#god i have to sit down and work on my rewrites again because I started thinking about this again now I'm pissed

[aberooski]

Do I need to have a talk with Japan about all the Atticus erasure that's been going on for nearly 20 years, literally since season 2? Because quite frankly it's unacceptable and I'm sick of it.

[arolesbianism]

I've been digging up some one of my most neglected stories recently and I'm finally actually developing the rest of the cast after like what? 7 or 8 years or smth? I genuinely don't know when I first thought up Lace but she's been floating at the edge of my mind since then as my token true timeloop guy as opposed to Butters who doesn't rly count because the quote unquote timeloop was entirely within their control and only was a continuous loop because they kept consciously trying again and again. Lace on the other hand. Legitimately 100% powerless in her timeloop situation, as in there was quite literally Nothing she could do to end the loops herself. Some gods just threw her in a 50 year timeloop without even doing the bare minimum of telling her first and she just sorta had to live with that until it from her perspective abruptly stopped leaving her to deal with the fallout of everything she went through now that she's suddenly being forced to live a real life again. And as fun as all of that is it has been very stagnated for years because there is in fact a story and world that exists outside of and around this one plot that matter quite a bit and that I have been refusing to properly work on until now lol.

[disneyprincemuke]

fly on the wall * fem!driver

she crashes in her third race of her f1 career, but she's more concerned about its repercussions than the concussion

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, lewis hamilton x fem!reader

warnings: crashing the car

notes: ooooh my god i had to rewrite this 5 times because it wasn't up to my liking initially, and then tumblr was having some issues saving my shit so i lost it?? it's very sad fr

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

"are you alright?" sebastian's voice comes onto the radio.

his eyes are trained on the big screen, cameras focused on the car parked into the wall out of a turn. he couldn't get an answer out of his driver so he had to resort to the third party.

if his assumptions are correct, she would have hit her head on her seat hard at impact. but things like that can lead to so many bigger things that he might not even be prepared for. 

her vision slowly returns, blacking out for a mere second as the car went into the barriers of the baku track.

she had issues with her brakes for a few laps. sebastian had suggested retiring the car if she didn't feel safe, but she pressed on. the issue didn't seem so serious and it seemed manageable.

at first. 

it's a driver error - missing the early braking point to accommodate her already tweaking brakes. she missed it by a millisecond, clipped the wall and got sent straight into the wall.

she sighs, pressing the button on her steering wheel. "i'm okay," she answers shakily, tears now filling her eyes.

"okay, that's the important part. don't think about anything else. i'll see you in the medical centre." sebastian is quick to shut her thoughts down, clearly prioritising her wellbeing and not the car.

"i'm sorry," she sighs, voice shaking and lips quivering. “i’m so sorry, seb.”

this is only her third race in f1, how could she have already crashed out? on a race where she was so close to that podium. it would have been such a monumental moment — a woman on the podium. 

with 20 laps left in the race and her in 5th place, it wasn’t all that far out of reach at the time. yet, here she is causing a yellow flag as she starts to notice the smoke surrounding her. 

"like i said. don't think about anything else."

she sighs to herself as a marshal appears above her halo, greeting her with a soft smile. she nods, letting herself get helped out of her car.

but only one thought eats away at her: she crashed on her third race. what's everyone going to say about her now?

“let me talk,” sebastian sighs, hands up in the air as he tries to calm the girl sitting on the examination bed. he’s barely able to get a word in.

she’s slouched against the wall, purple balaclava in her hands as she traces the thread that holds it together at the hem. the minute he walked in, she looked up immediately with tears in her eyes and a string of apologies.

it hasn’t stopped since he poked his head through the door, cutting him off before he could even ask if she’s okay. 

“do you not see the problem?” she shrieks, eyebrows furrowing at sebastian. “i just crashed out! imagine what the media has to say about my performance today? they’re just going to use this as a reason to justify that i shouldn’t be on the track!”

sebastian drops his hands to his side, deciding that he’d just let her get it all off her chest. it might make her feel better. 

though, it doesn’t make him feel good that she’s continually talking down on herself. he vouched for her for weeks for a reason, and it’s because he believes in her. more than she does in herself, it seems. 

“i didn’t work my ass off my whole life just to be undermined because i’m a woman!” she tosses the balaclava aside, now picking at the loose skin by her fingernails. “i didn’t get this far for everyone to count me out because of one crash! can you fucking believe that shit? it’s a fucking rookie mistake, seb! i’ve been racing for years!”

she drops her hands by her side and groans again, rolling her eyes. “i’ve earned my rightful spot to be where i am! they are not going to care about that!”

sebastian shrugs slightly, overlooked by the infuriated woman across him. he can barely get a breath in before she continues, shutting his mouth immediately as she continues her rampage. 

“imagine the headlines tomorrow! a driver is as good as their last race — i know that! don’t try to sugarcoat it. you know i’m right!” she rambles on, eyes darting all over the room. she’s pushed herself off the wall slightly, clearly flustered over the course of events. 

she avoids sebastian’s eyes, the fear of fully breaking down in front of him prominent. crying over a crash seemed like such a silly thing to do, but there’s no denying how demanding the sport truly is. 

in her short three races in the season and people’s neverending criticism of her abilities, it makes her lie awake at night rethinking her position on the grid. 

following her crash, sebastian hadn’t expected for her to ramble on for this long. he initially thought that the crash would have sent her into a shocking silence, so while her anger is warranted, it was definitely not on his list of things to be ready for. 

“imagine what they have to say about me!” she throws her hands in the air, scratching her head gently. “imagine what they’ll say about you! it’s not going to be good, trust me! i’m a woman in a fucking racing car in a male-dominated sport!”

“hey!” sebastian’s voice bounces in the room, making her lift her head with her eyes narrowed into a glare. 

the sudden movement reminds her of her restrictions, hands coming up to nurse the back of her neck. she feels a sharp pain shoot through her head all the way down to her shoulders. “what?” she hisses, quickly looking down to hide the pain. 

“you literally just crashed head-first into a wall at 250 kilometres per hour! you’re lucky all you got was a concussion and whiplash! it could’ve been worse!”

“if i was lucky, i’d have been able to recover and get on the podium as we discussed! i was already 5th!”

“and you didn’t! that’s okay! you learn from things like these!”

“no, it’s not! i’m already hated as it is!”

“it’s part of the sport! fernando alonso has crashed, lewis has, and so have max and charles! every other big name in formula 1 has had their fair share! you’ll be okay!”

she finally meets sebastian’s eyes, slouching even more as she audibly sighs. he watches her body deflate, leaning back dejectedly. “it’s still different.”

she’s still in her fireproofs. her race suit had to be taken off during her short time with the doctor, hanging on the back of the plastic chair in the small medical room. her helmet sits next to her, underneath the balaclava she’d thrown on top of it. 

her hair is in a loose ponytail with stray hairs poking out and resting on her face. the adrenaline has yet to leave her body, chest heaving as if it’d just been over and beads of sweat still scattered all over her.

“i know it’s different. but everyone else who says whatever isn’t the person behind the wheel, you have to remember that,” he says in a soothing tone, finally coming up to stand next to her. he sighs, putting a hand on top of her head. “and i know it sucks.”

she shakes her head. “no, you don’t. we’re different; our problems are different.”

“the way they used to hate me, and things they say about you are different, yes,” sebastian nods in a low voice, his thumb now tracing circles on her head. “but you still can prove them wrong. you just started driving in formula 1 — you’ll have way more chances to shut them all up.”

“i could’ve already. if i just controlled the car a little better.”

“it’s okay.” he slides himself onto the examination bed, sitting next to her. he intertwines his fingers and rests his hands on his thigh. “everybody crashes at one point in their career.

“let the media say what they want, but not all that criticise you have been in a race before. nobody on that grid thinks you’re lesser than you are just because of what happened today.”

“you don’t know that.”

sebastian just shakes his head, refusing to elaborate any further. he leans back into the wall as well. “oscar is on the way with some snacks for you.”

crashing out during a race is never easy. years before he decided to retire, tapping and crashing out of a race has always been demoralising. it always feels like the first time when he does.

“i don’t need snacks. i need to go back to 4 hours ago when i was still on track for a podium finish in the first half of my rookie season.”

“with your talent, i can assure you that this will not be your only opportunity in formula 1. i will make sure of it, of course. wherever i go, you go.”

the door creaks open, cutting her off before she can throw an answer back as sebastian. “i’ve got your favourite snacks. i also stole a couple of twix bars from your backpack, i hope you don’t mind.”

“well, why’d you take them and still tell me about it knowing i wouldn’t even have given it to you in the first place?” she reaches for the nearest object next to her, yanking it towards oscar by the door. 

“because it was calling my name,” he shrugs, pushing the door fully open to reveal who he’s strung along to the medical centre. 

“i took a packet of haribo,” logan shrugs as he steps in. he flinches when she clenches her fist, scrambling to pull something out of his paper bag. “but i got you a can of sprite to make up for it! don’t be mad!”

her gaze softens when she notices lewis hamilton standing behind her friends, a paper bag hanging on his fingers as he grins at her. 

“how are you, sweetie?” his voice is empathetic and low, giving her a look that she’d seen from everyone she’s passed on her way here. 

she sees lewis and sebastian exchange glances, almost making her roll her eyes again. 

she doesn’t talk to lewis that often, but he has addressed her before when she would trail behind sebastian on the track. she would often greet him softly as she hid behind her mentor, or simply excuse herself when she sees either oscar or logan passing by. 

he’s a role model and the last thing she ever wanted to do was be too overbearing. to see him come to her aid is only a dream come true. 

“i hope you don’t beat yourself up because of that. you drove a brilliant race today,” he smiles. “everybody crashes out. don’t even care what others have to say about you. you did well.”

lewis understands being cast out as a minority. he will never understand the struggles and pressure put on her, but he can at least relate to a certain extent. “don’t even sweat it. you’re now one of the world’s greatest in a fast race car. you’d smoke anybody who would dare challenge you.”

oscar tilts his head. “why would someone random just challenge her out on the street?”

“oscar, shut up,” logan shoves the australian slightly, landing a warning smack on his shoulder after. “let her have her moment.”

lewis laughs but does wave oscar off as he returns his attention to her. “what they say will string, but trust me, this is not the end of the world. i know it feels like it.”

she nods to herself. “okay, hand me the snacks so i can eat away all my pain. i deserve it.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock

[echobx]

The Experiment - Pope Heyward × academic rival!fem!reader

summary: y/n cooks up an aphrodisiac in the chemistry lab at school and Pope comes in, startling her and making her drop the vile...

word count: 960

warnings: smut, aphrodisiac, table sex, p in v (unprotected), public sex

author's note: credit to my bestie stormy (ily fr 💕💕) for this beautiful prompt. absolutely no credit to my sleep deprived brain tho bc that bitch had me rewriting this bc nothing made sense after I wrote the first draft 😭

kinktober masterlist

“What are you doing there?” The vile slips from your fingers and shatters on the floor, the scent of your “potion” filling the room and making you regret every single decision you have ever made in your life. You look up to glare at Pope, who had interrupted you and caused the mess. “You fucked my experiment!” you yell at him through your safety outfit; goggles and a mask to make sure the aphrodisiac wouldn't affect you while making it. “What?” Pope stammers, his pupils are dilated, and his mouth is slightly agape as his nostrils flare. “My experiment? You ruined it,” you repeat, and he steps over to you, nodding. “You're smart, you can redo it another time.” Pope Heyward praises you. He has never praised you. Ever. Something is seriously wrong with him, and it's just as if your worst academic rival has just been turned into a love sick fool. “Oh. My. God. It. Worked.” You stress every last word but squeal when he picks you up and sits you down on the table behind you, his hands holding onto your hips, digging his long fingers into your soft flesh. “Have I ever told you who fucking hot you are? I might just let you be valedictorian, but then you would stop looking at me,” Pope sighs. He looks like he is lost in a dream land, as if he's high and horny at the same time. “Don't you dare! I want to earn my spot!” you glare at him, and he slips the goggles off your head. “And your eyes-” His hand is holding onto your jaw, staring right into your pupils. “There's an imperfection in your iris, but it's perfect to me,” he hums, and you don't know if you are feeling yourself blush because of the compliment or because the aphrodisiac filled air is starting to get into your system. But maybe it doesn't matter what is true, maybe you should finally let loose and do only what feels right and not what's expected of you. Swiftly you take off the mask, and before you know what has happened, Pope's lips land on yours. He kisses you like a man starved, forcing his tongue in your mouth and pressing himself between your thighs. Mumbling inconsistent pleas to you about how much he needs you and has always needed you. “Wanna make you feel good, y/n, please let me,” he begs, and your mind is fogged up by the love potion. Pope is rutting his hips against your crotch, eliciting a moan in you that sounds almost pornographic. And maybe it's a bad idea to not tell him what's actually going on, but you have always wondered what it would be like with him. 

“Take it off,” you murmur against his lips, opening the top buttons of his polo shirt, while his hands are occupied with your jeans. The shirt comes off, and you feel like Christmas, Easter, and your birthday fall on the same day. His toned chest is soft and warm, and you want nothing more than to lick him all over. “Pants,” Pope rasps, while simultaneously pulling your top and bra down to reveal your boobs. You jump down from the table, and he quickly pulls your pants down before sitting you up again and hooking your legs around his waist. 

“Really wanna fuck you, baby,” he breathes heavily, his forehead lying against yours and a smile playing on his full lips. “You should,” you whisper and a moment later your teeth sink into his lip while his dick is running through your folds, collecting some of your arousal before he thrusts into you with one harsh snap of his hips. The groans that leave you both could probably be heard by anyone who walked by the classroom, but you are stuck in your perfect bubble, not caring about what might happen if you get caught. “Feels so good,” you moan while Pope fucks you, but you don't give him much room with the way your legs are caging him in. “Fuck!” he grunts and pushes you to lay down onto the table, pulling your legs up and over his shoulders so he can hit deeper. “Oh God! Right there,” you cry out as his tip kisses your G-spot repeatedly, your walls fluttering around him like he was always meant to fuck you like that. He presses his hand to your stomach and your eyes roll back, the orgasm ripping through you and robbing you of all your senses, but the feeling of his dick twitching inside you. “You're so tight. Fuck!” Pope is still holding you down, making you impossibly tighter for him to fuck you, especially with how hard you're coming down from your climax. “Come for me, genius. Fill me up, please,” you babble, and he won't let himself be told twice. His dick starts to twitch, thrusts growing sloppy and breath uneven, before he halts deep inside you and spills his hot load into you. 

“That was-” Pope pants, his shirt back on but his pants still pooling at his ankles. “Fucking amazing?” you giggle, unsure if it was truly all just caused by the aphrodisiac, and not actually just a lot of pent-up frustration mixed with heavy sexual tension. “Maybe we should do it again,” you say, pulling your shirt up and buttoning your jeans. “Uh-huh,” Pope nods, he seems to be getting confused with how he ended up in this situation, but the fact that you want to do it again is letting his mind run haywire. “Text me,” you wink, picking up your bag and leaving him to clean up the mess he created and that had started all of it to begin with. 

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @redhead1180 @spideysimpossiblegirl @drwstarkeyy @princessmaybank @kys4-20 @immyowndefender @julczimozart @m2m2m2 @mochimms @itsme-again @maybankslover @th3eternalersi @because-i-like-toxic-men

[emeline2020]

I Understand - D.DIXON

DESC : You and Daryl have a final conversation before his departure to search for Rick and Michonne.

CONTAINS : angst, so much angst i’m in tears istg. maybe some fluff i have no idea

MOST LIKELY WILL REWRITE THIS BC I JUST DONT THINK I WROTE IT TO THE BEST OF MY ABILITY!!!

SEASON 11

You felt like a kid, hiding out behind the brick wall of you and Daryl’s-.. you stopped yourself. It was your apartment now. Because Daryl wouldn’t be returning for god knows how long. The only thing left of Daryl in the apartment were his belongings he decided he wouldn’t need for this trip.

You sat in the grass against the brick wall, head back, staring up at the sky. You were afraid to look anywhere other than up, incase the buildup of tears managed to break through down your cheeks.

You felt dumb. Your mind searched for other ways to phrase your emotions, but the only word that formulated was ‘dumb’.

You should’ve known. You should’ve pieced it together after Daryl left for 6 years when Rick went missing. The life he had with you didn’t matter, because he wanted more than you. He wanted his family. And it made sense. But just because it made sense didn’t mean it hurt any less.

You and Daryl had never officially labeled what you had. The others in the Commonwealth referred to you as a couple. Hell, for a while there, you had even thought maybe he would propose, or something like that. Make what you two had official to yourselves, and not just to the others in town.

But now you questioned if you even had anything at all. You questioned if he even loved you the way you thought he did.

The crunches of dead grass beneath heavy boots pushed you from your thoughts. You dragged a hand over your red, glossy eyes. You didn’t look at him, but his figure appeared in your peripheral vision. You didn’t want to look at him. You were nervous that it would trigger the waterworks.

He let out a scratchy sigh. Not an annoyed sigh, more of a knowing sigh. Knowing exactly what you were feeling. Knowing he caused it.

He slowly lowered himself to the grass next to you, mocking your sitting position with your knees up. His hands rested loosely on his knees while you clutched your legs to your chest.

You could hear him take a breath, about to say something. You rushed to speak first.

“It’s not your fault.” You murmured, your tone soft. Shaky. “Me being upset.”

He didn’t say anything. His expression was stiff, his blue eyes locked onto the ground. You looked up at the blue sky, holding in your tears.

“It’s mine. I should’ve known.” You elaborate your words, swallowing thickly. It took everything inside of you to not start balling tears.

“Known? Known what?” He sounded confused, but he still didn’t turn to face you.

“That this wouldn’t work. Not until you sorted out the things that are more important to you.” You sniffled a bit, taking to your nose with your sleeve.

“Nah. That ain’t-“ Daryl spoke firmly with a shake of his head, but you interrupted him.

“That is it, Daryl. But it’s okay. I understand.” You whispered, finally lowering your head to allow the stinging tears freedom.

Deep down, Daryl knew you were right. That was exactly it. He was almost ashamed that you figured you were less important to him than Rick was, because that wasn’t the case at all.

You weren’t less important. You were just as important, but Daryl couldn’t live happily with you knowing his brother was out there. Because Daryl wanted Rick to be around just as much as he wanted you to be around.

And that was the problem with you and Daryl. That was why you wouldn’t work. You and Daryl would never last. Not until Rick and Michonne came home.

“There ain’t a single word in the ‘ntire language to tell ya how sorry I am.” He sighed again, but this sigh was filled with shame.

“As long as we’re still something, you don’t need to be sorry.” You breathed, finally glancing at him. He kept his eyes on the blades of yellow-ish grass. His brown hair hid most of his face, and you could see the skull tattoo inked on his hand.

“‘Course we’re somethin’. Always will be.” He said, reaching over to place his hand on top of yours. But he still wouldn’t look at you. You weren’t sure you even wanted him to see your expression. It would probably just make him feel more guilty.

You didn’t mind, though. Even though his hand only clutched yours for a few seconds before he drew back, and even though he refused to meet your eyes, as long as you were something.

Something was better than nothing. And you didn’t want to push him, because you were teetering on the edge of something, about to fall from the cliff into nothing.

He squeezed your hand one last time, before pushing himself to his feet and leaving you behind the brick wall. His eyes hadn’t met yours once.

And then he was gone.

[azrielslightintheshadows]

I've been reading some of your request responses and I'm very impressed with your work! I'm also a simp for all things Rhys. I'm usually picky with my fics but I really hope you'll do my request justice.

I would love to see Rhys x reader on her period. I have an idea of how that would work but I'd love to get your perspective

Please don't fee stressed, obligated, or pressured to do this I just really love the mental image of snuggly Rhys!

What would I do without you?

Rhysand x f!Reader.

Masterlist.

Warnings; mentions of blood, pain and sex.

First of all I would like to thank you for your kind words and for choosing me to write your idea. It means a lot to me and I hope you will enjoy this. If you don't you can always ask me to rewrite it! I would really love to get a feedback for this.

You hated the mother, you hated the cauldron and cursed on all the gods new and forgotten. Your circle came and decided to grip all your intestines and rearrange them. The pain was unbearable, your powers were completely out of control and your mood could change in a blink. The day started with you alone in bed crying… you were crying because of the pain and then sobbing because your mate -Rhysand wasn’t in bed with you. Then you got up to take a bath… you didn’t realise the power you used to shut the door and watched as it snapped in half. Fuck. You cried…again.

Once you were done cleaning yourself you slipped back in bed and clenched your eyes shut. A new wave of pain hitting you and taking your breath away. 

The door of your bedroom burst open and Rhysand walked in, his eyes frantically scanning the room. 

“Sweetheart I felt pain down the bond are you okay?” He asked, approaching the bed and sitting next to you.

“I’m on my circle” you cried out “and Mother decided to act like a bitch” 

Rhysand frowned and placed his hand on your back.

“What can I do for you?” His voice was soft now.

“Kill me please” you groaned. He shook his head and stood up.

“Wait here I’ll be back in a few minutes” he said and walked out.

“Like I could go anywhere” you murmured to yourself and massaged your abdomen.

A few minutes later Rhys entered the room again with a tray in his hands, this piqued your interest and you sat upright.

“What’s that?” You asked.

“Breakfast and a tonic Madja used to make for my mother” he explained and set the tray on your lap. 

Your mouth watered at the sight of the food. He had gotten every kind of food you craved when you were on your circle. He noticed your expression and said “I know your cravings sweetcheeks” earning a smile from you.

“What would I do without you” you breathed and picked up the fork.

“What would you do without me indeed” he chuckled and stripped his clothes. 

“You arrogant Illyrian” he threw his head back as he laughed and then crawled on the bed.

“I thought I was an Illyrian baby” he pouted and you slapped his arm.

“Hey that’s the thanks I get for being the best mate anyone could ever have?” He faked a hurt expression and you snorted.

The light moment was completely ruined as another wave of pain hit you and you groaned. 

“Come on baby eat so you can drink the tonic” he frowned and sat next to you, his hand grabbed your thigh and he started massaging it.  

After you were finished with your breakfast you grabbed the cup that contained the tonic and gulped it down eagerly. 

“I want the pain to go away” you groaned and placed the tray on the floor next to the bed. 

“I know” Rhysand murmured and pulled you in his arms. He manoeuvred both of you in a spooning position. You felt his talons caressing your mental shield and you let him in. He put you to sleep and planted your favourite memories of the two of you for you to dream. 

When you woke up again Rhysand’s soft snores filled the silence, he was still spooning you and his hand was placed on your abdomen massaging it. 

You softly turned around and hugged his waist, you nested your face in his neck and breathed his scent… so spicy yet sweet. He stopped snoring and you could feel his smirk. 

“How are you feeling love?” He whispered and pressed you harder against him, his hands rubbing your back soothingly. 

“Better” you murmured. 

He didn’t respond he just kept rubbing your back and placed soft kisses on your head. 

“I think we should change the sheets and clean our thighs.” He softly said with a last kiss on your head. 

“What? Why?” You asked and removed yourself from his arms. You gasped as you saw your blood spread on the sheets, on your thighs and to your mortification on Rhysand’s thighs. Your face burned and you quickly stood up. 

“Baby I’m so sorry” your eyes filled with tears and your nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“Why? It’s completely natural.” He shrugged and got up too. He flicked his fingers and the sheets disappeared, a new pair covered the bed and you heard the bathtub filling up. 

“Let’s go” he said and guided you in the bathroom stopping for a second as he noticed the broken door, chuckling he flicked his fingers again and the door was replaced with a new one.

You couldn’t speak, the way he treated you made your heart melt. 

He stripped your nightgown and his underwear before grabbing a cloth and cleaning your thighs and his too. He stepped into the bathtub and opened his arms waiting for you. You got in and sat between his legs. 

“I would never feel disgusted by you…” he murmured in your hair. “Especially for something that you have to go through in order to have our baby one day” 

Your heart swelled at the thought. 

“Our baby” you whispered and his hands moved to your abdomen, he pressed them against it and took a deep breath. 

“Do you want me to fill you up? Put our baby in there?” His voice sounded deeper and raspier than before. 

“Yes please” you almost moaned at the thought. 

And once your circle was done he fulfilled his promise. 

Requests are open!

[nimayndolo]

Dating Apps

I hate dating. I’m deleting the apps (hinge & tinder). HOWEVER, there’s Feeld. I’ve known about it, but I never took it seriously.

HOWEVER, I started taking it seriously this morning. I can’t lie, I love people’s attitudes on there. Tinder and Hinge feel so cold. Raya is a popularity contest where people are too cool to be real and authentic.

People seem really honest, human, and kind on Feeld though. The bios are written without the nonchalant airs sometimes seen on the other apps and people just seem like they’re searching for genuine human connection. Whether it’s friendship, mutual friendly pleasure, or just connection and realness, the app residents just seem chill. Kindness seems to be the law of the land there.

I love how open to honest communication people are on there. The app users seriously set a precedent of kindness and authenticity.

I’ve actually had fun swiping on there this morning.

WITH ALL THIS BEING SAID.

The LAST THING I need or want is a relationship—and I mean this from the bottom of my core.

My last relationship morphed into a mother-child dynamic. IT SUCKED MY SOUL and drained the life out of me. Right now, I DO NOT need to be responsible for another human being like that. I only have the emotional capacity to heal myself. I CANNOT concern myself with another person in the way that a relationship requires—and I can’t do this for a VERY long time.

I truly want to be single for a while. Being paired up slows me down. It’s also just fucking horrible. Based off my past relationship and the twoish flings I had before that, I don’t want to be in a relationship again. They have never been emotionally, spiritually, or sexually beneficial to me.

EVER.

IF I end up dating someone again, it’ll be the result of a friendship where care, patience, and consideration for me are demonstrated.

Ever since this breakup, I’ve really been paying attention to how my main four friends make me feel. They make me feel WONDERFUL and uplifted. They listen to me and they respect my boundaries. Whenever we argue, we aren’t defensive. We argue with the purpose of solving the issue (as opposed to arguing to win the argument).

If I’m going to involve myself deeply with a person again, whoever they are has to make me feel as good—and even better than my friends do.

I swear to god. If I befriend a guy and I can sense the friendship start to move toward a sexual area (I’m not closed off to this in some cases) and ANY OF MY BOUNDARIES ARE PUSHED, I’m running. (NOTE: I had to stress “guy,” because I’ve never experienced predatory boundary pushing with women partners)

No friendship is worth a pushed boundary.

As far as sex goes, I WILL NEVER sit through mutually unbeneficial sex AGAIN. I’m a 30 year old woman. I do not HAVE TO have bad sex if I don’t want to.

Nine years of bad sex has caused me to be so indifferent toward the act that I no longer care about grinning and bearing it. For me to have it, it MUST be good. If it’s not, I’m getting up and leaving the second I sense an ounce of selfishness.

Another rule I’m sticking to is ABSOLUTELY no sex without a minimum of 30 minutes of foreplay. If a prospective partner thinks that excessive or too much, I can respect that and will support them and myself in parting ways.

I must be kept happy and I must be kept fulfilled. The old attitudes that prioritized “keeping a man,” and “keeping a man happy,” are dead and dying. Women are realizing that we no longer have to do this.

With the amount of work and stress that I have, I’d be stupid and seeking self destruction to willingly add to my caseload a human being who takes away from my experience.

Sex and relationships are supposed to be pleasurable, but authentic and constructive. Not harmful and selfish.

With all this being said, I’m gonna rewrite my bio on Feeld. I WANT to match the openness I see on there. I really can’t lie, the guys on there actually seem like cool and safe people. My friends who’ve used the app also report similar things.

Guys who are cool and safe can make good friends. I’m getting over this relationship, I’m also getting over and trying to avoid sentiments that lean toward misandry. Men exist. Their existence is NOT inherently a bad thing. They’re a part of nature and that means that they can be existed alongside with harmoniously.

I LOVE harmonious friendships with people. Those are fulfilling. If I strike up a friendship with a dude and I sense sexual tension and IM DOWN FOR IT, then I’m so open to a beautiful friendship like that.

As for anything resembling the nearly 6 year…thing I just exited, NEVER AGAIN. “Love” doesn’t mean that someone should spiritually and emotionally die and suffer just for the wellbeing of the parasitic other. Thats not love. Fuck ALL that.

[brotrustmeicanwrite]

Using Schrödinger’s Mary Sue In Creative Writing

Every once in a while, out of nowhere, the idea of something like a cool fight scene, a witty exchange between the villain and hero or a very dramatic finale just ✨pop✨ into a writer’s head; usually accompanied with a sudden burst of inspiration. When those scenes involve established characters and stories, more often than not the writer regains consciousness several hours later having fully thought through the most epic thing they’ve ever written, contemplating weather or not they should rewrite the entire story to be able to properly include that scene.

But sometimes those scenes are just about A hero, A villain, A couple, not about someone specific. When that happens we often get stumped in the creative process because we have to sit down and actively create characters or fledge out vague character ideas we’ve had on the back burner to have material to continue the train of thought. And that usually kills that burst of inspiration.

That’s where what I call “Schrödinger’s Mary/Gary Sue” comes into play.

A SM/GS is a character concept for a specific archetype of character who possesses only the characteristics that you tend to give these archetypes, as well as all of the abilities for them that you came up with but weren’t able to include but wanted to.

To give an example, this is how my own SM/GS for the MC/Part Time Hero looks like:

- personality and appearance -

Vaguely Male

Light Hair

Kind (optional, might have been beaten out of them)

Intelligent

- abilities/roles -

Teleportation

Ghost sight

Half human / half spirit

Fox spirit

Dragon shifter

Follower of / reaper for the god of death

Genius magician and high priest

A planet throwing heavenly knight who helps the gods of creation fight evil gods from other dimensions

A literal god

Etc. etc. bc yes there is much more

That list on its own looks pretty Mary Suey. What makes that character a Schrödinger’s Mary Sue however is how to use them: Once that character has been placed into a scene their abilities are limited to just one, or if compatible and not over the top a few of those abilities.

This setup gives us the opportunity to experiment with not only that scene that originally came to mind but also old ideas that we didn’t want to abandon but couldn’t make work at that time. Basically what we’re doing is instead of playing with air, we play with an unpainted, unclothed, wig-less doll. It’s not concrete enough to just be copies of pre-existing characters but gives us enough substance to develop the scene; and if all goes well that doll won’t stay in that state for too long and become its own fully fledged out character.

(I used to really struggle with losing that burst of inspiration but since I’ve started using the SM/GS approach my brain has probably become the fastest and most effective recycling machine on the planet.)

Also, I you end up trying this for yourself, keep in mind to keep the SM/GS’s personality and characteristics as vague and basic as possible before going into the scene, else you risk writing the same character over and over again. Once you start working you can add proper personality traits and make a real character from that base concept. And of course, don’t be afraid to change those basic characteristics if you feel like it or the story develops into a direction that calls for it.

Happy writing :D

[fanficsthatmakemybraingobrr]

A Night In Cairo

Chapter 2

Indiana Jones x Gender-Neutral Reader

Content warning: Mild panic attack

You’re a Intern at Marshall College in Bedford Connecticut and you work with Dr.Jones, but he sucks at his job and is never there and is always behind with work making you get the short end of the stick. Then he drags you on a trip to Cairo with him.

I don't quite like how this chapter turned out,  I mean I posted it on a03 and I've been wanting to rewrite it but I want to see how it does on here and maybe I will maybe wont! And please give me feedback and tell me what I could do better next time! I hope y'all enjoy!

link to Chapter 1

Link to AO3

When Jones said the morning you didn’t think he meant 5am. Now you're in his car as he’s driving you to god knows where. You two are sitting in awkward silence. It feels like the silence is lasting for eternity.

So many different thoughts rush through your head while you look out the window at the passing scenery trying to distract yourself. Dr.Jones still hasn’t told you why the hell you are going to Cairo. You’ve never even been out of the US! You had no idea how to pack or prepare for a trip like this! And Egypt for your first trip? This is all way too overwhelming. All of your anxieties and nerves Eat away at you as you sit in the passenger side seat. You need to start asking questions.

“So uh… Dr.Jones-“ He chuckles and lightly waves his hand in the air.

“Please cut it with the formal crap, just call me Indy.” You look at the older man with slight surprise. He's never acted this friendly towards you, he's always been really professional. Maybe he's acting so differently because you two are out of the office? So many thoughts are racing in your mind.

“Um alright Indy-” You grimace slightly saying his first name, it feels weird. “Could you tell me why we are going to Cairo and especially at such a short notice? I mean I've never been out of the US before let alone being on a plane!” You spiral into a rambling mess asking a million different questions at once. Indy sighs. 

“Hey calm down ___ it’s going to be fine.” You shoot him a confused look. What does he mean? It's going to be fine?. He basically kidnapped you and is now taking you to a foreign country! 

“I received an invitation from The Museum Of Cairo to one of their fancy Banquets after I returned an artifact that I found last time I was there. We fly in tonight. The banquet is tomorrow night and then we leave straight away the next morning. ” Indiana says nonchalantly. There's a long pause between you and him.

“And you kidnapped me because…?” Indiana jeered at your comment.

“Hey! I didn't kidnap you! This was all just a little last minute…and I brought you with me because they gave me a plus one and….well…” He paused and had an embarrassed look on his face.

“You don't have any friends?” Indiana's eyes widened and he scoffed at your smartass remark.

“No! because you're my intern, I just thought it would be a good experience for you. and it's nothing too intense, it's basically a vacation if anything you should be thanking me!” This conversation didn't make you feel any better about this damn trip, at this point you don't think anything can. The rest of the car ride fell into the awkward silence once again.

Soon enough the car pulled up to a terminal. As you exit the car, you realize this is your first time on a plane. As you both entered the cabin a short stewardess in a blue uniform with red lipstick greeted you telling you to enjoy your flight. The cabin was pretty spacious with comfortable looking seats and plenty of amenities. Both you and Indy’s seats were vertical from each other with a small table in between. You take your seat closest to the window. Looking around you there weren’t many other people on the plane. 

“Wow, this looks expensive..” your eyes landing back on Indy as you take your seats, the older man chuckled, taking his hat off, placing it down on the table and grabbing a book out of his carry on.

“This is all paid for so enjoy it. We’re gonna be on this plane for about 10 hours.” 10 hours? You could feel your anxiety start to build as the information settled in. What are you going to do? You started thinking of different ways to cope with your anxiety but it just feels worse. The stewardess walks up to the middle of the isles addressing the passengers. 

“Hello, everyone!” She announced with a high pitched peppy and somewhat languid voice.

 “Welcome to your flight to Cairo! This is going to be a long journey, so please make yourself comfortable! If you need anything or have a question or concern during this flight, please don’t be afraid to ask me or one of my fellow stewardesses. We will be taking off very shortly, so sit back, relax and thank you for flying with us, we hope you have a pleasant flight!” You would be lying if you said her voice wasn’t annoying.

The plane slowly started to move forward, as the aircraft moved the tighter your chest felt and the more knotted your stomach got. Gaining speed the cabin rumbled, gripping the armrest, your body felt tense and numb with your anxiety growing more. The plane lifted up from the ground, it felt like you were sinking into your seat while your stomach dropped. You desperately try calming yourself down but failing miserably the feelings of panic were too overwhelming. You look around for something- anything to help. 

Indy couldn’t focus on his book with your heavy breathing in his ear, it was almost getting on his nerves, but he couldn’t be upset about it. It would be hypocritical of him. There have been times where he’s gotten nervous on planes. This trip was also pretty last minute, and it’s your first time flying..dammit now he’s starting to feel bad. You’ve done so much for him and have worked really hard your whole internship, the least he can do is try to comfort you. Indiana placed his book in his lap with a sigh and turned his head towards you. You are staring at the ground with your hands tightly clutching to the armrests of your chair. 

“Hey.” He says in a hush but commanding tone, Indiana isn’t used to comforting people so he was trying his best not to sound too awkward or unnatural. Your eyes were glued to the ground; it felt like you couldn’t speak. There was a pause and you managed to let out a small ‘hm?’ trying not to sound too anxious. 

“Hey, can you look at me?” He grumbled a bit, you snapped your eyes shut and tried to calm down just feeling more overwhelmed. Indy exhaled- he didn’t mean to say it like that he’s just not good at things like this. You deserved better. Indiana gently placed his hand on top of yours. You open your eyes a bit taken aback. This time he spoke more softly.

“Hey ___ it’s going to be okay.” Your hands slowly let go of the chair. That was the first time he’s actually called you by your name. You turn your head and look at him. His face is different. You’ve never seen this kind of expression on him before. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, his eyes look at you with worry and concern. A part of you wanted to look away or at least somewhere else but the way his glasses framed his eyes made it almost impossible. Indiana slightly squeezed your hand snapping you out of your daze.

“I promise. It’s okay___.” He’s never acted like this before, and it’s kind of nice. There was a pause of silence and you just looked at him, it wasn’t uncomfortable- it was the opposite, it was oddly comfortable? 

“Do you feel better?” He tilted his head to the side waiting for your answer. 

“Uh yeah, I do feel a lot better thanks.” You pulled your hand away, his touch was starting to feel like a little too much. Your face felt warm but you definitely felt better than before. Indy had a small smile on his face.

“That’s good, I was worried.” He then picked his book back up. 

“Try to sleep, it’ll help time pass by.” Indiana suggested as he started to read his book again. He was right, maybe you should try to sleep. After not being able to sleep last night and having a panic attack, you’re pretty exhausted. You shut your window and lay your chair back, there’s nobody sitting behind you, so you have quite a bit of space to lay back. You then prop your feet on top of the table and then your head against your chair. You didn’t realize how heavy your eyelids were until your head hit the cushioned headrest of your chair and soon enough you were out.

[sirowsky]

Day 3, and this one is a panicked rewrite because I was in a mood when I first wrote it. So, please bear in mind that I wrote this in an hour and that it's not proofread, and thank you so much to @lowlights for the prompt, which was "Did you just break my door down!?"

Rating: Explicit 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero Tovar x female reader, reader has no description except wearing a dress, anger, heated argument, smut, modern AU. Word Count: 1200 Sirowsky's Masterlist

--Anger Management--

   He’s in the shower when he hears heavy banging on the front door of his house, but it’s been a really long day and he’s in a bad mood, which for Pero Tovar means that he shouldn’t be around people.    So, he ignores whoever’s out there and carries on scrubbing himself clean of the engine oil that’s soaked into his skin through his clothes.

   But just seconds later, a bang so loud that he fears half the house is coming down, suddenly thunders through the structure, and he all but leaps out of the stall.    He grabs a towel without slowing down, sloppily wrapping it around his waist as he leaves the bathroom and goes looking for the source of what he’s almost certain must’ve been an explosion.

   Instead, he finds his front door hanging off of just the lower one of the hinges, along with scattered debris of what had been the doorframe around the lock-mechanism, all over the hallway floor.    And in the middle of all that, is you. Standing just two feet inside the house, panting hard and with your fists tightly closed against the sides of your thighs.

   You’re quite clearly fuming, but that’s not what Pero is most immediately concerned about.

   “Did you just kick my door down!? Are you out of your fucking mind!?” he berates you, almost screaming as his anger builds, but you’re not the least bit intimidated.

   “Yeah, I did!” you scream back, taking a step closer. “Because you’re a god damned coward and I’ve had it with you!”

   “You broke into my house to call me a coward??” he demands, but he’s actually truly shocked at this entire situation.

   Because while he does know that you have a temper, he also knows that it takes a lot to set you off, and he can’t think of anything that he’s done recently that could’ve triggered you.

   “When you stand me up for the third fucking time, you better believe I’m calling you chicken!!” you retort, and suddenly he wants to kick himself in his own balls.

   You’ve been friends for ages and watched each other go through one failed relationship after another, until you both eventually just sort of gave up.    That had then led to over two years of both of you being mostly miserable, until you’d suggested that maybe it was fate and that you should go on a date with each other.    And once that idea came into his head, Pero had started looking at you differently.

   He had realized that you were pretty much perfect in his eyes, and it had astounded him that he’d never seen it before.    So, six weeks ago, you’d made plans to go hiking your favorite trail together and stop for a picnic at a gorgeous viewpoint at the highest section of it.    But he’d had to cancel at the last possible minute because of work.

   Two weeks later, you’d tried again, keeping it simple with dinner and a movie, and he’d accidentally left you sitting alone in the restaurant for an hour before he’d remembered to call and cancel.    Not because of work that time, but because of a very drunk colleague.    You’d been understanding, but also very disappointed in him.

   So, this time, you’d made plans to meet at your place, which was just a five minute walk from his, and you were gonna make him his favorite dish.    He hadn’t remembered to cancel at all tonight, because he hadn’t even remembered that you’d made plans.    Not even before his car had decided to start leaking oil and distracted him.

   A quick glance at his waterproof wristwatch tells him that you would’ve had dinner ready at least three hours ago.

   “Fuck…” he sighs, knowing that nothing he says is gonna make up for this one. “I’m so sorry, hermosa.”

   You throw your arms out in exasperation, and he can’t blame you.

   “If you’ve changed your mind then just say so,” you growl, but he can hear how the anger is being replaced by the hurt. “I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

   “No, I haven’t… I’m just an idiot,” he says, shaking his head at himself.

   You seem to agree with him there, but you also look like you’re contemplating something.    Then, from one second to the next, all the hurt vanishes from your frame and something determined and strong takes its place.    And in the next moment, you’re crossing the hallway with long and powerful strides, not stopping until you crash into him, grabbing his head and harshly pressing your lips to his.

   Bewildered, he kisses you back, and every inch of his body is suddenly sparking to life.    He wraps his arms around you, ignoring that the towel drops to the floor when he lets go of it, because now that he can finally taste you, he’s instantly bewitched.    Whatever it was that had him in such a bad mood earlier is completely forgotten, and all he wants is just to get lost in you.

   He quickly pulls your dress over your head, finding you already naked underneath, which only stokes his hunger.    Somehow, the bedroom seems a mile away even though it’s just down the hall, so he slips a finger into you while you’re still walking, needing you to be ready for him as soon as you reach the bed.

   You try to wrap your fingers around his hard length, but he stops you, because if you touch him, he’s not gonna make it.    Thankfully, you take the hint and leave him be, and when he slips another finger into you, your pleasure makes you quiver, forcing your hands up onto his shoulders to steady yourself.    Reaching the bed, he pulls his fingers out and quickly licks them to taste you, because there just isn’t time to do it properly right now.

   He pushes you down on the bed and you eagerly climb back into the center of it, spreading your legs for him as he chases after you.    There’s no hesitation from either of you, no question that this needs to happen, that it’s right and good and perfect, so once you’re settled, he finds the heat of your core and dives right in.

   It’s all a little too hard and a little too fast, but he can’t help it. He needs to have you.    And he can feel that same need from you, spurring him on with your heels against the backs of his thighs and your fingers digging into his back.    But that urgency takes you both to your peak within just a couple of minutes, and all too soon, it’s over.

   Still, as he lays there on top of you, trying to find his breath again, feeling that wonderful boneless sensation spread through every part of him, he’s happier than he’s been in a long time. Perhaps ever.    And he smiles to himself when it occurs to him that without your temper, you never would’ve dared to make that first move.

   “Thank you for breaking down my door, querida,” he whispers in your ear, hoping that you know that he’s not just talking about the door, but about his own walls.

<<<<<<<THE END>>>>>>>

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging so that more people might find it <3

@tacticalsparkles @tanzthompson @sarahjkl82-blog @marydjarin @idreamofboobear @annathewitch @agingerindenial @tiffanyleen @winter-fox-queen @lovefreylove @elegantduckturtle @shadowolf993 @callsigncatfish @hounding-around @cannedsoupsucks @ellie-darling @startrekkingaroundasgard @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @thisshipwillsail316 @dihra-vesa @tobealostwanderer @ophelialoveshandsomemen @deadhumourist @tintinn16 @spideysimpossiblegirl @nolanell @toomanystoriessolittletime @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @bilibiche @harriedandharassed @shadesofnerdlygrace @hotchlover @little-mrs-morales @gallowsjoker @cosmicbreathe @criminalmind1927 @myfavpedrothings @spishsstuff @suttonspuds @sjdraws-00 @ezras-channel-rat @justnat15 @anditsmywholeheart @i-love-movies @insomniamamma @lowlights @thelion-sroar @herefordistractions @ellenmunn

[quitefair]

WIP Ask: 9, 13, 14, 16, 21 :)

thanks for asking!!! (questions are from this ask meme!)

i'm going to answer this for The Dragon Age Fic because... well. That's the only things I've really been working on all these years.

Under a cut because it got Long. As usual.

9. What is your favorite dialogue you’ve written so far?

Here's the deal - I think I'm not good at dialogue. I struggle to write it, and what comes out often always needs editing. But this bit was the first that came to mind. For context: this is in reference to An Unexpected Engagement. Tashak is my Inquisitor and Sekhara is her younger sister.

tw: alcohol.

___________________________________

“Was gonna offer you this,” she ran a finger along the rim of the tankard she took from Bull. “But you seem to have taken care of yourself already.”

Tashak grunted. “Still not as drunk as I should be.”

“Well lucky I got here when I did, because from what I recall, you wanted to talk to me. Let’s do that before you get completely shitfaced, yeah?”

“Need another drink first.” Tashak waved down one of the serving lads, carrying a massive tray of tankards. Two full mugs were set down on the table, and within seconds one of them was half gone.

“You done?” Sekhara said drily as Tashak leaned against the table, head in her hand.

“Not quite. Still feel like shit.”

“Okay you’ve gotta start talking before you pass out because I am not going to carry you back to your room if you do, alright?” Tashak continued to stare intently at the table. Sekhara groaned and took a drink of maaras-lok. The fizzling in her veins turned into actual flame. “Besides, what are you doing here anyway? You’re usually cozied up with Josephine by now.”

That was evidently the wrong thing to say, judging from the way Tashak’s face twisted into something that made even Sekhara uncomfortable. The fingers around the tankard were now gripped so tight that the knuckles were turning white.

“Fuck, what’s wrong now? Did you go and fuck up something between the two of you again?”

“No.” The word seemed forced through gritted teeth. Tashak’s eyes were unfocused, staring into the distance. “It wasn’t me this time.”

“Tashak, for all that is good in this world, snap out of it and tell me what the fuck…”

“Josephine is engaged.”

There was a pause. The sound of wood cracking, a man swearing loudly before a fist connected with bone, the loud off-kilter singing, filled the space around and between them.

Sekhara blinked once. Blinked again.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t think you had it in you.” She leaned back in her chair, grinning at Tashak. “And to think you wanted to tell me first…”

“Wait what?” Tashak’s eyes widened. “No, no, no! What the fuck? I didn’t pro…”

She looked around, suddenly aware that her voice was carrying. Turning towards Sekhara she continued in an angry whisper, “… I didn’t propose.”

Sekhara’s brows creased. “Then who the fuck is Josephine engaged to?”

There was another pause.

“Please don’t tell me she’s in love with somebody else now.”

Tashak groaned and held a hand up but Sekhara was already standing up.

“I swear to all the fucking Old Gods, if she’s up and gone and dumped you after everything you’ve been through, I am going to punt her across the mountains so hard she reaches bloody Kirkwall…”

“Sit down, Sekhara.”

Sekhara sat down. There was no arguing with that voice.

____________________________________________

13. What common trope(s) do you feel are used in this chapter/fic?

I only remember very few tropes off the top of my head, and all of them are ship related. Let's just say this is a slow-burn, mutual pining, friends-to-lovers sorta deal. Also something something racism/generational trauma/discrimination and a whole lot of other stuff that I need to make a note of honestly.

14. What have you been finding frustrating with writing this chapter/fic?

Oh god where do I begin. I'm doing something horrible, which is a) rewriting an entire game, b) fixing what I feel is broken and c) adding to what's already there with my own characters and my own spin on a romance. It's Really Hard. And to top it all off, I have a very demanding day job and am starting my masters on top of that. AND also have very severe anxiety over my writing/posting things online.

So yeah.

16. Write the next 5 sentences and share.

This is most likely going to be part of Chapter 2. I need to fuckin sort out everything I've written.

____________________________________________

Her skin was a smooth grey, her hair an iridescent black. Two curling horns emerged from her forehead; their tips lost in the shadow surrounding them. In the candlelight, Josephine could not clearly catch the expression on her face, though she noticed the downcast eyes and the deep furrow in her brow.

She did not look up at either Josephine or the commander. But she shifted the arms that were in front of her, and the heavy jangle of the shackles around her wrist caught Josephine’s attention.

____________________________________________

21. Share 3 songs that would belong on a playlist for this chapter/fic. 

I'll do you one better and link my Tashak/Josephine playlist. I cry over them on a daily basis.

[penny00dreadful]

Happy WIP Wednesday! I thought I'd share some snippets of my multiple WIPs because I'm obsessed with all of them and the urge to share became too much. These will all eventually be posted both here and on AO3. Some are first drafts and might change slightly and some have already been through rewrites, ALL will be published eventually.

Return of the King - Part 5

Anything further Eddie wanted to say was swiftly lost as the back door was thrown open with a shout from Dustin.

“He’s a vampire?!”

Eddie tilted his head back the whole way so he was looking at Dustin upside down.

“That’s the prevailing theory.”

“Dude!” The next second Dustin had disappeared back inside.

Sitting back up straight again, Eddie glanced over in Hopper's direction.

“A vampire? Really? You’re encouraging this?”

Eddie raised his hands up in surrender. “I’m just calling ‘em like I see ‘em, Hop. The boy’s got fangs. He drinks blood. He’s not dead anymore.”

“Whose blood?! Did he bite you?”

“I wish.” He muttered but evidently not quietly enough if Hopper’s scandalised expression was anything to go by. “No, he didn’t bite me. He stole some cows' blood from the butchers.”

Hopper groaned as he heaved himself up from the chair and let a loud exhale go. “I don’t know why I’m surprised by anything anymore. Fuck it, fine, he’s a vampire. Just another god damn Tuesday in Hawkins.”

Commuppance - The kids meddle in Steve's love life and get their just desserts.

“Eddie, we need you to flirt with Nancy.”

The man in question turned his head slowly and methodically until he was facing Dustin completely, his hand still hovering over the battle map he was prepping.

“Excuse me?”

“If you make Steve jealous, that might be the kick he needs to finally do something.”

“You’re playing with fire here, Henderson. You can’t toy with people’s feelings like that.”

“Who’s toying with feelings? There’ll be no feelings involved.”

“What about Steve’s feelings? What about Nancy’s?”

“It won’t matter once it all works out.”

Eddie’s mouth was set in a firm, grim line. He looked almost angry. But that couldn’t be right.

“And there’s no way this could possibly blow up in your face, right?”

Dustin looked at Eddie like he had six heads. What wasn’t he getting about this? This was how things were done. He was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Nancy and Mike into the Harrington basement.

Steve barely glanced up at their arrival, just sending a short smile their way, too deep in conversation with Robin about the news or interior design or whatever the fuck grown ups talk about.

Dustin sent a very pointed look Eddie's way who heaved the most put upon sigh, rising from his seat and giving Dustin the middle finger which he sarcastically reciprocated.

“Hey Nance.” Eddie said, sildling up beside her and oozing charm and charisma. “I'm glad you decided to come today. Don't know what I would've done if I had to go without seeing your pretty face for much longer."

Worship - Reincarnation AU

Their last Life together had been… well there was no word to describe it other than horrible. He’d only ever seen Eddie die so brutally once before.

But those demobats had been…

Fuck.

Something in Steve broke in that last Life.

He’d fought so hard for so long. Scrambling for whatever scrap of Eddie he could get in each Life, over and over and over again.

And Eddie never remembered.

Each new Life for him was a fresh start.

But Steve remembered all of it. He remembered everything. Living, dying, searching for Eddie every time, for years, sometimes decades until he found him.

He supposed it was what he had asked for.

Or rather demanded.

Maybe he was stupidly naive to think that pissing off, disrespecting and insulting Her then demanding he get Eddie back would get him what he wanted, the way he wanted.

Maybe it was a curse.

Steve’s Curse.

Unnamed Dungeons and Dragons AU

“Hunt him down, Harrington.”

Steve glared across the table.

“I’m not your fucking errand boy, Carver. I don’t need your money.”

“No, but you need a quest to become a full Knight. Even your daddy can’t buy you that.”

Steve bristled, his stomach turning sour because the thing was Jason was right. His father had attempted to buy his way, as far as could be bought, into a knighthood though Steve had succeeded through his training all on his own merit not needing the aid of daddy's money. He was nothing if not a talented athlete.

But in order to be fully knighted and earn his station as a Paladin, he needed to complete a quest outside of their small town of Hawkins. And a quest for such a thing could only be approved by the High Priests, which Jason was currently in training to become, serving directly underneath the Head High Priest Henry Creel.

“I hardly think some pissy little bard from the shitty part of town would qualify as a quest.”

“He tried to curse Chrissy, Harrington. Messing with dark shit. Nercromancy. Blood magic. It's a god damn miracle she's even alive. You want a freak like that roaming free?”

Steve scoffed. “It’s not like he’ll ever come back to town. He cut and run fast enough.”

Through the Valley - Post Apocalypse AU

Eddie swiped furiously at his eyes with his bedsheets, trying to will the lump in his throat away. His heart still ached and he knew despite his best efforts he’d be carrying it around with him for the rest of the day. He hated those nights with a burning passion. He didn’t have nightmares like Dustin or Nancy did, he had these dreams. He wept in his sleep, crying until he was dried out and exhausted upon waking up but he wouldn’t trade them in for anything.

At least with these dreams he could still…

It wasn’t important. He had too much shit to deal with today to spend time mourning the past. Their food surplus was getting dangerously low and there hadn’t been a supply drop in weeks though their own vegetable crop was still growing strong. Chester Hagen and his goons were still giving Nancy trouble. They needed extra hands to get their fence back up again and those bandits were still out there. They might have been scared away by Dustin and Scott’s genius and deadly electrical wiring but they weren’t going to stay away for long.

Their settlement was way too valuable an asset to have under their belts from a defensive standpoint alone and if they were able to seize control it could be catastrophic.

And the fucking Ghouls.

A constant trickle of Ghouls stumbling towards their settlement, invariably drawn towards the noise their small community made. Their numbers had started to dwindle a little but they were still a very real threat.

The two bodies that had to be brought home and buried during the last trip to maintain their water tower made that clear enough.

Fuck, they needed food. Everyone was running on fumes and it was making them sloppy. Their sentries were having trouble concentrating, their medical personnel had started to feel they couldn’t perform their duties safely anymore, their smartest minds were waning.

Eddie dragged himself out of bed, the one he’d slept in alone and lamenting the empty space next to him since they first arrived at this estate, nine months ago and fourteen months since...

No.

Too much to do today.

[hanabeeri]

another week has passed uwaaah 早いね.. its a good practice though to sit down and to really think about what happened. at least to me because i have a memory worse than a fruit fly i believe 🥹 the week isnt over and i still have sunday ahead of me, but i dont think anything major or big will happen tomorrow. i may facetime my friends to talk about a book we're reading together though, so theres that 🧸💕

what happened this week? >i turned in my japanese essay (i will rewrite it until next week though... because i couldn't come up with any culture shock i experienced and picked the one i found in an old chat with a friend. but its a topic, way too silly, to use as a basis for our oral presentation in a month) >i started reading a good girls guide to murder with my friends! i read up until chapter 5. i already have some critiques, my friends and i talked about it briefly, and i do see that i may have been to critical. i wasn't aware it was a novel for a younger audience, but i can see it now 🥹 ill keep it in mind for the overall review >on wednesday i left university earlier so i could surprise a friend together with my other friends! she moved to a new place and we prepared a small gift for her and her boyfriend for their new home. we coordinated the visit with her boyfriend so she wouldnt notice anything and it worked! she was so overwhelmed at first, but later on she was really happy 🩷💕🧸 >i met a friend two times that i haven't seen in a long time. we planned on painting together, but i ended up doodling album covers that came up on spotify instead (does that count as an activity? www can you tell that nothing much has happened?) >on thursday i finally caught up on my japanese syntax classes and today i want to do the new grammar for next weeks classes. which reminds me... i still need to ask a friend from uni to explain 'quasiphrasen' to me. i only have like two notes jotted down from last semester but i dont think i really grasped the difference between that and a proper phrase >oh and i finished fight club! good book :)) the first half was okay, you can easily breeze through it without noticing, it picks up in its second half. thats when it got really interesting! >i bought both of my parents flowers and a card!! unfortunately i forgot that fathers day was on thursday, so im giving both my papa and mama flowers today - since its mothers day tomorrow

not exactly a productive week i would say, but its okay <3 im not here to compete or do things fast, im doing things for the sake of doing them and because they make me happy 🧸💕💞🩷 a more detailed and jucier version of my week is written inside my physical diary, but that is something i doubt ill ever share with anyone. maybe a future lover 🥹💞🌸

i think for next week i would like to set a goal. nothing too big, i just want to read up on ableism. to learn its forms and how its executed in daily life. so i can learn and grow and be better to people who deserve more than what they're currently given in life. read the bible some more and find peace. have i ever talked about a few weeks ago when i felt so miserable i had the wish to die again? i prayed to God in that moment and i felt so warm afterwards. like He put His gentle hand over my heart to give me the comfort i sought.

pretty decorations by huramuna and sunfoxpixels

[pipermca]

Writing Year in Review - 2023

I have to say, 2023 was an odd year for me.

I finally made it to TFCon again (after taking a long hiatus during the pandemic), and it was absolutely lovely to see everyone. I got to meet some new folks face-to-face, and meet up again with people I'd met in 2019. Spouse came with me this time, and he had a pretty good time (despite only being a TF fan via osmosis).

We did no other travel, though. Part of that was because we got a new cat, so we're back to needing to make kenneling arrangements before going anywhere. And as much of a joy as our cat is, that has made travel a little more inconvenient.

I had some major disruptions at work this year, completely upending the end of my summer and start of fall. As a direct result of this, the coming year is going to be extremely challenging work-wise as I get caught up on some things. Hopefully by late summer 2024, the pressure will be off and I can relax again (back into my usual level of work-related stress).

I also had my first round of Covid in 2023, which absolutely sucked. F minus, not recommended. I came very close to going to the ER during the worst of it, and the aftermath continued to kick my ass for months. The fatigue and brain fog was real, but the other health issues that it produced are still with me. Thank god for vaccines; I don't know how things might have gone if I hadn't been vaccinated.

In the coming year, I am going to try to focus on being kind to myself, both mentally and physically. Part of that is going to include the expectations I'm setting for myself for writing.

In December, I wrote 5,500 words, most of it in the story I've started posting, A Matter of Propriety. The story is still being posted (and I need to finish writing it!!) and I'm hoping to keep up my once-a-week posting schedule. If I can't make good progress on the next chapter this week, I'll probably drop into an every-other-week schedule instead, just so I can maintain my chapter buffer. (The story will likely have eight chapters total.)

For the year, in 2023 I wrote 62,502 words. Most of that was on A Matter of Propriety and Again and Again and Again (my TF Big Bang fic). However, I only posted 24,184 words to AO3, split between 4 completed works. (A Matter of Propriety will finish in 2024, so its stats will eventually count for that year.)

Most months I didn't set a specific word count goal, and that's ok. But possibly as a result, my output was all over the map. The two major peaks are in April (when I did the bulk of my Big Bang fic writing), and July (when I got a smutty fic idea and banged (hah) it out really quick).

Like always, my average words per hour is pretty consistent, although not as much as in previous years. Still, it shows that when I do sit down and write, I get consistent work done.

As I mentioned, I didn't make specific writing goals most months, but when I did, I never reached them. That tells me I am setting my goals too high, and I need to be more realistic.

As for the goals I set for myself for 2023, I did pretty awful. 😅 Again, I think I was just setting expectations too high for myself.

Finish Sun and Moon (working title) Nope. I barely worked on it at all.

Finish one Sparkr story (any of my bunnies or WIPs!) In progress? Call this 50%.

Write two comic scripts for practice Nope.

Make more progress in IDW2 reviews Nope, 0% progress made.

Finish The King and the Bounty Hunter Barely worked on this, either, so no.

Rewrite/repost stories that I took down. Call this 50% done.

When chatting about this with a friend last night, I realized that THREE of my goals were basically "finish this longfic." Considering how much brainpower longfics take, it's no wonder I failed. So as part of my "be kind to myself" vision statement 😅 I'm going to focus on do-able goals, with one "stretch" longfic goal.

Write two comic scripts for practice

Finish reposting taken-down fics

Write and post three one-shots

Start posting Sun and Moon (working title)

My rationale for these is: I really want to practice scriptwriting. I really want to finish getting those old fics back up in a better format. I LOVE the instant quick gratification of getting a short story written and posted. And the stretch goal is to start posting Sun and Moon. If I'm starting to post it, that means I am confident about finishing it. ✨

Behind the cut is the first sentence of each of the stories I posted (sans the reposted fics, since those were all backdated to their original posting dates), and the month it was posted in. I wish everyone a happy and safe 2024!

August. Sharing is Caring. "That's it… There you go." The words were whispered into Bluestreak's audial.

August. Plans in Plans. The tiny dot in the distance grew in size as it approached, until Megatron's optics were able to resolve it into the shape of a Seeker.

September. Again and Again and Again. Create log file.

November. A Nice Set of Wheels. "So who is this guy, again?" Mirage asked, slipping between a box truck and a van.

December. A Matter of Propriety. Orion picked up his comm pad for approximately the thousandth time since being shown to his table, and checked it for messages.

[alatariel-gildaen]

Writer asks 13,21, 30-what’s your favorite thing about Daryl and Carol? (I love them for the record).

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

I am terrible at planning. i'll have an overarching idea, and I'll sit at a computer and get out 3 or 4 chapters then go, 'Huh. Now what?' This is why I have so many WIPs started and so few finished. I've got to the point now where I don't like to publish unless I've finished the whole thing, as I've got several published fics with only 1 or two chapters to go that I've just lost interest in. ADHD can be a right pain in the arse.

21. Have you ever deleted an entire scene after spending hours laboring over it? If so, why?

This chapter right here of Just Adrift of Monsters. I wrote the entire chapter completely differently, then deleted it the whole thing because it just wasn't working, and I thought it'd make more sense to have this chapter from Rick's pov, then I deleted that as well because I decided the whole premise of the chapter was just crap and madde no sense, so I rewrote this chapter as it is now , still from Rick's pov, then deleted that and rewote it again from Carl's.

I've deleted odd bits here and there after spending ages on them, but this chapter in particular - this is the one that has had more complete rewrites than anything else.

30. Ask anything!

OH MY GOD I hope you understand what a floodgate you have just opened.

What don't I love about Daryl and Carol?

Firstly Carol. She is everything, and I mean everything to me. I think any of us who have been in an abusive relationship at some point in our past can relate to her, but seeing her strength and growth is just incredible. She gives hope to so many women who have been abused that we can rise above it, that we are more than the people who have down-trodden us.

I love her sass and humour, and I love her caring nature and kindness, I love that she takes absolutely no shit, that she is capable of making the kind of decisions no one else can, that she will do anything to protect those she loves, and that despite the world going to hell around her, she stays human.

I love that she is played by Melissa McBride, a perfect, ethereal elfin princess, who is just as kind, and funny, and wonderful as the character she plays.

Daryl I love similarly, as a victim of abuse who is so much more than that. But I love how his character so wonderfully subverts traditional masculinity. Here is a man who has always had to fend for himself, he's a loner, he knows how to hunt, he's a biker, he can fight, and when you first meet him, he appears to be racist and misogynistic, just like his brother.

But he's not. Daryl is vulnerable. He wears his heart on his sleeve. He's gentle and thoughtful enough to bring a flower and a story of hope to a grieving mother. Time and again he puts his life on the line to save others. He cries at the loss of loved ones and despite not actually fathering any children, makes an excellent dad.

And as much as I love them as individuals, together they have owned my heart for about a decade

Thanks for the ask, lovely!

[sidhewrites]

Eighteen! Things are happening and I've completely lost my grip on the pacing of this thing. BUT i have so many notes on what I want to fix in the rewrite. I hope you enjoy eldritch ghost locations, because I had too much fun with this one even if it may not make it into the final draft.

Project Info

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Josie still has her nametag on when she bursts into the apartment, out of breath and sweaty to find me sitting on the floor of the living room, holding a can of cat food and a cat brush. I don't know why I picked them up, but I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't sit still, watching Renfield toddle around like his usual thoughtless self. I recognize his movements -- the way he lifts his head, the way he swishes his tail while sniffing a bit of floor. But he looks completely different now, a pale grey cat with yellow eyes and colorless paw pads. It doesn't match. I don't know what to do.

"I'm here," she says. "Tell me everything."

I'd already babbled to her semi-coherently over the phone, but it's somehow grounding to recount it again. It makes me feel slightly less crazy, saying it to her directly rather than yelling to a faceless voice over the phone. "Cat -- cat's here." I point at the bathroom, door shut tight. 

Renfield lays down behind it, one paw stuck out under the door miserably. But he's making his normal sounds. There's some snuffling and mournful peeping, but no talking. Nothing to worry about anymore.

"Cat was at the vet. You saw. We gave cat to the vet. I think cat killed the vet, maybe? Now cat here." There's no telling how grateful I am that she believes me. I sound insane, and I probably look just as bad, hair unbrushed and falling in my face, eyes red.

But Josie just pushes my hair out of my face and directs me to a chair before shoving a cup of water in my hands. "Drink," she says.

I obey.

While I sip tap water, Josie scrolls through her phone. After a moment, her shoulders droop, and she turns it around for me to see. Sure enough, a vet tech was found dead in a 24 hour animal hospital. The culprit was feline, having left claw marks and easily-identifiable bite marks in the tech's skin.

"Oh god..." I breathe, and spare a glance at the bathroom door. Renfield's still there, miserable and alone. Then, after a second, his whining stops. He retracts his paw, and his shadow adjusts under the door as he sits up.

A man's voice clears his throat. I swallow hard as the shadow paces back and forth behind the door and pauses, likely considering the possibility of turning the door knob.

After a moment, he paces again, and then sits down. There's a subtle shift in the air, something lightens, and Renfield starts to chirp again, confused and sad. He knows what the bathroom is, but he doesn't like being in there when the door's closed. It breaks my heart to hear him crying, but I don't dare let him out. Not while Magnus is still possessing him.

"What do we do?" I ask.

"I don't know." She frowns, eyes on the door. After a moment, two little paws stick out, scrabbling for something to grab. "Exorcism?"

"Does that work on ghosts?"

She shrugs. "I don't know."

"Do you...I don't know, do you have some kind of book? Some magic spell or something to banish him?" I feel like an idiot asking for a literal magic solution, but I don't know what else to do. I'm desperate, and I'm scared.

"I might. I don't know. Maybe..." She purses her lips, trying to think. "I might have something. But I don't know anything about banishing ghosts from cats. Mostly I just know how to talk to them, and I'm not even that good at that."

"We have to do something."

She sighs, rubs her neck. "I think...I might. I'll check."

"Should I go with you? Can I help?" I'm desperate to distract myself. I can't sit around doing nothing.

After a moment, Josie shrugs. "Maybe the Librarian has something. It's a long shot, but..."

"I'll go." I don't even hesitate. Ms. Lark is supposed to know everything, according to some legends. I don't know if they carry any weight, but it's worth it to try.

"Okay. Good luck."

While Josie goes home to look through her personal library, I head to campus, giving the graveyard a wider berth than usual. The sun shines overhead, half-hidden behind late October clouds, and the air is pleasantly cold. It's almost nice out, despite everything. All the same, there's no helping the sudden dread as soon as I walk through the Sutton Public Library doors, but I've got a strong feeling it may just be Ms. Lark sizing every visitor up to see if they'd be trouble or not.

I try to give Carter my best smile as I pass the front desk, just in case he recognizes me as the weirdo from a week ago who was so totally doing a biography project for school and not anything weird about some dead guy from 200 years ago. He watches me make a beeline for the stairs, which does nothing to help my I'm-super-not-suspicious-or-doing-anything-weird vibe, but doesn't say anything as I head down to the basement.

It's just as creepy as always. Maybe even more so, now that we're getting so close to Halloween. I imagine that even librarian ghosts are affected by the veil between this life and the next, or whatever it is that keeps them incorporeal. Unseen eyes seem to bore right through me, judging me and finding me wanting. Always wanting. Never good enough.

I choose not to take it personally.

"Hello?" I call out, wandering through the rows and rows of shelves. "Ms. Lark?" When no answer comes, I venture further into the stacks. The room seems larger than when I was last here, older and and a more ominous, with a strange aura emanating from the old lights. They've got to be decades old by now, miraculously still burning with an eerie yellow glow that seem to deepen the shadows.

I suddenly feel very alone, and very small.

Rubbing one of my still-bandaged forearms, keenly aware of how itchy they are, I make myself go further in. Soon enough, the door to the stairwell is too far away to see over the shelves, and it leaves me feeling stranded in a sea of filing boxes. "Hello?" I call out again. "Ms. Lark? Ruby Lark? Miz Ruby? Ruby Tuesdays? Ruby-Doobie-Doo? Would you come out for a Ruby snack?"

She would, as it turns out, come out for a Ruby Snack. Right as I reach the end of the aisle, she appears out of the darkness, a pale woman standing tall and disapproving next to a reshelving cart that has no reason to be down here. I don't recognize the language of the book in her hands, opened to a page of ornate hand-written text. It looks old. And she looks unhappy.

"Hello!" I say, instead of shrieking, because I am trying to be polite. It comes out louder than I mean it to, however, and I clear my throat, and try again in a whisper. "Sorry. Hello. Hi. How are you?"

Ruby says nothing, but she raises a very expectant and unimpressed eyebrow.

"Right. Don't like people. Got it." I throw out finger guns, because I'm cool and calm in the face of danger and beautiful women. "So... look, hi. Thanks for helping out last week. Turns out the guy you found for us was the exact guy we were looking for. Long story short, he's possessing my cat and wants to then possess an innocent person's soul, and we don't want that to happen. Do you happen to know anything about banishing ghosts like that? We don't think a normal exorcism will work."

She looks at me like I'm an idiot, but that's probably just her neutral face. She's probably totally excited to help me out. No worries.

After a minute of being judged and found wanting, Ruby turns away from me, and I follow her down into the depths of the archives. Now I'm certain this room has grown. There's no way that we're under the library anymore, walking this far in a straight line. But I follow her, past rows and rows of old books and filing boxes, past flickering lights and shelving carts. I stop recognizing the letters on the ends of the aisles. Aa- to Ad- gives way to Greek symbols and geometric shapes, and then to shifting shapes I can't even begin to identify in the low light.

I can't help but wonder how far we've gone. It's couldn't have been more than five or six minutes since we started walking, and I'm completely turned around. There's no end to the room in sight.

"So...How far we going?" I say, but if Ruby hears me, she doesn't react. The silence makes my brain itch and my stomach twist around itself. "So during our research, I looked up more about you. I hope that's okay."

I take her lack of response as an affirmative.

"Anyway, there was a lot about your daughter's life. Jane Lark? I read that she left for a bigger city when she sold the library to the city, and she got married to a guy who -- I mean it doesn't really matter, but he had connections to a couple of scholars, and she wound up being an important researcher in reptile behaviorism. Her name was kind of lost to history, and most of her theories were kind of ignored until very recently, but she did a lot of cool stuff with lizards and snakes and things in the tropics. I don't know if anyone had told you that yet, but It was really cool to learn about."

At some time during my rambling, Ruby stops walking. She turns back, eyes glowing in the dim light. Then, after a moment, she smiles.

"Thank you," she says, and continues walking. I follow her as she turns the corner down another row of shelves, but she's gone. I'm alone in the ocean of books yet again, with no way to know which way has the exit.

A book pushes itself off the shelf and lands on the old wooden floor. It opens itself up and flips to a hand-written page with scribbled illustrations overlapping the text. It's hard to make out, but it looks like some sort of ritual.

In the moment it takes me to kneel down and pick up the book, the lights seem to brighten again, and the air sits lighter in my lungs. I look around again, moving quickly to the end of the aisle, and instantly spot the glowing green EXIT sign over the door to the stairwell.

It's barely fifty feet away.

"Thanks again," I say to the air, and waste no time getting out of there.

Carter turns the book over and over again when I hand it to him to check out. There's no barcode, no token, nothing for the scanner to pick up. Even when he opens it up and flips through the yellowed pages, there's not even a card tracking who checked out the book last.

"Is this book even in our system?" he asks, rifling again through the pages. "What is all this?"

"I don't know. The Librarian got it out for me."

"Which one? I'll have to ask them about it."

"The Librarian," I say, emphasizing the capital letter this time. I hold Carter's gaze, making sure he knows that I know exactly how insane this sounds, but also that it's absolutely and completely true.

[Ok well idk man just take it and bring it back.] "It's due in three weeks, I guess. Same as everything."

There's a tug in my gut as I pick up the book and tuck it under my arm. "Something tells me this one is due in two weeks."

"Yeah?"

"Just a feeling."

Carter isn't happy that I don't elaborate, but he lets me go into the late afternoon light, to possibly do black magic rituals on my cat.

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