#genuinely I have no idea how much I've written until I look back and edit

[our-ensemble]

Would you believe me if I said that when I brainstorm my posts, I usually expect them to be about 3 paragraphs (15 sentences) long.

[hauntedrain]

Frat boy!Luigi x gothic!reader hc???

Frat! LM x Gothic! Reader

✮▹A/N: I hope this is good. unfortunately Its been a while since I've written anything. Also this feels kind of vague because of all the different subcultures and stuff, but also general reader yk? anyways enjoy! NOT EDITED.

Okay, I'm starting this by saying that personally, I don't see frat Lu as some typical jerk frat boy (I mean, look at the photos; it looks like a bunch of nerds hanging out), but anyway...

He would be immersed in your style and interests. He wouldn't necessarily act like it's abnormal but most certainly would be new to him.

He would sit and listen to music with you, trying to learn about the music culture, and might even make a playlist so he can play that for you when you guys hang out.

Would wait and sit while you do your makeup, especially if you're doing trade goth, and ask you about literally every step of what you're doing and why. (Lowkey asking too many questions, but you can't bring yourself to be annoyed because he's just being curious and cares.)

He would be like those cats in the "I'm a girl with a boy cat doing ---". He's just enjoying the entertainment. I also think that frankly you could convince him to let you do his make up or let him try to do yours for fun (whether it turns out good or not is a completely different story however).

I think in regards to the first time bringing you around his frat brothers, he would be mildly shy about it simply because he knows that in general, the relationship dynamic brings attention. However, he would assure you that he isn't embarrassed or ashamed about anything.

Along with that, after establishing the relationship, I think he would kind of flaunt you around in general but definitely to his frat brothers and friends. He's all about you, and he wants others to know that.

This also goes back to how he and his frat brothers seem like just a bunch of nerds and them asking him how he started dating you and in general being baffled that he was able pull you???? And He's just like "no clue, I'm also confused."

Lowkey concerned if you guys are too different and if you would prefer someone similar to you and your style. If you have friends similar to your style and take the same interests as you, he would be kind of nervous when you're talking about something or someone he knows nothing about and start to form the idea that you would prefer him to like and be different so you guys could also talk about that stuff together.

Genuinely believe that he would ask on a random night while getting ready to go to bed after hanging out with friends if you think you guys are too different and if you would prefer someone more similar to you. This would then in turn lead you to explain that you don't mind being different in style and interests and he has nothing to worry about. But you do offer him the option if he wants, that you can show and teach him certain things, and he can do the same for his selective interests.

When getting ready, you would ask for his opinions on outfits and make him rank them. I think he would enjoy this sooooo much; he likes the different styles, layers, accessories, etc. However, at the same time, I think he would be stumped at what to choose because all are great outfits, and he doesn't seem to see what you say when you dislike or criticize the outfit.

Would like it when your makeup rubs off on him. I see him blushing if he realizes your lipstick or base comes off on him and getting all giddy about it. (He would also pretend he didn't realized it was there and keep it on until someone else mentions it.)

Would take you to frat parties and make you stay close to him to ensure that, 1.) you're safe, but 2.) that no one tries to take you from him. (low-key protective)

Gives you pet names that other people may find weird. I can see him using "my bat" and "my raven," to name a few. I also think along with the pet names he would reference couples in movies and TV for you guys. my personal favorite (obviously by my PFP) but Morticia and Gomez.

⭒❃.✮:▹A/N: sorry its not a lot! I have school and other requests to work on but still please send requests or thoughts, I will make a formal posts for requests if need be but just send them in my inbox for now! much love <3

[account-name]

Five headcannons you have about Phone Guy ?

[EDIT: all of this was written months before the week before came out. some of my hcs have been adjusted slightly since then although most of this still applies]

yayyyyy thank you so much for the ask this is the first time i've been asked about him !!! this ended up a bit long because i wanted to fit in all my important phone guy lore because i've never gotten the opportunity to talk about him

i apologize if this is a bit all over the place and hard to read i'm not good at putting my thoughts into words

also i might reblog with more if i think of anything big i missed

he drinks way too much coffee. he needs to stay awake and alert all the time so he can continue to be productive despite his inconsistent sleep schedule (he gets nightmares which get more and more frequent over time) (and he is also being overworked which is not a good combo) (he doesn't remember the last time he's had a day off) so he uses the caffeine as a way to make up for that. plus he also just genuinely likes how coffee tastes. he also used to smoke but he stopped when his ex wife (marilyn) was pregnant with fritz, so he at least got over that one (if i didn't mention it yet he is fritz's dad btw). caffeine is the only addiction that he still actively struggles with by the time he dies.

he has a confusing relationship with his gender. i think in the normal fnaf timeline he unfortunately dies an egg and never gets the chance to think about it fully but in any au where he lives past that and learns that being trans is a thing he would proceed to have a gender crisis. (fun fact in the au i made specifically for selfshipping daydream lore he is working that out in real time) (i am supporting him every step of the way :) ) he is questioning and he has no idea how he identifies at the moment but that guy is not a man. he does still have a trans pin in the normal fnaf timeline but he doesn't actually know what it means. he found it while cleaning the ballpit one day and decided to keep it because it was kinda neat. he IS trans but he doesn't know it yet. i generally still refer to him with he/him since those are the only pronouns he ever used but depending on the au i think eventually he might experiment with other pronouns in the future. change is scary though so it would definitely take him awhile to get to that point. especially since he's been repressing his emotions for so long. (EDIT: she is now using he/she pronouns :3)

i've touched on this one before but he was working the day his son was murdered. he brought fritz to work with him thinking he could multitask but phone got caught up with work and wasn't paying enough attention to notice fritz getting lured to the back room. he didn't notice his son was missing until it was too late. he absolutely blames himself for it and it eats him up inside. he goes through a messy divorce shortly after since marilyn blames him too. poor phone guy has no one left except his bosses. at least they always cared about him right? they saw his potential when no one else did and he was their best employee. except no they didn't. william was actively manipulating him to do his bidding and henry just didn't care about him at all. poor phone guy. but he still puts on a happy face and pretends everything is fine until he can't anymore. he also blames himself for the other missing children because he was too far in denial and desperately wanted to believe that it wasn't what it looked like so he didn't do anything to stop it when other kids started disappearing. he knew what was happening he just couldn't bring himself to accept it. and then it was too late. he hates himself for that.

he's helped william hide bodies. not the missing children obviously, but whenever other employees happen to know a little too much and they turn up dead in the morning, someone's gotta clean it up. he's had to sweep so much under the rug. it's horrible but phone guy can't say anything or else it will all get pinned on him. phone guy getting framed for murder wouldn't help the situation much either. maybe it was the cowards way out to give in to the blackmail but he was put in a horrible situation and made the choice he had to to get out of it. he helped dispose bodies of his coworkers. it doesn't help that he trusted william and looked up to him for so long. he was one of the only people to ever say he was proud of him. and look where he ended up.

i can't decide on another singular hc to write an entire paragraph on so here's a bunch of small ones instead:

he dabbled in theatre in highschool. he wasn't a dedicated theatre kid or anything and definitely didn't continue after graduating but he did good

he has a beautiful singing voice. he'll get embarrassed if you overhear him though

he witnessed both bites, and sees 87 as his own fault since jeremy was following the instructions phone gave him

he's a breakfast enjoyer :)

he was born in 1957 and died at the age of 36 . fritz was conceived when he was 21

similar to his gender, his sexuality is also a mystery. he's probably ace but as for romantic orientation who knows

he likes to read. it's one of the only hobbies he has time for

he likes sci-fi and is a fan of star trek

he idly hums while he works

when he was a kid his parents had very high expectations for him and expected him to do something big with his life. they weren't bad parents but they weren't the best either. they were very strict with him especially when it came to school. (gifted kid burnout weeeoo)

he has a little sister (phone dude's mom) however he doesn't really have any contact with her or anyone else in his family at the time of fnaf as they moved away from utah and he did not follow them.

i love all the phone biology hcs mentioned in @ask-the-phone (sorry if you didn't want to be tagged lmk i can remove it) so those apply to my phone guy as well. (he molts periodically, his mouth is on the receiver, esophagus cord, ect.)

gives the best hugs

touch starved and very easily flattered

//⚠️cw attempted suicide for the next couple //

this is a dark one but he went into fnaf one knowing full well he was going die, and to an extent hoping for it. this is when he was at his absolute lowest. he was never going to get through that week. i think if for whatever reason the animatronics didn't kill him he would've finished the job himself. he's scared of death but he couldn't imagine a future for himself and didn't think he even deserved one. fnaf 1 was an act of suicide. despite this he still tries to leave helpful reassuring messages for mike to help him survive the week, even up until his last moments.

he tried to take his own life after the bite of 87. maybe also after the divorce too. it didn't work and he just had to go back to work afterward and pretend he was okay. he was not.

[ok back to the other hcs]

fritz always used to put stickers on phone's face. he continues to wear the stickers to remember him

while his head is phone shaped it's entirely biological. it's essentially like a bug exoskeleton. he was born like that and it's not questioned because that's a completely normal way for people to look. sometimes people are just phones

his head is also functional as a phone though. don't ask me how

he purrs when he's comfy.

in the movie universe he is alive and well and living a life outside of freddy's. he worked there briefly and recorded some tapes and then left before it all went wrong. i guess in this au his bosses never really saw him as anything special this time. his son still dies and he probably still gets divorced but phone is able to move on and heal and live his own life. good for him.

i think if phone guy didn't work at freddy's he would've made a good teacher

he is so full of autism

very much a perfectionist unfortunately

not easily angered, but he can get frustrated at times. he bottles it up though so he seems fine until he finally snaps

and that's the list i came up with so far :) i might add more if i think of anything important i forgot but thank you so much for giving me an opportunity to finally talk about my phone guy !!! :)

edit:

-in honor of the news, his middle name is ralph, making his full legal name phone ralph guy (because that is just so funny to me)

[earl-grey-teacake]

How’d you get into writing? I have a few general ideas but have no idea how they would come to fruition 😭!

I got into writing fanfic because I really wanted to see certain things written out and to read them. I just felt this overwhelming need to write just so I could read it. It is very much "if you want to eat something, you have to make it yourself."

I know you are just asking how I got into it but I thought I would include my process in case you found it helpful. For background, I've been writing fanfic for 7 years. For a very long time, I was not good at writing. I learned English very close to the end of my critical period for language learning and struggled for over a decade before I got my footing. Through my own experiences and what I learned from school, I figured out how I prefer to go about write.

I am going to use First Fight from the Baby!Loscar AU as an example since it took me the longest to write. I came up with the idea in April but did not manage to finish it until August but I felt I improved my writing process a lot more.

The idea- which is the stage I think you are at. You have an idea and maybe a scene figured out but you haven't worked it out how this scene connects and how everything forms a whole story.

My idea was just " Logan and Oscar having their first big fight and not handling it well."

2. Write the most imperfect draft you can- I don't say rough draft because it makes people think that the next draft has to be a final draft. I genuinely mean imperfect. Grammar and punctuation? Does not matter. Formatting? Doesn't exist. Logic and cohesive timeline? Irrelevant. What you want is for all your thoughts and ideas to be on a page and it can be in any way you want. It can be bullet points, written scenes, summaries. Doesn't matter.

My imperfect draft was just this section of dialogue and it sat on my computer for months

“We are not friends! Go away!” Oscar had yelled.

“I don’t like you! I hate you!” Logan had yelled back.

“I hate you too!” Those were the last words spoken between them.

3. Know what you want to get across- This is your Northern star, it will guide you when you are lost. Dialogue, timelines, plot- all of those things are subject to change. What isn't going to change is the message you wanted to get across. What is your theme, your core?

For First Fight, it was "these kids do not handle being separated very well. They love each other, they had a misunderstanding, and now they refuse to apologize to each other. As a result they are suffering."

4. You write the roughest draft known to man- I mean very, very rough. Expand a a bit on your imperfect draft, write a couple more scenes you would like to see. They don't need to go together yet, they just need to be on paper. Write out every scene you would like to see play out.

This was Oscar and Logan refusing to play together, Oscar playing alone with Charles, and the ending where they reconcile.

5. Polish up those sections- I know people say to polish at the end and I also do that but making the scenes you wrote look nice will help you feel confident in your work. Include the descriptions, the formatting, the add that bit of sparkle to the dialogue. Figure out the writing style you want to write in and edit all the sections to fit that.

6. Lock in- This is the not so fun part. Pick a free day, get a drink. Now is the time to write everything in between. The boring dialogue, the paragraphs that transition the reader from one scene to another, the scenes that are just lead up to the bigger, funner, more impressive scenes. They don't need to be perfect that just need to be on the page. By the end of it, you will have a some what cohesive plot. Will it be perfect? No. Will you enjoy reading it? Not really. Does it make you want to give up and write something else? Yes, but do not do that.

7. Read it and mull it over for a day- Do not touch the rough draft. Just read it and think about it. Do you like how the plot is? Do you want it funnier? sadder? Do you like how the characters are speaking? Does it feel natural to you? Is it giving what you want it to give? Is it following your Northern star?

8. Change everything you don't like- Delete everything you don't love. If it bothered you enough to stick with you for a day, you can toss it out. You feel like you need permission to delete it? Here's your permission, delete it. I have deleted half of a fic before. Nothing is sacred because none of it is perfect. Toss it out. Replace it something newer. Do you feel better when you replace it? Yes, then that's great. You don't feel better? Put something else in.

9. Do you love to read it?- It is not would other people love to read it. Is it not "is it perfect?" It is do you love to read it, if you were to come across this fic in the middle of the day on AO3. Would you be excited to see it? If the answer is no, repeat step 8 and 9. Do it until the answer is yes or until you cannot change anything else in it.

10. Polish it- Now that you love your work, it is the time to make it easier to read. Separate out your paragraphs, throw it into a grammar checker, format (bold, italicize, etc.). This is where you make it look pretty.

11. Post it- Congratulations! You posted your work on AO3! You did it! Pat yourself on the back and treat yourself to some boba. The work is your baby. You worked hard on it and you should be proud.

FAQ

I wrote all of this and I love it but what if other people don't love it?

They will. None of us writing know for sure if people will love or hate our work before we post it. So until someone outright sends a 500 word count rant about how much they despise it, assume everyone will love it.

What if it isn't perfect?

Many things in this world aren't perfect and we love them. A plushie that was sewn wrong or is missing an ear is still picked up and loved. A puppy missing a leg or an eye is still a beloved part of the family. Writing isn't about being perfect, it is about being human. It is your words, your emotions, and your imagination all on a page and like all humans, you writing will improve as we all do. I don't consider any of my writing perfect and yet, I continue to write because I want to get better and because I love it.

What do you use to write?

You don't need any tools to write but some make it easier for you than others. I recently spent money on Bsun Tuzi switches for my keyboard and it had helped me write a lot quicker but a mechanical keyboard is an investment and a pricey one.

I use Apple Pages to write since I like how clean their format it. I also organize my work on Notion or Obsidian,

I started off writing on Google docs and Word so you don't need the fancy stuff.

I don't know how to write dialogue.

Since I mainly do F1 and Indycar RPF, my biggest recommendations is to listen to Grill the Grid and podcasts. I don't usually be press interviews since I find the drivers to be more stifled and are likely saying what their team wants to say. They tend to be a bit more human on Grill the Grid and podcasts.

I just listen and see what each of them like to talk about, how they talk, etc.

I hope this helps. If you want me to elaborate on something, let me know. Feel free to ask me more questions.

[oswaldthatendswald]

I was rereading Somewhere to be Safe for the first time since starting Cry Havoc, and it occured to me how little I knew at the time of where the story was going.

Like, big picture, obviously I had no idea this was going to turn into a series and something I could be really truly proud of, but also-- I had no goddamn clue what I was doing on a chapter to chapter scale. The author's notes really only convey a fraction of how much things were changing as I was writing it. Like, chapter two, I mention I had to do extensive editing on that chapter. What actually happened was that I changed the entire direction of the fic. It wasn't originally going to be set on Swallow at all! Cora and Law were going to run off to Dawn Island, in my earliest plans! I found out while writing the second chapter that Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo lived on Swallow and had grown up with Law, and I pivoted because I wanted to include them. It was only because of that decision that the fic ended up being as long as it was, too. It was originally going to be three chapters: the existing first chapter, the second chapter mostly as it is, but with the decision to go to the East Blue (and I'm pretty sure I have the original draft of that chapter somewhere in my computer files), and then the call to Sengoku, which exists in a very altered form in chapter 7.

And there's a thousand tiny details like that if you know to look for them. Foreshadowing for plot beats I dropped, ideas raised that end up going completely different directions, and so on. There's a lot of mentions of the other inhabitants of Swallow Island early on, because at one point I'd intended for them to play a larger role.

The thing is, if I wrote it again, there's a lot of things I'd probably do differently. The first chapter is really condensed, because I originally planned for the entire fic to be about 6000 words total. But at the time of writing it, I was still recovering from a years-long bout of depression, and my ability to write had been completely shot. I didn't plan it out very completely, because I wrote it expecting every moment that my energy and motivation would plummet again and I'd have to leave it unfinished. Sure, I'd do things different if I were writing it now, but I can only write at all now because I decided to write that story. I'd never go back and change it, because I'm so goddamn proud not only of that story, but of myself. I've written more that 100 000 words this year. That genuinely was not possible this time last year. It is extraordinary how far I've come and-- and wow, is it strange to be able to go back and point to the start of it.

This time last year, I was starting to watch the Sabaody arc and the run-up to Marineford. Now, I'm writing a whole fic about Marineford. Next year, I'll be finishing my last few courses of university in December. Sometimes it's so hard to remember how things change until I step back, look around, and see how much better everything is.

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

The End Is Near (Snippet/Prequel)

February 3, 2025

Notes: I don't usually post these things until I feel like I can finish off the series in quick succession, but I wanted to post this as a little thank you for sticking around despite my inactivity and being such an incredible friend. Due to how much I've written for it and how late it actually is, I figured I'd give you a 3-page snippet/prequel of my project that I was planning to post in October, but I got sidetracked with work and never ended up posting it. The End Is Near is based on the show School Spirits (highly recommend) and follows the first season somewhat closely. I still plan on working on it because I just can't get the idea out of my head - especially with season 2 finally out and my drive to write more for it basically gnawing at the bars of its enclosure in my brain - but I have a long way to go on anything else, so I wanted to give you a taste of it before I go back to work. Technically, this is part of the first part, but it doesn't give away too much, really, and I sort of hope to post the first part soon if I can actually sit down and edit the first few parts again over the next week or so. I just really want to get it out of me so I can go back to STDP again lmao.

Like a tightly packed can of sardines, Boca Ciega High School students filled the gymnasium. Chairs in neat rows lined one half of the gym, and those were filled rather quickly by the cheer squad and the seniors who were fortunate enough to leave class and get to the gym before anyone else. By the time most students got there, the gym was standing room only. Teachers and students alike lined the back wall, waiting for the assembly to begin as they played on their phones and texted friends.

Some eyes were drawn to the blank screen in the center of the basketball court, but most were busy with conversations. The whole school had been abuzz for the last few days, people talking about their theories on what happened while others focused on forgetting what happened and moving on. A select few lingered toward the back, itching to leave the nonsensical event. Nobody really wanted to be there—not under these circumstances, at least.

A few people had perched themselves on the bleachers to be closer to their next classes and away from the chaos, but only a couple of them seemed genuinely invested. Looking out over the metal railing to the court below, a pair of hazel eyes scanned the crowd, searching through the sea of students for any sign of familiar faces.

Before they could lock onto anybody in particular, however, an electric screech filled the room, making everyone cover their ears as the principal tapped his finger on the microphone in the center of his podium. Apologizing softly over the speakers, Principal O’Brian began his speech, “Everyone settle down, please. Settle down.”

As a few students sat back down and others pocketed their phones, a couple of teachers encouraged Freshmen and junior-high kids alike to quiet down and focus on their principal. Once everyone was seated, Principal O’Brian said, “Thank you, everyone.” Clearing his throat, he turned toward the large screen in the middle of the gym and pointed a remote to it, clicking a button before looking out over the crowd, his gaze locking on a pair of withdrawn green eyes. 

“Now,” he said as the screen lit up, “it has been a very trying last few days—as we all know.” As his eyes drifted over the sea of students, he continued, “The Pinellas and Hillsborough County Police are considering this a missing person investigation.” Murmurs filled the room, forcing the principal to raise his voice slightly as he spoke, “I know this is alarming news for all of you, but we have every hope that he will be found safely.”

“What was his name again?” one of the cheerleaders whispered to her friend, making the brunet behind them roll his eyes.

“River something,” the other cheerleader whispered back, taking a sip of water from her Stanley as the principal continued talking. The first girl hummed thoughtfully, trying to recall the student. “They found a bunch of blood smeared all over the janitor’s closet.”

“I thought it was the boiler room?” the first girl said curiously.

Shrugging, the second cheerleader said, “I don’t know, but they think her phone is still somewhere in the school. Like, I guess they tried-”

“Oh my god,” the first girl gasped softly. “He doesn’t have his phone? I’d rather die than lose my phone.”

“Hey,” the cheer captain hissed from the end of the row, gaining the pair’s attention. Her green-tipped blonde hair fell over her shoulder as she snipped, “Can you two please just shut up and focus?”

“Sorry, Jade,” the two whispered, slumping back in their seats as though they’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Shaking her head, Jade turned her focus back onto the principal’s speech as he clicked on a picture of the missing student. Hearing a soft noise behind her, Jade glanced over her shoulder at her friends as they huddled together a row behind the cheer team. Reaching back, Jade offered her girlfriend her hand, something the blue-haired, grunge girl readily accepted. Turning her gaze onto the brunette beside her, Jade’s girlfriend asked, “Did you get any sleep last night, Viv?”

“No,” Vivien breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Not daring to tear her gaze from the screen in the middle of the room, she asked, “Did you, Erica?”

As her gaze falls on the image before them, Erica whispers, “No…”

From above the basketball court, hazel eyes flickered between the principal, the students, and the screen. As the principal spoke again, telling the students that, if they knew anything, to speak up, those same hazel eyes rolled before focusing on the brunette with the purple sweater as she stood from her chair and left the room with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The boy with hazel eyes nearly followed her, but then the image on the screen changed, and his gaze was drawn to it—a missing person’s poster.

“Now, for a little levity,” the principal said as he looked out over the crowd, grateful, for once, that his eldest child had already left the gym. He knew for a fact she would hate this. “A cheer for our missing friend, created by our Pirate cheer squad. Girls?”

As the cheerleaders began filing up to the gap between the screen and the chairs, a few more somber than others, hands drove through auburn hair as he scoffed, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

The upper bleachers rattled as a pair of footsteps echoed through the area. Sitting two rows back from the boy whose picture was used for the missing person’s poster, a young blonde girl in a too-big jean jacket with her hair pulled up in a scrunchie softly said, “Hey, at least they used a good picture of you.”

“Shh,” the older boy said as he glanced back at her. Turning back to the assembly, he said, “I’m trying to focus, kid.”

As the cheer team began some half-assed cheer that could’ve easily been used at a football game instead of an assembly for a literal missing student, the boy with the auburn hair let out a snort. After a moment, the younger blonde girl joined him, leaning on the railing slightly. She shook her head and said, “If you ask me, what’s really ‘missing’ here is a little tact.”

Letting out a noise of agreement, the boy’s hazel eyes scanned the crowd as the cheerleaders continued. As the cheer ended with the girls spelling out the team’s name - the Pirates - and the crowd began clapping, one of the girls called out, “For River!”

From above, the auburn-haired boy's frustration grew as he snarled, “It’s Riven!”

With a snort, the little blonde beside him patted him on the arm and said, “Okay, buddy. Say it with me now.” Her voice raised slightly over the crowd's noise as she gestured to the students and said, “They can’t hear you.”

Riven glanced at the girl before letting his eyes scan the crowd. Vivien had left, rightfully fed up with the bullshit that was this stupid-ass assembly, but Jade - who had been forced into doing the cheer Riven knew she must hate - and Erica - who hated assemblies on a normal day - had remained along with a few of Vivien’s friends. Principal O’Brian, Vivien’s dad, who had always treated him like another son, was going through the typical assembly nonsense - fundraisers, honorable mentions for different groups, and discussing the upcoming grade closure due to report cards coming out. Despite his ramblings, Riven could see how much the man hated having to speak about anything that wasn’t his disappearance.

The short girl beside Riven blew a bubble with the gum she perpetually chewed, letting it pop before saying, “The good news is, it’s only a matter of time till they realize you’re dead. Then, the people who were really your friends can actually grieve instead of doing this bullshit.”

Riven’s gaze fell on the younger girl, seeing her roll her eyes as the principal kept talking. Having had enough and wanting to track down Vivien, Riven turned on his heel and left, hearing the blonde make a small noise of surprise before popping her gum once more and trailing after him like a clingy little dog. 

Now, I hope you enjoyed this little prequel! If you're into it and wouldn't mind me ramble-posting this story just to get it out of my head, let me know. And if not... still let me know lmao! Here's a little moodboard I made up for this ages ago:

Anyway, as thanks for sticking around until the end, here is a 3-page snippet of the next part of STDP!

Unlike the typically overcast early spring weather that graced the New England region of the United States, Florida was typically dry in late winter and early spring. As there was no snow in the area to wash away with heavy rain and thick rolls of fog, the state was usually at its most tolerable in April. However, that Tuesday, the state seemed to revolt against its historic dry spell, and thick clouds seemed to blanket the state, keeping a touch of winter’s chill in the breeze.

Despite residing in the tropical state his entire life, Butchy wasn’t one for overcast days, and not just because that meant his wife and sister would forbid him from riding his bike to work. Granted, that played a big part in it, but it wasn’t the main reason for his distaste toward the lingering gloomy sky. His main reason was his boss, Joe - a seventy-year-old man who had served in both world wars and refused to retire despite half-heartedly passing his company on to his son. Joe had issues with loud noises like fireworks and thunder, and although the guys Butchy worked with were understanding that the man’s time in the service was the cause, it was still frustrating that the man closed up shop any time the forecast said they had even the smallest chance of rain.

It was easier to deal with in the summer. Joe and his wife would fly up to New York and stay with their daughter’s family in Long Island while their son, Caleb, took over the shop. Thankfully, the change in management over the summer meant they avoided closures and missed pay due to the thunderstorms that frequented the area during the warmer months. However, from October to May, Joe’s control of the company reigned supreme, and they were occasionally woken by 5 am phone calls from Joe’s wife. Marlene was a sweet woman and always made sure to write out checks to each of the workers on the roster if they missed a day due to Joe’s post-traumatic response to the weather. 

That was why, when she called Butchy to let him know to take the day off, he didn’t mind it so much. 

According to Marlene, she and Joe had listened to the weather report on the radio while having their morning tea with their dog, Guinness. A storm coming in from the Gulf of Mexico had forced Joe to close the shop until it passed, but Butchy was fine with it regardless. Having the day off gave him time to drive up to the Italian market in the Ponce de Leon neighborhood. With a promise of a paycheck regardless of whether or not they stepped foot into the store during the week, Butchy chatted with Marlene for a while before wishing her and her husband a good day and returning to his still-sleeping wife.

If she wasn’t too sore to move by the time she got up, Mick would be spending her day at Big Momma’s, waiting tables until the local vocational high school let out at noon and the teenage staff could take over for the afternoon, but being able to stay with her just a little while longer was an opportunity Butchy refused to pass up. Sadly, their time together didn’t last nearly as long as they wanted it to, as the phone rang once more a little over an hour later, and Butchy was forced to answer.

“Hello,” he spoke into the phone. “Bandoni residence.”

“Butch, it’s me,” a soft, somewhat groggy voice spoke on the other end of the line. 

Sitting up and smiling apologetically at his wife, Butchy swung his legs over the side of the bed and asked, “Something wrong, Miles? You never call this early. Is Ben alright?”

“Oh, no, he’s fine, man. Thanks, though. It’s just…” A heavy metal clang rattled on the other end of the call, and Miles sighed heavily, “This piece of shit won’t start and I’m supposed to bring Vivien to the school today. I was supposed to fill out paperwork for her to be able to attend this week.”

Taking in a breath, Butchy turned slightly toward Mick who had slowly sat up upon his mentioning of who was on the other end of the line. Raising an eyebrow in confusion as he met his wife’s curious gaze, Butchy slowly asked, “Let me get this straight. Vivien came all this way for spring break, only to ask to go to school?”

Mick let out a soft snort, not surprised in the slightest. Sending his wife an amused grin, Butchy shook his head fondly. With a sigh, Miles replied, “Yeah, I was confused too, but she wants to meet the boys’ friends and thinks it’ll be fun. Is there any way you can swing by and pick us up? We have to be there for seven. I’ll give you-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Butchy cut off, his tone daring Miles to offer gas money. “I’ll be there. Make sure you have everything they told you to bring, and double check that the little rugrat isn’t sick before you bring her to school. I’d hate for everyone else to suddenly get the great idea that going to school is more fun than spring break.”

“I can hear you, you dick!” Vivien called with a laugh, letting Butchy know she wasn’t bothered by his remark.

Laughing over the line, Butchy remarked, “Love you too, piccola.”

“I still don’t know what that means, but I’m not a fucking flute!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a piccol-o, but-” Miles let out a laugh he poorly disguised as a cough, “She’s, uh, she’s flipping you off, Butch.”

“I’m shakin’ in my boots,” Butchy teased, earning him a dramatic scoff from the young brunette on the other end as he envisioned her rolling her eyes, that half-tilted grin of hers plastered on her face as she walked away. “Anyway, I’ll be there. See you guys in a few.”

“Thanks, man,” Miles breathed.

“Always.”

As her husband set the phone back on the hook, Mick slid out from under the blankets and wrapped her arms around Butchy’s waist, pressing her front to his back with a sigh. “So much for that massage you promised me last night,” she huffed as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

Placing his larger hands atop the ones on his abdomen, Butchy lightly kissed her cheek and offered, “Rain check?” Seeing her dejected pout as he turned slightly in her arms, Butchy cupped her cheek in his hand and suggested, “Lela’s going to Cheech’s tonight. The second you get off of work, I’ll make it up to you; I promise.”

With a reluctant nod, Mick allowed him to stand as she knelt on the bed, peering up at him with a look in her eyes that he knew all too well. Pulling him into a kiss, she breathed against his lips, “Me and my new babydoll will be waiting.”

Groaning huskily, Butchy allowed her to pull him in once more, sealing her promise with a kiss that had him debating whether or not he had the time to give her something, anything before he had to leave. Then, to his dismay, she pulled away, sitting back on her feet with a smug grin as she drank in his expression. Coming back to his senses, Butchy pointed a finger at her and lightly tapped the tip of her nose as he let out a breathy chuckle, “Not fair.”

Licking her lips, Mick smirked, “Consider us even. I’ll be looking forward to seeing how you manage to make this up to me.”

Leaning back down to her height, Butchy braced himself on the mattress and asked, “Have I ever told you how grateful I am that I married you?”

“A few times,” Mick replied in a breath. Lightly kissing him once more, she carded her fingers through his hair and said, “Now get going. Our siblings need you.”

Butchy let out a grumbling complaint before grabbing a pair of jeans from the laundry basket he had tossed onto the dresser the night before and taking a shirt from the closet, quickly getting dressed while his mind was occupied with anything other than the woman wearing nothing but a smile and one of his old shirts, sitting in his bed, waiting for him to return. No… it was their bed now, not just his.

It was nice to finally be able to say that.

After kissing his wife goodbye, Butchy left the room, closing the door behind him. Stepping over a shirt that he knew Mick would be upset had stayed in a crumpled mess on the floor all night, he realized just how quickly things had gotten heated the night before. There was no rhyme or reason to it, either, as far as he could remember. They made tiramisu after dinner, she sprayed him with whipped cream, and, well… everything else was a bit of a blur. Not that he was complaining, but still, he would have to clean up the mess they had left when he got home.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

How do you go about writing your fan fictions? I personally kind of just go for it, but I end up loosing the flow and it gets all jumbled up and doesn’t really make any sense.I’ve noticed in a few of your sneak-peaks sometimes your writing is written like a script, or they are random short snippets.

I’m hoping to fix the flow of my writing, and not loose motivation as quickly.

I also usually just start writing. For the most part what I publish is almost exactly what I wrote for my rough draft with just some grammar/spelling edited (if I remember to bother with it before just throwing it up, or if I'm not practically falling asleep before I publish it).

The screenshots that are snippets are taken from scenes that are already fully written, then I just decide on a paragraph or two that I think get the idea across most clearly. The screenshots of writing that looks like it's formatted like a script are probably specifically from my Data Leak WIP, where I'm showing text messages from the characters! That's a way to represent those texts stylistically, and not how I typically write/draft.

When you guys see anything with bullet points, that's my outlining process. Normally that happens after I've already written a chunk of the story and determine I need some of those notes to make sure I don't forget about elements that I was foreshadowing just in case I step away for a while. For example, here is the chapter summary/outline for chapter 3 of Dalliance:

I knew this one was going on the WIP rotation so I wrote down everything I remembered wanted to be in that scene so I had a play-by-play when I got back to it. If you struggle with maintaining motivation for projects, then outlining with a full chapter summary can help ensure that you remember where you wanted to go in case you take a step back for a while.

But if I know I'm doing something in a bigger chunk I don't bother with that and only make short notes. For the Pet!Shifter Dabi story, this is all I have for my outline:

It's just the bare minimum of notes, but they act as anchor points for my story. These are three scenes that I want to hit, anything around these scenes can change or be adapted, even these scenes themselves can be adjusted, it all just depends on what the narrative is doing once I get deeper into the writing. If you're struggling with your flow becoming incoherent, then setting anchor points in a loose outline can help with this. You can always look at the point you are aiming on getting to, look at your current trajectory and adjust accordingly. Sometimes you might notice that the original plan isn't working anymore, that's okay too, as long as you can replace the point you were originally going to with one that is as concrete/makes just as much sense, then making that change can help your story grow.

As far as losing motivation goes, it really, genuinely does help to share your work with a few people/online who motivate you to keep going. I know that when I was in college I was writing at a similar rate as I am now because I was working on my degree. However, once I left, I slowed down a lot until I finally started posting again over the last year. If you have other writer friends then sharing with them can be a great way to keep going!

And for anyone wondering why I'm working in Comic Sans: No joke, writing in Comic Sans can genuinely help you to write faster/not be as precious with your work. And I'm writing on green with gray text because it helps me with my eyestrain after spending so much time on my computer for writing and work!

I hope this can help, but everyone writes in very different ways, and it really, genuinely can take a while to figure out what works best for you! Good luck, you've got this!

[16woodsequ]

(For the writers truth and dare ask game)

I was unsure how many I could pick so I chose two, 🍓 because I’m genuinely curious and 🍦for the fun of it!

Also excuse me for not interacting as much as I usually do, but now I’m back :)

(From this ask game)

Thanks for the ask! I always love them :D

🍓 how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

Oh that's something I haven't thought about in a while! Okay, so my first introduction to fandom was through DeviantArt. I grew up on transformers and went looking for cool fanart. I found some but couldn't comment without an account, so I made my first fandom account. I wasn't planning to post anything, but a stranger followed my empty blog and sent me an encouraging note saying they couldn't wait to see what I did. (I still think of them, we never became mutuals or anything, it was like they were a benevolent fairy godmother telling me to create, and then I never saw them again, but I owe them a lot!)

So I posted a few drawings and followed a bunch of people and groups on DA. I began reading fanfiction there. But I still never even thought to post my own work at the time.

But circa 2014 I am very invested in reading fic and I have a favourite Transformer character (Starscream) whom I have created an entire backstory for (sparked by a take I didn't agree with in a fic). I'm deep into mentally writing stories, with my own Mary Sues and everything. It's my daily pass-time, daydreaming these stories and meta.

It still doesn't occur to me to write any of these until one day I'm watching The Hobbit, and Ed Sheran's I See Fire plays and hits me like a lightning bolt. This song is perfect for my fav character!! Someone's got to have written about it, right???

So I scour fanfiction sites (I can't remember if I'd started reading on Ao3 yet, but I'd definitely been on FNN) but No One had written this Very Niche idea???

And that's when the concept of writing my own fic started. I just had too. The idea was too good. So my first fic was a song fic writing on the DA STASH program (not even Word lol. This thing didn't even have a word count, and my editing process was to read the wip backwards word for word, searching for misspellings or other typos).

And after that I suddenly realised that if I wanted people to see my fav character in the same light I did, I had to write it. And so it began.

I eventually started posting on FNN, and then in 2016 on Ao3. My first Marvel fic followed a similar process where I got an idea and it was just too good and people needed to know about it, so Lessons Learned was written on STASH. (I think around then I finally moved to Word XD). I still have an old account on DA, but I haven't been active on it in many years. It does hold a special place in my heart for being the place I started learning about fandom and writing in though.

So I guess I started writing fanfic because no one seemed to be writing my stories, and I had Opinions that needed to be shown.

🍦 name three good things about a character you hate

Oh geez, lemme think.

Quickest name comes to mind is Rumlow. But that's in a Love to hate situation. I know some people like to redeem Rumlow, but I love how he can shorthand so easily as just the worst guy you know.

He's just the worst (positive). No matter what AU you're reading you know any character named Rumlow is going to be the worst scum ever.

I mean, I've heard about what it's like to live with large, bad burns. So good for him for making it through the acute period and living with it I guess.

Kind of ties in to the first point, but there's not much he wouldn't believably do. You want an unhinged bad guy? Rumlow will help you out. Does he have morals or did he lose them with the burns? Your choice writer! He's up for anything.

Hope you enjoyed the ask! Oh and don't feel bad at all about engagement! I know how life can get sometimes and I'm not ever going to get mad for something like that.

[egg-node]

7, 17, 18?

HELLO THERE

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

i like the editing phase a lot genuinely. once there's a Very Very Rough Draft down, ideally i spend ten million years spitballing new things to add that improve the og draft. whenever i come up with something that i think is a nice detail it makes me go :D!! most of the things in my writing that i would point out to people if they'd let me were added post first draft

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

answered here

last one's under the cut

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

it has been ten million years since i last looked at this piece! but! i think i'm still happiest with this out of any i've written so far (because i did get that ten million year editing period)

It should be chaotic. And it is–there are weapons flashing and bodies pressing and falling around them. The smell of blood and grass trampled underfoot. A distinct hum–a feeling more than a sound–before a spell is launched. It should be chaotic, distracting; too much. 

But instead, it’s easy. It’s so easy. There’s a rhythm here too.

Their sword against another. Metal singing in the air. The moment before an opening, the way time compresses down to an instant. Striking. Again. Again. A quick flick gets the viscera off their sword. Magic washes over them; cuts they didn’t realize they had stitch back numb. 

As natural as a heartbeat, if they had one. As easy as breathing.

this was a memory my dnd character, relic (warforged fighter), has, and is reliving a little as they try to make it through their long rest without giving into their need to move. they have (relatively) recently woken up after a several-centuries long nap (read: was supposed to die, but instead woke up much later) and is readjusting to the new time period (read: was made for war, and fought in the war, and is now in an era of peace, trying to learn in strixhaven).

they have some issue staying still now due to the fact that they woke up, and was covered in plant life, and rust, and could not move until they were found. this is an issue given that warforged's long rest is a period of six hours under which they are immobile, but conscious the entire way (and was the premise of this fic).

aside from this excerpt, i tried to make their narration feels very stilted, and kind of dead. i was very particular about not using literary devices like similes or metaphors etc etc. but here when they relive this battle, and the feeling of combat, i let it become a little more natural. used 'metal singing' and 'magic washes' - a bit more artistic than they would otherwise use.

the idea behind this was to make it clear that this was where relic was most comfortable, and arguably the last time they felt content. they knew what they were doing, back before they "died". and they were good at it, too. even now, at strixhaven, combat remains the easiest thing for them, and the only time where they feel even a little at ease.

that was one of the details i was proud of in this piece. the "omitting literary devices or artistic language purposefully, and then deciding where to put an exception." that was neat

thanks for the ask! twas nice to revisit this one, and it's nice that i still feel like it stands well enough even after time has passed

[novemberdevils]

The chapter hello????? Perfect I meed more but unfortunately you will have to wait for my commentary until after I finish my holiday and get back to my apartment but for now please know that my two friends have banned me from talking because I kept them awake with screaming and talking about the chapter.

Also I was reading back some of my comments and how do even understand what im saying like spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes, and vocabulary mistakes I admire you for truing to read it and making sense of my unreadable words.

I want you to yap because I love your yapping so I will ask from the ask game:

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?(Do it from this chapter only since you were already asked once)

🦋 Which character is your favorite to write?

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

i'm glad you liked the chapter!! it kicked my ass lol but when is writing not kicking my ass tbh. what a wonderful hobby i choose to have. and i will be fr sometimes i am making a guess based on context but for the most part i find it pretty comprehensible don't sell yourself short

and. ask game answers. yippee!

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

this question is always so hard bc as i'm writing/proofreading/editing i'll be like "omg i love this line i'm such a genius" but then when asked for a line i like suddenly i have never written anything in my life and i have no idea what even exists 😭 i'll rock w this line i don't know if it's my all-time favorite lol but i like this one. i am spoiled in the fact that i do generally like my own writing <3

It makes Jack a little desperate. He would swear that Nico is hiding something, but he doesn’t know what, and he can’t stand it. He wants to press him for it, push at the spaces between his ribs until he gives, until it all seeps out of him.

okay stupid tangenet - in my process of skimming ch5 to find a line i was reminded of luke's glass of water and the melting ice in like the first scene of the chapter and seriously what is my problem with glasses of ice water. this probably doesn't actually mean anything to Any of you bc that was a problem i had about 3 ao3 accounts ago but i know what my writing looks like and i fucking love a glass of ice water for some reason... i should make a really useless list about that

🦋 Which character is your favorite to write?

i do like writing both jack and nico (both in terms of inertia specifically, but also just in general) because i don't know. i mean that's probably why i can get away with letting myself write so much of the two of them lol i do genuinely enjoy it -- but i tend to gravitate towards writing jack as the pov character for. reasons. i have literally Always done this since forever it's really easy to tell which half of a pairing i am personally more attracted to, and it's the character i don't write the pov of 😭😭 because then i can make vague claims about how hot the other non-pov character is. inertia is a bad example of this because jack is in Denial but the logic still applies

inertia is also arguably jack pov for plot reasons but that's lame i mostly just think nico hischier is hot

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

uh. i am going to answer this as inertia-specifically because that's really all i've been writing as of late anyways lmao so! both jack and nico are tough to write at times, jack because he's an unreliable mess who is always in denial about everything all of the goddamn time, and nico more so because i can only let so much about him on in the interest of the story as it stands. and let me tell you. it is a wee bit difficult to write a character that the narrator is consistently misunderstanding and misrepresenting in their perception... like the idea of nico that jack has in his head isn't completely inaccurate but he's definitely making shit up. seeing things that are not there. rip

i also find quinn kind of hard to write. i don't know why i just do 😭 a lot of my struggling arguably does stem from having to write the character from jack's fucked-up lens but also i'm the one who created the fucked-up lens to begin with so who else is there to blame. i dig my grave now i must lie in it. like i didn't just say i like writing jack's character I DO he is just Also a mess, which makes him both a lot of fun to write and also kind of difficult. but not difficult in a bad way. just. difficult

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

literally any kind of fanart in any capacity will always make me so ridiculously happy BUT! i know that is a cop-out answer. so i will elaborate. for one, obviously any scene from inertia would be spectacular and amazing -- but that is the same cop-out as last time. so. before i even posted the first chapter of this fic i nearly commissioned just like a scene of nico on the podium getting champagne sprayed then i told myself to save my money. when i was writing the last scene for spain i kept imagining a drawing where like. not explicitly nsfw (even though the scene is) but like you can Tell what's going on but it cuts off like around jack's shoulders when he's on his knees, focus point being their different race suits and also the position. this one is stupid detailed because i was considering trying to draw it myself but my visual art skills are incredibly sub-par

basic answer though. pretty much Any podium scene would be music to my. eyes. maybe monaco? i'm gonna imagine more art of later scenes in my brain a good post-championship pose and some fireworks... but that is what we in the business would call a Spoiler

fanfic writer ask game

[girlwiththenegantattoo]

Let Me Help You

So I got this idea from a Golden Girl episode where Rose (RIP Betty White) is addicted to pain killers and the girls stay up with her throughout the night. 

This is the first thing I've written where it literally feels like a bunch of "and thens" but I already went through all the trouble of editing and posting.

Warnings: Smut and mention of drug use/addiction

Tagging @plainlo-inthemorning and @everythingbutresolved

“The bishop may move as many squares diagonally as you wish, so long as it is not blocked by another piece."

"I heard what you said but it doesn't make any sense" you snapped feeling instantly guilty for doing so. Letting out a quiet grunt you all but slammed your elbow on the table and buried your hands in your hair. This wasn't working and you were only 2 hours in.

You just have to make it until the morning.

"What's troubling you, my child?"

Father Paul asked as he sat down next to you at the end of the only pier in Crockett Island. How he came to find you in that particular spot had surprised you. Especially because you went there to be left alone. If you truly had to guess you’d guess it was Struge. The man looked burly and intimidating but was a devout follower and a regular at St Patrick's. He probably alerted the local priest as he watched you make your way to the pier, by yourself, for the 8 consecutive day. Though such an act can be seen as a healthy, daily routine, you were sure it was the staying for hours on in that had brought the most attention to you. Knowing very little about Father Paul you were hesitant to speak, even if deep down you were appreciative of someone lending their ear and knowing they wouldn’t cast judgement.

"Have you ever...struggled...with something and people look down on you for it? You eventually asked.

Father Paul thought for a moment before he spoke. "Maybe they aren't looking down on you. Maybe they are just worried."

"Even if it's not hurting anyone?"

"It could be hurting you." Father Paul replied, his gaze still fixed forward, onto the water when you turned your head to look at him.

"Yea well I don't think that's an issue."

That day he'd offered to have NA meetings with you. Although he wasn't sure what all went into them he could easily find out. Plus, he was already doing AA meetings with Reilly and surely it couldn't be much different. At the time you scoffed at the idea, because unlike Reilly you hadn't done anything to affect others life and you figured it was just your paranoia that made you feel like you were drawing people’s attention to your 'habit'. Although, your lethargic speech and lopsided smiles were surely enough to draw some suspicion.

When you heard his second idea you thought it was more absurd then the first. He had suggested that you could stay over for a night. Being at the rectory would offer you less temptations than your home and would be strictly used to keep an eye on you. The small space would give the perfect opportunity to speak with him while distracting yourself from the outside world.

"I don't do the Bible thing. I'm mad at a-lot of people in my life and he is at the top of the list."

Father Paul nodded in genuine understanding and made a mental note to come back to that on a different day. He continued to intently look at you, waiting patiently to hear, what you were now sure he knew, was another excuse.

Why you agreed to any of it was currently, completely last on you. Two hours into what was to be the longest night of your life and your withdrawal symptoms had already started before you knocked on his door. Paul promised you that you would just have to make it through the night and after that everything would be downhill.

Bouncing your knee up and down under the table you finally looked up to see Father Paul looking at you in sympathy.

"We can do something else if you'd like.

How was he being this calm?

You had chills, body aches and an irritation level that was through the roof. You had offered him nothing but impatience and anger since you arrived, even being downright crass. Yet he sat by waiting attentively. Willing to do whatever he could to help.

Your chair made a loud scraping noise against the wooden floor as you quickly stood up.

"I can't do this...I mean I'm fine really. I gave you my medication so I'm just going to go home."

As you headed for the front door Father Paul spoke. "You know if you leave this will never stop."

You knew he was right, but that fact wouldn't help your discomfort end any sooner. Turning the brass doorknob Paul spoke again, this time his voice was more assertive.

"Y/n"

Father Paul hadn't known what came over him in that moment, but he did know he promised that he would help you and he was going to make sure he followed through.

"I want you to go sit down on the couch."

You had every chance to turn the doorknob, step outside and make your marry way back to your home but there was something about Paul's sudden change in demeanor that transfixed you to your spot.

Your eyes never left each other as Father Paul stood by the small table and watched you take your seat. Walking over to stand in front of you he made sure that he had your full attention.

"I told you I'd help you. So please...Let me help you."

Although his voice and demeanor had changed to something softer now there was a darkness that looked to be clawing its way forth. Father Paul sat down to the right of you, his knees touching yours. Taking his right hand, he gently caressed your cheek and turned your head to face him.

"I think I know what you need. What you really need, but I want to hear you say the words"

The man constant change of demeanor was starting to severally confuse you, yet you knew exactly what he was asking. You hadn’t had the energy to weigh the pros and cons, but since he told you to stay, you hadn't thought once about any of your withdrawal symptoms.

Opening your dry lips, you softly said "I want you to help me, Father."

It was eerily quiet before Father Paul let out a relieved sigh, suddenly crashing his lips into yours.

Opening your mouth to grant him access, your tongues danced together as his frenzied hands worked to find the bottom of your shirt when he abruptly stopped. Looking over the couch he gestured to his bedroom.

"Let's make you more comfortable."

You followed him to the room where all you could hear was your own heartbeat. He stopped and stood next to his patchwork covered bed, his hand reaching out for yours.

"Lay down for me, will you? I'm going to take all of your pain away." He whispered against your ear sending a shiver up your spine. Slowly following his command, you awkwardly laid in the middle of the bed. You watched in complete aw as Father Paul remove his clerical collar while deft fingers undid each button on his black shirt. Tugging the bottom out from under where he kept it tucked in his jeans, he pulled at his cuffs to remove it from his arms and off his body. His mahogany brown eyes were now blow wide lust, something of which you had never seen before.

"Forgive me Father, for I am about to sin."

The bed dipped as he placed one knee on the right side of your body, swinging the other over you and straddling your upper thighs. His large frame on top of making you feel caged in, but only in the most wonderful way. His lips collided with yours again, becoming madly intoxicating as you wondered how many times he's done this before. Trailing his lips from your mouth to your neck, Father Paul used a finger to pull down your shirts collar so he could run his mouth over the smooth skin of your clavicle.

"Let's get this out of the way, hmm."

It hadn't been a question; however, you weren’t sure you would be able to answer him regardless.

Father Paul all but ripped the thin material of your shirt up and off your body before sitting back and studying you. His features now looked animalistic, a predator waiting to jump on his prey. All signs of the faithful, caring man were now long gone. Running both hands up your torso his thumbs traced the outline of your rib cage before reaching behind you to undo your bra. Even though you still wore your tattered jeans you now felt so exposed.

Moving down to your legs he made quick work of your button and zipper, sliding off your pants. Bringing his focus back to your face his brows furrowed. While he had been distracted with your lower half, you'd covered your breast with your left forearm and hand.

"There is no need to hide yourself. You are absolutely perfect as you are." Father Paul's tone was soft and genuine leaving no room for you to feel like he was lying. As you hesitantly removed your arm, he lowered himself over your chest and ran his tongue over one of your peaked nipples.

A low moan crawled out from your throat as your back shot up from the mattress and you arched your body into his. Lifting his head Father Paul palmed your other breast, softly tugging and rolling the other harden nipple between his fingers. The way you were writher underneath him was something he hoped he would always remember.

"You're so responsive for me y/n"

Moving back up to your lips Father Paul began to undo his belt, the metallic jiggle of the material setting your core on fire. You reached down to cup the erection that sat painfully confined behind his jeans when he pulled away from you again and slowly shook his head. "This is not about me. I want you to lay back and let me take care of you." Paul hadn't missed the slight look of disappointment that covered you face.

Wasting no time, he ran a finger over the cotton materiel that covered the junction of your legs causing you to let out a gasp.

"Is that it?

He sounded as if he was fighting a battle inside his head. A side wanting to completely destroy you and the other wanting nothing but to make you truly feel loved.

Removing your last article of clothing Father Paul's long fingers exploded your fold. "So wet too" he all but growled working the pads of his fingers over your sensitive bud. Very few words were needed as he went off your body’s reactions of each touch. Using two fingers he circled your opening before working them inside and setting a gentle pace. You weren't sure if it was the care Father Paul was putting into his ministrations or if he was just finding the perfect spot, but you were beginning to come undone and fast.

"I can feel you holding back, just let go" he whispered while speeding up his movements. Your hips bucked on their own accord and your body convulsed with a loud cry that was ripped from you.

"I know, Angel." Paul soothed as he slowed his fingers. Riding you through your high he then pulled his fingers from you and gave you another fervent kiss. Sitting back on his knees, frantic hands undid his jeans button and zipper, hastily pulling them and his briefs down to his lower thigh. The sheer size of him had caught you off guard but you hadn't had time to stare for he was laying back down between your legs.

Resting a hand on the side of your head Paul used his other to caress your cheek. "Are you ready?" Biting your lip, you eagerly shook your head as you watched him trail his hand down your body and grab his shaft. With one swift thrust of his hips, he had buried himself to the hilt as his body began to tremble.

"Is this, ok? It's not too much is it?" He rushed as he opened his eyes to intently search yours.

"I'm ok...please...don’t stop."

There was something that switched in him again as his facial expression intensified. When he finally moved, he drew his hips back and slammed them into you. His movements were fast and rough and the grunt that fell from his lips were turning into growls. The bed creaked with every harsh contact of your hips, sending you inching up the mattress. His touches felt like they were everywhere all at once. Grabbing ahold of his back, you felt his muscles flex divinely under your hands.

"I’m close" he uttered almost embarrassingly, his lips leaving yours only long enough to speak. You hadn’t expected for him to last long in the beginning, and you wanted to let him know that it was ok. Taking both of your legs you wrapped them around his hips using your calves to push him further into your heat. It only took 3 more thrust after that before he came with a guttural moan, his hips coming to a stuttering stop.

There were many things that happened that night that you've never experienced before however, the way Father Paul looked into your eyes at that exact moment, was an experience that you were positive, you would never get anywhere else. Father Paul collapsed down beside you and pulled you to his chest. The fast beating of his heart was all you cared to listen to as you both tried to catch your breath. He had returned to his gentle nature, combing your hair out of your forehead and behind your ear. Rubbing the arm you slung over his stomach he let out a quiet single laugh.

"Hmm?" You hummed basking in the aftermath bliss.

"Look out the window," he whispered into your hair. As you lifted your head, a smile covered your lips. Just past the little 4 pane window with the small white curtains that hung above, you could see the sun rising from behind the clouds.

You had made it and he helped you every step of the way

[lilliths-not-just-httyd-blog]

Hi I have an odd question I’ve recently decided to get back into my old personal Viggo lives comic: “Beyond the Horizon” after seeing/reading other’s rtte art, theories, fics, and head canons on it (tbh your VLAU fic was definitely the kicker that made me want to get back into my comic) but I don’t want to seem like I’m copying or stealing ideas so I was wondering if you had any alternate names for Viggo’s Skrill (also some writing tips would be very helpful since I’m very rusty ;-;)

i mean

this is how i named viggo's skrill to begin with. just a random fucking chapter of a fic i started in early 2022 and abandoned until recently. i justified my choice of name because this bitch from black butler is also called beast and i think she's hot

in VLAU that story viggo referenced liking as a child about the boy with the magic eye was a reference to black butler i shit you not. i don't even like black butler anymore i haven't watched it in years and don't plan on watching it again any time soon.

i find using the Wings of Fire format of names really helps when naming dragons. lets look at the character names in WoF: Clay, Sunny, Starflight, Tsunami, Glory, Moonwatcher, Kinkajou, Deathbringer, Winter, Peril, Quibli and Turtle are some of the significant ones. go for something weather/sky/space themed for a skrill. just like that. combine weirder shit for the viking feel like hookfang or stormfly. but then you've also got like skullcrusher and cloudjumper so it's good. and then just words like barf, belch, toothless and grump so that works. steal the name Thunder from NR out of spite.

you can also search for old norse words that we're aware of and just find one that sounds like a name with a nice meaning if you want to be fancy and preppy.

another way i like to do it is steal species names from the httyd books like i'll just open up my copy of the incomplete book of dragons until i find something nice like... stickyworm? no... vorpent? no... toxic nightshade... NIGHTSHADE that would be a good name for a skrill you can use that if you want. doomfang seems like more of a dagur name than a viggo name but thats still a bangin skrill name.

and uhhh writing tips uhhhhh. i mean i don't got nothing tbh. be as self indulgent as you want. not everything has to live up to the standards of Scholars Mate and Choosing to Forget not everything has to be that good. my VLAU is genuinely just 17+(?) chapters of fluff and angst and vigcup being adorable and its just me projecting a bunch of my stupid little OOC headcanons onto my stupid little adhd blorbos. my other fics were either me being angsty, me listening a little too much to the httyd soundtrack, me just fucking daydreaming about random shit, or me going HAHAHAHAHAHA LETS MAKE VIGGO'S LIFE A LIVING HEL. i find inspiration from the most random shit. i took a bath once and when i hopped in my cold little toes burned like fire in the hot water and then i tried this coconut shampoo and now i have an entire WIP based on that one experience. there's no fancy thought or writing process behind it there's no "first drafts" (probably cuz i edit as i go lmao) there's no immaculate planning every little detail of the fic. it's just little magpie me going "oh shiny oh shiny oh shiny oh shiny" and then making a mosaic out of all the shitty pieces of glass i've found and somehow a couple people find the mosaic pretty so i am proud because i worked hard on it. and lemme tell you, writing self indulgent fanfiction where im not trying to please anyone except myself is so much fun like i've literally written about viggo being the twin's cousin and i literally made viggo a soft poetry boi and its just fun. i know some people aren't into that or aren't interested and thats fine they don t have to read it. write for yourself you don't even have to be good at it just do it who cares. thats the best advice i can give. just do whatever the fuck you fucking want

[ghoste-catte]

I was curious what advice would you give to someone new to writing fics? I've been wanting to get back into it but haven't seriously written something since high school. I hope this isn't an annoying question or anything!

Not an annoying question at all! I'm just a little worried that I won't have terribly good or useful advice. To be honest, I also sort of stopped writing in earnest right as I finished high school, and didn't pick it back up until my late 20s. It's certainly an adjustment! But I think the few things that really helped me get back into writing fic as a hobby and something I spend quite a bit of time on would be:

Write for yourself first, then find your other motivations. My original inspiration in getting back into fic writing was that there just were not that many fics I liked for my favorite pairing, and I wanted more of them, and I especially wanted more with the tropes and characterizations I wanted to see. I think at the very core of anything you need that internal spark that drives you. At the same time, for me at least, if I just relied on my own drive, I would not get much done; I need some external guardrails. So having people send prompts, or writing for particular events, or writing stuff for friends really helps me to get my ass in gear and finish stuff. That may not be the perfect motivator for you, and that's fine! You just gotta figure out what is.

Be open to inspiration. Anything and everything can be spun out into a story with the right tweaking. Obviously stuff like music is a classic inspiration source, but I've also pulled ideas from poetry, from memes, from Reddit threads, from YouTube videos, from rambling conversations on Discord and from real life to make fics out of. So many times, someone will post a silly Twitter screencap, and I'll think, There's a fic in this. And a lot of the time, there is! Research is a wonderful thing, but so is serendipity. If you're out there actively looking for ideas, eventually one that you like will stumble past you.

Find your community. I can genuinely say I never would have finished more than one fic if I didn't have fandom friends to talk to about even stupid headcanons, to bounce ideas off of, and to encourage me (and to encourage them in turn!). Discord has been a godsend, and some of my closest online friends are people I met in the GaaLee discord server. As I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've also joined general writing servers and Reddit communities and have found them immensely helpful on both a motivational level (bingos, sprints, owe-me challenges) and on a craft level (plot workshopping and writing ethics and live grammar help). It's a lot easier to think about fic ideas and hash through problem moments when I have a constant stream of fandom-related chatter coming from the little people who live in my phone! Ao3 is an amazing website, and it's great as, well, an archive, but it isn't social media by design. If you want conversation and human connection and cheerleading, you've gotta forge out and find it.

Make it a habit ... If you want to produce anything longer than a couple hundred words, you really have to set aside time for it. And writing is just like knitting or dirt biking or painting little model figurines: the more you do it, the more easily it comes. When I was first getting back into the proper swing of things, I committed myself to 30 minutes of writing per week. Just 30 minutes. I didn't even hit that goal every week, but there were tons of weeks I got on a roll and went over that amount, and by the end of the year I'd written over 200,000 words. I used to spend an hour laboriously tip-tapping out 200 words, but now I can easily blow through 1k in a 50 minute sprint. It's all about training that muscle.

... But don't make it a chore. With fanfic, you aren't doing this as a job, and you aren't ultimately doing it for anyone other than you. That means you can take breaks when you need them, you can set deadlines and then fail to meet them, you can write stuff and then decide to never post it. When you start getting burnt out, when the practice loses the joy and energy, stop. There's no 'hustle' here. In our capitalist society we're so trained to push past our limits and keep going even when it hurts us, but the hobby you do for connection and relaxation and whatever else shouldn't be like that.

Ignore metrics. Sometimes stuff isn't gonna get hits, or kudos, or comments. There are some basic 'rules' as to the stuff that does and doesn't get traction, but every time you post something it's a roll of the dice. If you're focused on watching that kudos counter tick up, you will get bummed out fast. And any writer will tell you that the stuff you think is your best work will never be the stuff that gets the most accolades. So you have to find something else to give you a sense of success. For me, it's watching my wordcount go up in my stats and those occasional comments where someone has a lot to say and that one person who always leaves me a <3 emoji (and, shout out to @egregiousderp, having someone to have long one-on-one conversations with about the stuff that never made it to page).

Don't strive for perfection. It's really easy to want your first ever fic to be a complete showstopper, the best fic fandom has ever seen, hitting all the tropes and the ideas and the characterization that you just know fandom is missing and would be everyone's top favorite if only it was written. This is a trap. No one fic can be all things. Most people who want to write an epic as their very first venture will not see the end of that epic, because they haven't put in the practice hours to make something on that scale work. That's not to say you can't start out with a big, sprawling multichap, just don't expect it to be the greatest thing since sliced bread if you're just starting out, and be okay with abandoning it for greener pastures if you get to that point. Think of the first time someone makes a vase out of clay or bakes a loaf of bread. That's never their best vase or their best bread. If they keep up with it, they'll make more and better vases and loaves. Likewise, your first fic is probably not gonna be your best fic. See it for what it is: your launchpad.

You can't edit an empty page, but you can over-edit a full one. This kind of spins off of #7, but if the words aren't there, you can't fix them. Daydreams and headcanons are fantastic (and god, how many times have I wished for a speech-to-text engine that projected my falling asleep thoughts onto a Google doc for later perusal), but they aren't fic. If you want to write fic, you've gotta get comfortable with the idea of sloppy outlines and rough first drafts. You can't build a house without a frame and you can't build a man without a skeleton (I mean, you can, I guess, but he'd be one floppy man). The nice thing about fic is that it doesn't matter if that frame is structurally unsound or the skeleton has 18 too many bones, you can clean that up in the editing process. But you can't start hanging curtains and arranging furniture in something that doesn't even have walls. That's the process. But! Also know when to set down the editor's pen and say, "Okay, this is good enough for government work", and call it done. ("Done" doesn't have to mean "posted", but it does mean, "I'm done picking at this for now, and I'm gonna go write some more stuff".) Over-editing can make stuff seem laborious and forced, and it prevents you from actually improving. To continue belaboring the house metaphor, you can spend your whole life rearranging furniture in just one room, but the end result of that is a pretty narrow existence and a room with a lot of footprints and tracks in the carpet.

Write shit down. When you have ideas, jot them down--in a notebook, in a Google Doc, in the Notes app of your phone, in pen on the back of your hand. You think you will remember that brilliant line of dialogue or sparkling snippet of narration or genius plot that came to you in a dream, but you Will Not. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down! There have been so many times when a fic was completely saved by past!me having written down my shower thoughts about what happens next in the fic, that present!me had completely forgotten about and was floundering over.

Have fun with it! Try different stuff. Try stupid stuff. Try experimental stuff. Do stuff you've never done before that you aren't sure will work. It's important to get comfortable with your niche (for example, I know I'm never going to be the sort of person who writes intricate plots of intrigue or super long 100k epics or detailed battles), but you can't find that niche unless you explore lots of different niches! Figure out what you love and what you absolutely hate, and then keep doing the stuff you love.

Okay, so that was actually TEN things, but ... I hope you still found this helpful. Feel free to send another ask if any of this was confusing or unclear. Good luck with your fic writing and, if you want, send me a link to what you've written once you've written it! I'd love to read it.

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

So my buddy L...

I kinda forgot how well we get on & how alike we are in a lot of ways. So when we first met via my ex friend (his now ex wife), we got on but apparently unbeknownst to me, he was told to not be so chummy with me. Then I went no contact with the friend & by proxy him. He popped back up about a year ago when they got divorced. Since then, timing has been such that I've mostly only seen him when he has the 3 kids, which understandably makes him a bit more... stressed.

Well this visit started the last night the kids were here, so I spent Friday & the weekend with L. I intended to leave Saturday but... now it's monday.

While he is deeply scattered because of his bonkers level of adhd and I am meticulously organized, beyond that we think alike & have the same kind of humor along with the deadpan delivery. Last night the internet went down & we spent 2-3 hrs just riffing off of each other's bits making each other laugh until we were in tears.

For example, he's a middle school art teacher & was out for all of last week, so yesterday he told me to help him come up with b.s. to tell his students when they asked why he was gone and he wants enough stories that he can tell everyone/class something different. We came up with... he was trapped in a meat freezer for a week & had to live in an igloo of frozen steaks to survive. He fell off a rollercoaster. He got lost in the woods for 4 days and was so dehydrated that he couldn't come back til today. And my personal favorite: that witch in the woods that he knows (me. He actively spreads semi true lore about me to his students. Apparently has been for like... 2 years.) got mad because he trampled some flowers so she turned him into a tree for a week. This one was punctuated by him saying in a very serious tone "Do you have any idea how hard it is to photosynthesize?!"

All deadpan, totally serious delivery.

I'll also say something or hand him something & he'll generally say "Damn it I was about to say that/look for that! How do you get ahead of my thought process?"

Listening to him talk in general is fascinating to me, too. Dude cannot express himself via written word to save his life. He has me proof/edit all his important emails. He's got serious dyslexia so he doesn't read on the reg. But he's really good at articulating verbally & has a vocabulary that rivals mine... all in an extremely thick southern drawl. I can genuinely listen to him talk about shit all day. Hell that's how I spent Saturday & Sunday. At some point he went on a 30 min rant about the Jurassic Park movie series & their lack of stegosaurus representation because they are his favorite dinosaur. (He made good points.)

Dude is so much fun to hang out with when not overly stressed about stuff.

He also doesn't watch stuff outside of specific youtube videos so I made him watch Sandman & Good Omens with me, both of which he loved. And on another trip over here, he was upset so I showed him the celebrity mean tweets from... Jimmy Kimmel? on youtube and he laughed so hard I had to pause between them out of concern for his ability to breathe.

[kaydeefalls]

For the ask meme: The Conspirator's Gift

3, 19, 25

(Also: this got me into Cadfael!)

OH AWESOME! I'm so thrilled to have lured you into my fave comfy mystery series! <3 So: The Conspirator's Gift - my incredibly niche X-Men fusion AU.

3. Any deleted scenes that didn't make it into the fic?

This fucker is over 80k words, does it LOOK like I deleted anything? 🤣In all honesty, though, I don't tend to delete entire scenes once I've written them -- it happens, but it's VERY rare -- mostly because I edit so continuously as I write that I rarely get to a point where a scene needs to be excised wholesale. It just gets reworked. For this fic, the biggest edit I made was swapping an entire character out of the story and replacing her. Moira, in this fic, started out as Rogue (with Moira in a very minor role as her maidservent). I was well over 10k into writing it when I realized that her character just wasn't working the way I wanted, and the subplot of her hiding her own mutation was going to needlessly complicate an already twisty plot (originally, the climactic fight scene was going to end up in Rogue's hands, quite literally). Fortunately, that character had only made a couple of appearances at that point, so it wasn't too difficult to rewrite those scenes, but it did involve a serious tonal shift -- Rogue was a teenager terrified of her own powers, so changing her to be the much more mature, level-headed, nonpowered Moira did make a significant difference. But I think the story worked better for it in the end. It places the responsibility for the villain's downfall squarely on Erik, who is in fact our primary POV character, rather than the Deus Ex Machina of a relatively minor secondary character swooping in at the last minute. (Hilariously, though, the entire reason I chose Remy LeBeau as a central character was due to the Rogue/Gambit comicsverse relationship. But by then I'd worked the whole plot around him, so he stayed.)

19. Did you make any major changes to your fic compared to your original idea?

LOL I answered the last question before reading this one! So, uh, yes, yes I did. I'm still sorry to have lost Rogue as a character, I do love her. That was the only significant change I made while in progress. Um, originally I think I had Sean (Banshee) as the villain, too, because I was trying to stick with XMFC characters, but he just didn't suit the role, he was nixed before I started actually writing anything. Armando's role grew significantly over the course of the fic, to the point where I went back and added in scenes with him earlier on. And while it wasn't a change, exactly, I didn't decide what would happen with Hank/Raven until pretty close to the end of writing it -- there was a good chance he could have ridden off into the sunset with her in the end.

25. Favorite thing about the fic - this is your permission to brag!

Look, writing this fic singlehandedly dragged me out of a 3-year fannish hiatus and I genuinely love it to bits even if only a handful of folks read it. Because when you haven't written anything beyond a handful of short Yuletide fics in three years, you really wanna dive back in with an 80k epic. But seriously, this is one of my favorite fics I've written, it was an enormously fun jigsaw puzzle to combine the X-Men characters with the Cadfael setting/plot, and I'm super happy with how it all turned out. In a very nerdy way, my single favorite thing about the fic is that in 80k words of ensemble cast and multiple POVs, Charles Xavier -- the secondary lead and half of the main damn pairing -- only gets one POV scene in the entire fucking fic, and it's right near the end (the climactic villain reveal). Hard to sustain a mystery when your POV character is a telepath, is what I'm saying. He possesses way too much info to be allowed to narrate. ;)

[nikanndros]

I just want you to know that I think about From Eden at least once a week and I've lost count of how many times I've reread it. If you ever wanna share what comes next amd what other ideas you had for that universe i'm here to listen op 👀

Thank you, I love you! When I first wrote that fic, I had two other parts (at least) that I wanted to go with it, and since they’re partially written I’m happy to share those bits with you:

From Eden Part 2

“It’s just unfair, you know,” the girl said. Her words were slightly slurred. To be fair, they were in a nightclub after midnight. Everyone was slurring. “I was there for him, and I paid his bills while he went through college and now! He has a real job and he dumped me for his secretary.” She started sobbing.

Damen, who was six foot three, strongly built, and also carrying a loaded weapon, took her hands and made a sympathetic noise. “Lykaios,” he said, because he --unlike Laurent-- had actually listened when she’d introduced herself. “I think the best thing for you now is to forget about him. He didn’t deserve you.”

Lykaios sniffled. “You think so?”

“Of course I do,” Damen said. “I’ve only known you for a few minutes and I already can see that you’re incredible. Right, babe?”

“Right,” Laurent deadpanned. He glanced at his watch. “It’s quarter to.”

Damen nodded. Still holding Lykaios’ hands, he turned to Laurent. “Security?”

“Just the two.”

“Great.” He looked back to Lykaois. “Listen, doll, we’ve got to get down to business, but I want you to remember what I said, okay? You’re worth a lot more than that guy gave you.  And your mascara is running a little. Maybe you should go fix it up in the bathroom and wipe your tears?”

“Okay,” Lykaois sniffed. “Thank you.” She left.

Damen gave Laurent a grin, the crooked, teeth-baring one that appeared whenever they were about to do a job. “Ready?”

“You never call me doll.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Try it sometime and see.”

Damen yanked him in by the jacket and kissed him, slowly and bordering on indecent. “Alright,” he said, after he pulled back. “Show time.”

As Damen disappeared into the crowd, Laurent grasped his --still full-- drink, turned, and threw its contents at the roughest looking guy in the place.

“Hey, what the hell?” The guy squared his shoulders; he was intimidating even covered in lemonade.

“Fuck you,” Laurent replied. 

At this point, three months of travelling and stealing and, most importantly, Damen, Laurent had become pretty efficient at inciting fights. He didn’t need to see the punch coming to know that it was, he just sidestepped and let the man stumble into the back of another patron. It took less than thirty seconds before half the clientele were involved in an all out brawl.

The two security guards rushed in, and were immediately overwhelmed enough that the only bartender -- a youngish lad with a crooked nose -- had to join in to get everything under control. Laurent punched him.

Eventually, the fight got calmed down enough for fingers to point to Laurent and the lemonade clad man as the inciters, and guards hauled them both out into the parking lot.

“Let me go!” Lemonade guy yelled. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

“You can try,” Laurent said, a lot more willing to be subdued by the guard that had him by the arms.

“Don’t make us call the police, man,” his guard complained. “The both of you can go your separate ways, come on.”

The door behind them opened. 

“Sweetheart,” Damen said, chidingly. “I step away for two minutes and you get yourself into trouble.”

---

They go back to a motel after this and Damen reveals the money he stole from the tills while Laurent was being a distraction. Sexy times ensue. Damen eventually falls asleep and Laurent stays awake with the tv on. The news comes on and an interview is shown with Lykaios being interviewed about the robbery at the bar -- she gives a completely inaccurate description of what Damen looked like, and Laurent reflects on how easy it is for Damen to charm people to taking his side.

From Eden Part 3

Their most recent car was a much older model. The aircon was busted and they had to wind down the windows themselves, but at least the radio worked. It was hot, despite it being a couple of hours past sunset. 

Damen was singing with the radio. He wasn’t going to win any awards, but his voice was deep and he had a nice enough sense of the music. He grinned at Laurent. He was always happy. It was part of what made him so magnetic. 

Laurent smiled back. After two years with Damen, the expression felt natural.

Except for them, the road was empty. Damen reached over and took Laurent’s hand in his. 

“Watch the road,” Laurent said.

Damen laughed. “But you’re my favourite view.”

“I won’t be happy if you kill us in a car wreck.”

Obediently, Damen looked back to the road. And then, because it was Damen, the car sped up.

Laurent’s hair flew about chaotically, longer than it had ever been when his uncle had been keeping a hand of Laurent’s appearance. It needed a trim, but as much as Laurent trusted Damen, he didn’t trust him to do that. Damen had offered to take him to a salon, somewhere quiet where there was no chance he’d be recognised, but Laurent wasn’t fond of the idea of being trapped in a chair like that. He was too used to freedom by now.

-

“Left here,” Laurent instructed.

They’d had to slow down once the got near the town. It was best to avoid anyone’s attention for as long as possible. (An admittedly difficult feat when traveling with someone like Damen).

They drove a little way past the house, until they found an obscure little dirt road to park down. It wouldn’t do for someone to see the car. They grabbed their things, and looped back to the house on foot.

Quietly, Damen was still singing. 

“Stop it,” Laurent said.

“You love it,” he replied. “This is your birthday present, baby, at least look like you’re having fun.”

“This is literally the worst place we could get caught.”

“No it isn’t,” Damen replied. “I checked out the police station last time I was here. Breaking out of the cells would be too easy.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“There were no lights on when we drove by. No one is home.”

That was true. And they’d timed it perfectly, assuming schedules hadn’t changed in the last two years. The house was silent when they got to it, not a light in sight as promised.

Laurent took a deep breath.

“Chin up,” Damen said. “Let’s go rob your uncle.”

-

The spare key wasn’t where uncle used to keep it, so they went around the back and Damen fucked with the lock until it opened. It was almost hard to walk into the house, full of so many bad memories, except it had never truly been Laurent’s home and he could just tell himself this was another job. 

“The study,” Laurent said, leading the way.

They crept up the stairs together, torches on their lowest settings.

The study was a formidable room with the big, mahogany desk, and the shelves of books that existed solely to make visitors feel stupid. “Look at this,” Laurent said, pulling out one of the books. “War and Peace in Russian. He doesn’t even know Russian.”

Damen reached past him, and nonchalantly, tipped a stack of books off the shelf. They clattered noisily onto the floor. “Oops,” Damen said. He turned away. “Where’s the safe?”

“Under the desk,” Laurent replied. He was busy searching through the books, finding any early editions to pilfer. They’d probably be able to sell them to an antique store for a bit of quick cash. 

Damen worked away at the safe for a bit, guessing potential codes Laurent had told him about. “None of these are working, sweetheart.” The safe made a beeping noise. “Oh, wait. Got it. Wow, he really deserves to be robbed.”

“I’m sure he thought I’d never come back here.”

Damen made a vaguely angry noise. He didn’t like reminders of what had happened to Laurent in this house. He’d even tried to convince Laurent that they could just murder his uncle while they were here. Laurent wasn’t sure he wanted to add cold-blooded murder to their repertoire just yet though. However tempting.

Damen stood up, suddenly. Hands full of Laurent’s uncle’s emergency cash. He grinned.

“Happy birthday - to - you,” he crooned.

Laurent couldn’t help it. He laughed. “I love you, you beautiful fucking bastard.” 

Abandoning the books, Laurent moved in and kissed him. Carefully, Damen put the money down on the desk so that he could cup Laurent’s face in his hands. It was always intoxicating to kiss Damen. There was something about him that made Laurent forget himself until there was only the press of their lips.

“I love you too,” Damen whispered, pulling back a little. He’d stopped smiling; it was a moment of complete genuine emotion. He did that sometimes, always out of the blue, and it always made Laurent want to clutch him tighter and maybe cry. 

“Let’s finish up here,” Laurent said, “and then we can go find somewhere nice and fuck under the stars.”

“You always know just what to say to seduce me,” Damen said.

They bagged the money, and the books Laurent had picked, and then they made their way down the stairs again.

“Wait,” Damen said.

“What?”

“I’m hungry.” He turned into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Oh hey, chocolate.”

Actually, that was an idea. Laurent followed him into the kitchen and went straight for the pretentious temperature controlled wine fridge. “Pinot noir or Shiraz?”

“Whatever is more expensive,” Damen replied. He was adding strawberries and oranges to the bag as well. Cream?”

“It’ll go warm too fast.”

“I feel like we should unplug the fridge before we go, at least,” Damen added. “If you’re still against me putting bleach in the milk.”

“Wouldn’t that make it curdle?”

Damen shrugged. “I don’t know. I had a cement mixer in a bar once but that was lime juice.”

“You can unplug the fridge. If he dies from food poisoning, that’s on him.”

Damen started to look for the cord to the fridge.

“Wait,” Laurent whispered. “Did you hear that?”

They froze, listening.

There it was. The soft sound of the stairs creaking. Fuck. Silently, Laurent gestured towards the back door. Damen nodded. He was carefully reaching over to the knife stand.

“Renaud?” came a small voice.

A young boy, no more than thirteen, stepped into the kitchen. He was wiping at one eye sleepily in a childlike gesture. Less childlike were the bruises on his arms. Laurent knew he and Damen had matching expressions of horror.

The boy’s eyes widened as he took them in. “Who are you?” he said.

Damen’s expression was one of barely concealed fury. He looked at Laurent. “I’m not leaving until that man is in a shallow grave.”

“Don’t scare the boy,” Laurent admonished. He turned to the child and tried to look as non-intimidating as a late-night home invader could possibly look. “What’s your name?”

“Are you Renaud’s friends?” The boy asked.

“No,” Laurent said. “Definitely not. I’m Laurent.”

The boy was frowning. “You used to live here.” 

“Yes.”

“Well,” he straightened up, suddenly hostile. “You’re not allowed to come back. He doesn’t want you anymore; I’m better.”

“Where are your parents?” Damen asked.

“We’re not giving him back to parents who-”

“They’re dead,” the boy said. He didn’t sound upset.

--

The boy is obviously Nicaise. They hear a car in the driveway and Laurent locks Nicaise in the pantry. Laurent’s protective instinct rears up and he insists they kill the uncle now. Damen is fully down for it. Murder ensues. They let Nicaise out and keep him away from finding out that the uncle is dead in the next room. They tell Nicaise to pack a back and discuss what to do with him. Damen suggests dropping him off at a hospital or somewhere like that where someone can get help for him (since they can’t exactly go to the cops). 

Nicaise overhears and says that he doesn’t want to have a new foster parent; at least his current one has a big house. Laurent hearing that feels too wary to risk Nicaise getting another bad household. Damen is like, well I guess we can keep him if you want??? Laurent agrees. They go get in the car and drive away. 

-

Anyway this AU was directly inspired by the film clip for Hozier’s ‘From Eden’, you should watch it bc that’s the story I intended to write