#i have vague ideas of fics i wanna write just no idea /how/ to put pen to paper

[wereh0gz]

Not feeling great abt some of my creative endeavors rn

[caffeiiine]

eugh i wanna write to take my mind off things

[vitentia]

DEAR DIARY, DAY TWO OF HAVING A GIRLFRIEND….MIGHT DIE.

pairings ━━ jackson!ellie williams x reader

warnings ━━ tooth rotting fluff I fear

synopsis ━━ you like Ellie, ellie likes you, she grows enough tit to ask you out and surprise! you said yes! yet somehow you’re more nervous around your girlfriend than when she was your crush…AGH!

authors note ━━ did I go ghost for a year? yes. did I hear someone ask for more fluff/angst amidst freaktober on tumblr? also yes. I have come to provide🫡

IMPORTANT note — if you wanna request an Ellie or Abby fic, just pm me! I think coming up with all the fics on my own is the reason I burnt out but send me any ideas you have that aren’t smut bc I SUCK at writing that. Im also considering writing for arcane?? So yeah!

Cleaning horse shit isn’t the sexiest job in the world, which is why you were eternally grateful your girlfriend had been assigned to go on patrol with Tommy this morning. Even the thought of “your girlfriend” sent shivers down your spine and a red hot blush on your cheeks. You sniffled and wiped your cheek against your shoulder, conveniently the jacket your girlfriend, Ellie, had given you last night.

Again, you fought back a smile as the words “my girlfriend, ellie” popped into your head. Just 48 hours ago you were accepting the fact that you might have to yearn for the brunette from afar for the rest of your lives, and today you were biting your lips trying not to look too happy shoveling actual shit.

“Hey girlie!” Called out the man in charge, his big gut making it’s way into the shed before his head did as he leaned against his favorite horses stead. “You’ve been relieved. Tommy and Ellie are on their way back, just put the girls back where they belong and I’ll feed them, get it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.” He replied quickly before raising the pitch of his voice and cooing down at the large horse between his palms like a baby.

You snickered at his actions but couldn’t resist the speedy pace you walked at as you grabbed your hanging bag and ran towards the shed bathroom. As soon as you locked the door behind you, you immediately shoved off your almost knee length rubber boots and changed into your cutest (aka least creased) boots. Despite not having any perfume like they did back then, you did make sure to grab a special bar of soap before you left your house and scrubbed the lavender scent into your arms like your life depended on it. Looking in the dirty mirror, you tried to vaguely make out whether or not you looked presentable. You tried lowering the v-cut shirt you were wearing but immediately shook your head and decided against it.

Just as you were in between hyping yourself up and finding an escape route, the guards on top shouted out, stating that the doors were opening.

You were a nervous wreck. Constantly pushing your hair in front of your forehead and then behind your ear while simultaneously walking towards the front of Jackson where your girlfriend would be making an entrance.

With the sun beaming behind her head and shining her brown locks into a beautiful golden color, you had to raise your hand above your eyes to protect yourself. Has she always been this beautiful or are the God’s reminding me how perfect my girlfriend is?

“Millers! You’re back early.” A nearby card player called out, kicking his feet back against a wooden barrel with a cigarette hanging half out of his mouth.

“Yeah well, Ellie was killin’ them things left and right. Would’ve thought she had somewhere to be.” Tommy joked, sliding off his horse and giving you the reigns with a smile. For a second, your heart skipped a beat, believing she might’ve told him on their journey.

“Hey, if you’re a lousy shot, just say that.” Ellie teased him back with a shrug, remaining on her horse with no movement towards getting down. You looked up at her in confusion but as soon as your eyes connected, you immediately looked away, feeling your face burn.

“Yeah, next time I go out on patrol I know who to call.” The man chuckled

“Thank you, man.” Tommy beamed

“Not you, dipshit.”

You and Ellie let out a surprised cackle, and while you tried covering yours up with a cough as Tommy glared in your direction, Ellie couldn’t hold back her hearty laugh. She slapped her thigh and wiped an invisible tear from her eye as Tommy rambled on. While her uncle turned his anger to the card player, she caught your eye and motioned her head towards the stables.

“Lead the way.”

You nodded and lowered your gaze again, mentally freaking out as you guided Tommy’s horse back into her stable with Ellie following close behind on her own. Whilst you removed her gear gently, you could hear the clanging of Ellie following suit behind you. And when she finished, she simply watched you.

“You’re so gentle with them.” You jumped at her words, not expecting her to be so close as she leaned against the entrance of the stable. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She chuckled lightly.

“No, you’re good I, uh, I have this…idea that they’re so on edge from being outside that they can’t really tell when it’s time to relax and when it’s time to work. So I just try to make the transition easier, you know? No loud noises, extra treats, stuff like that..” You answered, giving the ol’ girl a nice rub on her sides.

Ellie hummed and leaned her body backwards, looking both ways to see if anyone was around before stepping into the stable you were in. Her steps were slow as she approached you and you resisted the urge to step away, not for any reason besides you literally thought you might combust being this close to her.

She stood in front of you, eyes staring deeply into yours while her hands remained at her sides. “I’ve been thinking about you all morning.” She said in a low voice.

“Really?”

“Of course.” Her head lowered to find your hands, she clasped both of your hands in both of hers as she admired you. “How could I not?”

Your mind was screaming, blaring alarms, and throwing burning papers in the air as the people in your head attempted to regulate…well everything.

You let out an airy chuckle and looked down bashfully. “Well, you’re lucky you didn’t see me an hour before.” She gave you a confused look, so you continued. “I was cleaning up after the horses.”

Ellie looked up at the ceiling and thought about the vagueness of your words before a smile grew on her cheeks. She lifted her hand to cup her cheek to look her in the eye. “I think you would’ve looked beautiful anyway.”

“Shoveling horse shit?” You snorted

She shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t get in your mouth, no harm, no foul, right?”

“Ewww!” You whined as Ellie laughed at your reaction. You shivered at the thought. “Too early.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” She surrendered, admiring your entire face for a minute before looking behind her quickly. “Hey…” she whispered, almost nervous in a way.

“Hey.”

She moved closer to you, reaching up to stroke your cheek and hoping you wouldn’t notice the way her hand shook the entire way up. “Can I get a kiss?”

Your heart leaped. Your vocal chords were nowhere to found, so you attempted a simple nod. But Ellie smiled at you and shook her head.

“Can I hear you say it?”

You gulped. “Please kiss me, Ellie.”

With a wide smile, she leaned in and connected your lips so gently, you felt like you were being kissed by a fairy. She let you both grow comfortable in the kiss before pulling away lightly, giving you the same chance, and leaning in once more when you chased after her lips. The two of you remained in a tight embrace, neither pushing the others boundary too much but putting enough pressure to know she were there. For a minute, you forgot where you were.

“Hey girlie!” A voice boomed

The two of you pulled away in shock, looking between each other before you quickly looked around at your surroundings and hurriedly threw a brown bag in Ellie’s direction. She caught it in both arms before spinning around to face the burly old man who sauntered over.

“Williams. What are you doing in my shed?” He questioned her.

You popped out from the other side of the horse and patted her side. “Sorry, sir. She wanted to give the girls some treats for their hard work out there.”

He looked between you two suspiciously before crossing his arms over his chest and staring at Ellie with a look you couldn’t put your finger on. “So you’re the one who’s been sneaking my girls extra snacks, eh?”

Ellie’s mouth opened and closed for a second before sighing and handing him the bag as if she’d been caught. “Yep, it’s me. Sorry, man.”

He sucked his teeth and snatched the bag out of her hand, reaching inside to grab a red apple and bite into it. “You’re lucky you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count, Williams.” He pointed at her and then to you. “And you, stop bein’ so damn nice. Y’all are gonna fatten my horses up. Now, get.”

You and Ellie swiftly made your way out of the horse shed, walking side by side inconspicuously throughout Jackson. Your hands occasionally bumped each other and you both resisted the urge to grab it. Ellie, because she didn’t want her business out to the whole world, and you, because your hands were probably dripping from how sweaty they felt.

You’d never felt this nervous around anyone. The secrecy of your relationship made it all the more wild. And yeah, it would be nice for everyone to know that Ellie is yours.

It’s also just nice being able to tell yourself that Ellie fucking Williams is your girlfriend.

[val-made-a-mistake]

Currently imagining a scenario where you and Eddie have some sort of split custody arrangement for Venom, and you have some sort of NSFW dream about Eddie, and Venom sees the whole thing because of brain link or whatever, and then shares this exciting development with Eddie the next time he's bonded to Venom

venom is definitely not one to keep a secret, for sure 😭 thank you so much for your request, i hope you enjoy. :) smut-wise, it's a bit more focused on eddie than my previous fics where it was either symbiote-focused or an even split, hope that's okay. this was SO much fun to write!

warnings: brief smut, mentions of oral f receiving, mentions of "striking" the reader but it's totally a misunderstanding, loneliness, mentions of eating people/murder

word count: 3.3k

//////

It had been six days since Eddie had left for Seattle, and honestly, you hadn’t been expecting to fall into this loneliness so quickly. Venom might have been keeping you company by providing you with an endless stream of commentary in your inner conscience, and the chickens were constantly squawking and squabbling and wandering the length of the apartment as per usual, so it wasn’t like the space was totally silent, but still, Eddie’s absence was more saddening than you thought it would be. Over the course of the six days, you struggled to busy yourself. Of course you preferred Eddie having a job as to being without one, but one thing you particularly hated was how vague investigative jobs were, so as a result, you had no idea when he would come back or how long the work would take to be done.

For the time being, it looked like you were stuck here.

Before he’d left, Eddie had asked you to babysit Venom and his apartment, and now that you’d been here for an extended amount of time, you felt horribly restless.

Feeling the weight of the quiet apartment settling in, you cast a glance around the room. The hum of the refrigerator seemed to amplify in the sort-of silence, and you found yourself drawn to staring at Eddie's belongings scattered around.

Your gaze fell on a framed photograph on the shelf – Eddie with a carefree grin, arm slung around your shoulders. The memories flooded back, and a bittersweet smile touched your lips.

As if sensing your thoughts, Venom's voice rumbled in your mind.

EDDIE IS DEFINITELY MISSING OUT WITHOUT US AROUND.

The symbiote's attempt at comfort was appreciated, but it only deepened your sense of solitude.

Sighing you folded yourself into a ball on the couch, tucking your chin into your knees. The TV in front of you was off, and you had no intention to turn it on. For now, it was okay to mull in the quiet.

You mumbled into your knees, “What do you think he's up to in Seattle?" 

CATCHING BAD GUYS. KICKING BUTT. EATING SEATTLE FOOD. ZOOMING AROUND. ACTING PATHETIC WITHOUT US THERE.

“V, you and I don’t know anything about investigative journalism,” you put in gently.

Venom was, of course, offended.

I KNOW A LOT ABOUT EATING BAD GUYS!

“Yeah, but Eddie won’t let you eat bad guys in Seattle any more than he does here.”

It was at that moment that Venom popped out from your shoulder blade, miniature head scowling.

HE SHOULD!

“Wanna go get a bite to eat?” you interjected, effectively ending the conversation. “I’ll even let you drive, if you want.”

Venom grinned much too wide for his intentions to be anything but nefarious, so you quickly added, “No eating people.”

You turned fast and pointed to the pizza box sign in the kitchen. “Eddie might not be here, but that rule’s definitely still active while you’re in my body, okay?”

Venom, for lack of a better word with his gaping mouth full of super-sized fangs, pouted.

YOU ARE NO FUN!

I just don’t want to be involved in any murder, you wanted to say, but slimy, black, glittering goo was already wrapping and contorting around your middle. Venom was enveloping you, taking over.

It was a bit of an unpleasant sensation as Venom’s monstrous gooey head locked into place over where yours used to be, and rows of impressive fangs unfolded in your suddenly super-sized mouth. It felt like somebody had cracked an egg over your head and the yolk was dripping down your body. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to it. You had no idea how Eddie put up with it.

For how quickly his annoyance started, Venom seemed to get over it pretty quickly. He grinned and licked his lips.

I WOULD LIKE TO GO TO MCDONALDS.

//////

The room was shrouded in the quiet stillness of the night. The dim glow of a bedside lamp cast a warm pool of light on the walls, creating a cozy haven within the four corners of Eddie’s bedroom. You were in bed. Venom, for the first time that day, was quiet.

Under the soft blanket, your eyelids were growing heavy with the weight of the day's endeavours. You still missed Eddie, a lot, so much that your nightly FaceTime call almost wasn’t enough. Seeing his face on your laptop screen was just a further reminder of how far two states away felt, and how binded you felt to him since you met him — he pulled at you without even realizing it, like you’d been sewn together with invisible thread.

Hopefully he wouldn’t be in Seattle for too much longer.

The rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to synchronize with the slowing pace of your breath. As the minutes ticked away, you found yourself on the threshold of the dream world, caught between wakefulness and the gentle pull of slumber. Not even the distant murmur of passing cars was enough to distract you now.

Closing your eyes, you surrendered to the sensation of falling asleep, gently gliding down into the abyss of dreams. Eddie’s bedroom, once familiar and defined, now blurred at the edges, transforming into a surreal landscape of colours and shapes.

As you drifted further into the realms of slumber, a sensation of weightlessness enveloped you. It was as if you were floating on a sea of tranquility, carried away by the ebb and flow of your own breath. The boundaries between reality and imagination began to dissolve, and the world outside melted.

//////

Sometime between now and then, you’d ended up bent over in Eddie’s lap, on a couch that felt just like his couch, but was ambiguous enough that it could’ve been anywhere. Things were slightly blurry around the edges, surreal enough to have you breathless, but real enough that you weren’t questioning your surroundings.

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathed as he tilted his head, carefully examining the swelling ass on his lap. Your pussy was dripping, there was a dribble of arousal forming, but in all honesty, he was a little scared to touch you, he didn’t want to hurt you. “I don’t think I’m getting a finger in there, girl. Wow.”

“Luckily, I’m not that fragile,” you responded playfully as you arched your back for him. Eddie bit his lip as this only accentuated the curve of your ass.

“God,” he whispered as he ran a hand up your thigh: he was able to break them apart easily, and he pulled one leg over his lap, wedging you firmly between his legs.

Even though you were already soaking wet, Eddie’s fingers ran over your dripping slit for a moment, as if he were admiring the way your pussy fluttered at his touch in front of him.

God, you could just feel how wet you were, and you bit your lip, anticipating for Eddie to lean forward, and—

Y/N!!!

In an instant you’d jumped awake: you’d sprang to attention without really realizing how you’d done it, scrambling for the lamp. “What’s going on?”

Venom was protruding from your shoulderblade again, bouncing even more than normal, very clearly in extreme distress.

SWEET GIRL. WE ARE RECEIVING VISIONS.

You stifled your yawn with your hand. “V, do you mean, like - like a dream?”

WE ARE RECEIVING VISIONS! RECEIVING VISIONS OF EDDIE EATING YOU! THIS IS VERY SERIOUS! WE NEED TO KEEP YOU SAFE!

Your cheeks instantly warmed, and you froze, scrambling for something to say. “Oh - oh, shit, Venom - that - I’m so sorry, but I really don’t think that was what you think it was.”

HE WAS STRIKING YOU! Venom snapped.

Oh my god. He really saw all of that.

You reached for the water bottle on your nightstand. “V, you seriously don’t need to worry about this. It wasn’t real. It was a dream. Nothing bad will come from it."

Venom was, of course, still hysterical.

IT WAS A PROPHECY! THIS IS BAD!

I wouldn’t mind if it was a prophecy, you thought selfishly before you could stop yourself, but you shoved it down. “Everything’s alright, Venom. Okay? Everything's fine. Let’s just go back to bed.”

I WILL NOT APOLOGIZE FOR CARING ABOUT YOU, Y/N.

You were already sliding back under the blanket. “I’m not asking you to, V. I appreciate it.”

You hesitated.

“Just, uh, next time you’re bonded to Eddie, please don’t tell him about this, okay? It could make him - I don't know, uncomfortable. You know, I - I don’t know how he’d react to the prophecy of him supposedly hurting me, that’s all. I don’t want to worry him.”

(You were hoping wildly that he would accept, and you and Venom would never talk about this again.)

In a move you’d never seen before, Venom raised one gloopy, black tentacle towards you, and recognizing the movement, you extended your pinky towards him. Your pinky and the black goo linked together for a moment, signifying your trust.

Venom grinned, now bouncing significantly less.

I NEVER BREAK A PINKY PROMISE, SWEET GIRL.

You raised your eyebrow.

I TRY NOT TO.

You were much too tired for any of this, you simply turned over to switch off the lamp and finally return to whatever remnants of that dream was left. “Okay then. Goodnight, V.”

//////

It was satisfying to have everything fall back into the natural order once Eddie returned home from Seattle. You returned to your own apartment on the opposite side of town, but of course visited frequently, and Eddie was grateful to be back in a low-stakes environment once more, with a snarky symbiote that would terrify anyone who would try to harm him. Seattle had been thrilling, and he'd recounted the adventure to you several times, but now he was back to something familiar.

The job was done. He was covered for the time being. Freelancing was difficult, but for now, everything would be okay.

In the intervening time, Venom talked about you, a lot. Ever since he met you, he’d taken to mentioning you. But ever since you’d agreed to split custody of the symbiote, and especially since Eddie had disappeared for Seattle, he was talking about you even more.

I AM WORRIED ABOUT Y/N, he said one day.

Eddie was idly clicking through TV channels, watching everything from the news to a police drama to a basketball game zoom past, finding none of them interesting. “Why?”

I DO NOT WANT ANY BAD OMENS TO BE FOLLOWING HER. WE NEED TO KEEP HER SAFE.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, a bit confused.

Venom suddenly popped out of his shoulder, howling.

SHE - SHE HAS -

Before Venom could get any actual words out, Eddie was lifted from the couch as the symbiote rose and slammed his head into the ceiling, denting it severely and sending bits of drywall raining down from the heavens like it was a form of self-punishment.

As quickly as it started, Eddie had been dropped on the couch, red in the face and gasping for air.

Venom hardly noticed: he seemed to be in extreme distress.

I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO TELL!

Eddie put a hand to his throat, still sweaty and gasping, forcing an inhale. “V - what?”

Venom was beside himself, now.

Y/N IS RECEIVING VISIONS! VISIONS OF YOU!

"Visions? What do you mean, visions of me?" Eddie asked, his concern deepening. Suddenly, he wasn’t feeling half-strangled anymore. His mind was racing, his thoughts a jumble of confusion and worry. "What kind of visions? Is she in danger?" 

He couldn't fathom what could be causing you to have distressing dreams about him.

Right after Seattle? Right after he thought the work was finished?

I DO NOT KNOW. BUT WE MUST PROTECT HER.

Without waiting for further response, Venom oozed off Eddie's shoulder and began slithering around the room, agitated.

Eddie remained on the couch, trying to process this information. "If something's going on, then we need to talk to her, right? Figure out what's happening."

I AGREE. SHE IS PART OF US, AND WE WILL NOT LET ANY HARM BEFALL HER.

He paused, awkwardly.

BUT PLEASE LET HER KNOW I AM SORRY. I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO SHARE THIS WITH YOU, EDDIE. SHE SAYS SHE DOES NOT WANT TO WORRY YOU. SHE DOES NOT SHARE THE SAME CONCERN I HAVE.

It didn’t matter: Eddie was already grabbing his phone and dialling your number, fingers tapping nervously against his screen.

After a few tense rings, you picked up.

“Hey, Eddie!”

"Hey, we need to talk," Eddie said urgently, glancing at Venom, who was now wrapping himself around the coffee table, sticky and pulsating, in deep despair.

Concern filled your voice. "Is everything okay?"

“Oh, I mean, yeah, right now it is,” he responded wildly, vaguely aiming for nonchalant. “I was just talking to V, you know, and he said something, and - I just kinda wanted to call, y’know, see if you were alright-”

“Oh, I'm fine,” you confirmed, but you still sounded confused. “I don’t have anything going on today, so I’m just spending some time to myself. What did V tell you?”

Across from Eddie, Venom moaned in despair, a mere gooey black glob of depression on his sitting room floor.

SWEET GIRL, I AM SORRY!

“He said you were getting some disturbing visions, and not gonna lie, it kinda freaked me out a bit,” Eddie said sheepishly, hoping you hadn’t heard that. “I just wanted to call and see if you were okay, that’s all. I know this is random. Sorry. Just, with the nature of the last case, y’know, up in Seattle-”

It didn’t take long before he realized he was rambling again about the Seattle case, so he stopped. “Sorry.”

"No, it's okay."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then a sigh.

Of course this was happening.

“Eddie, there’s been a misunderstanding,” you said. “Just, look - do you mind coming over? I’ll explain everything to you once you’re here. This might be better in person.”

Eddie was on his feet in an instant. “Sure, yeah.”

//////

Eddie rushed through the city streets, a mixture of worry and curiosity gnawing at him. Venom was bonded to him again, because he’d rather not think about the consequences of a depressed Venom lingering around the apartment while he was out, and the symbiote seemed to writhe within him with impatience. Or maybe that was just the motorbike rumbling underneath him. Whichever it was, he felt nauseous.

The symbiote had a tendency to jump to conclusions, but Eddie definitely couldn't shake the unease that settled in his gut.

Upon arriving at your apartment, Eddie knocked hastily.

To his surprise, you opened the door with a small smile.

"Hey," you greeted, ushering him inside. "Thanks for coming over."

Eddie nodded, glancing around your living room as if expecting something unusual. Venom, still on edge, clung within him like a sentient black backpack.

He didn’t want to come off as too eager, or too worried, so he just shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and hoped he looked casual despite the storm of questions brewing inside of him.

“So - what’s the deal?”

Deep inside of him, Venom was quivering with fright. As his gooey molecular form had to be closely intertwined with several of his most important organs right now, it was very hard not to notice the sensation.

You winced. “He’s just freaking out about nothing. There’s no bad omens or visions. I just had a dream, and you were in it. Simple stuff. Nothing to worry about.”

“It wasn’t a bad dream?” Eddie said, cautious.

You were definitely closer, now. “Actually, I’d say it was a pretty damn good dream.”

Eddie’s breath was caught in his throat. Out of everything that could’ve happened tonight, he definitely hadn’t been expecting…this.

He was a little confused, honestly. What was going on? The hairs on the back of his neck were raised, but he didn't feel as though he was in danger. On the contrary, he felt quite warm.

“Let me show you?” you offered.

"Okay," he bit out before he was conscious of making the decision, and you were stepping in front of him, and realizing, he closed his eyes on instinct--

The kiss that followed was absolutely dizzying.

There was something so particularly desperate about this: you were kissing, gasping against his mouth and pulling at his jacket, which made the two of you blindly scramble backwards into the apartment, messy and needy. The kiss quickly turned into a battle of control, with Eddie being the one to guide you forward, his hands on your hips. You bit his bottom lip in response, forcing him to open up and then the kiss was all about tongues, wet and sensitive.

You were on the couch when you finally broke apart, gasping.

"Baby," Eddie wheezed, his eyes darting across your face in disbelief, "I - what was that?"

"Is V with you?" you asked, instead of answering the question.

He was apprehensive now. "Yeah?"

"He needs to know I'm not in danger," you whispered, and you leaned forward to kiss him again.

It was much too chaste, and after you pulled away, Eddie was in mute astonishment for a moment.

His voice was scratchy when he spoke. "Disturbing visions, huh?"

You just smiled. "In my dream, we were on a couch, like this."

Eddie still couldn't believe this was happening. The anxiety in his gut on the way over had been completely forgotten now, blurring out of his memory, the future was an impossible thing, there was just this. This was all he had; this was all he wanted. "Were we, now?"

He didn't know what to do, but that didn't seem to matter, you were leading.

You nodded. "It was kinda hot."

"Kinda?" Eddie repeated dumbly, breathless. His voice sounded like a stranger's.

Before he could embarrass himself, Venom's voice rumbled within him, frustrated.

EDDIE, STOP BEING A PUSSY!

Wondering vaguely if this had been a trap all along, Eddie grabbed the nape of your neck and pulled you in for a kiss. Your mouths roved together, and he took the opportunity to pull you over, closer to him. The curve of your bare spine was warm from under your sweater. He kept his hand there, roaming carelessly, drifting up to the clasp of your bra.

You seemed to get what he was going for, and then suddenly you were straddling him, and with you on top of him, he could no longer ignore how interested his dick was in the proceedings.

Slightly, just slightly, you rolled your hips against his clothed crotch, and Eddie choked out a moan.

Oh, fuck. He could feel the sweat materializing and running down his back. This was better than good.

(Venom was definitely going to tease him about this later.)

"What happened next?" Eddie mumbled, looking up at you, his eyes blown black.

You smiled, then crossed your arms and peeled off your sweater. Eddie shifted his grip, holding you by the hips again, and you tossed your sweater elsewhere.

Venom was going absolutely insane from inside him: it felt like he was rumbling somewhere around his large intestine.

DO NOT MESS THIS UP, EDDIE!

Meanwhile, you were, of course, oblivious to the commentary in Eddie's mind.

"I mean," you said, and your voice wasn't smoky like it had been before. It was just curious, with a note of teasing, like this was an everyday conversation. "You ate me out."

He pressed a light kiss to your throat. "Then flip over, baby."

Inside his head, Venom seemed to be having some kind of meltdown. Maybe he had just realized what the dream was. Maybe he was jealous. Either way, he was rambling in Eddie's mind.

SWEET GIRL - SO FRAGILE - SO SWEET - SO DELICIOUS - I NEED TO TASTE -

[slytherinboysappreciation]

Mattheo/Theodore x m reader

Straight boy mattheo who's getting with the prettiest girl in his house but he doesn't wanna be a total loser at kissing yk? So what's better than making you, his best bro, practice with him?

Obviously, with some trepidation, you do it and he loves it so much he chases after your lips even after you move away to critique him (imagine sitting on a couch w him and you move away from his lips to talk about what he does wrong but all he does is push you shoulders back until your back is flush with the couch just so he could keep kissing you)

Anyway, this slowly escalates into him getting a boner and rubbing it on your groin, begging you to "help me out bro"

Then after a week of practicing he gets with his dream girl and the kissing was a success, so was the blowjob she gave him! But he accidentally said your name while doing it and he blew it!

(Op you can choose how this ends)

Kissing - M.R. x male!Reader

A/N: Hehe this was fun to write. Difficult, but so much fun. I really really hope the smut is good 😬 The fix is unedited with no use of Y/N. If the ending seems a little weird, I’m sorry. I was really tired when I wrote it

This is the start of Mattheo’s bi awakening. Why? Because I said so

Fic does contain smut so NO MINORS!!

CW: Smut!!!; begging; Mattheo’s puppy eyes; Reader is in love with Mattheo; mentions of kissing; female oc; kissing; lots of kissing; making out; explicit sexual content; swearing; public sex; grinding; more begging; handjobs; cum; brief sweet moment; somewhat interrupted sex, I guess?; sex jokes; vague descriptions of blowjobs; several uses of the word ‘gay’; Mattheo doesn’t understand his feelings; Matty is a horny boy; mildly ambiguous ending; this takes place in Mattheo and Reader’s seventh year of school, so they’re both of age!!

1853 words

“C’mon, mate,” Mattheo begs, pulling you yet again from your homework. “It’s for a good cause!”

You look up, mildly annoyed.

The two of you are in the empty Slytherin common room, the last students there for the night. Everyone else is either sleeping or out partying.

It’s just the two of you, and Mattheo is set on annoying you.

He’s your best friend; your other half, so to speak. It’s been this way for almost seven years. He’s the yin to your yang, the fire to your calm.

Which he’s disrupting pretty majorly right now.

You exhale slowly, putting down your quill. “Just ask Pansy. Or Daphne. They’re good kissers, right?”

Mattheo groans and leans into you, giving you his best puppy eyes. The ones you can never say no to. “Please? I don’t trust them like I trust you. You won’t make fun of me or hold it over me like they will.”

He’s getting vulnerable, which means he’s being serious. Damn him.

You sigh and force yourself to look away. “Matty…”

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear! Besides, it’s not like, you know, we’re in love or anything. It’s just a kiss or two.”

And that is the entire problem. Because you are very much in love with him.

You’ve been pining after him since second year. Practically ever since you became friends. You’ve been head over heels for him, utterly and truly in love.

And he has no idea.

Which is why to him, asking you for kissing practice isn’t a big deal.

It’s all Seraphina Selwyn’s fault. She’s undeniably the prettiest Slytherin in your year, if not the whole school.

And out of all the boys she decided she wanted to have, she had to pick yours.

Her and Mattheo have been flirting for months. And she’s finally started to show signs that she’s ready for him to make a move.

He’s been giddy about it since it happened, gushing about it every time he’s alone with you. It just makes you feel sick.

But you can’t let him down, especially not when he’s giving you those oh so sad puppy eyes you can’t resist.

With a sigh, you nod. “Fine. But only a few kisses. Wouldn’t want anyone spreading any rumors about us.”

It hurts to say. But you can’t let him know.

Mattheo grins and scoots closer. “Alright! Teach me how to kiss, oh wise one.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. He’s so dorky sometimes. “Just… come here.”

You reach out and gently guide his head to yours. You pause for a moment, mouth right above his.

Are you really going to do this?

To your surprise, it’s Mattheo who leans the rest of the way in. He presses his mouth to yours in a clumsy kiss.

It feels like sparks go down your spine. You shiver, eyes closing.

Mattheo kisses you like he’s hungry, like your mouth is a feast and he’s ravenous for it. He’s clumsy and eager, but has enough common sense to not try and shove his tongue down your throat.

You try to slow the kiss down. To show him how to move his mouth and such. It works… sort of.

After several kisses, you try and pull back. Not far, but just enough so you can give him some advice.

He chases after you. Leaning further into you in order to press his lips to yours again.

“Matty—“

He pushes your shoulders back, pressing you back against the arm of the couch. And you?

Your entire body lights up with sparks as he slides partway onto your lap. You can feel your dick twitch underneath him and for a moment you panic. He’s gonna feel you!

But Mattheo only moans softly and continues kissing you. He shifts his position on your lap, resting his hands on your chest for support.

You melt into the kiss, letting your lips part and your body relax. You can’t help it. This could be your only chance ever to kiss Mattheo; and if he’s into it, you’re not gonna complain.

Mattheo’s tongue slips into your mouth and you forget why you ever wanted to pull away in the first place.

The two of you make out for what feels like hours. Just mouth pressed to mouth, tongues gliding together. You pull back a couple times to breathe, and Mattheo always chases your mouth with his.

It’s hot. Painfully so. You’re made aware of your hard-on every time Mattheo shifts in your lap.

You know he can feel it. You brace yourself, preparing for the moment he mentions it. But he seems too caught up in kissing you to care.

He shifts again and makes a small noise. An almost groaning sound. You feel yourself throb when you realize he’s just as hard as you.

His cock, pressed right alongside yours.

He groans again and grinds his dick against yours. “Fuck, you feel so good…!”

You moan, giving a little thrust up against his hips. “Matty…”

He captures your mouth with his, taking the chance to lick against your tongue again. You melt into the kiss once more, unable to help yourself.

The two of you make out with more passion now, grinding against each other.

Mattheo’s movements start to get more desperate. More hungry. He’s practically humping your dick, panting and moaning into your mouth.

“Please,” he finally begs. “I need you.”

You bite down a groan, struggling to think straight. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

“Please? Just this once, I swear!” He’s giving you his puppy eyes again. “Help me out, just this once?”

You can’t help it. He’s so hot and you’re so weak to his puppy eyes.

“Alright. But only this once.”

You fumble with his belt, clumsily working with one hand to undo it. When you finally manage to slip your hand into his pants, Mattheo whines.

You close your hand around his dick, giving him as good of a stroke as you can within the confines of his clothes. He groans and presses into your touch, his dick twitching and throbbing under your hand.

You shift and squirm a bit until you manage to free him, finally able to stroke him like you’re wanting.

Mattheo moans like a porn star, thrusting into your hand eagerly. Greedily. He’s practically jerking himself off with your hand.

And you love it.

You match his pace, shifting your grip every now and then until you find what makes his hips stutter.

“I can’t—“ He sounds absolutely wrecked. “I’m gonna—“

“Come on,” you groan, your dick a weeping mess at the sight. “Cum for me, Matty.”

Mattheo thrusts into your hand once, twice, and cums. Hot sticky ropes of white paint your shirt and pants.

It’s too hot for you to even be upset.

“Merlin, Matty,” you breathe. “That was hot.”

He drops his forehead against your shoulder and pants out a laugh. For a moment, he just basks in your presence. Nuzzling against your neck like he’s gonna say something soft.

Then the sound of faint laughter breaks the spell. People are coming.

You hastily mutter a cleaning charm while Mattheo frantically tucks himself away. You both know you can’t deal with any rumors about the two of you being together.

By the time the drunken partygoers spill into the common room, the two of you are sitting up on the couch again. No evidence of what transpired at all.

Except for maybe your still hard dick, which you use your notebook to hide. You’ll take care of it later.

As people slowly head off to bed, you start to gather your things. Mattheo grabs your arm before you can leave.

“Can—“ He falters for a moment. “Same time tomorrow? I need more practice still.”

You hesitate. But only for a moment. “Sure. We can meet up in my dorm. It’ll be empty then.”

Mattheo nods, acting for all the world like you two are talking about a homework study session. You can see the gleam in his eyes though. He’s just as excited as you.

You head off to bed with your heart pounding. You and Mattheo. Kissing practice tomorrow.

You have no doubts what it’ll turn into again. And oh Merlin, are you looking forward to it.

One week later

“I blew it!” Mattheo barges into your room without knocking, startling you.

“Blew what? Who did you blow?” You sit up, curious and confused.

“Not who.” He rolls his eyes, unable to help a tiny smirk, even in his distress. “It. My relationship.”

“Oh.” That makes more sense. “With Selwyn? What did you do?”

He groans and slumps to the floor, sitting at the base of your bed. “So everything’s going great, right? The mood is there, the kissing’s fantastic; we’re getting it on, you know?”

You nod, listening intently.

“And then she goes to blow me, which is, you know, pretty awesome.”

Mattheo covers his face, clearly embarrassed by the next words he says. “And I fuckin’ say your name!”

You blink. Once. Twice. “What?”

“I say your fucking name in the middle of getting a blowjob!” He groans and lowers his head in shame. “It just slipped out. You know, coz of all our practice.”

Ah, yes. You’d given him several enthusiastic blowjobs during your week of ‘kissing practice’.

“Huh.” You lean back on your hands a bit, thinking. “So, did she break up with you?”

“No,” he groans. “But now she’s convinced I’m gay, and I don’t know what to do.”

You try really hard not to laugh. Of course she’d think that. Even when it was obviously not true. Mattheo was whipped for her. You were just an afterthought. Kissing practice.

“Well, is she still willing to date you?”

“Yes,” he grumbles. “But she’s as big of a gossip queen as anyone else. The whole school will soon think I’m in love with you. Which I’m not.”

You pat his shoulder consolingly. It hurts to hear him deny it, but you both know it’s true. Mattheo’s not in love with you, and will never be in love with—

“At least,” He suddenly looks doubtful. “I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

You blink. He’s… only pretty sure…?

“Saying your name during sex doesn’t mean I’m in love with you, right?”

You stare at him. “I think our kissing practice would sooner qualify.”

“Oh.” He relaxes. “Well, that doesn’t count at all. That’s just you helping me out, you know?”

“Yeah.” You nod slowly. “Right.”

“So that settles it then.” Mattheo nods. “I’m not gay. It was just an accident.”

You’re suddenly no longer sure. But you don’t say anything. He has a girlfriend now, for Merlin’s sake. You can’t crush their relationship off of doubt.

“Whatever you say.”

The two of you sit in silence for a while. Then Mattheo gets up. He stretches a bit, and glances down at you.

You can already see the gleam in his eye.

“Just out of curiosity, though…”

You sigh and pat the bed next to you.

Looks like your kissing practice isn’t over yet.

[fairyhaos]

How To Fucking Write: a guide by fairyhaos

[masterlist]

this post details:

STARTING A STORY

PACING A STORY

hi gays and gals and welcome to "how to fucking write", a post (series) where i talk about how i brainstorm for writing, plan for writing, write the writing, and everything in between. nothing too serious here lmao, but i'm definitely planning on making at least a couple posts on this bc a) it's fun and b) i wanna help! so if you find this useful then pls lmk by reblogging + drop an ask if there are any specific things u want me to give my two cents on ^^

okok and now without further ado,,, let's look at the topics i'll talk about in today's post!

#1 - HOW TO START A STORY.

.. bullet point one : have an idea

the first big thing is that you need an idea. doesn't matter if you're a pantser and don't plan out your writing before you start. that's totally fine! but before you begin, you need at least an idea: maybe it's a vibe, a character personality, a specific journey you want the characters to go on. maybe it's a piece of dialogue. maybe it's the ending- the point you want to end up at after however many thousand words.

whatever it is, it's best to have some inspiration, some idea of what you wanna do. no point in writing if you don't know what you're writing, you know?

(of course, that brings up the issue of Having An Idea in the first place, but finding inspiration to write is a whole other can of worms we can open in another post.)

.. bullet point two : practice

okay, so now you have an idea. how do you put that idea to paper? how should you actually start your story?

it’s all to do with practice.

it’s the most annoying piece of advice in the world, but it helps so much. you just have to write lots and lots and lots, to find the way that works for you. whether you wanna start your stories with pretty scene descriptions, with dialogue, with dramatic one-liners. finding your voice, your style, what’s most comfortable for you, is really really important. and takes practice.

an example, though: for me, i prefer either a line of dialogue, or one-liners that a) help immediately establish a character’s personality or can b) introduce an interesting setting.

[chan + swingset] — one-liner example

[hoshi + silly] — dialogue example 

but of course, everyone’s style is different. so i’d recommend playing around! find a list of one-word prompts and just write a few that inspire you, writing the beginnings. it’s important, also, that you’re having fun, because if you’re already struggling with starting to write, it’ll be even harder if you’re doing it while feeling stressed.

.. bullet point three (mostly just for longer fics)

maybe you don’t find a style, in the end. maybe you’re comfortable with all of them, which is totally fine! but then you look at your writing, and you think, “oh… this isn’t as good as i thought.” 

and it makes you want to give up. what do you do, then? how do you carry on with your start?

just put words to paper. it doesn’t matter if the words are terrible, if you’re making up shit and using placeholders for description words or whatever. just carry on, get to a place you’re happy with, like the end of a scene, or maybe a dialogue exchange you really like.

because now, guess what? you’ve successfully created a first draft.

making first drafts is actually so important. seriously. first drafts allow you to fuck up, allow you to write terribly. they help you fumble and trip your way to the finish line (or at least a rest point) so that you can go back and do better.

even if your first draft is terrible, it’s helped you make your way to a point you’re happy with. now you have a vague idea of what you want, even if the description or characterisation or something is way off. because now, you can edit it, or even scrap it and use only a few words from that draft in your next one. or maybe, if you look back at it, maybe it’s even decent enough for you to use. 

whatever it is, when you first start writing that story, think of it as ‘The Worst Draft’. because it probably won’t be as good as you want it, and it’s okay. just write, with no fears of it being bad, because that’s literally fine. it’s not set in stone. the backspace button exists. after your first draft is made, make another. and another, and another, because i promise, after that first draft, it only gets better from there.

#2 - PACING A STORY.

.. bullet point one : adding things

pacing is always really tricky. however, i do think that slowing a story down is easier than speeding it up, so here we go,,,,

finding out the exact way to slow down a story really depends on what type of story you're writing, but there are a few all-round things you can do which can help pretty much any setting.

if it's a scene with loads of dialogue, and things feel like they're jumping to the end topic too quickly, add descriptions. your readers are blind, writers, and they depend on you to be able to see what's going on. are your characters having a conversation on the street? take a break to describe what they see. are they in a coffee shop? maybe someone comes in with a huge noise, or their coffee arrives at their table. are they hanging in midair with nothing around them? well, describe the actions of the character they're talking to, then.

example: (from my seoksoo fic bc it's the only long fic i'm working on rn)

by adding character descriptions, movement, thoughts, instantly everything seems to have slowed down. it thickens time, allowing you to move at a more leisurely pace.

if it's a scene full of action, you can do the exact same thing. maybe there's a high-tension moment and something significant happens. slow down time there, describe something small in great detail. talk about the thoughts they're having.

and even if it's just an ordinary scene, describing is important. the setting, the characters' actions, their thoughts. it's okay to write too much. then you can delete things which make things feel like they're moving too slowly.

.. bullet point two : delete

not gonna lie, finding out how to speed up the pacing of the story can often be really specifically tailored to the setting of the story.

with stories that have loads of action (spy, apocalypse, etc) i'd recommend adjusting sentence length. you'll want short, punchy sentences, without loads of commas and clauses, but you'll also want to experiment with having those short sentences gradually get longer. it helps with tension and suspense.

it has to be short. running fast. something to elevate fear. quick, but also desperate, before they then spill over each other, picking up pace, all of the thoughts blurring together and going faster, and faster, and faster, and then-

then the penny drops.

people use the metaphor of music a lot, and it really does work that way. it needs to ascend to its climax: gently, cautiously, before sprinting upwards and only describing things like the barest emotions (the fear they feel, the panic, anger, anything) before everything reaches its peak and comes crashing down in a flurry of action descriptions.

but of course, the easiest way to speed up something is to delete. delete swathes of setting description. delete unnecessary dialogue. delete an entire scene and rewrite with only the things you remember (which can help make sure you only have the essentials in your scene, btw. very helpful).

it might take a bit of adjusting, rewriting, moving things around, but ultimately, quickening the pace of the story depends on the way in which you write things. be concise, be dramatic, and don't dawdle.

... and that's it ! if anyone has anything else they want advice on (how to structure, how to write dialogue, how to plan etc) then just shoot me an ask, because i'd love to help however i can :)

tagging: @selenicives who asked for this in the first place hehe ^^

[sundrop-writes]

Tongue Twister

Sub!Gar Logan x (Dom)GN!Reader

I wanna get you in a tongue twister - tied up in a tongue twister.

Summary:

You and Gar run into each other in the dark halls of Wayne Manor one night. He finds that he just can't resist your touch.

Or: You quite literally try to suck Gar's soul out through his cock, and he definitely doesn't stop you.

Sub!Gar Logan x (Dom)Gender Neutral Reader. Friends to Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set (vaguely) during Season 3.

Word Count: 2,000

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This is pretty much just straight smut/pwp (there is basically no plot); I say that it's 'loosely' set in Season 3 because there is a mention of the Titans staying at Wayne Manor and I was inspired by S3 Gar, but there's no plot spoilers for S3 and you don't need to have seen Titans for this to make sense (this is just hot smut about my favourite hot guy); there is slight dom/sub dynamics - Gar is somewhat submissive (he likes being manhandled and put in his place), and the reader is somewhat dominant in that they take control of Gar and take what they want; this is a blowjob fic - so, the reader is giving Gar a (very messy) blowjob; the reader's gender is not mentioned or described in any way; the main pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; slight nipple play (Gar receiving); (in terms of the canon, Gar's experience is very debatable, but I don't imagine this to be virgin!Gar, at the very least, this is inexperienced!Gar); slight crying kink - mentions of Gar crying from overstimulation and the reader enjoying it; mentions of deepthroating - the reader takes Gar's dick all the way down with no issues (unrealistic, but that happens in fics sometimes); slight manhandling (from the reader toward Gar) (but nothing to state that the reader has super impressive strength); the reader swallows Gar's cum; multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Gar receiving); I don't think I would call this dubcon, but maybe under-negotiated kink? because they didn't discuss overstimulation beforehand, but Gar still likes it; passing mention of Gar masturbating while thinking about the reader; slight ball play and slight anal play (again, all Gar receiving) and using spit as lube in the process; I think that's it for this fic? Anyway - enjoy!

A/N: I have said this before, but sometimes a tiktok edit just distinctly inspires the vibes of a fic. And I woke up the other day and searched 'Gar Logan edit' because I needed to see my boy, and then I found this amazing edit - and I got the idea stuck in my head that I needed to do a fic of S3 Gar (which is my favourite Gar) - getting the sloppiest head of all time. Cause that is what a Tongue Twister means to me. I later found the full song to listen to it, and for reference it's called Tongue Twister by Cash Cash, so that is the song that this fic is named after. It is just very straightforward pwp smut, because I love writing that about Gar lmao. I love seeing him whining and pathetic (and overstimulated). So, here you go! I hope you guys have fun with this, even if you're reading this as someone who has never seen Titans before.

...

Gar had no clue how he ended up in this situation. 

It was a fucking amazing situation to be in. But still, the whole thing puzzled him. (Well, it would if he had any brain power to think about it at this current moment.) 

This whole thing started when he had woken up hungry. Which, wasn’t entirely unusual for him. Doctor Caulder said that his transformations and his ‘condition’ in general caused him to burn more calories than the average person - not nearly as much as someone like Rita, but definitely more than he used to before his genes mutated. Even on a vegetarian diet, he craved a lot of junk food, which he ate. And he didn’t seem to gain a lot of weight because of this part of his condition. And he often found himself woken in the middle of the night by a rumbling stomach. 

On his way back from the kitchen with a stomach full of nutella and banana sandwiches, he noticed a gentle glow coming from the library of Wayne Manor. He was much more awake than he had been when he had first stumbled to the kitchen, so he had decided to investigate it. He wondered who else was awake at this hour. 

It was you. Apparently doing some late night reading. 

A lot happened very quickly then. 

You reached out and thumbed a large glob of nutella off the side of his mouth, and told him that he was adorable, and delicious. And you stared him right in the eyes while you licked it off your finger - mentioning that you loved his choice to go without a shirt as you removed the now spit-soaked digit from your mouth, looking him up and down with undeniable heat in your eyes. 

Gar felt so utterly trapped. (In the best way possible.) 

That spit-wet thumb made its way to touching his bare nipple, and when he let out an uncontrollable, absolutely loud whimper - he was done. 

That was how he ended up like this. 

This wild and wicked situation being that he was currently getting the best blowjob of his life. And he never would have expected that he would ever be on the receiving end of something sexual from you (he could have only hoped) - so finding out that you could give the most mind-blowing head - well fuck, it was really something. 

You had pushed him down to sit in the middle of the couch in front of the warm glow of the fireplace and stripped him of his loose sleep pants. This left him completely naked, pinned down by your demanding touch and the suction of your mouth on his hard cock. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh my god!” 

He remembered protesting at some point. Maybe. 

If he did, it was only on the basis that the two of you might get caught. The library was a well trafficked area of the ridiculously large house. It was a quick route to get to the kitchen from the set of bedrooms that the Titans had been staying in, rather than walking through some decommissioned ���sitting rooms’ with creepy, dusty old furniture in them. Gar could only imagine how embarrassing it would be if someone like Dick or Dawn (someone he looked up to and admired) caught him with his pants down like this. 

Not that he was even capable of embarrassment with how much lust was currently throbbing through him. But it would definitely be embarrassing when he thought about it later. 

“Please, please! More!” 

But - all those thoughts easily leaked out of his ears, and those half-baked protests died off in his throat when he felt just how perfect your mouth was on his cock. The wet, warm suction of your lips around his shaft and the way you bobbed your head into such an easy rhythm, forming hot-white streaks of pleasure all across his cock. It was all too good to try and stop it. 

When the head of his large, thick cock hit the back of your throat - he choked out a whine, seeing stars split out across his vision for a moment. You were exceedingly talented at this. 

It was partially ‘talent’, and partially the fact that you truly did want to consume him. 

Every single little moan he let out, every pathetic, sweet whimper - it only spurred you on, made you want to see more. More of the way his stomach quaked when he tried to hold it in, more of feeling his thigh muscles desperately shake under your hands when you traced your tongue under the head of his cock. More pretty tears flowing from his big brown eyes as he was pushed closer and closer to the edge. More of him staring down at you in awe as you played his body like an instrument you had mastered in minutes. 

“Oh god! Oh! Oh - mmm,” 

Fueled by lustful hunger and an attraction for Gar that you had since the day you had met him, you continued on, fucking his cock with your mouth in an utterly unforgiving way. You sucked down the length of his cock and didn’t seem to care as the round cockhead hit the back of your throat, bruising it - your desperation only growing as your oxygen was cut off by the thickness of his shaft. In fact, you let out a moan of your own as his thick green pubes brushed against your nose and you inhaled his natural scent. 

The vibrations shook his cock and that only contributed to the insane pleasure he was feeling. 

Gar felt like he was slowly losing his mind. 

His hands were gripping the couch cushions wildly, finding it too rude and imposing to simply reach out and grab your hair or reach for the back of your head. Even while you handled him like he was simply a toy for your enjoyment, he couldn’t bring himself to return the favor. 

So he sat like a good boy, letting you pin him down and suck the life out of his cock. 

(Not that he wasn’t enjoying every single second of it.) 

“Oh, fuck me! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” 

Gar began chanting, begging in a needy voice that he barely recognized as his own. 

You easily picked up to a brutal pace - gulping down his cock so quickly that it made a sloppy noise with each quick movement, taking him from root to tip within seconds. This made your head practically blur, easily coating his dick in spit and making his skin shine with your wicked efforts.

You sucked his cock so roughly, it was like you were trying to suck something out of him. As if you were trying to obtain some source of life that would magically be drained from his balls if you tried hard enough. 

(In your mind, it was something similar to that. You were desperate to taste his cum. And his perfect noises were supplying your life in a way, so you definitely wanted more.) 

You slurped viciously against his skin, bobbing your head up and down, creating an odd juxtaposition between the very slight roughness of your tongue and the slick flood of your spit whenever you would bob back down. His cock soon became sensitive and his thighs shook - when his legs flexed up toward your head upon instinct, his muscles tightening from all of the strain, you dug your nails into the quivering skin of his thighs and shoved him back down, holding him in place. 

“Y/N!” 

He wailed your name, crying out much louder than he had intended to. 

When he looked down, he made eye contact with you, you stared back with nothing but fierceness and commanding in your eyes. You owned him and you knew it. Even from a position on your knees, you knew that you were in charge. 

His entire body shook with dizziness under the force - flooded with endorphins at being handled so roughly by you. 

Gar’s orgasm was pulled from him forcefully, brought on like a slap in the face at the realization that he loved being pinned under your touch.

“Please, please, oh, oh!” 

Gar heard that lilting, whiny voice and barely recognized it as his own. He felt the air being punched out of his stomach before he realized that he was cumming into your mouth. He thought that surely you would be satisfied by this - that you would be done because he had cum. So he simply rode it out as you hallowed your cheeks and sucked even harder on his sensitive cock. Even making the head aching and raw as you traced your tongue around it and pumped him into your mouth while his stomach shook and he practically gargled his own spit. 

But in that fraction of a moment that he thought you might be done - no. You simply continued on. 

With his cum still lingering on your tongue, you dove back down, not giving him a moment to get soft under your touch. You swallowed his length once again, and he let out a wounded cry as his dick hit the back of your throat once again. His thighs flexed and shook and you left large claw marks in him, fighting him, trying to hold him still. 

He felt hot tears streaking down his face and he knew that this was the most perfect kind of torture - the most beautiful purgatory - being here with your perfect, hot mouth around his cock, seemingly attempting to devour him while he had to sit there and take it. 

“Oh god.” 

He let out another cry and all you did was reach over and begin to stroke his balls. The skin there was already slick with spit that had dripped down from your mouth, and the touch spewed fire up through his gut and caused him to wail out crooked breaths as his vision blurred with more tears. You were so perfect between his thighs - like you knew every single thing to do in order to drive him closer to the edge of insanity. 

Whenever he had imagined you before, he imagined you soft - he had thought of making love to you when he snuck a private moment with his hand around his cock. He always imagined candles and romantic music and gentle kisses all over your body. But he never could have imagined you like this. So fucking filthy. But now, he couldn’t imagine you any other way. 

You moved your fingers down from his balls, reaching your spit-soaked fingertips down to kiss against his against his hole - and just the slight threat of those fingertips pressing into him, touching such a sensitive spot, had another orgasm barreling through him like he had been struck by lighting. 

You sucked the cum out of him like you were greedy for it, like it would restore the very life to you - this time, Gar was sure that not a single streak of it even got to touch your tongue. When he felt the harsh pin-pricks of overstimulation coating his cock, he desperately gulped for breath, searching for words. 

“Please, please!” He cried out. “I can’t - ngh - no more!” 

You moved your hands to gently rub across his thighs, and you finally pulled back so that his cock fell from your mouth with a wet pop - falling to sit on his stomach, so spit-slick and red, glistening in the low lighting, entirely sloppy and messy. 

He was the most lovely mess above you. Tear streaks coming from his eyes, wet and messy eyelashes almost obscuring his perfect doe gaze down toward you. His face was entirely flushed, all the way down to his chest, making his skin the prettiest shade of pink - matching his parted, panting lips. His thighs were covered in bright red claw marks from your nails, and you couldn’t be prouder than knowing that he would be wearing those the next day - a reminder of you under his clothes, a little something stinging against the fabric to really drive home what had happened here. 

He was so perfect like this. 

You knew for certain that this wouldn’t be the last time you had him like this. (You would crave him too badly after this.) 

“You’re cute.” You remarked, giving him a smirk with your raw lips. 

Gar would be lying if he said that the slightly condescending comment didn’t make his entirely tired dick jump with interest.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a standalone oneshot, so I will not be writing a sequel or a 'part 2' of it. However, if you liked this fic, definitely check out Stop? (Baby, Don't Stop) - Gar Logan x Fem!Reader or Not A Good Time - Gar Logan x GN!Reader which are similar fics to this one! Or you can check out the entirety of my Titans Masterlist for more fics written by me. And remember, reblogging and commenting is always helpful to support fanfic writers <3

[praxisia]

I saw a post a second ago by @billyharringson talking about how they have written a lot of fics where Steve is The Normal One and they were having a hard time thinking of a good monster form to give him, and it got me thinking.

In a lot of fics I’ve read, Steve is “normal” or at least pretending to be. People like to write him as masking a lot of traits, or losing the skill to mask when he isn’t in the King Steve spotlight, and it comes off as very chameleon-like to me.

I think if I were to make a monster Steve, he’d be a shapeshifter for sure.

I mean like, his go-to coping mechanism when he is stressed is to pretend like everything is all fine and normal, just business as usual. His friends in season one are all shallow, mean, and fake. All of the girls he’s ever dated were all short lived, skin deep relationships, who might have just expected sex and casual fun, which may have been why they didn’t last long.

I think shapeshifter Steve would be attracted to people who share his trait of wearing masks/pretending to be someone else, whether he realizes it or not.

Canon-wise there’s Nancy who, in my opinion, is a selfish person but she hides that trait around people she either likes or who she wants to like her. Then there’s Robin, who is a closeted lesbian. Enough said.

When it comes to ships you have Billy, who is always using his bad boy persona to hide how sensitive and fragile he is, as well as the abuse he gets put through. Eddie, on the other hand, puts up a front as being a freak to scare off people who he doesn’t like, but he’s generally pretty harmless and cool.

I just really, really like the idea of Steve being Just A Character made up by a creature that has taken little bits and pieces from people, pictures, celebrities, and stories and sewn it all together to create the perfect costume for itself. But this is a skill that had to be built up and sharpened over time. I love love LOVE the idea of moments where Steve would do something or his voice would warp or break or his face or body would look a little off in such a way that it sets off those uncanny valley alarm bells in peoples heads. The idea of some big, tall, lanky, misshapen, barely even humanoid (or not even vaguely resembling a human at all) FUCKING THING squishing and squeezing itself into the shape of “Just Some Guy” and naming itself Steve just goes so fucking hard for me. Don’t even get me started on the idea of That Thing then going the extra mile to make “Steve” into a popular kid that all the girls wanna fuck and all the guys wanna be, purely for the validation. Purely to feel real.

[fangirlwriting-stories]

First Blood

Summary: No One Knows AU Part 1, Danny should have expected that he wouldn't be able to do this ghost fighting thing by himself forever. Though admittedly, he didn't expect things to go quite like this.

Author's Note:

My brain: Hey you should write a Danny Phantom AU

Me: Wtf? Why?

My brain: I wanna

Me:

Anyway I do partly blame this fic on AO3 by artistfingers for giving me the inspiration.

…

He’d meant to tell them, was the thing.  It was entirely a coincidence that they weren’t there when it happened in the first place.

Sam had been the one to first have the idea of checking out the ghost zone, even if Danny had been desperately curious before that too.  But she’d been the one to convince him to try it, and he’d even gotten into the suit his parents had designated for this purpose (thankfully with a thought from Sam to pull his Dad’s face off his chest), but before he could actually go in the portal and turn it on, Sam’s parents showed up and dragged her and Tucker home.

They had never been the biggest fans of Danny or his parents, and weren’t super happy when they learned Sam was there.  Tucker had tried to protest against getting dragged along, but Sam’s parents kind of had a presence you couldn’t stand up to for very long, so they’d both left eventually.

But Danny was only more desperately curious after almost going in, and he couldn’t know when his parents would both be out like this again.  So, he’d gone back an hour later and turned the portal on.  And then…

Well.

Then he’d started trying to come up with a way to say “hey guys I’m sort of half ghost now” without sounding like a total lunatic.

And then the ghost fights had started, and Danny Phantom became well known before Danny Fenton could come up with a way to explain it to them.  And then he didn’t want them to get hurt.  The fights were hard enough on him, and he had superpowers.

He’s… definitely regretting that decision now.  He should have known eventually he’d come across something he couldn’t defeat on his own, for one reason or another.  But he’d always assumed if that came up it would be a ghost that was just too powerful, and he could ask someone for help.  Hard to do that when the problem is an evil but human ringmaster with a ghost-controlling crystal ball.  Admittedly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

He’s not quite sure what’s going on when he comes to, but the crystal ball is shattered in pieces at his feet and the other ghosts he’s become familiar with are blinking in the space across from him.  Freakshow himself is in between them all, staring at the crystal ball like he’s trying to process what’s happening.

Danny’s doing the same thing.  This isn’t Amity Park, that’s clear enough, but he doesn’t know where he is.  He doesn’t know what’s just happened, though he has a vague memory of an overwhelming sense of anger giving him enough force to throw the crystal ball to the ground.

“You know,” Freakshow says, looking up with a terrified grin.  “When I called you, uh, ‘minions,’ it was really a term of endearment, like, ‘Oh, I love my minions!’”

Danny scoffs, meets eyes with the other ghosts, and finds them in agreement.

They drag Freakshow to the haul he’s made them all put together, call the cops, and fly off into the night.

But while the three of them go who-knows-where, Danny changes forms and heads for a grocery store or a gas station, any place where he can find a newspaper and hopefully figure out the date or his location.  Preferably both.

…It’s been weeks.  It’s been weeks and he’s halfway across the country.

Danny sits on the ground outside of the gas station and drops his head in his hands.  The homework alone is going to be a nightmare.

His stomach growls.  He’s been in his ghost form for who knows how long, and it’s probably been just as long since he ate, but he doesn’t have any money on him.

So, in a move he’s not exactly proud of, he steals a couple apples and bags of chips from the gas station and practically inhales them.  He sits on a bench for another hour or so before he realizes he probably can’t put off the inevitable anymore.

He switches forms again and starts flying home.

He’s pretty fast at this point, so it takes him no more than a couple hours to get there, but he has no idea what he’ll find when he arrives.  The past couple weeks get blurrier the closer the time gets to the present, but he has the feeling he’s done some bad stuff.  He doesn’t know what his public image in Amity Park is anymore, but he has an inkling it’s not exactly great.

And that’s just the Phantom side of things.  He’s going to have to deal with the Fenton side first, and that almost sounds worse.

First, however, he’s exhausted, and still hungry, and he can’t deal with this tonight.  So he resigns himself to worrying everyone for one more night, grabs some stuff from the fridge, and flies silently up to his bedroom.  He eats handfuls of whatever food he grabbed with his back to the door, and then leans back against it and breathes, taking in the feeling of at least being home.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem he’s going to get even a night of reprieve, because the next second someone bangs on the door he’s leaning against, and he splays forward on the ground with a surprised yelp.

He turns to see Jazz forcing the door open.  She freezes when she sees Danny, and for a couple seconds, they stare at each other.

“Uh,” Danny says.  “Hi?”

Jazz blinks.  “Hi?”

Danny swallows.  “Yeah?��

Jazz balls her hands into fists and glares at him.  “Where have you been?”

“Um.”

Jazz buries her hands in her hair and pulls on it, giving a frustrated scream.  “Danny!  Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?”

“Sorry,” Danny mutters, not sure what else to say.  He still has no idea what’s happened the past few weeks.

Jazz runs her hands over her hair, smoothing it down, and takes a deep breath.  Then she kneels down and pulls Danny into a crushing hug.

“Why would you run away like that?” Jazz says, but there’s something else in her voice, like she’s trying to get at something.  “Are you okay?  Are you hurt?  Do you want to—” she pulls back, and looks Danny in the eyes with a very pointed expression.  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, her voice suddenly very soft and gentle.

Danny stares at her for a second, not sure where the sudden shifting emotions from her came from.  Either way, he shakes his head.  He doesn’t even know what he’d say.  He’s going to have to come up with some kind of story, but how is he supposed to do that without contradicting something he doesn’t remember happening?

“Are you sure?” Jazz says, still looking at him intentionally, and Danny does not understand what she’s trying to say.  He’ll blame the exhaustion and brain fog.

Jazz sighs, and pulls him back into a hug.  “Okay.  But you’re going to have to explain to Mom and Dad why you’ve been missing for weeks.  Uh… for exactly three weeks and four days, as we both know very well of course.  And you’ll also have to explain why no one knows anything at all about where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing— as far as I know that is.”

Danny pulls back and gives her a baffled look.  “Why are you talking like that?”

“Excuse me!  You’re the one who runs away for, just to reiterate, exactly three weeks and four days to an unknown location, and you’re asking me why I’m being weird?”

Danny stares at her.  “Uh, I mean I kind of am now?”

“I can’t believe you!” Jazz exclaims, waving her arms up without actually looking that exasperated.  Then she leans forward and wraps her arms around Danny again.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” she whispers, with a suspicious sniff that Danny doesn’t acknowledge.  “Please don’t scare me like that again.”

Danny reaches up and wraps his arms weakly around her.  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, which is all he can say, because he can’t exactly guarantee that nothing like this will happen again, can he?

For a minute, they both just sit there, and Danny tries to ignore how good it feels to be hugged by his sister, because that’s a totally lame realization to have, and he doesn’t need any more reasons for people to beat him up.

But then another familiar voice comes from behind them.

“Jazz?  What are you doing up—”

Danny jerks around and meets eyes with his mother, who stares wide-eyed back at him.

After a second, she turns and screams, “JACK!” then rushes forward and pulls Danny towards her.

“Are you okay?  Are you hurt?”  She takes his face in her hands, turning it back and forth.  “What were you thinking, you’re grounded for a month!  You look terrible, when did you eat last?  When did you shower?  Do you have any idea how worried sick we were?  I’m never letting you out of my sight again!  Was it ghosts?  What can you tell us about them?”

Danny laughs despite himself.  His mom is being so incredibly normal (well, normal by her standards) that it immediately brushes away quite a few of his worries.

Then he remembers what his best option for a cover story is, and his smile fades.  His dad shows up in the doorway a second later, looking half-asleep.

“It… it wasn’t ghosts, Mom,” he says, and at least that part is true, if misleading.  “I just… I’m sorry.”

His mom presses a hand to her forehead, looking like Danny’s taken about ten years off her life.  “You’re grounded for two months,” she amends.  “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” Danny says, which is also true, if… also misleading.

“You got that right,” his dad said, putting his hands on his hips in what looked like his best impression of a stern father.  “You’re grounded for three months, mister.”

“That’s just going to keep going up, isn’t it,” Danny says with a sigh.

Jazz reaches over and gives him a side hug and a sympathetic smile, and Danny really isn’t sure what’s going on with her right now.

But honestly, for the moment, he’s just glad to be home.

…

Danny still isn’t quite sure how he manages to get out of giving any details to the police, but he does it.  He’s given back to his parents to decide his punishment, meaning he’s confined to house arrest for the next five months (it did keep going up).  That’s going to make ghost hunting a little bit difficult, but he’ll burn that bridge when he gets to it.

The one exception to grounding, obviously, is school, which Danny is equal parts dreading and looking forward to.  It was a Saturday when he got back, and of course Sam and Tucker know he’s returned, but he hasn’t gotten to see either of them.  He doubts he’ll be able to see them much outside of school or the occasional study party.

Stupid Freakshow.  This is going to ruin his life until Christmas.

Either way, Monday comes.  And Danny walks into the school and over to his locker and tries to ignore everyone staring at him.

A loud bang at his left causes him to jump and turn to see Sam leaning against the lockers, looking none too pleased.

“So,” she says.  “Have you finally decided the rest of us are worthy of your presence again?”

“Come on, Sam,” Tucker says, walking up behind her.  “You said you weren’t gonna be like that.”

“Sorry, he just screws off to nowhere and you expect me to not be upset?” Sam asks with a glare at Tucker before turning back around.  “Honestly Danny, you know I’m all for escaping awful parents, but you didn’t even tell us where you were going!  We didn’t know if you were okay!”

“My parents aren’t awful,” Danny mutters as he looks down at his feet, all he can think to say.

“Then why did you leave?” Sam snaps, leaning into his face.

Danny winces, leaning back.  “Do we have to do this out here in the hallway?”

Sam huffs, standing up straight and glaring away.  “Fine.  Whatever.  I’m going to class.”  She stalks off without another word.

Danny sighs and turns to his locker so he can put the textbooks he needs into his backpack.  It’s not his fault, and he knows that, but he still feels like the worst person on the face of the planet for making them worry.

“So…” Tucker says slowly, leaning back against the locker much less angrily than Sam.  “Why did you leave?”

Danny closes his locker and swings his bag over his shoulder.  “Doesn’t matter.  I’m back, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, except it kind of does, though?  Dude, if you feel like leaving again, I want to help you.”

Danny turns to look at him and sees nothing but honest concern in Tucker’s eyes.

He wishes it was that easy.

“You can’t,” he says.

“Why not?”

“It’s not—” Danny sighs, looking around to make sure no one’s listening.

Everyone is listening.

“Not here,” he says, turning back to Tucker.  “And not now.”

Tucker looks at him for another second.  “Okay,” he says finally.  “But don’t think I’m letting up on this.”

Danny smiles just a little bit.  “I know you’re not,” he says.

The warning bell rings.

“I have to go,” Danny says.  “If I cut first period on my first day back after running away, I think my parents will actually kill me.”

Tucker smirks.  “Sounds like you brought that one on yourself, dude,” he says.  “But sure.  See ya at lunch.”

“See ya,” Danny says, and turns to walk the other way.

The day is about what he expects.  Mocking and socks in the stomach from Dash, dry remarks and glares along with piles of makeup work from teachers.  He’s exhausted, but he deals with all of it and prepares to work through it until things are at least marginally back to normal.

He can’t wait for Sam and Tucker to not be mad at him.  That would help a ton.

There doesn’t seem to be much of a chance of that when lunch arrives, however, because Sam starts glaring at him the second he sits down, and Tucker just gives him that same concerned look that Danny is pretty sure he can’t make go away without spilling his guts.

…Well, not that “hey Tucker I was actually being mind controlled by that ringmaster from Circus Gothica” would make him less concerned.  If he believed him in the first place, that is.

Danny doesn’t know what to say to break the awkward silence, but apparently Sam has that covered.

“So, Tucker,” she says, very loudly.  “Are we still on for Nasty Burger after school?”

Ouch.  Fair enough.

“Uh,” Tucker says, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Maybe that’s not such a great idea anymore?”

“Why?  Are we supposed to drop our plans the second Danny decides to stop being childish?”

“Okay,” Danny says, turning to face her.  He’s positive he doesn’t have the energy to deal with an angry Sam for the weeks it takes her to forgive him.  “What do you want me to say to you, Sam?”

Sam turns her glare on him.  “I want you to tell me why on earth you left with no notice of when you’d be back or whether or not you were okay or why you were leaving,” she snaps.  “Why the fuck would you do that to us?”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Danny says, looking down as guilt stabs him in the chest.  “I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean you weren’t trying to?  What were you trying to do?”

“I don’t know,” Danny says, because it’s true.  He doesn’t really remember the exact specifics of when and where and why he left Amity Park with Freakshow.  He is pretty sure he wasn’t around as Danny Fenton for at least a couple days before that, though, meaning Jazz’s random ‘three weeks and four days’ comment was probably more accurate than the one he’d worked out from the newspaper.

“I really don’t know what I was thinking,” he reiterates, forcing himself to turn and look at Sam.  “I don’t know what else to say.  I’m sorry.”

He watches anger and concern and something else war on Sam’s face for a second before she scoffs and glares away.  “You’re really not going to tell us what happened?” she asks.

“I… don’t know if you’d believe me,” Danny says quietly, looking down at his awful school lunch that is leagues better than the almost nothing he’s probably eaten the past couple weeks.

Sam gives a bitter laugh, shaking her head.  “Oh my god.”

“Sam,” Tucker says, narrowing his eyes at her.

“What?” Sam asks, turning her glare to him again.  “Are you trying to pretend you haven’t spent the last three weeks terrified out of your mind too?”

Danny fights to not hunch over on himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead, turning to look at Sam.  “I really am.  I didn’t want to scare you.  I’m sorry.”

Sam looks at him firmly for a long second, and she must see something in his face that makes her believe him, because she stabs at the limp broccoli on her tray without looking at it and says, “You gonna do it again?”

Danny shakes his head and prays to whatever’s out there listening that he’s not lying right now.  If Desiree was around, he might even make a wish on it.

Sam seems to accept that at least a little bit.  She turns and takes a bite of her vegetables.  “If you do I’ll murder you,” she says.

You’re a couple months late for that, Danny doesn’t say.  Instead he just nods.

“So,” Tucker says, drawing both of their attentions with a much more easygoing smile on his face.  “I imagine you’ve got a lot of homework to make up, Danny.  You want to move our hangouts to after school while you’re doing that at least?”

Danny smiles gratefully at him, and Sam sighs and mutters, “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

So that’s where they end up, and Danny immediately appreciates how almost-normal it feels.  One of the last clear memories he has before things start getting fuzzy is studying in the same library with Sam and Tucker, so in a way it feels like picking up where he left off— with some unwelcome tension added to the air.

Danny spends the first half hour or so doing homework while Tucker and Sam talk idly next to him about things they’ve done in the past three weeks that he’s apparently missed out on.  Unlike lunch, there’s no anger involved, just awkwardness and hesitation, which is… better, he supposes.

Finally after an hour, when he’s only finished a tiny bit of homework for one of his classes, he sits back in his chair and massages his temples.  “This is gonna take me a month.”

“Well, you did miss almost a month of work,” Sam says, with a not-very-sympathetic smile.  “You don’t really have anyone to blame but yourself.”

“I’m gonna get so tired of that sentiment,” Danny says, dropping his head into an open textbook.

“It’s true.”

“I know,” Danny mutters without lifting his head.

“Did you at least have fun while you were on your runaway vacation?” Tucker asks.

Danny pulls his head up and finds Tucker now leaning on the table in front of him.

“No,” he says, because he’s sick of lying.

Tucker winces.  “Ouch.”

Sam snorts.  “Serves you right.”

“Sam,” Tucker says, at the same time Danny waves her off with “I know, I know, I get it.”

Sam sighs, and pushes herself up on the table.  “Alright, look.  You should probably lie low for the first month or two.  But when your parents eventually stop watching you closer I can help you sneak out for a little fun from time to time.”

Danny gives her a grateful smile.  “Thanks, Sam.”

“Yeah, yeah.  You owe me one.”

“I already owe you one,” Danny says.

“You got that right,” Sam says, crossing her arms with a smirk.  She probably thinks he means her forgiving him so quickly.  He doesn’t.

They don’t stay much longer, because the hour after school in the library is the only time his parents gave him before he has to go home.

As soon as he gets a free moment, when his parents are busy making dinner, he sneaks downstairs and looks up Danny Phantom on the computer.

Just as he expected, it’s not great.  Most of the things it lists Phantom as doing are robberies and property damage, about what he expects.  But there’s also quite a few mentions of him being cruel to the other ghosts in Freakshow’s circus, and he… cannot figure out how he feels about that.

Fighting ghosts is nothing new, obviously.  But the ghosts in Freakshow’s circus didn’t choose to be there.  He didn’t choose to hurt them either, but he still feels kind of uncomfortable with it, with the idea that it happened and he doesn’t even remember it.

“Danny?”

Danny yelps and closes the window on the computer, spinning around to see Jazz standing there.

“Jazz,” he says weakly.  “I uh, I didn’t hear you come down here.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Jazz says, giving him a look he can’t read.

She looks at the computer, and it’s way too obvious she saw what he was looking at.

“You know,” she says, turning back to him.  “Unless you’re just catching up on the ghost fighting from the past couple weeks, I wouldn’t put too much thought into Phantom.”

Danny blinks.  “Uh, why?”

Jazz rolls her eyes.  “He was so obviously under the control of that Freakshow guy,” she says.  “Don’t you think?”

“What?” Danny stares at her.  “How would you know that?”

Jazz gives him a soft smile and leans forward to kiss the top of his head.  “Just a hunch I have,” she says.

“Gross, get off me,” Danny says, though he can’t put any real bite into it and he’s pretty sure Jazz can tell.

“I pay attention, you know,” Jazz says, stepping back.

Danny swallows.  “Yeah?  How much?”

“Enough to know that robbery and property damage isn’t Phantom’s MO,” Jazz says with a roll of her eyes.  “And that those reports aren’t gonna say anything about what he’s actually like.”  She pauses and looks at Danny for a minute, then clears her throat and looks away.  “You know, just in case you’re curious about that kind of thing.  You should find better sources.”

“And what are you, a journalist?” Danny asks.

“I’m just… concerned,” Jazz says hesitantly.  “I hope that… wherever Phantom is, he’s doing okay.  I hope he knows it’s not his fault.”

Danny doesn’t say anything, and he and Jazz stare at each other for a minute.

They’re interrupted by their mom calling from upstairs, “Kids, are you coming or not?”

“We’re coming Mom!” Jazz calls back.  She looks back at Danny and nods her head up the steps, and Danny shuts off the computer and follows her up.

…

He’s not that shocked when he gets nightmares about Freakshow, but it’s definitely inconvenient.  If he can think of one thing that won’t help with getting things back to normal, it’s being consistently sleep deprived.

The worst part is that he can’t really be sure which of the nightmares are his brain throwing his worries back in his face, and which parts are actually his brain putting together things that have happened that he can’t remember right.

Honestly, maybe it doesn’t matter that much.  Either way, he doesn’t get a full night of sleep once for the first week he’s back.  He can tell Jazz notices, though he’s pretty sure his parents aren’t picking up on anything, and none of them say anything.  He tries his hardest to pay attention at school, because he really can’t afford to fall behind due to falling asleep in class.

Unfortunately, between trying to act normal around his family and pay attention during school, that means he usually spends the first half hour with Sam and Tucker passed out asleep on top of his textbooks.

“Dude,” Tucker says, after the fifth school day in a row of waking him up so he can do at least some of the homework he’s missed.  “What time are you going to bed?”

“Yeah Danny, I never thought I’d be the one to say this, but maybe you need to go to sleep a little bit earlier,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow.

“You act like I’m not trying that,” Danny mutters, rubbing at his eyes.

“What’s stopping you?” Sam asks.

“Uh,” Danny says, not having thought that far ahead.

“Danny, seriously, on top of being the only time you can get your homework done, this is also the only time we get to hang out with you for a while,” Sam says.  “I’d appreciate it if you could stay awake for all of it.”

“I’m trying, honestly,” Danny says, leaning back in his chair.  “It’s not like I don’t care.  I do.”

“Then what’s going on, Danny?” Tucker asks.  “You know you can still talk to us, right?  You can always talk to us.”

Danny winces.

Well, maybe he can start small.

“I… I’ve had a couple nightmares,” he admits, running a hand through his hair as he sits up.  He pulls his homework closer so he doesn’t have to look either of them in the eyes.  “It’s not a big deal.”

“Nightmares about what?” Sam asks, giving him a look he can feel without looking back.  “Did something happen?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Danny says.  “Can we just acknowledge it and move on?”

“Uh, no?” Sam says, reaching forward and pulling the homework away from him.

“Hey!” Danny says, turning to her.

“You can’t just say something like that and not expect followup questions,” Sam says, crossing her arms.  “Nightmares about what happened while you were gone?”

Danny sighs.  “Maybe.”

“What happened?” Tucker asks, obvious concern in his voice and on his face.

Danny looks up at him, not having a clue what to say.  Should he explain the one about blasting all of the other ghosts into the concrete hard enough to cause a dent, or the one about terrorizing a small child and her mother to get them away from the paintings they were trying to steal?

Neither of those sound like they’ll come without follow up questions.

Danny reaches over and pulls his homework back over in front of him.  “There just wasn’t a lot of food going around,” he says, settling on the one human experience he can reliably count on.

There’s a couple seconds of silence, and then Tucker gives a long sigh.  “Dude,” he says.  “Why did it take you so long to come back?”

“I need to get this science homework done,” Danny says in lieu of a reply.

Neither of them say anything back to him.

Strangely enough, the first one who comes up with something that’s actually helpful in regards to the nightmares is Jazz.  And she seems to do it unintentionally, like she’s been doing a lot lately.  She very casually at dinner one night brings up an article she’s read about how rewriting the endings of nightmares can sometimes be a good way for someone to calm down after having them, then starts discussing the science of dreams and sleep and how both of them are important and how to make sure both of them are going as smoothly as they can.

…Okay, maybe this time it’s a little more intentional than she wants to let on.

That doesn’t mean her ideas aren’t worth trying, though, so Danny gets a notebook to keep on the nightstand for alternate endings to write down.  (He’ll destroy the pages every morning for privacy purposes, but he draws the line at getting a night light.)

It ends up being helpful enough that he can at least fall back asleep, which is a big improvement, if the ideas he writes down seem a little unrealistic, with how hard it actually was to break out of Freakshow’s control.  Either way, he’s not so tired, and despite how loathe he is to admit it, he has Jazz to thank for that.

Not that he’ll ever tell her that, of course.

…

It’s a week and a half after he returns that things change in a meaningful way.  He hasn’t had any ghost fighting to do since getting back, but that changes during lunch on Monday.  Not anything he can’t handle, just a quick eye roll with the Box Ghost, but it apparently means something very different to the rest of Amity Park, and, more important to him personally, to Sam and Tucker.

“I mean honestly,” Sam is saying when Danny shows up at the library after school.  She’s pacing back and forth across the library, and though Tucker waves at him when he notices him, Sam continues marching angrily in front of the table.

“Who does he think he is, showing up like nothing’s different?  First of all, he ruined Circus Gothica, and then he just shows up expecting everyone to still see him as the hero?  That’s not how that works!”

“Hey Danny,” Tucker says as he approaches.  “Don’t mind Sam, she’s pissed off about the ghost fight today.”

“Why?” Danny asks, setting his bag down on the table.  “I didn’t think that was really your scene.”

“Not until that Invis-o-Bill idiot made it personal by messing with my circus,” Sam says, rolling her eyes with obvious anger.  “And then expects everything he’s done in the past couple weeks to just be brushed off.”

Danny sighs, reaching inside his backpack for his homework.  “Yeah, that figures.”

“What figures?” Tucker asks in confusion.

“Math figures,” Danny says, dropping his notebook on the table.  “Gonna try and knock out a lot of the math homework today.”

“Uh, fair enough?” Tucker says, still sounding confused.  “But honestly Sam, at least he seems to have gotten over whatever’s been going on and isn't actively being malicious anymore.”

“Great, so we’re supposed to reward him for the bare minimum?”

“Do we have to talk about this right now?” Danny asks, looking up with what he hopes comes off as annoyance.  “I get enough of ghosts from my parents, I was kind of appreciating you guys actually being a break from all of that.”

“Look, you don’t get it,” Sam says.  “I don’t imagine you’ve been following ghost news for the past couple weeks, but he’s—”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Danny snaps, giving Sam as firm a glare as he dares to right now.

Sam raises her eyebrows.  “Excuse me?”

“Sam, honestly, I’ll let you be as mad at me as you need for as long as you want,” Danny says.  “But please, can you back off with the ghosts?  My parents already think I was kidnapped by them or something, I don’t want to talk about them during the only time of the day I can actually relax for a little bit.  Okay?”

Thankfully, Sam and Tucker both go quiet.  Now he’ll just have to hope that neither of them actually ask his parents about that excuse and realize he already told them that’s not what happened.

But apparently he’s misjudged their silence, because after a minute Tucker taps his textbook with a pencil, drawing his attention.

He looks up and finds Tucker and Sam both looking at him like they’re trying to come up with the right way to say something.

He blinks.  “What?”

“Danny,” Tucker says slowly.  “If I ask you something, can you promise not to freak out?”

“No,” Danny says honestly.

Tucker considers this for a second.  “Fair.  I’m gonna ask anyway.  Did you actually run away of your own free will?”

Danny goes stiller than, well, a dead person.  “What?”

“Did you actually run away?”

Danny looks back and forth between him, and then Sam, and then back.  “Why are you asking me that?”

“Dude,” Tucker says, leaning closer.  “You’re not acting like yourself.  Even ‘just made a huge mistake and now everyone’s mad at you’ yourself.  You’re having nightmares, and you don’t want to talk about what’s causing them.  Did you actually run away?”

Danny opens his mouth, shuts it, and looks down at his math textbook.

“…Danny,” Sam says, sounding baffled and angry but also more concerned than he’s heard from her since he got back.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because that’s something you just say in the middle of the hallway,” Danny snaps despite himself.

“Danny, come on,” Sam says.  “Why are you just letting everyone be mad at you then?  You need to tell someone—”

“No,” Danny says.

“What?  Dude,” Tucker says, leaning forward with obvious worry.  “They could go after someone else, or come after you again—”

“He won’t.”

“You can’t know that!”

“Yeah, well, I do,” Danny says, keeping his gaze very firmly on his math homework.  “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know what?  Fine,” Sam snaps, pushing her chair back and grabbing her bag.  “Because you’re being ridiculous.”

With that, she turns and marches out of the library.

Danny doesn’t say anything in protest and starts working on the first math problem on the sheet.

“You know,” Tucker says quietly.  “She was really really scared when you weren’t here.”

Danny keeps writing.

“She was worried something was gonna happen to you and she’d never see you again,” Tucker continues.  “I…” there’s a pause, and then he sighs.

“I’m not gonna make you talk about anything you don’t want to, dude,” he says.  “Just… know that she’s not actually mad at you.  She’s just still scared.”

Danny sighs and puts his pencil down.  “Yeah,” he says.  “I know.”

Tucker reaches out and puts a hand on Danny’s shoulder, in a way that should feel really awkward but somehow doesn’t.  “You know you can tell me anything,” he says.  “Right?”

Danny looks away.

“Okay,” Tucker sighs.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He picks up his stuff and leaves.

…

Danny spends the night laying on his bed tossing a ball up in the air and trying to catch it.  He has to get up and chase it down more often than he’d like, he’s not exactly the most athletic person out there.

He ignores his growing stomach and skips dinner, telling his mom he’s not feeling well.  He can always go down and grab something after everyone else falls asleep.

After dinner, however, he hears a knock on his  door.

“What?”

“Can I come in?” Jazz asks.

Danny pauses in tossing the ball in the air and considers for a moment.  “Yeah.”

The door opens as Danny resumes tossing the ball.  Jazz walks in, then closes the door behind her and heads over towards the bed, already looking concerned. 

“Are you doing okay?” she asks.  “You were upset about something when I came to pick you up, and now you’ve been up here for hours.”

Danny manages to actually catch the ball and sits up, setting it down next to him.  “Okay, what is with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting like, aggressively supportive since I got back,” Danny says.  “Sam is angrier at me than you.  Mom and Dad are angrier at me than you.”

“I’m your sister,” Jazz says.  “It’s not my job to get angry at you.  It’s my job to support you.”

“No, you’re my sister,” Danny says.  “It’s your job to tease me relentlessly and make my life way harder.”

Jazz gives him a look.  “You really don’t need that right now.”

“And why should you care?” Danny snaps.  “I brought this on myself, remember?”

Jazz doesn’t say anything.

“I just, I’m trying to understand what your deal is,” Danny says.  “Do you want something?  Are you trying to butter me up for some reason?  What are you getting out of this?”

Jazz gives him what almost seems like a sad look, then reaches forward and squeezes Danny’s hand.  “I’m worried about you,” she says quietly.

“Why?” Danny says, pulling his hand away.

Jazz sighs, looking down at the bed.  “Because we both know you didn’t run away, Danny.”

Danny throws his hands up.  “This again?  I’m fine.  No one died, no one hurt me, I didn’t have to hurt— people, so I’m fine!”

Jazz gives him a look.  “That is in no way how that works.”

Danny shakes his head, glaring down at the covers.

Jazz nudges him gently in the side.  “I’m not going to make you say something you’re not ready to,” she says.  “Just know that you can tell me anything, Danny.”

With that, she stands and starts to walk out, and Danny feels a weight press down on his chest, one he’s barely sure he can take anymore.

“Jazz, wait,” he says, reaching out and catching her arm.

Jazz pauses and turns back around.  “Yeah?”

“I—” Danny says, and stops.  Nerves start to crawl up his throat.  He half expects his ghost sense to go off, but it’s not that kind of anxiety.

He takes a deep breath.  “If I tell you something,” he says.  “Can you promise to let me explain everything before you make any kind of judgment?”

Jazz smiles at him.  “I promise,” she says with a nod.

Danny takes a shaky breath.  “I, um.”  He stops.

“Yeah?” Jazz probes gently.

“Sorry,” he mutters, looking down and clenching his hands around his blankets.  “I don’t think I’ve ever actually said it out loud before.”

Jazz reaches out and puts her hand over his.  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she says.  “I… already know.”

Danny jerks his head up.  “What?”

By the look on her face, he can tell they both mean exactly the same thing.

“You…” Danny says weakly.  “How long?”

“Uh, since the Spectra thing,” Jazz says, rubbing the back of her neck with a sheepish smile.  “I wanted to give you a chance to tell me yourself.”

Danny gapes at her for a second, Jazz gives him a soft smile.

“And you…” he says finally.  “You don’t care?”

“Of course I care,” Jazz says, crossing her arms.  “I care that you’re safe.  I care that if you don’t want someone to know, they don’t find out.  I care that you’re my brother and you’ve been trying to do this all alone.  I care that some jerk ran off with you and has been forcing you to do things you clearly don’t want to do for the past month.”

Danny winces and looks down.

“Are you okay?” Jazz says, sitting down on the bed next to him.

“Not… really,” Danny says.

Jazz wraps her arms around him and pulls him over towards her, and this time he doesn’t pull away.

“I don’t like watching you do this all by yourself,” Jazz says.  “Can I help you?”

Now Danny does pull away, if just to stare at her in bafflement.  “You want to help?”

“Of course I want to help,” Jazz says, like that’s obvious.  “If anything, the past month is a clear sign that you shouldn’t be doing this by yourself.”

Well, he can’t exactly argue with her there.  Still…

“It’s dangerous, Jazz,” he says.

Jazz raises her eyebrows.  “All the more reason I don’t want you rushing into danger without backup.”

“I can handle it,” he says.  “That’s what the ghost powers are for.”

“Danny.”  Jazz leans forward, giving him a pointed look.  “I want to help you.  Okay?”

Danny looks at her for a minute.  He takes a breath.  “Okay.”

Jazz leans forward and pulls him into another hug, and for once, Danny can know she means it.  His brain can’t make any arguments about how she wouldn’t be doing this if she knew, because she does know.

And, well.

He could get used to that.

[devondespresso]

Wiggly Worm Wednesday!! 🧠🪱

tagged by @little-annie this Wednesday, @pearynice and @hotluncheddie last time, @queenie-ofthe-void (and hotluncheddie again💕) the time before, and @carolperkinsexgirlfriend the time before that. Thank you guys so much for tagging me even when i can't get to it right away 💖💗💝

Lately I've been kinda swamped with fic commitments and rushing stuff last-minute (my own fault ofc 😅) writing mostly romance, so now im just itching to go back to my platonic stuff! nothing against romance, im enjoying writing it for sure, but god i can't wait to work on my Steve Henderson au again

for now tho the probably-never-to-be-written worms are about Steve bunking with the Buckleys post s4. maybe his parents just never came home, maybe they were there and had a big blowup argument with Steve about leaving, but they're not around now and Robins not about to let Mr Walking-Sepsis-Risk live alone for the apocalypse

in my head i imagine the buckleys house is kinda like max's before s4, a smaller 1-story but cozy, and no guest room so Steve stays in Robin's room.

her parents let them but they're definitely a little wary and a little lost but at least a little used to it, both thanking whatever power they believe in that no matter how freakishly clingy they are now, its still world's better than the violently freakishly clingy stobin was right after starcourt, when both of them looked to be hanging on by a thread and that thread was each other.

so they're like. chill. they plow through an awkward conversation about how bad an idea it would be to be up to something right now with steves injuries and robin sees herself out like halfway through, piling all the old stuffed animal onto her bed and keeping them there for the next week to avoid thinking about it. And Steve, abandoned by his partner in crime, stumbles through his own awkward explanation along the lines of 'you don't have to worry about that, i promise' before joining Robin in her embarrassed cringing-party, featuring notable guests such as Mr. Cat, Doodles, and Floppsy Bunny.

Not much of a plot in my head really, I'm just enjoying all the vague ideas floating around this premise. theres lots of details about Steve and his wounds, like wearing button downs that are easier to put on than pull-overs, Mr. Buckley letting him borrow some when Steve only finds a couple (or when he packs his normal clothes not realizing how miserable itd be to take them on and off constantly to check how things are healing).

Also Steve helping around the house and the Buckley's getting to know him better and not just the Polite Steve that they usually see because Steve couldn't risk his best friends parents not liking him (and because usually robin would go to his house, its a lot easier to sneak out than it is to smuggle someone in, especially with freaky upside down nightmares). Maybe Steve gets to actually joke around with Robin's dad, talk real shit with her mom (maybe about the future, hippie mom offering a different perspective on what life can be, how you can figure things out, just try things even if you don't have a perfect plan)

Steve finding safety not just with Robin, but with Robins family. the four of them growing this sweet relationship, not like a second child for the buckleys but more like a second home for Steve. stobin are firmly strange best friends to me (as opposed to siblings), and i like the dynamic of steve and robin's parents as 'my kids best friend' type stuff, not cause there's any less love but more like they're not trying to replace Steve's parents, they just end up filling in the gaps.

oki tagging presumably for next time (tho if you guys wanna do it late anyway you go for it, time isn't real wahoo): @marvel-ous-m @momotonescreaming @puppy-steve @lightoftheseraph @lingeringmirth

@writing-kiki @eriquin @scriptorbemi @sourw0lfs @soaringornithopter

@solarmorrigan @eddiethebrave @steddiecameraroll @imfinereallyy @yabakuboi

@kikidoesfanfic @tinytalkingtina @hairstevington @stellarspecter @sunflowerharrington

[valeriianz]

For the fic writer asks:

4. Obviously you did research for BitB. I'd love you to ramble about it if you like I'm sure you've got STORIES

5. Did you outline it?

7. How'd you decide it would be Hob's pov?

25-27 I'd love to know a/some favorite lines, details, and any lore you might want to share

omg TJ what wonderful questions! thank you!! this is going to get LONG!

4: Rambling about research!

do you wanna see a screen shot of my bookmarks under my "band au" folder?

man, and that's only what could fit on the screen.

there is... SO MUCH i chose to ignore for this fic. ideas that i had to drop, lines or extra details about the other band members equipment. more logistics, what Lucienne actually does, what Mervyn has to put up with as the new touring stage manager... i realized very early on that i couldn't possibly cram all this (super cool and eye opening) information into the fic and still keep reader's interest and, most importantly, to not stray away from the fact that this is a dreamling fic. whenever i felt myself getting carried away with a side character or job or even social media numbers, gossip, outside POVs, i had to reign myself in and get back on track. there will be time for exploring everything i missed in side stories after BitB is finished. i just hope i still have the energy to write it all.

once, i was so deep into research that after publishing chapter 2, i went into work and when my chef asked what "GA" meant on my prep list, i answered with full confidence, "general admission."

(it means "get ahead.")

the worst part of this entire writing process is im still learning new shit. i havent rewatched or read a lot of what i've saved because, to be very honest, i was feeling a little burnt out. it's why we're kinda full steam dreamling now. it's why ive been glossing over a lot of technical stuff and being vague about conversations amongst the crew/not including it at all. i don't prefer ignoring my research, but at the end of the day i want to still enjoy writing this fic and finish it. even if i can't be as descriptive and detailed and nuanced as i used to be.

5: Did you outline the fic?

(also asked by @hardly-an-escape!)

i wouldn't call what i have a proper "outline," it's more like a 20k word document filled to the brim with notes that i skim at least a dozen times while i'm writing a new chapter (being in my brain is literally hell). i live multichapter life very dangerously. i copy and paste lines or sections (always scattered, never together! augh!) that are meant to go together and plop them in a new document titled "band au ch.#" and then i structure the chapter around what i want to happen.

but to answer this question in the plainest of terms: yeah. i know exactly what's going to happen up until the very end. even if its all in my head and the only concrete shit that's written down are beats/plot points. i'll figure out the rest later!

7: How'd you decide it would be Hob's POV?

i actually never even considered writing it from Dream's POV. this was my first fic in the fandom (which is so nuts to think about lol) and writing in Dream's POV sounded so scary lol. i also just thought Hob's would be easier because i have worked a few backstage shows, back in my college years. i figured eh, i can make this work. and i loved exploring how weird and mysterious musicians can be, from a normie's POV. making Hob a fan first and having him worry about developing a parasocial relationship... it was fun to explore.

25: Share your favorite line

oh god, i have so many haha.

“What are you thinking about?” starting in ch.2 and onward lmao

“It’s–” Dream laughs quietly, bitterly. “I don’t like change.” He says each word with emphasis, eyes trailing down to fixate somewhere past Hob. “And I still hold onto the things I can control, like my instruments–” his eyes swing up to regard Hob apologetically. “Or my clothes or my–” he brings a hand up and wiggles his fingers around his head. “My hair.” ch.4

"His majesty is pleased." ch.5

“You are obsessive,” he states, slow and cool and with a quiet smile cracking through his composure. “Just like me.” ch.7

“You look good.” Hob has to lean in to say so, unwilling to raise his voice amongst the roar of the fans. ch.11

“Del looks like porcelain, but she’s actually made of steel.” Desire swirls the contents of their glass before pushing their shoulders back with a deep breath. “She's tougher than all of us.” ch.11

“Everything. I want…” his fingers tighten in Hob’s hair, pulling him closer, speaking against his lips. “…Everything.” ch.14

26: Share your favorite detail

how intentionally coy Dream behaves. i love keeping him a mystery and deciding when and how much to allow his intentions to peek through has been so fun lol.

Despair is in fact covered in tattoos and piercings! i say this because i feel like sometimes i forget lmao. (but also her and Hob don't interact much so. my bad haha).

Delirium's constant explosion of color in the way she dresses <3

Hob's dedication to his job, Dream, and the people he cares about the most. i don't care if people think i'm making him too soft and good, im gonna project on that man and make him a sweet, sweet simp lmao

and ah, this doesn't matter anymore, and i kinda regret doing it but. i originally had Dream's favorite bass all black but the pickguard was white. so it actually looked like Jessamy. not gonna lie when @designtheendless drew it all black i decided i liked it better that way. and truly i do. that's when i went back to ch.1 and changed it haha. to actually see the guitar with Dream, all done up sparkling black and purple flecks... gosh it's just so him. but then i got up to the reveal that the guitar's name was Jessamy and i was like, "oh, right." lmao. no one seems to care so i'll leave it be.

27: Share a piece of lore you made up for the story

i have a lot lmao. and this post is already so long... im hoping i can get to some if not all of it in side fics in the future. but for now, here's some that's more like headcanons but:

Dream hates flying. he can full on go into panic attacks on the plane if he allows himself to get into his own head.

this was mentioned briefly in ch.4, while Dream was discussing the formation of the band, but Despair was in another band before joining Endless. she is the only character in the fic who gets to keep her English roots (lol sorry) and is the oldest in the band (30).

all of the band members ages: Dream, Desire, and Death are all 28 and Delirium is 22.

Dream can experience subdrop after going too hard during a performance.

Dream paints his own nails, it's very therapeutic.

as an exercise, i explored my own headcanons for Dream in this verse in a word doc, and one thing i will share from it that you might find interesting: If I were to ever give Dream a theological values, I would describe him as a satanist. He is a physical and pragmatic person, nonconforming, and although he is introverted, he enjoys being a part of a community (he loves his band).

also found this in my notes: How Desire and Dream got along was Death making them fight it out. Hob raises an eyebrow “like in a brawl?” He couldn't imagine Desire throwing hands. “No, in a pillow fight that escalated in hair pulling and verbal taunts.”

fic writer asks

[tomboy420]

OMG OMG OMG YAY! THERES SUCH A LACK IN MASACRIK FICS SO I GOTTA ASK! Sooooo if you don’t mindddd, could you please write a fic (Fluff!!! As much as you can yk he’s crazy-) Dr. Masacrik x (f!) reader where she got kidnapped from a hospital and was modified to replace Mimi/Ushka? And as alwayssss take your timeee! You deserve it!!

Cherished Moments

Y/n: Your name

Warnings: none

A/n: Sorry if I made any mistakes here, feel free to point them out

~~~

You used to be a nurse. That’s all you remembered before. You used to be a nurse, then one day woke up here. You vaguely remember the beeping sounds of the heart monitor and the smiles of patients as you walked by. But you never dwelled on the memories because you were too busy making new ones with Masacrik. You also were aware you were a replacement for a former right-hand-creation. What was her name again? Mimi, right? You’ve seen her a couple of times, but she was always rude to you. You’ve rarely wondered why. Was it because you took her place as Dr. Masacrik’s right-hand? You’ve never really thought of it because Dr. Masacrik was always the one that clouded your mind.

Currently, you were lying on his lap while he was reading a book, petting your head. Moments like these you cherished like they were the last memories you’ll ever have. You cherished the alone times you had with your beloved Masacrik. Or adored the times he touched you, even as a single poke. Even treasured his close proximity for a millisecond. Every. Single. Time.

Suddenly, he stopped stroking your head. You looked up at him with a frown. He put down the book, then gave you an exasperated sigh, “Ohh (Y/n), you have no idea how hard it’s been. For some reason, now of all times, it’s been a real kick in the face. Do you happen to know why that is?” You simply huddled closer, not giving any answer to Masacrik’s question because you didn’t know how to answer that. He looked at you for a moment. And smiled, resuming rubbing your head. He did this for a minute or two, then suddenly asked you, “(Y/n), do you wanna help me find new clothes for a new one?” 'One' as in a new creation. You never felt sad or jealous because he always chose you, no matter how much he tried to create. But also because they most likely never survived the transformation. It was rare when they did. Which resulted in just you, Mimi, and Strawberry. You being the newest. Still, he never asked for your help with the process of a new creation before, only the aftermath. After he asked you, the only thing that was on your mind was more time with Masacrik. Immediately, you eagerly nodded your head. He smiled at you, then got up and took your hand. It was moments like these you cherished the most.

~~~

It’s a little short, I know, but I hope you liked it

[dustmint]

*Inbox INVASION.* Hehe, Helloooo, *Ramble about anything card.*

HIIII!!!!!! I have. So many things to ramble about you have no idea what you've unleashed 👁👁 (But also I'm bad at thinking of what exact topics soooooo, this rant might be all over the place)

I wanna ramble about my oc Atlas Seek, they're one of my silliest little guys that I'm very obsessed with at the time. I have A LOT of ocs (around +24) ((I know this cause I put them in a hunger games simulator once, just because I got bored, it's very fun)) but I often tend to get like pretty focused on some of my ocs for some time and then forget all about them, this is something that has happened a lot and has caused some of my ocs to be really forgotten, cause i usually tend to pick favourites ehem–

Anyways! Onto Atlas, I love them dearly, they're a really fun character and also a bastard, he's my silly little guy. Though I'm not actually sure if I can count Atlas as an oc cause he's sort of mostly Jekyll and Hyde just like, glued together onto each other??? At least that's how they begin, Atlas is the result of like, Hyde and Jekyll joining together, I'm actually writing a fic with them, in the fic Atlas is formed by Mind Lanyon cutting off Hyde's head, this causes stuff to happen. Jekyll's mind tries to join Hyde back to Jekyll, sort of like trying to connect them as if they were two pieces of a puzzle, but the thing is that Hyde has his own consciousness, he's not just Jekyll's vices and repressed urges, there's something else in there that doesn't belong to Jekyll, but is instead Hyde, the vague beginnings of a person who sees himself as nothing else except as the evil of Jekyll.

Anyways, this results in them not being able to fuse back together, at least not so much not their consciousness, but you know what it does try to fuse back together that doesn't struggle as much as their consciousness? Their bodies, so Jekyll's mind just sort of triggers something like a transformation but not really one, it's just enough so that they have both traits of Jekyll and Hyde's bodies, but not enough to be one or the other completely, this sort of results in no one being able to recognise them as Jekyll or Hyde

They both eventually realize this and decide to go for a new name under this appearance "Atlas Seek"

ANYWAYS, I REALLY WANNA KEEP RAMBLING BUT THAT WOULD SPOIL SOME OF THE BITS OF MY FIC AND MAKE THIS MUCH LONGER THAN IT ALREADY IS— THANKS FOR THE RAMBLE CARD :33

[autistic-katara]

said this in the tags of a previous post from like 5 minutes ago but does anyone have any angsty / hurt/comforty zukka fic ideas they cba to write/want me to write? (bcz there are seriously not enough of those like how the fuck have i read like all of them on ao3 that interest me??? anyways conditions(?) for what i write under the cut)

i don’t like aus much so pls don’t include any (just a personal preference // canon divergence is one idm as much but don’t love)

when it comes to hurt/comfort it doesn’t have to be them comforting eachother (me personally i love those “hakoda finds out accidentally and zuko freaks the fuck out bcz fire nation homophobia but sokka’s just insanely embarrassed and hakoda’s a rlly good dad abt it” fics, also love the idea of iroh talking to zuko abt stuff or other members of the gaang finding out+talking abt it)

would prefer if it either included a focus on either queer stuff/coming out or outing/homophobia discussions/etc or mental illness shit (eg. zukos extreme daddy issues or shit like sh/suicide bcz fuck you i like what i like)

piggy backing off that i have no idea how to write mcd so pls don’t suggest it

am cool with making it zukki/suzukka instead of just zukka

the ship itself doesn’t have to be main focus of the fic i just want them in there

idm at all writing stuff that implies/references sex and i don’t really mind including actual sexual content but i’ve never written smut before and don’t wanna write smthn rn thats nsfw-focused so if u include that in ur prompt just be aware i might have to skip and imply the scene or i might not write it bcz yay writers block (it’s connected i promise-)

VERY happy to make either of them autistic and will probably write zuko like that anyway

PLEASE if u have an idea but think it’s cringe or weird or whatever just send it (on anon if u want) and if u have an idea but are not sure if it fits just send it with a disclaimer, i’d rather have a lot of bad ideas like what happens everytime i ask for bsd ideas than nothing bcz the eldritch horrors have maybe allowed me to write for the first time in ages and i rlly wanna put a fic out

please don’t be super vague i’m too autistic for that 😭

plz send the requests as asks, not a reblog or comment (just so i have them all in the same place)

sorry this was kinda long and idk if anyone’ll respond to this but yeah there’s srsly not enough of this kinda fic in this fandom (and i’m not even gonna mention how i wrote my kyoshi fic in april and it’s STILL the only fic like that abt her so what the fuck)

oh also yeah my ao3 is Raines_Adopted_Son

[blackandwhiteandrose]

You wanna talk fic?

thanks for the tag @hippolotamus!

1. How many WIPs do you have currently?

Just one! I've never been able to really work on more than one thing at a time. But I also decided to focus on trying to write original fic. I'm totally in love with what I've got... I just wish life did not be life-ing so hard right now and I could do more with it.

2. Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? Why do you think that is?

Since I'm only working on one... it's that one. The last 3-4 months have been probably the most difficult time in my life, which has really put a damper on any kind of creativity and/or energy to make words.

3. What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

It has looked like everything from pulling over in a restaurant parking lot to make voice notes, to furiously typing out a vague outline in the shoe aisle of TJ Maxx, or with the original fic idea, calling my bestie to freak out (literally in tears) because I had a whole ass book plot pop into my head and I didn't know what I was supposed to do with it.

4. Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

I have always had specific songs that matched the fic (or at least the vibe of) that I would listen to while I wrote, and I have had a generic writing playlist for years.

This original fic is the first one that has ever had a very specifically curated, dedicated playlist.

5. Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organised?

Organization has never been my strong point, so any kind of outline was always just a random collection of thoughts ideas that may or may not guide the actual writing.

But again, this one is different as I fairly meticulously planned every single chapter. And then have again only used them as a guide. I mean, every writer knows your characters are the ones that decide what happens. You're just responsible for doing the typing.

tagging: @mostlyinthemorning, @smallumbrella369, @kiwiana-writes, @dinnfameron, @missgeevious

[bloodyscarab]

Moon Knight Mystery Swap!!

hey! here's a fic i wrote for @fdelopera for the 2023 moon knight mystery swap! very belated חנוכה שמח!

so grateful to have participated in this, and as a jewish system i felt incredibly lucky to have been able to write about the feeling of being a jewish system around the holiday season for another jewish person! thanks for this prompt and thanks to @tiptapricot for putting this on!

rededications of dedication

word count: 1.1k rating: g prompt: mcu moon knight system celebrating hanukkah, but each alter has a different idea on what to do, but while writing this turned more into the mcu system celebrating hanukkah, showing what each alter did to prepare. oops! final notes: slightly angsty in the middle, but a happy ending! small mentions of struggling with religious identity. generally jewish stuff that i don't aim to explain for the uninitiated. based slightly on my own system experience + how our system engages with religion. cheers!

---

in the system, it was jake that first engaged with the idea of hanukkah.

the concept of celebrating hanukkah had grown into a distant fog in the years since the system had left home. religion itself was not the issue, but the time and space in which hanukkah resided always felt distinctly hollow. the winter holiday season always left them with a bitter burn.

hanukkah wasn’t necessarily about the family. they all knew that. but it wasn’t a transgression to want someone to pray with, to watch the candles’ dancing brightness with, to recount embarrassing memories of hanukkahs past with.

jake had proposed the idea internally because layla that had inspired it externally.

“did you ever celebrate hanukkah, as a kid?” her eyes were scanning her phone as marc laid next to her in bed, back turned and eyes closed. the room was dark aside from her phone screen.

he hummed inquisitively, turning to face her. “why?”

“just looked it up because i was curious. it starts next week. i thought it would be cool if we could do something.”

“i did used to celebrate, but not for years.” marc wanted to expand on the statement, but every memory he tried to reach for felt as though it was only pulling itself further away from his grasping hands.

“do you wanna do something?” her voice softened, like she could witness the mental struggle in his face. “we don’t have to. it was just a thought.”

“i don’t know. i’d have to think about it.” it was such a simple answer that only seemed to hold multitudes of further questions. she nodded with a hum and looked back to her phone.

steven wanted something that he felt he could excel at.

he took to research on the prayers and traditions a part of him thought he ought to know without looking them up. the prayers he found felt clunky on his lips at first, like he was hitting square blocks against circle pegs. he understood only vaguely that the language had once felt circular before, that his mouth had, at one point, not felt square.

it was important for him to get those kinds of things right, and he knew within himself that it felt important only to him. he knew that marc didn’t mind, he knew that jake already knew, he knew layla wouldn’t mind. yet he struggled with each word, getting the pronunciation of the chet just right, letting the spacial vowel between the dalet and the shin hang for just the right amount of time, just for himself. it gave him a purpose for the moment, for his time out.

he was the one that looked for a hanukkiah, in a joint effort with layla. marc had imagined something rather plain and uninspired, while steven and layla pushed against the idea. the pair chatted over layla’s laptop for hours over ideas: surely electronic ones were too cheap and far from the original story, a thick olive wood one seemed too grand, a silver one with long and elegant intertwining strands felt just slightly too ornate. then there was the prices; then again, what was hanukkah but a celebration, an excuse to buy and use something expensive, ornate, heavy with artisanal craftsmanship and centuries of tradition? marc only listened in, intense conversations in the next room over that he could absorb in the louder chunks, but not entirely.

marc had been more interested in the understanding of his own history. asking jake for some kind of exchange of memory felt like walking across a glass bridge under a dark abyss, trusting in one another to not let the other look down.

jake’s stories felt only somewhat familiar to marc. each memory felt fragmented, split into a narrative marc remembered and a narrative jake knew to be true. marc was surprised with the amount of things he thought to be routine that he learned from jake. jake remembered things like the murmuring of marc’s father in his study, reading over the hanukkah halakha. he remembered things like watching marc’s mother taking time to wipe the wax that dripped down the hanukkiah branches just before sunset, the sky’s pink hue bathing her features in a glow that made her look less angry, less tired.

marc had the instinct to hide from the memories, to run across the chasm between him and jake and shatter the transparent bridge. he ached with a feeling of profound loss. he was faced with the seemingly endless times he missed those moments that connected him to deeply to his identity, the moments he now realized were missing in a way he wanted to recapture.

it stung in a way he could not quite place that jake did not just hold the memories he could not bear to carry, but also ones where he had been content, if not still balancing softly on an undercurrent of imminent destruction. the stinging became a quest, a want for versions of the feelings that jake held onto for marc alone.

jake suggested hanukkah because he wanted it. marc was jealous, in some respects, of jake’s assuredness. some of the prayers still hung from his lips, tucked into his cheeks to be used whenever needed. jake knew about hanukkah in a way that was admirable simply for his memory. he remembered their father’s recountings and readings of maccabees, held firmly to the power of the visual of jews with agency, power, self-confidence.

hanukkah was more than just lights on a windowsill, more than simple stories that echoed through bones of generations, and jake knew that best.

before the first sunset, it was jake’s hands that unpackaged the hanukkiah, placed it on a small plate to catch wax like their mother had done. it was marc’s hands that lit the shamash, touched it against the first candle. it was steven’s voice that recited the prayers, slowly, methodically, like he had practiced.

and it was layla that sat the longest at the desk, letting the warmth of the light rest against her as she sat on her laptop until the columns of wax were redistributed into drips and puddles. the light from the flames radiated off of her face and curls in a way that marc felt comforted by.

when she crawled into bed beside him, he hummed at her like he did the week before when she suggested celebrating hanukkah in the first place.

“still a good idea?” she whispered.

“yeah.” she could hear his gentle smile in the dark through his words. “glad you suggested it. you seem to enjoy it, too.”

“of course i do.”

“seven more days,” marc mused, a tone in his voice that held an air of sadness at the transience of the positive feelings of the holiday.

“seven more days. until next year.”

“yeah. until next year.”