own floor, to First’s preferred level of cleanliness even - at least two levels above the national average - so he can use the favor to push First down onto it instead. On his knees in front of Khaotung, staring up at him with his big, glistening eyes that are more thrilled than scared, lips gently trembling from the anticipation of Khaotung feeding him his cock.

Khaotung takes a deep breath to still his heart jackrabbitting in his chest and rolls his eyes as exaggeratedly as he can, making a big show of getting off the couch, ‘Fine. But you owe me big.’ 

He retorts before making his way to the nearest 7-Eleven.