#fic author ask

[notquitejiraiya]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Alrighty then. This is gonna be tough and has required some thought, but let’s do it:

1. Strangers (Sand Sibling-Centric, Mature)

In Strangers, we see the sand sibs join together as a trio for the first time in almost three years as they make their way across Europe together, all battling their own issues and struggling to accept their shared sense of loss.

It is, by far, my favourite I’ve ever written. I had so much fun planning and writing it and it’s become my favourite little universe I’ve made. I am so proud of it, and it has my favourite final line of all of my stories. If you love Sand Sibs, please give Strangers a go!

2. Grandmaster (ShikaTema, Temari-Centric, Explicit)

Grandmaster is the prequel to Strangers. It follows Temari growing up to become one of the world’s top chess players, and the influence of her (tough and testing) family and her fellow player Shikamaru Nara on her life and career.

It is not yet complete on ao3, but it is my pride and joy in terms of my ShikaTema fics. So much time and effort and love went into this fic. It is my world building child, my best attempt at OCs and I am so proud that it exists. There is so much of my soul in this story, and I’m overjoyed to see people are liking it so far. Thank you very much to those who are currently reading it!

3. 9/10 (ShikaTema, Mature)

9/10 is a oneshot set in our world that centres around Shikamaru, who was on a trip with his friend but has branched off from them for some peace and quiet. Whilst on his own, he becomes acquainted with the strange lady next door.

It’s not my personal favourite fic I have ever written, but I do think it’s the fic I feel most proud of. It was the first story I truly felt like I was writing just for myself, and I think it’s one of my best; it’s certainly my best oneshot, and I’m immensely happy with it.

4. CHESS (ShikaTema, Mature)

CHESS is a story about the friendship and eventual relationship that develops between Shikamaru and his new therapist, Temari.

And no, it isn’t “problematic”. Don’t even think about coming for me about that — I simply do not care — just read it and find out. That said, please do mind the tags as it does touch on certain topics some may be uncomfortable with.

Now, I don’t think CHESS is even nearly my best work, but it would be criminal not to put it in a top 5 of mine. It’s a part of my blog’s “brand” at this point, if I were to have such a thing. If people have read just one of my stories, they’ve probably read CHESS. It came from an important place to me and it turned into the beast it is and I’m proud of it, even if my writing has evolved since then. For that, it deserves top 5 without a doubt.

(PS: yeah, I still regret capitalising the title on ao3 but I’ve committed to the bit now. We aren’t turning back.)

5. Ripples (ShikaTema, Mature)

Ripples follows two wedding guests taking a break from the festivities.

I wasn’t sure what to list as 5, but I decided to go for another oneshot, and Ripples is my second favourite of my oneshots. Nothing deep, nothing sad, nothing particular silly, just them and a lake and some stones. I have very happy memories of writing this fic and despite it being a few years now I still think it’s nice.

.

Whoever sent me this ask, thank you! It was a lot of fun to think about. Hope you all have a lovely day ♥️

[anthrofreshtodeath]

#12 for the fic ask! (also #14 if u feel so inclined 😄)

Thank you for your ask! Appreciate you!

12) What is my favorite trope to write and why?

I really like fake dating and friends-to-lovers. Something about realizing there's something different going on, something different than friendship or partnership, I think. I like when I can make characters realize they've been reading things wrong. Fake dating is also very messy and I am know to love the mess haha.

14) Share a snippet - oooh, let's do one from P FKN R. I'm liking how it's going.

Jane closed her eyes to savor the tug of Tatiana Martinez’s teeth on her lower lip. Quickly, control spiraled, and her heart hammered. Her fingers trembled when they curled around Tatiana’s waist, and her back sweated when Tatiana put a hand flat on it. They kissed, lips on lips, tongue tangling with tongue, until Jane felt that hand move to her chest. “Jesus,” she whispered, more a feeling against Tatiana’s mouth than a sound in her ear.

“Just Tati is fine,” Tatiana teased when she pulled back. “I haven’t seen you in…”

“Five years? Five long-ass years,” Jane finished, just before lunging in for another kiss. The atmosphere of the steamy, rapidly-filling bar pressed in around them, cocooning them in with each other. 

Tatiana laughed when Jane found her again. “Stop for a second,” she said. “I’d like to think we have all night.”

“Do we?” Jane asked, eyes somehow darker and all alight at the same time.

“Don’t we? Do you have somebody to go home to?” Tatiana asked back. “You didn’t mention anyone.”

Jane shakes her head. “Nah. Not really,” she replied. “There’s a guy overseas… army. But we’re not serious. I think I might have already dumped him.”

Tatiana laughed, mouth open and a hand on Jane’s chest. “You think? You always were so messy when it came to love, papi,” she said, her accusation light, playful. When her fingers hit leather, she scrutinized Jane more directly: jeans, boots - possibly from work, a v-neck tee, and a jacket. She narrowed her perfectly threaded eyebrows. She shook her head.

Jane frowned, checked herself out. “What, I don’t look good?”

“I didn’t say that,” Tatiana replied. “You just look like you’re meeting my brother. What happened to the Jane that used to take me out? What happened to my Jane?” She was remembering Jane in silk shirts, with loud tropical prints, in dark skinny jeans, in exposed ribbed undershirts, catholic pendants around her neck, bathed in perfume. Reckless Jane - Jane chasing promotions and chasing Tatiana’s naked form all over the bed.

Jane remembered herself at that age, too. “To be fair, I had no idea you’d be here,” she said, blushing, her lips practically hanging off of Tatiana’s ear. The scent of Tati’s hair, of coconut shampoo and fruity styling products, set a symphony off against her ribcage. Knock knock knock knock. Memories of debauchery and athleticism tickled her brain before releasing in a deluge.

“Hmm,” Tatiana hummed when Jane gave into temptation and ran the tip of her tongue over the side of Tatiana’s neck. “It’s because I never know if I am gonna be here. That would be better with a shot and a little salt, you know,” she said, stepping confidently into the affection.  

“Jane!” Maura called over the music, with the tray serendipitously in her hand and Frankie right behind.

Jane jerked upright, as if just having remembered that she didn’t come to the club alone, or at least hadn’t planned to be there alone. “H-hey!” she shouted, catching sight of Maura. The visual was calming; it pulled her spirit back into her shoes when it had threatened to float above the crowd and out into the summer night. 

Tatiana, ever the extrovert, helped Maura take the tray to the small standing-room table close by. “You have excellent timing,” she said to Maura while Jane and Frankie followed along. “We were just talking about how we needed some shots! Jane, Frankie, who is this beautiful woman?”

Jane cleared her throat and tried not to use what little Spanish she had to decipher the salacious lyrics pounding into the room around them while she stared at Tatiana’s ass in that tight skirt. And then there was Maura’s tight skirt, ass and all, and…

She needed to get ahold of herself.

“This is uh, this is Dr. Maura Isles,” she said, coming up behind Tatiana, hand on her waist. “She’s the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth, and she’s my best friend.” Jane smirked at that last part, a smirk reserved only for Maura, which Maura was happy to see preserved considering Jane was behind Tatiana and therefore hidden from Tatiana’s view. Maura smiled back just before her lips closed around the lip of her beer. 

Jane gulped. “Shit. Before we do shots, I gotta get me one of those,” she said, squeezing her way through bodies as more started to hit the floor. Maura watched her rub her entire front on Tatiana’s entire back and suddenly had the urge to tell Jane there was no more waiting. Shot time was now. 

But then, Jane put a hand on Maura’s forearm and leaned close. “Wait for me, yeah?” she said into the hair at Maura’s temple, the only way to be heard now that the music had been pumped up. “I’ll be right back.”

Maura nodded dumbly. “Sure,” she said, once Jane had already left.

“Dr. Isles!” Tatiana shouted. Her voice sounded muffled and far away, but Maura still turned toward her. Again, stunning. Close up, Maura noticed all the ways that Tatiana and Rafael looked alike: eyes set the same distance apart and burning with intelligence, full and glossy lips, the same broad and beautiful nose. Tatiana deviated from her brother in the womanliest of ways, however, with the curve of her hips and the kind of ass Maura had begged the universe for in high school. She thought she’d gotten quite a good return on her investment, but… Tatiana had her beat in both shape and bounce. Maura only had the tiniest bit of a hard time admitting it. Apparently, she had been lost in thoughts of Tatiana’s good looks so long that she’d missed her name, because it came again. “Dr. Isles!” Tatiana repeated. “I looked you up when my brother said he was working with you!” she yelled across the cadence of drums and guitars that she swayed to. 

“Oh, you did?” Was all that Maura could think to shout back, feeling bold with her beer and putting a hand on the silk of Tatiana’s shirt, right above her wrist.

“I did! Youngest person ever to be Chief M.E.! I gotta say, that’s impressive!” replied Tatiana. Maura’s brain analyzed all aspects of her with impressive speed, trying to dissect all the things that might make Jane as wrapped up in Tatiana as she clearly was. Interestingly, her Spanish accent, slight, sounded different than Rafael’s, and Maura couldn’t quite place it. Mexico? Guatemala? Distinctly American-born.

She didn’t get the chance for further study because Jane slithered against her before moving past. “Hey, I got us a round,” said Jane, carrying four beers, two in each hand. “Seemed like a good idea.”

Jane’s deep voice, loud like Tatiana’s but not feminine like hers, carried notes of the North End and its own very specific Sicilian-American leftovers. Maura gulped, chugging the rest of her beer so she could take the next bottle from Jane. “Thank you!” she raised the empty one to Tatiana in response to her previous comment, and then, more quietly, she wrapped her fingers around Jane’s around the base of the amber bottle. “And thank you,” she said, in her normal volume, relying more on the hooding of her eyes to convey her words to Jane.

Jane, already on her way to Tatiana, stopped for a moment. “Y-yeah, you’re welcome,” she said, with that Maura-specific smile one more time.

[seraandthebees]

For the fic writer ask: 💋

💋when you leave comments on a fic, do you want to hear back from the writer?

I love hearing back from authors, especially if I’ve commented something specific cause hearing their response is really fun in terms of seeing some more where they were coming from! It’s also nice to hear back if I know the author from other platforms and am invested in them. But I don’t get upset if I don’t get a reply, especially if the work is more than a few years old

[tourettesdog]

I am begging people to be normal about completed fics, and in particular one shots.

I am begging people to stop demanding more from authors, and insisting that one shots need to be longer or have sequels.

I don't think yall understand how many fanfic authors are one more "where's the rest of it?" comment away from throwing out any plans they might have had to continue an idea.

Unless an author like specifically says they might write more for an idea, just-- assume something marked as completed is complete, and respect it as it stands, please.

[frownyalfred]

“Why are you bullying Hal Jordan so much in this fic?” Because it’s funny. Because it’s funny and he’s not a real person.

[shushmal]

"Are you going to break my heart?"

Eddie almost drives them off the road.

It's late, nearly 2 am, and the country road is narrow and winding, and this thing between them, fingers twinned above the gear shift, radio turned down low, Stevie Nicks singing to them softly, is new. Eddie wants to live in this moment forever, wants the smell of lake water and dying August heat to live in their clothes, wants the warmth of first kisses and whispered confessions to last in tingling sparks in their skin, the memory of touch to be permanent. It won't be, it'll all fade, but Eddie can visit it again, rewrite them into the cotton and the softness of Steve's mouth.

It's late, and this is new.

"It's okay if you do," Steve says, so quiet. He's holding on to Eddie's hand like he's dangling off a cliff. "I can handle it. I'd just like a heads up, so I can prepare."

Eddie almost feels guilty, basking in his joy when Steve was sinking into something else. He thinks, if he were a kid still, if he hadn't died, hadn't lost everything and managed to get it all back, he'd be angry. But he's not. He's not, and he did, and it's late and this is new—but it's not unfamiliar. The same, but more, an extra free scoop with whipped cream and sprinkles, a cherry on top.

"You trust me?" Eddie asks. He rubs his thumb along Steve's knuckles, feels the scars under his skin, little tears in someone so perfect.

"Of course," Steve croaks. Eddie can't look at him, because the road is dark and narrow and winding, and he has to get his boy home safe.

"And I trust you," Eddie says, brings Steve's hand up, presses a kiss like a seal to his skin. "And I love you, and you love me. I got you."

Steve's quiet for a long, long moment. Eddie can tell he's watching him, so he presses another kiss to Steve's hand, lets his lips linger on hard tendons and dark veins. Kisses in his promises to the place they're linked together.

When he speaks again, it's soft, and Eddie can hear the love, living and leaving in the air between Steve's teeth.

"Okay," he says, giving Eddie everything. "You got me."

[daydreamerwonderkid]

"Another AO3 author with too much time on his hands"

Where the fics at?

[saixria]

Drew this inspired by this fic I read GO CHECK IT OUT 🫵🫵🫵 TRUST ME ATHENA FANS WILL LOVE IT https://archiveofourown.org/works/60785476

[drenched-in-sunlight]

saying this as respectfully as possible but. Do not put fandom content creators on a pedestal. We are also just fans contributing to a community just as you are. We have boundary on our own work and that’s it. What I say is not and should not be considered sth the whole fandom should listen to. I’m just a normal ass person ranting about things on my blog. If it does not have a fandom tag for others to engage in, do not make it out to be me trying to start fights or addressing the whole community. Because it’s not.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again, my art, my lore talk, is biased. I’ve never tried to hide that I view Marika a certain way and will always develop my theory following that base assumption.

Aside from translation stuffs and pointing out in-game items, everything else I say you can look at it, agree or disagree, and move on to form your own opinions. Just because I draw stuffs doesn’t mean you get to saddle me with responsibilities about managing fandom expectations. What the hell? I’m a fan artist, I’m the last person who you should look at for “leaderism” (?) WHAT?

I can and will be a hater in my own space, like I know sometimes other artists will just post their stuffs and not engage too heavily with fandom, and for a while I did try to do that here (because I’m already a dramatic ass on twitter), that’s just not me though.

You will get art and you will get my opinions as well.

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[practically-an-x-man]

OC/Ship Ask Game: Firsts

We're back with another super-long ask game! Send a number + a character/ship for a description of their "first"... plus a couple questions for the author as well :D

If you reblog, please send asks up and down the chain for reblog courtesy! It's not a requirement but it does make things more fun for everybody 😊

____

For the Character:

First big aspiration (i.e. what did they want to be when they grew up?)

First time meeting their best friend

First opinion of school as a kid

First time experiencing grief

First time breaking a bone

First time they realized their "calling" in life

First time they experimented with their personal style

First time they took a risk, or the biggest risk they've ever taken

First time living away from home

First time adopting/taking care of a pet

First "big purchase" they ever made on their own

First time leaving their home country

First time being drunk/high

First time facing their fears

First thing they remember feeling proud of

First thing they remembered feeling ashamed of

First favorites - favorite color, animal, movie, etc.

First example of real character growth along their journey

First time they felt rejected by another character

First time they felt accepted/welcomed by another character

First major change in their life, and how they dealt with it

First introduction in their story (share a snippet or description)

First display of their powers or abilities

First major loss/failure in their story

First major success in their story

____

For the Ship:

A. First meeting B. First impression of each other C. First physical contact (handshake? hug? something else?) D. First kiss E. First time meeting the other's family F. First date G. First time seeing the other one sick/injured H. First time sharing a bed (non-sexual) I. First time sleeping together (sexual) J. First concert/show/festival they attended together K. First fight L. ....And the first time they had to make up M. First time they introduced the other as their partner N. First road-trip/vacation together O. First double-date with another couple P. First time seeing the other all dressed up Q. First act of non-sexual intimacy (e.g. washing the other's hair, taking a bath together, sharing food) R. First time cooking for the other S. First anniversary + how they celebrated T. First time dancing together U. First pet names/nicknames they give each other V. First time they felt insecure/jealous, and how they worked through it W. First time they realized their relationship is endgame... or isn't X. First major hardship they got through together Y. First time living together Z. First time they said "I love you"

____

For the Author:

🐣 - First piece you ever wrote (share a snippet or description)

🥹 - First time describing strong emotions, and how you've improved since then

🎬 - First fandom(s) you wrote for, and if you still write for them

💀 - First time writing character death, and how you felt about it

🤝 - Favorite "first meeting" scene you've written between two characters

💋 - Favorite "first kiss" scene you've written between two characters

🔥 - First time writing romance/spicy scenes, and how you felt about it

🌍 - First attempt at worldbuilding, or a notable piece of worldbuilding you're proud of

🐉 - First genre you wrote for, and if you still write that genre now

🖌️ - First character you created, or first character you wrote for

🤩 - First big inspiration for writing (an author? a piece of media? a plot idea?)

🕷️ - First time writing something that scared you, and how it went

📝 - Pick a character: first draft of that character + the final version of that character

🏳️‍🌈 - First queer character/story you wrote

🤖 - First nonhuman character you wrote

🪶 - First longform/multi-chapter piece you've written

✒️ - First shortform/oneshot you've written

🪢 - First time writing a crossover or gift fic

🤯 - First story that gained traction/attention, and how it made you feel

📦 - First story that really took you outside your comfort zone

📖 - Piece you'd recommend as a "first piece" for a new reader to enjoy

‼️ - Free space! Tell us about a notable "first" in your writing journey!

[rs-hawk]

Sorry for the delay in Day Four! I’ll be posting Day Five soon as well. Also, I only have one more spot for the BATB Week since I still have one ask in my box, so if you want yours done, hurry and submit it!

CW: this post contains graphic depictions and smut. This is intended for an 18+ audience. Knotting, excessive cum, talks of pregnancy, etc

After Beast drug his cock in and out of his pretty captive’s cunt, he was pulsing and throbbing, so close to bursting. She was hiccuping as fat tears of overstimulation poured down her face. For a moment, he just watched her whine and cry, her cunt stretched around just the tip of his cock. Her lower lip quivered as she looked up at him, her dark eyes glistening with the wet tears there.

“A-are you not going to knot me?” her voice came out as a whisper, her throat tight. She had never felt so full in her life. Part of her wanted it to never end, and if he knotted her, at least that would delay it.

He smirked, lowering his mouth to her face, his large tongue licking up her face to taste her tears, before asking, “do you want me to?”

All she could do was nod, and in seconds, he had stuffed himself back into her warm hole, his knot forcing its way inside. She grabbed onto his arms, the fur somewhat comforting as she tried not to cry out. He grunted as his knot finally popped inside of her, his cum filling her to the point that her stomach slightly extended.

To her surprise, he kissed her. His sharp teeth grazing her lips and cheeks as his lips consumed hers. He no longer tasted of her, instead he tasted of his own desire. The smell of his sweat and fur overwhelmed her just as his lips and tongue did. She arched her back slightly, her fingers now tangled in the fur of his neck. He was trying to be gentle. She could tell. His lips worked over hers with cautious care, and his tongue barely explored her mouth this time.

After the kiss, he picked her up, still stuck on his knot. He sat in the chair, holding her in his lap. A hiss escaped her lips as she was forced down on his knot, her eyes squeezing shut at the fullness. If she had thought he was stuffing her before, then this was him setting her close to bursting. However, he drew her against him, wrapping his large arms around her small frame.

With a smile, she buried her face in his fur, soothed by the warmth of his fur and body. Just as she was starting to doze off, his knot had gone down enough for him to pull out of her. She assumed he would be satisfied, or at least tired, but instead she realized quickly he was grinding his once again fully hard cock against her clit.

When she whined, fidgeting in his lap, it was like a switch in him flipped.

Before she knew it, she was on her hands and knees, his long claws holding her hips up as he was lining his cock up with her cum filled hole. Just as she found her voice, he bottomed out inside of her roughly, forcing his entire length into her.

He was like an animal, which she supposed he sort of was. He dropped to all fours, supporting his weight on his palms which were slammed onto the wooden floors on either side of her face. The creaking of the floors could barely be heard over the sound of his knot slamming against her lewd cunt with every thrust.

All she could do was moan and push back against him, though even that she barely could. He was fucking the air out of her with how fast he was going, and in this position, it felt like his tip was reaching her lungs. His back claws were scraping the floor as adjusted his footing to be able to slam himself inside of her faster.

As her tight walls pulsed around his cock, signaling she was once again close to cumming, he roared. That was all it took for her to cum on his cock again. This time it was so intense that it nearly locked poor Beast in place, his captive’s precious cunt trying so hard to milk his massive cock, drawing his cum deeper into her.

“That’s my girl. Mine. Mine,” he growled, snapping his teeth close to her ear. “I’m going to fuck this cunt until you can’t walk. You’re mine. That’s why you’re here.”

“I know. I know,” she babbled in agreement, limply reaching for his hands as she came down from her high.

“Tell me you love it. Ask me to fill you with my seed again,” he demanded, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

“I love it. I love it so much. Please knot me. I need you to cum inside of me again,” Belle begged, pushing back more against his cock now.

Beast snarled something she couldn’t hear, but in seconds, he was giving her what she wanted. Forcing his knot inside of her again, the tip of his cock buried against her cervix to dump his seed inside of her again.

Like this story? Support me on Ko-fi ☕ ❤️

[anthrofreshtodeath]

9. What inspired you to write your first fic? (Love your work and all you do 🏟️💐👩🏻‍🔧)

Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad what I do resonates with you. That's always very nice to hear.

This is a good question! Honestly my first fanfiction was for Pokemon and I wrote it because I was tired of Team Rocket not having enough screen time every Saturday LOL. I think I was 11?

My first rizzles fic was inspired by a recent discovery of the field of forensic linguistics. It was ultimately deleted because its representation of that field was shaky at best and I felt it wasn't up to the standards it needed to be when portraying the discipline. I know a lot more about forensic linguistics now and Pyrite has more of a faithful representation of it.

[its-all-papaya]

about the kiss prompts. I'd love to read about landoscar for 5 *and* 6 - a kiss where it hurts and where it doesn't hurt. I think that would go amazing together. I was thinking about the emotional kind of hurt but please do whatever feels right :)

heyyyyy this is like. not the emotional kind of hurt. but i saw everybody writing kid fic landoscar on the feed and i had to join in or die, so have 1.5k of fluffy, sappy singledad!lando.

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

5. where it hurts & 6. where it doesn't hurt | landoscar | 1.5k

Lando’s been in love with Oscar for months already the first time he hears “I love you.”

It’s the kind of late-summer hot that burns off in the early evening, leaving you shivering and wondering when it started. Lando’s in the kitchen at his sister’s place, elbow deep in dishwater, as him mum prattles on about the very expensive wedding of the daughter of a neighbor Lando doesn’t remember from his childhood home.

“Personalized, engraved wine glasses,” she’s saying as he hands off another plate he’s rescued from the murky bottom of the sink so she can dry it. The window in front of them is thrown open so they can keep an eye on the backyard, where the rest of the family is nursing the last of the drinks they’d opened with dinner. Tied off to the fence posts, Lando’s niece’s birthday balloons float gently with the breeze that carries the sounds of a half-dozen conversations in for them to gather pieces of. If he listens hard enough, Lando can pick out his favorite accent from among them, several ticks off from the rest of the crowd’s English. It’s warm in Lando’s chest, the way Oscar has settled so easily today. He hadn’t been worried, but it’s the first time Lando’s brought him around to a whole family event like this – all three of them, Lando, Oscar and Emma – and everything has gone so remarkably smoothly.

“Insane, isn’t it?” His mum asks, drawing Lando’s attention back to the kitchen.

“Extravagant,” Lando agrees to appease her. He’s only halfway through sponging off the next handful of silverware when his focus is snatched right back up by the familiar, gut-tug sound of his daughter crying.

“Shit,” he says then as he scans the backyard through the screen to seek her out among his various relatives. It figures that she’d be fine all day while Lando was around, and the minute he’d ducked in to help with the washing, she’d find her way to trouble. His mum’s already handed off her dish towel for Lando to dry his palms with and he’s half-turned towards the door, cutlery abandoned back to the suds, when he finally spots Emma. She’s just reached three feet (on the small side for three-years-and-a-few-months old, but that was always going to happen with the genes Lando’d given her), so it’s mainly her curly head he can see as she runs back from the swings towards the patio, where the adults are all gathered.

“Gonna-” Lando hooks a thumb over his shoulder for his mum’s benefit, eyes still trained on his girl. Emma hits the group and skips right past the lost look he’d been expecting when she realized he wasn’t there, though, skips right over missing Lando and straight ahead to-

“Oscar,” she whines, arms outstretched and voice high like it gets when she’s upset. Lando watches from the kitchen as his boyfriend kicks off the wall to kneel next to her. He’s got half a beer still in one hand, but the other goes to Emma’s back as she falls into his shoulder. Lando’s heart feels racing and stopped all at the same time as he watches Oscar murmur to her, too low for him to hear across the garden.

It's a minute before she’s coaxed back up out of his chest. Her face is still red and teary, nose twitching, but she offers her hands out when Oscar asks for them. Lando’s stopped moving completely, frozen with the dish towel wrapped between his fingers.

“Can I see?” he picks up from the distance. Oscar smooths his thumb into the middle of Emma’s hand until she flexes her fingers out for him, displaying palms full of grass bits.

“Fell,” she gets out between little hiccupping sobs. Oscar sets his drink aside so he can tug her closer without letting go of her hand.

“Well, that’s no good. Can I help?” he asks and it’s soft, it’s tender, it makes Lando himself want to cry for an entirely different reason.

She nods. Her head falls sideways, back onto Oscar’s shoulder, as he brushes the dirt and grass away. Then he purses his lip to blow the last of the dust off and smacks a kiss right in the center of her hand, playing it up loud enough to make Emma smile about it through the last of her tears.

“Oscar!” she says again, all giggles this time. Lando’s heard Oscar laugh about the way Lando pronounces his name, but it’s only when Emma says it, his own accent in miniature, that he sees what there is to grin about. She seems to be mostly cured of the panic, but in the next moment Oscar scoops her up anyway, settling her on his hip and checking that she’s chilled out as he returns to his conversation. Everything keeps moving around them.

“So,” Lando’s mum says. He jumps a little, having forgotten where he was.

“Um.” Lando says back. She’s smiling like a maniac at the side of his head. “I’m gonna-” he repeats, same thumb motion as a minute ago. He departs for real this time, though, depositing the towel back in her hands as he goes.

“Hey,” he breathes out when he’s reached Oscar’s corner of the patio. He’s not sure where to put his attention first, honestly, a little overwhelmed, so he curls a hand around Oscar’s hip with one hand and tucks Emma’s hair behind her ear with the other. “All sorted?”

“All sorted,” Oscar agrees. He tilts his head to meet Emma’s eyes, eyebrows raised like he’s waiting for her to sign off as well.

“All better,” she confirms. She doesn’t reach for Lando, though.

Oscar’s gaze is still focused on her when he says, “Just wanted a little cuddle before going back to play, right? Nothing serious.” He shifts Emma slightly in his arms and she turns her face into his shoulder for a second, like she’s embarrassed he’d tell on her that way.

“Good plan,” Lando says, tucking her hair back once again.

“Just like dad,” Oscar adds, and Lando definitely can’t find room inside of himself to be embarrassed – not with the way his chest is all cozy, like a dryer-warmed blanket.

“Oscar gives a good cuddle,” he agrees instead.

There’s a beat of silence: Lando looking at Oscar, Oscar looking at Emma, Emma looking back and forth between the two of them and the swing set, where her cousins are still playing.

“I’m ready,” she decides finally. She plants her palm on Oscar’s opposite shoulder and leans back in his arms so she can look him in the face instead.

“Great!” Oscar says.

“Emma,” Lando says, “say thanks to Osc, yeah? For fixing you up?”

“Thanks, Oscar!” she chirps, agreeable. Then she smacks a kiss against his cheek, a match to the one on her own palm, and says, “I love you!” as he sets her down, easy as anything.

Like she’s said it a thousand times. Like it’s not anything, like it’s just a fact of her life.

Lando watches her run off with a hand on his own cheek, half over his mouth. He knows he must look insane in one direction or the other, the way his eyes are watering and he’s smiling to hide how his heart is beating triple-time inside of his chest. But Oscar just slides an arm around his waist, drawing Lando in close to his side.

“Sorry if that was-”

“No,” Lando stops Oscar before he can even start. “That was, like…” precious, Lando thinks, more than I ever expected.

It's just... there were days after Emma’s mum was gone, when he was alone with his baby, that he’d stayed up at night and stared at her even after she’d finally gone down for him; days where he’d wondered whether either of them would ever get to say the words to anybody else. There were moments, nights, weeks on end where everything felt scary, and the thought of bringing a whole extra person into their lives was impossible to entertain, more work than it was worth no matter how badly Lando yearned for it. And there were times with Oscar, even, early on, where Lando had hesitated against his lips mid-snog on the couch and despite all the burgeoning something in his own heart, thought: selfish.

He’s never felt further from it all, though, watching Emma jump from the apex of her swing’s trip up towards the sky. She’s never been afraid for long. Comes by it honestly, Lando thinks as he buries a smile against Oscar’s shoulder.

“That was…?” Oscar prompts into Lando’s hair. He’d pressed a kiss there a moment ago and never moved.

“That was really important,” Lando settles on, still misty eyed.

Oscar’s palm does a quick pass up and down his spine before wrapping back around to squeeze Lando in half a hug, “Okay, though? I didn’t overstep or anything?”

“No,” Lando’s laughing then, still a bit wet, as he dislodges Oscar’s chin from the top of his head, “Can’t believe she loves you, holy shit.”

Oscar smiles down at him, “Just like her dad?”

“Just like her dad,” Lando confirms, then presses his own sweet smile right into Oscar's lips.

[stardustndreamsofsilver]

Fic Writer Asks

Thought it would be fun to make one of these myself

🫓 What is your most popular fic?

🥘 What category do most of your fics fall under?

🍲 When did you start writing and why?

🍱 Do you read your own fics?

🍛 Have any comments, tags or reactions to one of your fics every made you laugh or cry or both?

🍜 Do you ever feel pressured to write?

🍠 How long does it take you to write one of your fics or a chapter/part?

🍢 Have you ever gotten hate on a fic?

🍣 What helps you focus or get in the mood to write?

🍥 What's your favorite fic you've written?

🥮 Do you have any writing milestones you're working toward?

🍡 Which of your fics was the most emotionally difficult to write?

🍘 Is there a fic or idea for a fic that you've abandoned?

🍙 Is there a fic you wish had gotten more attention?

🍚 What genre do you have the toughest time writing?

[gremnda]

I was reading @scribbling-dragon's Tommy Smajor AU and i got inspired to draw art of it. now it's a whole thing with many comic WIPs :,D