#hare writing

[un-local]

Fic Noir Preview (3452 words) by harebraind

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Fallout 4, Fallout (Video Games) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Female Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine Characters: Female Sole Survivor (Fallout), Nick Valentine, Sole Survivor (Fallout), Nora (Fallout) Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, More “Defenestrated” Than Diverged—I threw that thang out the window, No Shawn, Childless Sole Survivor, Non-DLC Compliant (I have not played it), Mystery, Swearing, Named Sole Survivor - Freeform, One-Sided Homoerotic Friendship of Doom

Summary:

The world ends. Her friend is abducted. The candidate, they called her as they ripped her from the cryo pod of Vault 111. What the hell does that mean? And where have they taken her? The crystals of frost recede from Miss Elizabeth Doe’s chamber, and she takes it upon herself to find out.

Welcome to the Fallout 4 Noir Remix, where nothing is quite how you remember it. Deep shadows, dry wit, and an answer to the question: "What makes a synth a man?”

…Truth is, I can only tease my tumblr followers for so long before I start to feel bad. Have a little preview.

[starry-bi-sky]

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well: 

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.  

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents. 

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill. 

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.) 

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one. 

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself. 

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.) 

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.) 

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.  

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe. 

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.  

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal. 

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking. 

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter. 

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind. 

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous. 

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own. 

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t. 

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward. 

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”) 

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)  

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell. 

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his. 

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it. 

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.   

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now. 

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own. 

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)  

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother. 

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten. 

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands. 

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely. 

It is a fast dream. 

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods. 

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him. 

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal. 

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train. 

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.) 

—---  

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again. 

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person. 

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.) 

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)   

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird. 

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is. 

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off. 

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom. 

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.) 

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

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

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

[naffeclipse]

Summer Coat

Hare!Reader x Fox!Sun and Moon

Commission Info

I'm delighted to share this fic that @pure-plum was so darling to commission me for! Finally some Of Fox Maws action with Hare Y/N being a flustered mess and the fox boys being just so sweet to admire them in their new summer coat!

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

In a muddy plain of cottongrass, you graze. The tips of your fingers brush over slender, grass-like leaves, emerald and lush in the afternoon light. The seed heads are white, fluffy, and spherical, almost like hare tails but you try to not think of the comparison to your own.

The warmth of the day lies on your fur. Midsummer is upon you and you have changed with the subtle rise of heat in the land of your home. Watching your step, you miss a mud puddle while weaving through the low valley meadow. You pluck a few of the leaves and stuff them into your mouth, chewing slowly. When you brush past the seed heads, they sway and bob in the air, and your fur is rustled by a gentle, sweet breeze.

Pressing on your tiptoes, you scan the meadow and low hills in the distance. You find no hungry eyes watching you. Twisting your long ears, you listen and wait. Not a sound save for the whispering cottongrass. 

Kneeling in the tall grass, you carefully avoid more muck that longs to suck at your feet and stain your fur. Though it better matches your new coat. After a few weeks of hiding in your form, a shallow den, you have emerged with hunger and cravings. The painfully boring and slow process of shedding your thick winter coat of white and emerging with a shining new fur of deep brown is well worth the sleek lightness you now don. 

Constantly, you watch for steel teeth hiding along the ground. Your leg healed from the crushing bite of such a cruel device late in the winter, and you were tended gently by two fox men. Your heart beats quickly in memory of how they help you. It’s strange being at their mercy and yet not suffering for it. 

When it rains, your healed bone will ache, and you’ll trace the scar left between the fibers of your fur, but you can run as fast as you ever have. The fox men ensured you could still flee.

Softly sighing, you grasp another handful of cottongrass. You haven’t seen them since you began your molt, but by then you were roaming by yourself upon a fresh leg and newly acquired mobility.

You’re surprised they haven’t hunted you down yet, considering how much they told you they’ve been trying to get closer to you—

One of your ears prick on a noise. A step. A quiet padding of a foot on soft ground.

You twist, straightening to stare over the fluffy tops of the grassy meadow. It sways. Your eyes sweep over the area. Any movement, any hint of something that doesn’t belong where you do, must be close. Your nose twitches but scents in the air are carried away by the summer breeze. Your tiny heart thunders. Your muscles coil, ready to spring you across the valley at the slightest sign of another.

Low in the meadow close beside you, the grass waves and reveals a darker shape. A shadow, prowling low. Its fur is silvery blue. Frozen water flows into your veins as you hold yourself like ice. So, so very still, you hold your breath. 

The predator might miss you. If you don’t move, don’t run, you might escape.

But in the corner of your vision, another shadow stirs, and fangs glint. Golden brown and grinning with a maw full of teeth, the predator prowls closer. Your heart drops into your stomach.

“There you are,” a hungry voice purrs.

You leap up and bolt. Fear surges into your veins as your feet kick up mud and whip through the seed heads. Before you can clear a boggy bank dividing the grass, a fox leaps upon you. 

You cry out a small sound of fright when arms encircle your waist and pull you to the ground. He twirls you over the leafy strands covering the moist earth, his fur dark and blue like metal. 

In your adrenaline-fueled panic, you catch red eyes holding you—like Moon’s—but instinct takes over when the predator growls softly, “Where are you going, flower?”

You twist out of his grasp when his hands open in the slightest, and scramble out from under him in the opposite direction. Bounding away, the stretch of muscle in your legs pushes you faster. A flick of a thick, golden brown tail sweeps the grass a few inches away from you. Pivoting, you try to jump past the reaching hands, but they snatch you by the upper arms. 

A gasp rips from your throat before you writhe. Kicking and struggling to find purchase with your claws in the attacker’s arms, you cry out a high-pitched scream before a hand finds your cheek and cradles your face.

“It’s us, snowbell, just us,” the voice says, still hungry, but gentle in his want. 

You at last stop. The pounding pulse in your long ears is still thunderous, overtaking you, but you fall still long enough to flick a glance to the fox who holds you captive. Yellow and red swirls intercut the golden brown of the fur on his chest. A glimpse of eyes, blue and sweet, hold yours before gingerly kneeling and sitting you down before him. 

“Sun?” you breathe the name while your lungs heave. Your ears twist, catching the sound of grass parting before you snap your head back to find Moon quietly settling on your other side. His grin is wide and toothy as he regards you. “Moon?”

They look so different. 

“Yes, velvet.” Moon lifts a hand, his claws sharp and dangerous, to rub the velvet of your ears. His caresses find your sensitivity. You immediately endure a shiver falling down your spine but you hold yourself rigid, holding back how weak he makes you at a touch. “Did we frighten you?”

His chest holds the same blue and silver markings, intercut with a now dark gunmetal blue coat. 

It dawns upon you until you flush with embarrassment.

“We only meant to surprise you and perhaps play a little,” Sun says sweetly but his cheeky grin is anything but remorseful. “It’s been so long since we chased you.”

Your eyes widen as your heart resumes a swift tempo. Sun’s fluffy tail sweeps behind you, brushing against your ‘bunny’ tail as the two foxes so often call it. You shift but stay sitting, your back straight as you regard the two predators to your right and left.

“I didn’t recognize you,” you at last confess. You stare at Sun’s golden brown fur washing away his brilliant white coat and turn back to Moon to wonder how swiftly his pale fur molted away.

Sun’s smile splits to reveal sharp, white teeth. “It’s summer, honeysuckle. We change too.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. He leans forward and brushes his whiskers against your neck until you almost hike up your shoulder to protect yourself from the tender touch. Sun’s eyes shine with pleasure. You feel smaller than before.

“Look at you,” Moon murmurs. His soft voice surprises you before his hand descends. His fingers trace your cheek, so less fluffy than it was in winter, but no less soft underneath his touch. You hold very still, afraid a mewl might escape you as he admires you.

Your eyelids flutter as you collect yourself. Does he mean to say that you look more appetizing or simply less vulnerable to being spotted by predators in the summer melt?

Moon shifts to better face you and drapes his tail over your lap. You lift your hands, fingers curling over the soft warmth of his fluff covering you in his summer color. A heat bleeds into your cheeks.

“It’s not as pretty as my white coat,” you stammer.

“I don’t think so.” Sun presses close to your side. His mouth softly presses to your sleek, dark brown shoulder and you freeze under the slick touch of his fangs. The softest nudge from his head jostles you. “You look lovely, always.”

Your middle heats up while you endure his piercing, blue gaze. 

“I must agree,” Moon leans in closer until you turn to fall into the red colors of his eyes. His muzzle touches your cheek. You struggle to not twist and escape the overwhelming intensity of his full attention. “No matter your coat, you are beautiful.”

Your lips part but not a sound comes out. Instead, you scrunch in on yourself and wonder if it’s not too late to slip out of their grasp, but it is futile. They already have you in their clutches.

“You foxes lie too well,” you decide instead, and shrink upon yourself for daring to say so.

“Oh, yes, we do, but we have never lied to you, velvet.” Moon’s chuckle is low and gravelly. His eyes flash as his hand rests on your hip. 

“We adore you too much to do such a thing,” Sun promises but it’s laced with a lick of his tongue over his teeth. He sets a hand on your side and slowly rubs up and down, tracing your ribs and falling to your waist. “We simply had to find you today to admire you. You were hiding from us for so long! We were worried.”

You are struck by their combined efforts to unmake you with their hands and the soft nips of their mouths. Moon noses your cheek and you screw your eyes shut. Sun helps himself to the curve of your neck, nuzzling deeper against you while you fight with all your might to contain the vicious squeaks and whimpers that long to leap from you. 

They would enjoy that, wouldn’t they? The foxes have been dining on you slowly. They nibble and lick until there is nothing left of you to eat save for your bones, and even then, you’re certain they would crack you open just to eat your marrow.

“Please, you’re going to make me melt,” you gasp underneath their invasion. 

“No, no, snowbell,” Sun chides. He stops his nibbling on your shoulder to hold your gaze. “We’re not done enjoying you and your pretty new coat yet.”

“Sun,” you whine softly.

Moon quickly overtakes you with a lick of his pink tongue against your cheek. Your lips part as warmth spills over your body. You tremble underneath his affection.

“Look at you, velvet. You look good enough to eat,” he rolls a laugh from underneath his rasp. You stiffen with a squeak. His eyes flash with hunger, “I think I’ll have one little bite.”

“No,” you plead. “Moon, please.”

“Hm? Flower, did you say something?” he grins. His canines flash. His jaws loom over you as you whimper. 

Then Sun growls softly. You jump in the slightest, your voice caught in your throat.

“You have to share with me, brother,” Sun brushes your cheek with his muzzle. His golden brown fur is so bright against yours. “I need a taste of our little hare too.”

You’re close to dissolving. Even now as they crowd you, overwhelming you with their mouths at your every edge and hands stroking over your body, their claws card through your fur. The foxes pet your legs and back and leave their impressions on your silky soft fur. The caresses of their sharp fingertips sink into you and you start to mewl. 

You held back for so long, despite everything. You are so small and pliable in their hands, and there’s no telling whether they find you delicious and want to scarf you down or simply want to love you until you deliquesce into a shimmery, muddy puddle.

“How precious,” Sun praises you, and you squirm even more as he gently nips your ear. “Even your noises are beautiful.”

“What lovely, sweet sounds,” Moon agrees. His eyes hold you while he draws his fingers down your side and traces your hip. “Perhaps we should savor you more.”

Your heart races. Nearly bursting underneath the foxes’ maw, you scramble for a way to save yourself. You are a being of prey and you must survive, even if it’s the affection of two predators.

“Your fur,” you say, stopping Moon dead from where he was opening his jaws to nibble on your jawline. “It’s handsome.”

He stares as you swallow all your fear and how flustered they made you to reach out and softly stroke Moon’s shoulder. Your claws are meant for digging and cutting plants, not for attacking a meal, but they glide softly over the smooth, satin-like blue sliver of Moon’s summer coat. 

He falls still, his jaw now open but slacked. His red eyes roam over your touch as if finding it otherworldly. 

“And mine, honeysuckle?” Sun yips, his eyes wide and eager. “What do you think of mine?”

Your pulse races but you turn to face Sun’s yearning expression and slowly lift your other hand, calming your shaking just enough to slide your fingers down his chest. Your fingers brush through his red and yellow swirls as well as his golden brown coat. Sun’s wide eyes follow your touch in pleased disbelief.

“Yours is striking,” you whisper. “Very attractive.”

You are just bold enough to fawn over them, and you might dare say that you’ve stunned them for a moment. Sun and Moon exchange looks, brows lifted in surprise and yet content, happy.

Moon’s tail slips over your ankle and rests there for a moment. You find Sun’s fluffy tail curly over your other side as they lean over you, their attention softening at the turn of events you so desperately spun. 

“You don’t lie,” Moon muses.

“I’m not good at it,” you admit, “but why would I lie about how handsome you two are?”

Sun makes a soft sound, almost a squee of delight.

“What else do you think, snowbell?” he asks, leaning down as he tilts his head. His sharp triangular ears flick. “You can keep touching us. It’s alright. Don’t be shy.”

You blush again, but slowly, you find yourself leaning forward to reach both of them. At your slightest nudge, they obey your command to move in front of you so you might better trail your touch down their arms and turn over their large hands. Their palms are sleek and smooth. Moon’s claws twist as if to resist scratching your wrist. Sun is restless, his tail tip whipping softly against your side as he keeps his palm open for you.

“You’re so big,” you say under your breath; a thought that escapes you but now leaves you burning in the face.

Sun’s and Moon’s eyes alight as they both bark and laugh.

“You’re so small,” Moon reaches out to touch your jawline.

“And lovely,” Sun adds with a cheeky grin before he gently strokes your arm. “Perhaps you want a taste of us too? If you have such a desire.”

His question is almost shy, uncertain, and so strange for the two of them who delight in scooping you up for themselves, but the foxes’ eyes flick over your face in search of your answer.

You hold very still under such a thought. Your heartbeat begins to slow within your chest as slowly, you decide while a fluttering takes over your middle.

You lean closer on your knees to reach up and press your nose to the corner of Sun’s maw. His fur is soft and he smells of fresh wood. He holds perfectly still but his tail wriggles against you, giving him away. 

A low growl starts beside you but you are unflinching when you take your kiss and face Moon. Before his lips can part, you find the edge of his muzzle and lay your mouth into him. A scent of silvery evergreens fills you before you draw away.

You bow your head slightly to hide your blush, eyes averted at what you just did. Your ears twist at the softest breaths of the foxes. Large hands take your own, and two muzzles catch you on both cheekbones. 

You squeak, much to their growling delight.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

So might be working on a side project...

So I read a lot of fics on A03 and here on tumblr, and I feel like when it comes to smut there's a lot of misinformation going around with how it like...works.

I'm not talking just about fantasy sex, but like when people are writing realistic smut fics I see things that just make me go "Ow" or "Wait...that's not...how that works,"

One of my buddies actually made a good point that the reason for this is a lot of us read it, and then write it, then kinda just regurgitate the things we've read, even if it's wildly inaccurate. I used to do this a lot when I first started writing smut. So I want to just compile information about how things work in a realistic standpoint. The number one thing about breaking rules is you need to know the rules in order to break them.

So ya, I have two docs that imma slowly be working on that's just filled with information. Imma even be doing research to make sure I have the facts correct on the points I want to make, and having my friend help me out on things he has more experience with. Just a one stop shop in how realistic sex works so if you're unsure about things when writing you can just check it out and be like "Oh, that's how that works!"

Don't ask me when this will be done because I have no clue. There's going to be so much information packed into two separate posts. The topics are:

Realistic Sex 101

BDSM Safety Guide (which will also be going into kinks and how to write and partake in them safely)

I also wanted to discuss things like Non-Con and Dub-Con because with Sylus dropping a while back, I've see so many fics where it's straight up Non-Con and they aren't tagged accordingly because the writer probably doesn't it view it as such. Which sucks for the rest of us who really don't want to read that content.

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Text: The prince sits with a beautiful, snow white rabbit on his lap. It leaps up, transforming into a hare with bared fangs, whenever someone with unknown intentions approaches.

[mxmint323]

"Your hands can hold on to many things, Jonah. Don't let rage be one of them. Anger is a powerful thing, but it's dangerous to let the sun go down on it.

"Vengeance is mine; I will repay. All will be well."

[spacenintendogs]

"... Wolf O'Donnell laid passed out, drooling onto his pillow as he snored, blissfully unaware of everything happening in the Lylat System, and especially of the live broadcasts involving Cornerian celebrities and their rumors about him and Fox McCloud's supposed dating life." - can't let you date me, star fox, chapter 1

30 days of wolfox: day 23

[harbingersglory]

i know i said more dom!reader blah blah blah sorry arlecchino rotted my brain severely. tmasc bunny!arle giving me severe brain damage /pos

(he/him prns used for arle)

at a glance, the big ears and small puffball of a tail might temporarily make you think Arlecchino is far sweeter then he actually is. how could anyone who looked so cute be anything but, right?

but you know better. you serve under Lord Arlecchino - literally. tucked under his desk while he makes you slobber and choke all over his strap. you barely get to breathe with his hand fisted in your hair, keeping you right where he wants you. if you've been particularly exemplary on your little missions, he might even let you sit on his lap. though whether thats worse or not is debatable, making you cockwarm him as he works. and you'd better keep quiet, too. he's not above muzzling you or just straight up shoving his fingers into your mouth to silence you while you squirm on his lap.

maybe if you last until he's done he'll fuck you properly. bend you over his desk and pound your pretty little holes until you're unable to stand. he'll still make you clean up his strap afterwards, of course.

it's when he's in a bad mood that he really gets going. sheds the act of polite, dignified little bunny. no, he's here to break you in and use you like the little toy you are. and you'll let him, won't you? drooling all over his strap when he fucks your throat raw, drags you into the nearest room the moment he sees you to watch your eyes roll back into your head as his cock stretches you out..

he's just as much of a mess as you are when he's this pent up, though. he doesn't bother keeping up appearances when he just has some pent up stress to get out. if you could even think straight you'd notice his puffball of a tail wagging and his ears drooping as he ruts into you, panting and grunting against your ear when you cum around his strap for the tenth time. you could almost swear you heard him whimper, but you'll be in a world of punishment if you mention it the next day (he absolutely did).

[did-someone-say-aliens]

yea found family is great but yknow what i love

the extremely underdone concept of watching a fictional show as a child, but the character you were so infatuated with as a child was sentient, and one day when you’re older you watch it again, and the fictional character remembers you and cares for you and says stuff like “its you!” and “you’ve gotten so big!”

kinda like angel hare and that one thing steve burns did after he left blues clues

i need this trope more present. everywhere

[chanshoesunite]

Chan on the Beach

Content Info: Chan and Y/N meet on a beach in Australia at Christmas and have some fun. This is an edit of Hare's bday fic for Tortoise. No beta we die like Y/N's resistance against lifeguard Chan.

Word count: around 6K

Warnings: semi-public sex, dirty talk

„Aaaah, this is the life!”

You reach over to grab your Virgin Lavender Mojito off the little table next to your lounger. Taking a sip through your plastic-free straw, you let your gaze, well-protected behind your heart-shaped shades, wander across the bay. From your position high up next to the rooftop pool of the renowned “Park Hyatt Sydney”, you can see the world-famous opera house.

“I know, right?” Your best friend Hare is next to you, holding a flashy pink cocktail. “Bless this job!”

As a pilot, Hare is allowed to bring someone along whenever she needs to fly over one of the major holidays, and since it’s Christmas in Austria right now and you’ll only fly back on the 28th, she chose her best friend to keep her company in her five-star hotel. There really are worse fates.

You stand to let your gaze properly explore the vicinity. “Do you fancy going to the beach?” you ask, spying the almost glisteningly white sand in the distance.

Hare raises an eyebrow at you, which you only realise because now it appears behind her sunglasses. “And getting eaten by a shark? Is this your idea of a good time?”

You giggle. “Oh, come on, there are safety nets. And anyway, I was thinking we could do one of those fun videos where you throw sand and I twirl in it? You know, for the Gram?”

Hare looks like she has half a mind to protest, might find this not worth the hassle, but then her smile softens. “Sure,” she says. “Let me check with the hotel staff to find the best beach access for us.”

…

An hour later, you are in your gloriously colourful bikini, twirling barefoot in the sand even though it’s too hot for comfort – not that you would give that away and ruin your Instagram reel, though. Hare is holding your phone, trying to get the perfect angle to have the sun glistening in a golden hour-way on the water.

“And now the sand,” you prompt. “You kinda just let it fly in the breeze, so it looks nice behind me.”

Hare looks dubious for a second. “What if I mess up and hit someone else?” You wave it off. “There’s nobody around!”

It’s true enough – it’s around dinner time, and your stretch of the beach is, possibly due to the holiday, rather empty. Hare nods. “Okay, sure.” She bends down to grab some of the white sand and repositions herself to throw it into the air. You twirl, and from the way Hare’s lips widen into a grin, you can tell it’s a great shot. You can already imagine how amazing you’ll look and how many likes you’ll get, maybe you should cross-post it on TikTok and-

“Oi!”

Both of you turn to see someone standing there. And what a someone. Well, two someones, actually, but your eyes are glued to Someone Number One. He isn’t exactly tall, but well built, his black swimming shorts showing off his narrow hips and creating a marvellous contrast to his thoroughly-trained upper body. He has a sharp jawline that you would like him to use to cut you into chips, a big nose, well-formed cheek bones and beautiful eyes that are, admittedly, currently glaring at you. “What’s that all about?”

One glance at his wet upper body, which is now covered in sand, tells the entirety of what happened – that he is the unwilling participator in an Instagram challenge gone just a little wrong.

Hare gets her bearings faster, but from the way she eyes the taller, lithe man next to the buff grumpy guy, you assume that in order to get into her head, you would have to pass an 18+ ID check. “Sorry, we didn’t see you there and meant absolutely no harm!” She extends one of their towels to the taller guy who looks a little like a Korean forest fairy. “Here, please.”

The guy accepts the towel from her, cleaning his (for his build) substantial abs. You tear your gaze away and meet the buff dude’s eyes, who sarcastically pulls up one eyebrow. For a second, you don’t know what to do.

“Oh!” You realise he’s expecting you to also offer him a towel, so you do. At the way you briefly flounder around, your nemesis’ face softens, and a little smile plays on his face. It’s a good look on him, you decide. “Cheers”, he thanks you, cleaning himself up. “What were you even doing there, throwing sand?” he asks, somewhat curious and content now that the sand isn’t on his pecs but your expensive hotel towel. His voice is still a little gruff, a little dark, a little deep, his Australian accent making it all the more delicious.

Hare, the ever-trusting girl that she is, extends her phone to him. “I was filming a slow-mo reel. It looks absolutely gorgeous if you ask me. Sorry again, but it was kind of worth hitting you with sand for it.”

The two men watch the reel and you can feel your face heating up. You haven’t even seen it yourself yet, and now those two handsome dudes get to do so before you?! You should be mad at Hare, but from the way buff guy’s face softens watching it, you really, really can’t.

Handing her phone back to Hare, the guy looks at you. “You’re beautiful in this,” he says, a little sparkle in his dark eyes. “If I can follow you on Instagram, you’re forgiven.”

Ummmmmm. That’s a statement you haven’t anticipated. You gulp a bit. “Okay,” you agree, and accept the phone back from Hare to open the app for him. Your hand brushes his as you hand it over, and the back of your neck prickles. At the touch, his eyes find yours, and he smirks just the tiniest bit before focusing on the device to type in his Instagram handle. You feel a little lost for words, so you look over at Hare, who confidently winks at you. “Maybe we can buy you two a drink in order to make up for the, er, Sand Incident?”

The other boy chuckles. You take a moment to look at him more carefully and appreciate his fine features, his longer hair tied back in a ponytail. He is beautiful, no doubt about it, but you prefer his shorter friend. “That’s a lovely offer, but we’re actually headed to a party later.” Ponytail glances at the Short King. “But actually…?”

The Short King has finished typing his name. “Yeah, how about you come along?” he finishes the sentence. “I’m Chan,” he adds as he hands back the phone, “but lots of people call me Chris.” Chan nods at the phone and you glance at the handle. “Chanstopher97”. Oh, he’s younger, too. Hot. You accept his following request.

“And I’m Hyunjin.” The other boy smiles at Hare in a way that shows you he seems just as taken with your friend as her body language suggests she is with him. Nice.

“I’m Y/N,” you take charge of the conversation now, and there is a laugh dancing in Chan’s eyes. “And that’s Hare. And about our evening plans…” You look over at Hare, hoping to telepathically communicate that you’re not ready to make this impromptu decision without talking it through with her first.

Hare smiles. “We have dinner plans, but why don’t you text Y/N the address and we’ll see if we can meet you there?” You two share a look and you feel seen and comforted. Hare is keeping your options open but not consenting or refusing in your name.

There is slight disappointment in the two men’s faces, but that’s their issue. “All right,” Chan agrees, running a hand through his darkly wet hair and you are mesmerised by the way the muscles flex on his arms. “I’ll text you in a bit.” He smiles at you. “I really hope to see you there. It’s at the beach, but it does get cool at night, so make sure to bring a hoodie.” He pauses strategically. “Or you can always wear mine.”

You bite your lip to suppress a giddy grin, and his eyes follow the movement. There is an almost hungry quality in his gaze before it flickers back up to again. “See you later.” The confidence he lays into these three words is astounding but very attractive.

Hyunjin smiles sweetly at Hare, which she reciprocates, and then the two men make their way up the beach, in such a manner that the two of you can appreciate their backsides. When they turn around, you feel caught, and the slight blush on Hare’s face betrays the fact that she is experiencing the same emotion. As if in unspoken agreement, you both turn around and sink down in the sand, onto your respective towels that are already dirty anyway.

You are quiet for a moment. Then- “Well, damn,” Hare says.

“Damn,” you agree.

“He’s really hot.”

“I know. Mine too.”

“There’s one for each of us.”

“Yeah.”

Hare glances over at you. “How do you feel about a beach party on Christmas Day in Australia?”

You watch the setting sun glittering on the waves. How do you feel about this? On the one hand, many strangers in one place, mixed with alcohol, are never on top of your list when it comes to a desired evening programme. On the other hand, the party doesn’t have to be where they stay, does it? And Chan, Chris… He is really something. If he were lavender lemonade, you’d sip him. Hehe. Also, as a pilot, Hare has to stay sober, so there will be at least one reasonable person around – or, knowing your besty, at least a sober one.

“I think,” you say slowly. “Theoretically, if we didn’t like it, we could go home at any time. And we can share our location in case we lose each other.”

A slow smile spreads across Hare’s face, reminding you of a cartoon cat who has spotted an especially delicious baby bird. “All right,” your besty agrees. “Let’s party tonight.”

…

Chan texts the details within ten minutes of meeting you and you try not to let it get to your head. Hare and you enjoy an outstanding dinner on the hotel’s rooftop terrace, a Christmas present from the airline, and don’t let the prospect of two hot Korean men on a beach force you to hurry through the five delicious courses. Afterwards, you throw on bikinis, shorts, cute tops and pack long-sleeved items as well, just to be on the safe side. With on-fleek eyeliner and beautiful lipstick, you must surely be the hottest besty duo that has ever walked the hallways of this grand hotel, or so you think on their way downstairs to catch your Uber.

The party location seems to be a dive bar, and as you approach the hut, you are relieved to see that while there is a crowd gathered, it is not overwhelming. The last rays of sunlight are winking over the horizon as the two of you enter the bar.

The interior design is a little bit clichéd in its maritime theme, but since this is your first authentic dive bar experience, you don’t mind. You glance at the nets, the taxidermied swordfish, the life belts, take in the Jack Johnson song playing, and decide you like it. The bar is situated in the middle of the wooden building, an “o” marking the centre of the spot. And right there, behind the counter, drawing a beer, is-

“Is that Chan?” Hare asks the exact moment you realise that your crush is actually working here. Your gaze falls onto Hyunjin next to him, wiping glasses, and the women waiting to catch their attention in front of the bar. “Well,” you conclude. “It seems we’re here for the most popular boys. Damn.”

Hare grabs your hand. “That won’t stop us,” she disagrees. “After all, we are the hottest here.”

She pulls you towards the bar, and it is almost eerie how fast Chan’s head snaps up to meet your eyes. His slowly crinkle as he begins to smile. “You came!” he calls over the music and the waiting people, and some of them actually make space for Hare and you. “We came,” you confirm, propping your elbows up on the bar. “And you came to work, by the looks of it?”

Chan seems sheepish for a moment, but quickly shakes it off. “We are only doing the first shift,” he explains, “and then we’ll be all yours.” He gestures around the room. “You can check out the place or the beach if you’d like. Or hang out with us back here?” He has one hand on the door that swings inward and allows for entrance into the centre of the bar.

Hare glances at Hyunjin. “If we hang out back here, will you make us a kickass alcohol-free cocktail?”

Hyunjin smiles – he really looks good in his loose Celine racerback; you have to admit that. “My pleasure,” he says in a voice that is deeper than you remember.

Hare turns to you. “Beach or bar?” she asks.

You barely hesitate. “Bar.”

…

If someone had asked you a few months ago if spending Christmas day behind a bar sounded like fun, you probably would have refused to even consider the possibility. But this – sitting on chairs with Hare, sipping the amazingly lavender-flavoured cocktail Hyunjin created for you, watching the men work, throwing dish towels or napkins at them in jest – this is a perfectly lovely evening. There isn’t much time to chat, but just by looking at them interact with each other, their customers and their work, you get a better idea of their characters.

Chan seems to be caring, friendly, supportive, flirty, Hyunjin appears to be sweet, sassy and a little on the dramatic side. Both of them react well to the sarcastic comments Hare sometimes throws their way, teasing her back and each other. It is obvious that they are firm friends and likely have been for a long time.

“Hey, Hyunjin, your mojito game is actually pretty weak,” Hare exclaims, hopping off her barstool and joining the taller Korean man at the bar, elbowing him gently. “Why don’t I help you with that?”

Hyunjin’s gaze at her is challenging, but he hands her the bottle. “I am ready to be impressed.”

Someone snorts next to you, and you glance up to find Chan very close to you, also watching the two of them. “Hyunjin’s flirting technique need work,” he says, chuckling softly but not unkindly.

You arch an eyebrow at him. “And yours doesn’t?”

Chan turns to you, and with you propped up on your high bar chair, the two of you are eye to eye. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice suddenly just a tiny bit rough, his eyes intense. You feel yourself blushing but don’t look away. “I am,” you agree.

He shrugs. “Then I don’t think it does.” Chan winks at you and returns to the considerable queue in front of the bar, slapping Hyunjin on the shoulder in the process. “Stop flirting!” he barks, and from the way his friend blushes and Hare starts giggling, you can tell that you are not the only one behind this bar who is experiencing chemistry between herself and a man she met at the beach mere hours ago.

The first shift passes quickly, and as the bar fills up, you love seeing Chan get just a little bit hot, his dark t-shirt, tight to begin with, sticking to him in all the right places.

Finally, when a few of their friends come to take over, Chan throws the dish towel he has been holding down onto the bar and turns to you. “Finished!”, he exclaims happily, an almost childlike joy at having completed his task on his face. He extends his hand to you, offering you help in jumping off the chair. You take his hand, and it’s just a little rough. Does he surf? Play the guitar? You intend to find out. Relishing the moment, you wait just a tiny bit before jumping off, and Chan doesn’t let go of your hand when you’re firmly on your feet, either. You look up at him and there is something in his eyes. A dare to let go? Dream on, pretty boy, you think. I dare if you dare.

Hyunjin hands Hare two glasses – two more of the delicious mocktails, you are happy to see – and grabs two bottles of beer. “Shall we?”

The four of you leave the bar area and then the building behind, and you are thankful to be holding Chan’s hand so as to not lose him in the throng of people that seems to have been growing steadily throughout the past hour. Soon, your sandals hit the sand. There are beanbags on the beach, and miraculously, not all of them are occupied yet, possibly because the night air is just a little bit chilly already. Now you have to let go of Chan’s hand and follow the impulse to run across the now cool sand and throw yourself into an extra-large beanbag, giggling happily. Chan is not far behind, though, approaching you at a languid pace, two drinks in his hands which he has seemingly picked up from Hare and Hyunjin, watching you with a smile. When he is finally standing over you, you glancing up at him, his bravado seems somewhat diminished. “May I join you?” he asks, and when you wiggle just a little bit to the side and pat the newly gained space next to you, his smile widens again. He lets himself sink down next to you and you are overwhelmed by how much you like the smell of his shower gel, mixed with just a hint of sweat and ocean breeze. Delicious.

It takes some arranging, but the two of you are finally comfortable side by side, your drinks secured in the sand, Chan crossing his arms behind his head and gazing up into the night sky. You can hear Hare giggle behind you as, by the sound of it, Hyunjin falls off a beanbag.

The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but you still decide to break it – after all, you want to get to know this delectable specimen better. “So, is this what Christmas usually looks like for you?” you ask.

Chan glances over at you and holds your gaze. Man, you really want to sink into those eyes. “The party’s a tradition,” he explains. “We always host it.”

“We?” You sit up a tiny bit, edging just a little bit closer, and from the way his body shifts towards you, you can feel that he welcomes the change. Your bare leg brushes against his and the skin-on-skin contact makes you antsy, but in a good way. This is exciting – the two of you both know where this will lead, but the timeline is yet unknown, ready to be discovered.

Chan nods. “The lifeguards. Hyunjin and I both work at this beach.”

You process the info quickly and file it away under the category “hot”. “That’s extremely cool,” is what you say, though. “Very responsible.”

The man seems to be blushing a bit and you love how his cool behaviour falls away when he’s being himself. It’s endearing. “I am a huge ocean enthusiast. I am actually currently writing my dissertation on various measures that could be taken to effectively clean the ocean, you know, to remove all of the microplastic. I’m trying to create a filter that can be produced cheaply and applied across all water temperatures.”

Your mouth actually hangs wide open at this. “So, you’re hot AND super smart?!” you blurt out. “That hardly seems fair!”

Chan smirks at this, but there is no denying that he is flattered and cajoled. “And you haven’t even seen me bench press yet,” he jokes.

You laugh. “I’d love to, though,” you say, more serious than you mean to be.

He grins widely. “Well, if you’ll have any more of those cocktails, maybe I’ll have to carry you back later.”

It’s a joke, you both know it, but you notice the exact moment where you both think about him picking you up and maybe pinning you up against a wall. The mood shifts for a moment, it feels less playful and more explicit. The silence is heavy, almost alive with an electric current.

Chan clears his throat. “You haven’t told me yet what a beautiful publicist from overseas is doing in Australia at Christmas.”

Thankful for the distraction, you tell him about the trip, about your job, and as you sip your respective drinks, you establish a shared love for TV shows, bubble tea, colourful hair, non-spicy foods. If this were a first date, it would be absolutely amazing, but sadly, this can’t be a first date, because in less than seventy-two hours, you will be on your way back, and you are severely jetlagged, having arrived only today, and this will merely be a three-day-thing, if at all. You try not to be sad about this, but it’s hard.

Chan seems to sense your distress. “Is everything all right?” he queries, using his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You smile. “Yeah. I was just thinking that I’d love to not leave in three days.” This feels like way too big a confession for this casual hook-up, but somehow, simultaneously, it also feels just right.

He seems to contemplate this, then takes your hand. “Want me to show you my lifeguard hut? You can see pretty far from up there.” It’s a distraction, but it’s working, so you nod and smile at him. Chan pulls you to your feet and just as you turn to tell Hare where you're intending to go, you can see her sitting in Hyunjin’s lap, making out with him. Shrugging, you turn back to Chan – after all, you can both access each other’s locations on your phones and Hare knows how to handle a dude. “You know,” you say boldly, “This could be us.”

Chan pulls you after him, towards the lifeguard station. “Oh, don’t worry,” he says with casualness that makes you shiver in anticipation, “it will be.”

…

Chan’s workspace is actually more elaborate than you anticipated. It’s a little hut on a raised platform so he can seek shelter from the sun while watching the ocean. The bottom of the steps is sealed for the night with a chain-link fence so unauthorized or drunk people won’t be tempted to climb up, but Chan produces a key from a chain around his neck and unlocks it so you can access the platform. You go first, but he keeps his hand on your lower back, steadying you, and you have to admit you like it.

Upon arriving at the top, you are greeted by a few solar lanterns glowing in the dark, illuminating your surroundings. You are maybe four metres up above the ground, but everything – the party goers down the beach, the music, the noise – seems miles away. The only thing you can feel is the wind and Chan’s warm hand against your side, and then there is the glorious sound of the sea. The lanterns also reveal that the chair Chan must usually spend his days in is folded up against the railing, replaced by a picknick blanket and a few throw-pillows. You turn to meet his eyes, into this half-embrace he has going on, and his hand finds your lower back again, pressing you softly to his firm chest. “Did you prepare this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

Chan does have the decency to blush. “I was hoping our night would go this way, I must admit.”

Briefly, the thought that Chan must do this all the time, that this must be his move, makes an appearance, but you actually don’t really care to slut-shame the man. Good for him, he is hot and sweet AND smart, you hope that he has lots of amazing sex, but tonight, preferably with you.

You take it all in – the waves crashing against the sand, the darkness softened by the glow of the lanterns, Chan’s huge hand splayed across your lower back, his scent, his face just inches from yours. “Can I kiss you?” you ask.

Chan briefly closes his eyes before opening them. There is a tiny smile on his lips. “Please,” he whispers. And so, you slowly, anticipation rising in your gut, close the distance and softly place your lips against his. Your first thought is how soft they are as you slowly move, placing your hands against his chest, then sliding them upwards, holding his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Chan tastes of beer and chewing gum, but you don’t mind, you don’t have the capacity to think as his tongue touches yours and suddenly, this isn’t slow anymore, this is heat and lust and want and need. Chan’s hands are still at your lower waist, but from the way he is pressing you against him, you can tell that he wants to touch you, he is just too chivalrous to give in to his passion. You grab hold of one of his hands and place it very deliberately against your bum cheek as you pull his lower lip between your teeth and bite. Chan groans into your mouth, his left hand joining his right on your ass, and then he is lifting you up, pressing you against the railing, thoroughly devouring your mouth all the while.

You wrap your legs around his waist, and one of his hands slides down to touch your bare thigh while he breaks the kiss, pressing his lips to your throat, nibbling, licking, sucking. A moan escapes you, and you can feel him hardening in his pants. Without waiting for him to do it, you pull your shirt off so you’re just in your bikini top, and Chan immediately shifts your weight onto the railing and his left arm so he can slide his hand under the fabric and play with your nipples. At the first slight touch, you are already whining, arching into the touch, and Chan’s chuckle is half mean, half adoring as he watches you respond to him. With your bikini top askew, you feel that the clothing ratio between the two of you is a little unfair, so you pull at his shirt, and he actually stops teasing you for long enough so you can get it off of him. Unfortunately, you don’t have long to admire his physique, because as soon as the offending garment is discarded onto the floor, Chan leans forward to capture one of your nipples between his lips, and your moan is much throatier this time, needier, and you can feel Chan shudder with desire.

“I want you,” he breathes against your chest, making you shudder as the air hits your wet nipple.

“I want you, too,” you admit, stroking your hand across his pecs and earning another groan. “Can you take me like this? Up against the railing?”

Chan arches an eyebrow. “You want me to rail you against the railing?”

You groan at the dad joke, but, for once, not in pleasure. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Yup. And speaking of right into…” He slides one hand into your shorts, going straight for your pussy and parting your lower lips with his forefinger so that any protest you had against his stupid pun dies on your lips. “Fuck, you are so wet,” he sighs. “I’d love to stretch you out with my cock.”

You cock your head to the side. “So why don’t you, then?”

At that dare, Chan crashes his lips to yours and your tongues dance wildly together as he slowly strokes your clit with his fingers, making you gasp into the kiss, before abruptly breaking away. “Fuck, let me just grab a condom real quick,” he says as he puts you down gently, placing an almost sweet kiss against your lips before approaching a bag that you didn’t notice earlier. You quickly discard your shorts and bikini bottoms; now only in your bikini top, you lean against the railing and watch the shoulders in Chan’s back work deliciously as he bends over, searches his bag and finally grabs a foil package before slipping it into the pockets of his shorts. Then he joins you again, scooping you up in his strong arms. You seize the opportunity to hold onto them and stroke them as he lifts you again and captures your lips in another scorching kiss. Your wet core presses against his naked lower abs, and Chan moans at the feeling. He lowers you just a little bit, grinding his still-clothed cock against your aching pussy as he presses kisses to your throat, your cleavage, any spot of bare skin he can reach.

“Please, Chan!” You might be begging at this point, but who cares, actually, he feels big and you want to see and especially feel if that’s the case. “I needed you inside of me like five minutes ago!” He stills, breathing heavily against your skin. “Fuck, okay,” he finally rasps after a moment of silence. “Hold on.”

You put your legs onto the railing, propping yourself up while Chan sheds his shorts and underwear, but not before grabbing the condom from his pocket. You watch as he tears open the package and rolls it over his indeed fairly large cock – it almost makes your mouth water and you promise yourself that before the night is over, it will literally make your mouth water.

Having finished his preparations, Chan steps back into the space between your legs, and you pull him closer. Your kiss is slower, more deliberate as he strokes his tongue against yours, tempting you, seducing you. And then his hard cock is pressed against you, and you shift, allowing him to press into you. Slowly, you feel yourself being filled, stretched by his girth, and you moan loudly as centimetre after centimetre disappears into your tight pussy. Unconsciously, you try to shift away from the intrusion, but Chan’s hands on your hips hold you steady, so you can do nothing but give in and take it. Chan’s tongue is back on your nipple, distracting you from the stretch by stimulating you sweetly, and the way he groans against your skin, muttering how amazing you feel, how tight your little pussy is, how good you are being for him, turns you on even further so that you use your heels to pull him closer, pull him in more quickly.

Finally, when he’s fully inside of you, he comes back up to kiss you, the movement causing him to shift inside you, making you both gasp. You are completely naked, completely out in the open, you realise, and still, this moment is intimate, like you are the only two people left in the world. It’s uncomfortable, rushed, risky – and somehow still perfect.

Chan is visibly trembling with the effort of holding still. “Can I move?” he asks, his voice hoarse against your neck as he kisses you softly, waiting for you to adjust to his size.

You cups his cheek so he’ll meet your eyes. When he does, you say, “Fuck me.”

His pupils dilate, and Chan doesn’t need to be told twice before he pulls almost all the way out and pushes back in with a force that knocks the breath out of you. Before you can recover, he does it again, setting a relentless rhythm, and you are caged between his body and the railing, his thrusts an assault to your very being, but in the best way possible. His body is blazing in the cool night air, keeping you warm as he worships your body, stroking you, kissing you, licking you, fucking you. And even though your weight must take its toll on him, he doesn’t show it, doesn’t let up, pushing into you again and again, filling you, taking you. You are both trying to keep it down, so your heavy breathing can be covered by the sound of the waves, but you would not bet on it working.

He bites your shoulder, suppressing a groan. “I won’t last long, baby, you feel too good. But don’t worry, I’ll make you come as many times as you want tonight. I’ll eat your sweet pussy until you beg me to stop.” You moan, nodding, as he once again sucks a nipple into his mouth. “That’s fair,” you breathe, and Chan chuckles as he seems to again redouble his efforts, railing you against the railing as his breaths become groans rising in pitch until he bites down on your shoulder once more, stilling inside of you.

The two of you stay locked in your embrace for a moment longer, your breaths calming, before Chan tenderly kisses you as he pulls out. Scooping you up into his arms, he lays you down on the blanket and finally removes your bikini top. Drinking in your naked form in the better light provided by the lanterns, Chan strokes his hands up your sides. “There is just something about you that makes it utterly impossible for me to keep my hands to myself,” he says almost wistfully, and then he is between your legs, kissing the insides of your thighs, nuzzling into them, licking his way up to where you need him. Finally, his tongue is on your clit, and he slides two fingers inside of you, and despite the fact that you are deliciously sore from the thorough way he has just fucked you, this is exactly what you need. His tongue writes letters against your clit, every movement unexpected and all the more exciting for it, and the steady rhythm of him finger-fucking you pushes you closer and closer to the edge. God, he looks so good on his knees for you. Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him against you, and the way he groans into your pussy makes you bite back a moan as well, biting your hand to muffle your sounds of pleasure. Your orgasm crashes over you like the waves below you, unrelenting and unavoidable, and you remove your hand, letting Chan hear your high-pitched moans.

Chan stills his hand to feel the contractions around his fingers, but continues to kitten-lick your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you still, shaking from the stimulation. Only then does he press a handful of kisses to your lower belly and move to join you on the blanket properly, propped up on his side on one elbow, pulling you close and pecking your cheek repeatedly until you turn to slowly, lazily, kiss him. His hand strokes your side again. “That was… Pretty fucking great,” he reminisces, and you can’t help but giggle at the verdict.

“It was,” you agree, dragging your nails up Chan’s veiny forearm, making him shiver. For a moment, the sound of the waves is the only thing you hear. “And you’re here for three more days?” Chan asks, a serious note in his playful tone.

You continue to feel his muscular arms as you nod. “That’s right. Why?”

Chan shrugs – awkwardly, given his current position. “Oh, nothing,” he dismisses the question. “I was just contemplating how often I can fuck you in three days.”

A slow grin spreads across your face. “I’d wager that a low to medium double-digit number could be achieved, don’t you agree?”

Chan’s face mirrors your expression. “Do you want to make a bet?” You shrug. “I’d rather suck your cock.” His expression is a mixture of shyness and surprise before it takes on a devilish note. “Well, in that case,” he says, his hand sliding to cup your arse, "be my guest."

[un-local]

Head full of nebulous, incoherent thoughts on Alberich, and how he was a great foil to Rogier.

Alberich was aloof, and Rogier behaved with utter detachment.

Rogier used glintstones in his travelling attire to strengthen his sorceries. Alberich did too, but his were made with blood, taken from others.

From the Staff of the Guilty, which Alberich wields: A heretical staff fashioned from a smoldering, withered sapling that turns the blood of sacrifices pierced by it into glintstone.

Altering Alberich's hat reveals the blindfold underneath.

From the Briars of Punishment Spell: The guilty, their eyes gouged by thorns, lived in eternal darkness. There, they discovered the blood star.

(Rogier studied glintstone, and through that, the stars. He carried the Astrologer staff.)

Alberich sustained a grave, painful injury when his eyes were taken by thorns. After which, he used those very briars as a weapon. Rogier lost use of his legs before the face of Godwyn, by the thorns of deathblight. He begs you not to go near it, lest it harms you too.

Alberich was driven mad, "by jeering tongues during his service to the Roundtable Hold long ago." Meanwhile, Fia has this to say about Rogier:

"He must be possessed of great mental fortitude. It anchors his will, and sustains him, despite his grievous wounds."

Alberich turned on the Hold, if his invasion and his body in the Fortified Manor is anything to go by.

Rogier stayed within it, used it to meet his own "heretical" aims, all the way to the bitter end. (Saving Those Who Live in Death is in direct opposition to the current Order's practices. At least, according to Fundamentalists.)

Rogier was like Alberich. But despite his anger and grief and regret, despite his injury, and despite how others cast him aside and deemed him heretical... Rogier still wanted to save people.

You meet them in the same room. But Rogier is above Alberich.

TLDR: Alberich is Rogier's Joker Phase

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Snowed In

Okay. Seeing as I have been spamming you guys with the new AU. I think it is time for a little treat :3

Ever wondered how the Gang and the Danielle's became such good friends?

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

edit: damnit I forgot to summon you! @spotaus

*---------------------*

Horror watches as Cross looks into the chimney "any luck so far Dust?"

Some clanks and curses "No."

That isn't good.

Horror had never been in the AU for as long as now. And never in the winter months.

He hadn't known that a blizzard could hit out of nowhere.

They had been snowed in very quickly and most electricity had shorted out.

Which honestly wouldn't have been that big of a deal if it hadn't been for their chimney getting clogged with debris. Meaning they couldn't start a fire and risk getting their house smoked out, or worse actually burned down.

Dust had climbed up it to see if he could fix it but he hadn't had much luck. aparently it was really stuck and Dust only had so much room to move around in up there. and if he used too much force it could cause damage.

Horror was fine, he is used to the cold. Same for Dust. Cross is trained and could manage as well. Killer already runs a lot hotter thanks to his strange soul situation and overwarm mana.

Nightmare however?

Horror walks over to the nest and pulls a blanket up slightly. The little made den only holds Killer nad Nightmare at the moment, Killer's soul lighting up the tiny hiding place.

Horror looks at the two as he tries to appear calm even if he feels so afraid and worried "and?"

Killer is rubbing Nightmare through the extra blanket they have him wrapped in. Killer shoots him an anxious look "He is very out of it. I didn't think the cold would be this bad for him."

Horror frowns and mutters "fragile magic." not only that but he is also a tree spirit who was originally form an AU where it was always spring or summer time, or some curious combination of the two. Nightmare was literally not made to deal with winter.

Killer frowns as he tries to share the body heat he has. Nightmare mumbles some words and opens his sockets. looking exhausted.

Killer however looks excited "Hey there tiny boss! How are you feeling?"

Nightmare frowns and looks confused before muttering an reply "tired..."

Killer frowns "Yeah i get thtat. just stay awake for a bit longer okay?"

Nightmare mutters unhappily as he shivers. Nightmare pushes himself close to Killer and Killer locks both his arms around him again as he stares at him "please tell me dust almost got it fixed?"

Horror sighs and shakes his skull. It isn't fixed. and that is the issue.

Killer looks afraid as he looks down at Nightmare "Maybe... maybe we need to make another jump? To a warmer AU at least? Get him to warm up?"

Horror agrees but also the idea of Nightmare making a dimension jump now? while he is already fragile? Horror is afraid it will just make things worse and-

Knocking on the door.

Killer looks up and stares "who the fuck visits people in a blizzard?"

horror frowns and shoots Killer a smile "I will check." he rises to his feet after tugging the blanket in again as he makes his way towards the door. Cross is by his side and looking at it with distrust.

Horror opens the door a tiny bit and stares in shock.

Dani stands on their porch. Dressed in some winter clothes but it looks more like she is dressed for a day of snow fun in the park over standing in a blizzard.

Dani notices he opened the door and grins "Snow carepackage delivery! What you needing?"

horror doens't have the words but luckily Cross does "what the fuck?"

Dani grins as she points a thumb over her shoulder towards the drive way "special snowday delivery."

Horror looks over and sees a very old off road truck standing on their porch. The tires are halfway deflated but gigantic and horror can spot the silvery chains all over them.

Dani must see the confusion and sighs something in the air and Horror can see Ellie give a sigh back.

The truck turns off and Ellie climbs out and towards the loading area of the truck and starts searching through stuff.

Dani steps into their house and clsoes the door before she frowns "fuck it is cold in here. What is wrong?"

Horror is once again all out of words as Cross mutters "chimney got something stuck in it. Dust is trying to fix it but... well... we hadn't finished isolating the whole house..."

Dani nods as she grabs a very old walky talky from her belt. she turns it on and speaks "Dani to Ellie. over."

a moment of silence before crackling "Ellie to Dani, hearing you loud and clear. over!" there are clear sounds of wind on the other side.

Dani grins "Dani to Ellie. We will need tools and blankets. any spare winter clothes is also a must. Over."

a moment before an answer "Heard you loud and clear! Getting it all ready! over and out!"

And Dani puts the walky talky back to her belt before she answers "Each year winter hits hard here. the first year we got here we noticed this and started going around to check on our neighbors. Gerson especially when he still lived here. We kept the habit up." she looks around "anything else you need?"

horror shakes his skull "Nothing really. Just too cold for Nightmare." and didn't that just feel like a failure? To not have been prepared.

Dani nods "You still got enough wood for when the chimney works fine?"

Cross nods "We should."

Dani looks relieved "okay that is good. Lets check to make sure it is all dry while Ellie grabs the stuff."

Dani lets Cross lead her to their wood storage as Horror quickly updates Dust and Killer. both voice their surprise about the sudden visit but one shiver of nightmare and neither say much more on it.

Neither likes to be in debt to others but if it is for their babybones? Yeah. Horror gets it.

Some nkocking on the door and Horror rushes to open it.

Ellie looks even less dressed for the snow as she just stands there with a warm sweater, snowpants, snowboots, a scarf and some earmuffs. She walks in but before she fully steps in she hits her boots together and against the outside doorpost to kick off the snow.

Now that he thinks about it Dani did the same.

Ellie walks in and grins "okay! Winter jacket and sweater. air tight and water proof." she holds it up "Probably a good idea for your kid. Kids always have trouble regulating their heat." she she hands it over.

Horror quickly leads her and all her stuff next to the nest where he raises the blanket again. He shows the jacket and Killer snatches it quickly to wrap Nightmare completely in it.

Ellie next holds up a very large woolen blanket and a fleece blanket. She holds up the woolen one first "This one first. all around him. Then wrap the fleece blanket around that." Horror does as told as Ellie continues to speak.

"What we are doing. As long as there is no outside heat. is trying to form an isolation for him so his own body heat can warm him up. We found that these things work very well."

They end up having nightmare all wrapped up and back in killer's arms before putting another fleece blanket on top of the blanket already covering them.

Ellie shows some thermo clothes next for them to wear and stay warm but Horror mentions they are mostly fine. As long as they stay out of the wind and snow that is. Ellie accepts it and puts it on the pile to take back to their truck.

Dani and cross reappear from their wood pile "Looks fine. you guys also still have enough fire starters so you should be golden. oh nice you brought the tools!" Dani checks the stuff and pulls out a mallet and some rope before going to go towards the chimney and start talking with dust.

Cross stares at Ellie "what?"

ellie smiles as she waits for her wife to finish "We do this yearly. Dani and I are made for the cold. She being a malamute dog monster and I am actually a snowshoe hare. Not exactly bunny but I don't mind being called a bunny monster." she shrugs with a grin. "When the first blizzard hit it meant that we were both excited and went for a walk in the snow together. it was great to be in these temperatures again."

she frowns "As we were walking we realised we didn't see smoke come from the direction of one of our neighbors. where we grew up you just kinda relied on each other in the cold months. You kept an eye on your neighbors and if they lit their fires on time. We decided to check it out and found out that one of them had gotten surprised by the cold and the the house's heating had gotten damaged."

Ellie waves off the worry "Everything was fine in the end. we helped our neighbor back to our house and let him stay while we grabbed some supplies and decided to walk around and check on the others. We made it a habit and made sure that our truck was easy to prepare for winter and rough weather." she grins.

a loud clank and they turn to see a large piece of wood and branches at the bottom of the chimney. Dani grins as she looks up into it "check the top and if the closing and opening mechanism is stillwhole! You guys will need that to keep the snow out."

a moment of silence before confirmation that it is still moving and seems whole. Dani nods and says she will test the handle and to say if anything sounds weird or seems to move weird. They get through the test and moments later dust is down with them.

Dani grins at Ellie "My lady. if you could."

Ellie grins as she walks over to the fire place and with just a few quick hadn movements the fire is ablaze.

Cross blinks "you have fire magic?"

ellie giggles "nah. just the skills to start one!"

dani nods "she is a born arsonist. sadly she is lawful good." ellie nudges her in the side.

Dani grins as Ellie giggles before she shoots them a smile "You guys good? We need to be on our way to check the others. there are always people with little wood or food or blankets and we want to check everyone."

Dani nods "We just came here first because... well it is you guys's first winter here. if you didn't expect the blizzard it can cause for issues."

Horror shakes his skull "we are good." whihc is when they hear sleepy mutters from their nest and killer actually pushes the blanket back to show nightmare rubbing his sockets with a tiny frown. clearly free from his forced half hibernation he had been almost kicked into.

Horror lets out a breath of relieve and mutters "we are good..."

Dani and ellie share a look and nod before leaving a very cheap looking phone with them "in case of you guys need anything else."

Cross frowns and points at their land line "the phone is out."

Dani nods "we know. that is an upgraded walky talky."

ellie grins "while the phone towers can be knocked out these babies are sturdy! They also are limited though. which is why you can only call us using that one but we are by far the most mobile in this weather." and she puffs her chest up proudly

Dani smiles "just give us a call if you need anything." she nudges Ellie "we need to get moving. we don't want to have to drive through a dark snowstorm."

and the two leave again. They both climb into their truck, which really is just their normal truck but with large wheels. before the drive off. huh. seems like the almost flat tires give them drip to get through the loose snow and over the icy roads.

Horror makes a mental note to find a way to thank them before acutally makign a note on their to-do list instead.

afterwards they sit in their nest and just listen to the fire crackle as the storm rages on.

*---------------------*

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[naffeclipse]

Toying around with a sort of Apex Polarity spin involving Sun and Moon and having them as Arctic Fox type of creatures (think werewolf monster body types but fox style) and Y/N is an Arctic Hare-esque humanoid mythical being with white fur and long ears tipped in black. Of course, it's set in the Arctic tundra. Thinking of calling it Of Fox Maws.

You've seen the fox men before. They'll skirt the outsides of the large valley you like to go to gather arctic willow and sedge out of the snow. Their eyes glint in the harsh Arctic light, watching you. You warily tense your legs, always ready to bolt should the two fiends decide they're hungry enough to attempt to chase you down.

You can't trust foxes.

But you always skip away, out of sight and far from the terror of what could easily be your last day. This happens for a season. Sometimes, they attempt to creep closer in plain view but you turn tail and run, ducking behind snowy hills and hiding low until you're certain they're gone.

Once, you were caught off guard in the middle of your foraging. One voice called softly out to you. You jumped back and found the fox men too close, almost within lunging distance—your little heart fluttered as if to take flight and escape—but you ran and ran and ran until you couldn't breathe. Then, you look behind you.

The fox men were nowhere to be found.

One day, you're amid a rocky field of purple saxifrage, happily picking blossoms to toss in your mouth while twisting your long ears this way and that to listen in for any predators or creeping fox men that might try to break your little neck in their vulpine jaws. You never expected the teeth to come from the ground you placed your foot on. A snap of metal. A bone crack. You're bitten by something cold and terrible, and it chains you to the ground. Terrible pain eats your leg as blood, crimson among the snow and rocks, begins to drip down your fur.

You panic. Such is your nature. You thrash and struggle while the metal trap digs deeper into your leg. The safety of daylight begins to fade as exhaustion and fear begin to take hold, and then you see them. Their glinting eyes, their sharp ears narrowed, their fur white and strangely marked with colorful swirls on their underside, their claws scraping over the ground as they come closer and closer.

You cry it in your terror—you could always run before. They talk low and soft to you, one anxiously coaxing you to stop moving, to stop hurting yourself, but you tug and struggle in your wild franticness. The teeth keep biting your leg—you flounder before a set of arms catches you, pinning you down with strange gold and red fur on his chest that warms your deathly chilled body. You scream but another set of hands holds down your caught leg—this one with deep blue and silver swirls in the fur on his chest. You dissolve in the horror of the end that will come from too many jaws—

A musical steel note plays when he breaks the chain in half with his raw strength. You keep thrashing, struggling to get away, but the fox men are too strong, and the one holding you keeps asking you to stop being frightened—they only want to help. The other digs his dark claws into the metal trap and pries it apart as the other drags you out of reach of the contraption maw, and you cry from the pain of it all.

The two begin yipping and fussing. When they press their hands to the bleeding bite mark on your leg, the anguish overwhelms you until all you see is white, then nothing.

They become frantic at your slumped form and all the blood on your silky white fur. Sun takes to your wound and Moon takes you in his arms, and keeping pressure on the strange bite, they carry you back to their den. There, you'll be safe and warm, and there, they can help you with your broken leg.

Hopefully, you won't keep screaming when you wake up. (You will.)

[chaos-in-deepspace]

Can't believe I gotta do this, but okay...strap on in guys because this isn't only a rant, but informational. Gonna show you how to clock AI writing, why it's bad, how to abuse AI for writing, and how to prove something was written using a chat bot.

Have you ever read a fic and had to pause for a moment? Contemplate a few things? You almost feel like a few times you just couldn't figure out. Or perhaps you saw something that just read super awkwardly.

If this describe you reading some fics, then you might've fallen victim to "AI Writers". Yes, that's correct! A writer who uses AI to help them write their fics. Mind you most people when using this method actually use chatbots! So it's not like they just run into ChatGPT, give it a prompt, and then post it. Oh no. They RP it, maybe clean it up a little so it reads more like a fic, and then they post it.

If any of you are use to RPing with Chatbots like Janitor.ai, or even C.ai, then you might occasionally read a fic and realize it's strikingly familiar to chat you read in your own chats. I, for one, dabble in RPing with bots when I get bored, which is how now and days I can read a fic, see certain lines, and just know.

Now I'm certain I don't need to sit here and explain why this is so bad. However, I'll explain anyways if you'd like to hear my opinion, as well as many other artists and writers:

AI is Plagiarism!

Ya, this is plagiarism. How do you think it's generating responses? Or for artwork, where do you think it's grabbing the images from. It doesn't do it itself. AI is basically giving a program information so it can generate things. A lot of programs that uses AI, as well as websites, uses that written information to generate your responses. You know Google Docs? Ya, it can take information from your writing there. Archive of Our Own? Bingo. Tumblr? Ya, it takes writing from here as well. That means the people who have spent a lot of time on their writing, spending years honing their craft, are having their writing styles and voices stolen from AI in order to make those generated responses. Now when it's just you RPing something, pop off. It's just you and your bot. Share it with a few friends, sure! If you post it online though, those words are a mashup of millions of stories written and posted online. So it's plagiarism. Plain and simple.

2. It sets you back as a writer

Ever wondered why some people can write the most amazing things ever? It's because they wrote. They learned. They practiced. It took time and effort in order to build up those skills. They got there by writing. So how is using AI affecting your writing? Easy, you're not writing. At least...not a lot. If you use a chatbot to write half the things in a fic, you're only doing half the work. You're also bouncing off the idea from your bot and going with it, instead of using your writer brain to figure out how this scene would best be executed. Imagine it like this. Someone uses AI to draw an image for themselves. Then they trace over it, add a few of their own touches, and color it the best they can. Did they suddenly learn how to draw? No. Because they didn't take the time to learn why something is placed like this, how the composition works, etc. Same thing with writing. If you're using AI to do all the work then you aren't learning, and you're not going to be getting better as a writer. If that's the case...why are you writing? It should be a fun experience to write, after all. It should be something you want to get better at. So why are you just having AI do it? Attention? You realize your fics need to be pretty well written to garner attention, right? That brings me to my third point.

3. We can tell...and it's not fun to read

Today a friend showed me an paragraph from a fic he found here on tumblr. I saw it. Without even having to ask I knew it was written by AI. Nobody talks like that except a robot. The wording? Repetitive for AI to use. "Their bond grew with every passing moment." | "Their shared connection." | "His voice was barely above a whisper." | "It was a testament to their relationship." | "He's determined to face this challenge with her, hand in hand, and to make the most out of the second chance he's been given." | "A renewed sense of purpose." | "He's determined to face this challenge with her" If I see these lines, I clock it as Janitor in a heartbeat. Sure, not every time it's used is AI, but those are the most common things I see in every RP with a bot, and I actively need to correct the bots or else they'll use it in every fucking reply. Another thing is...RPs read differently from a fic. They're not made to be read like a narrative story. It's a bot replying to someone, so when you do that things get weird. Not to mention sometimes clothes appear and disappear, a position is changed, etc. It's just not good writing...

4. It's lazy

Simple as that. It's fucking lazy to get AI to write a fic. Trust me, I am one lazy motherfucker. I hate doing things. I want to sleep for literally a solid week. However I made the decision to write things, so I write them. I put in the effort. Other writers who don't use AI? They put in the effort. I know at least 20 people who are depressed as all hell, can barely get out of bed unless it's to go to work, who decided to still write. Not everyone is going to be a fast writer. Not everyone is going to find writing easy. If you're going to commit, though, commit to it. Write it. Don't use AI.

With these points being made, I'm sure you can see why in the writer community, it's frowned upon to use AI as well as bots for your writing...especially when you don't disclose it. I could probably put everything aside if you just said it was written using AI. Honesty is the best policy.

People might not want to read it then, but at least they know that you used AI. At least you admitted to it. Using AI and then passing it off as completely original is disgusting.

So you clocked something as AI written. You’re pretty freaking sure this was written with a Chatbot. So you plug it into an AI checker and what? No AI detected? No fucking way.

Yes fucking way.

The detectors use a range of things like: Language Model Comparison, Repetitive phrases and structures, contextual awareness, among a few other things. Now look at the "Language Model" part. What if a Chatbot doesn't have the most common language models? It doesn't detect it as easily, that's what.

Where does that leave Chatbots? Well, it means it’s not really checking for things like Janitor or C.ai. A lot of times it flies under the radar because of this. I have found that there is at least one site that doesn’t do this. Instead of more or less checks the context of the text to see if it was written using AI, rather than relying on ai models.

Quillbot

This is what I use to check. I also did run it through some tests. Mind you, not every program is going to be completely accurate. This just happens to, after thorough testing, be the best at being able to tell if a chatbot was used.

As you can see here, the one on the far left is a fic that I ran through that was my own writing. In the middle I had copy/pasted my own responses, and my bot responses from Janitor. On the far right I pasted only Janitor responses. While it’s not accurate, it could still detect human written from a chat bot!

In comparison to me running it through other AI Detection softwares (one of them being Grammarly), where they detected nothing in the post that were written by both me, and the bot.

The entire reason I’m even making this post is because I happened to come across a fic that seemed like it was written using AI, so I was curious and ran it through. Mind you, the detection software only lets you paste 1,200 words of the writing, so this was just a snippet. The same size snippets that I had put for all of my own tests. This was the result:

So we can make a good guess that this was…probably written by AI. If you’re wondering, no. This isn’t a call out post. I won’t be stating the user who I did this. I ask you not to speculate in the notes of this post either. I don’t want to cause unnecessary drama, because honestly the writing community for this fandom already has that.

I will say, to the writers who are using AI, I’m not the only person who will probably get curious. If you’re going to use AI for your writing, at least state it in the description. It’s manipulative and wrong to not state it.

I know I said AI is bad, but it's also like Thanos. It's inevitable. I fully think we should abuse the hell out of it and make it our bitch. Now how to do that without using it to actually write? Easy.

Force it to give us ideas. Once upon a time I wanted to do some writing, but couldn't think of anything I wanted to write. Sure there's prompt lists out there, but a lot of them didn't fit what I needed. So I grabbed ChatGPT by it's lil grimy throat. I whispered in it's ears "Write me some prompts."

I then took said prompts to jog some ideas in my head, then wrote my own original content. I used AI to help give me a basic idea for my writing and then came up with my own stories. That's a simple way of doing it.

I know people who will RP with a janitor bot because they have a plot in mind for a story, but are uncertain with how they'd want to execute it. So they RP with a bot first, and then once they have an idea, they write a fic based off their RP. They don’t take what the bot said, copy/paste it, then say it’s their fic. They use it as a tool to help them with their ideas. Sometimes if the bot has a really good line, they might take that singular line from it as well. That’s not taking the entire story, it’s just a line that they knew would flow with the fic, and half the time they edit the line as well.

You can also use it for story titles. Can’t come up with a title? Tell ChatGPT the synopsis of your story and then ask it to generate 10 titles for it (actually I just tried to this see the results and am currently laughing my ass off, maybe don't do this).

Don’t forget things like Grammarly. That’s also AI! You can use it to check your grammar and fix awkward wording in your writing.

There’s ways a writer can use AI as a tool. In my opinion, it’s no different from an artist using the symmetry tool for their art. Or using a 3D model to help them make a pose for a drawing in their program. It’s a tool that should be used to help and improve your own content.

[pilot-boi]

Does Pyrrha try to reconnect with Jaune in hares breadth AU? Late night snuggling, attempting to help him recover his memory before Cinder, talking to him till late about her mistakes not sure he remembers or even understands?

She hangs back from him for a while. She blames herself for his death. If she’d just sent him away, this wouldn’t have happened. He would’ve been safe and whole and he would’ve never forgiven her, but at least he would’ve been alive to hate her

And now Jaune’s back

Jaune is back, and he’s different, and he’s confused and scared and innocently happy. He doesn’t remember what she did, he doesn’t remember that she might as well have killed him

He’s just so happy that she’s there, he’s so happy, all bright smiles and fluffy tails and eyes that look a second from shattering under the weight of what he doesn’t know. He needs her. But how can she tell him that every time she looks at him all she can see is him burning alive?

She can’t do that. She can’t tell him

He doesn’t remember their kiss. Or if he does he isn’t saying. She watched him burn, and every time they hold hands she can see a blush blaze across his cheeks like the same fire

Pyrrha isn’t that girl anymore. She’s stronger now, the flames of the Maiden sit in her chest, the scrap of a scrap that latched to her soul before that woman died. The same flames that burned him live in her veins, even as she curls her fingers in his fur and soaks up his warmth while he stumbles through his memories

She doesn’t tell him. She sits, and she smiles, and she bears the weight for him

It didn’t kill her then. Why is it killing her now?

How does she tell him that his naive smile and thoughtless eyes hurt worst of all?

[bonefall]

I'm not in 100 years reading wind, so what's the nightstar stuff as well as the harelight execution scene?

The Nightstar Stuff is that they're constantly making it clear they KNOW that cats can lie about getting the 9 lives, they KNOW that a murderer can receive the lives, and they KNOW that StarClan has never rejected an evil cat before... but then they handwave it away because they don't wanna do anything.

Nightstar/Nightpelt gets namedropped six times and vaguely alluded to a dozen more, but it means nothing to the story. You could have just forgotten him entirely and the plot would happen the same way.

Most of this book is the leaders finding excuses to sit on their butts, but I really only need to share one exchange to demonstrate just HOW stupid this is,

"I'd like to think that the ancestors would speak up." A+ logic Squirrelflight. Just believe that reality won't happen. If you cover your eyes it makes the maneating lion bowling towards your face go away. Soblem prolved.