#im writing a fic about it right away

[snowyroads]

the song is literally them.

[shadebloopnik]

Unrequited/One-sided Radioapple but it isn't treated like an angsty end of the world thing.

Imagine they slowly get closer after all the banters, and eventually becoming close friends. Lucifer ends up catching feelings for him, and after a long while, decides to confess and ask Alastor if he felt the same.

Alastor admittedly does not feel the same.

He's getting uncomfortable, struggling to keep his composure because he's DONE this before. He KNOWS how this ends. He remembers Vox and all his insistent declarations of affection and desperate pleas for Alastor to reciprocate; the possessive entitlement. He remembers how all those sickly sweet words morphed into something venomous when he didn't give the lowlife what he wanted. He remembers the anger, the ridiculous notion that it was Alastor's fault why he was so mad, that Alastor led him on and that he obviously deserved something in payment for it all-

So yes, Alastor knows how this ends.

It doesn't mean he isn't disappointed though, because he actually LIKES Lucifer, far more than he ever did Vox. Perhaps not in the way the king might have wanted, but he did. He treasured their little talks, their drinking sessions, their shared love for their instruments, Lucifers singing, their little duets, the banter, the playful jabs, the sparring.

He'd even slowly grown accustomed to the other's touches, not feeling the same surge of disgust and discomfort whenever the shorter man would grab at his arm in excitement, forgetting his usual thoughtfulness of Alastor's touch aversion for the short moment of whatever distracted him. Alastor even enjoyed it at times, relaxing at the feel of soft feathers beneath his claws, or the sensation of gentle scratches against his ears.

Difficult as it was to admit, Alastor had grown to care for the angel, the same way he had for Rosie orv Mimzy.

But no matter how fond Alastor was of Lucifer, it didn't change the fact that he didn't feel the same way romantically, or even sexually. No way in the 7 rings of Hell was he going to lie to Lucifer about either, not going to even entertain the idea of pretending he reciprocated for Lucifer's sake. He respected his friend too much for that.

So a clear, direct rejection it is. It was a shame, but nothing could be done. He said his piece concisely, and waited, shoulders set, back straight, smile and eyes a careful blank canvas as he prepared for the inevitable.

Lucifer nodded, a normal soft smile still in place, "Thank you for your answer, it means a lot."

Which......what? Alastor expected an outburst, or at the very least sharp words.

What he did NOT expect was....acceptance? And not just that but, a happy one? Contentment?????

"You're....alright with that?", he had to ask, he had to. Lucifer was clearly just very good at masking his upset.

But the damn angel just smiled?? And it didn't even look fake, just as bright and soft as his normal smiles, albeit a little confused?? Lucifer smiled at him, his brows furrowing in a bit of confused disbelief, as though Alastor is being the weird one here.

"Uhh, yeah??? Why wouldn't I be??? Yeah I may have some feelings for you but its not like you're obligated to feel the same. Above anything else, we're friends first and foremost and i'm alright with that..."

Then he seemed to have reached his own little conclusion as his words trailed off, because suddenly Lucifer's eyes widened in realization of something, and his words picking up with a sense of panicked urgency.

Alastor would really like to know what Lucifer's supposed realization was about himself because he had absolutely no clue.

"I mean, we ARE still friends right?? I don't- I- I hope this doesn't like- change your opinion of me. You're not- oh gosh I'm not making you uncomfortable am I? I- I won't mention it! You can even forget this whole confession ever happened! We can just go on as before! I don't feel any different or would act any different! Honest! I mean, I don't regret confessing because you deserve to know and I'm not ashamed of my feelings, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! It doesn't change the way i'll treat you! Or change any aspect of our relationship! I don't even think I like you more as a lover than as a friend! I really, really do love our friendship, it matters more to me than any thoughts of being in a romantic relationship with you! So please just forget it all-"

Alastor let the word vomit wash over him, every word leaving him more confused by the minute.

Because yes, there's the desperation he expected, but...it was more about, convincing Alastor to remain friends?? Reassuring Alastor that nothing has to change?? That their friendship is the most important thing here??

(If anyone asks, no Alastor's heart didn't swell. Only lesser beings would have had the urge to cry, and Alastor is anything but.)

Lucifer is unknowingly reassuring Alastor of every single one of his insecurities about the situation. Because Alastor DID want to remain friends, he cared too much about the man to let it go so easily. It was rare to find people who treasure friendships above romantic relationships.

"I don't tend to forget easily, nor will I forget this one in particular.", he spoke, finally finding his voice. At Lucifer's defeated, pained expression( is their friendship really that important to him?), he continued. "But....yes. I'd like that.. To remain...friends."

He didn't often say the word out loud, being comfortable enough with each other that it need not be reassured with the label. But with Lucifer brightening up like his namesake, relief and happiness palpable, Alastor felt no qualms at declaring their friendship out loud.

So life went on as usual. True to his word, Lucifer remained basically the same. The following weeks were a bit stilted for Alastor, as he put some rather painful distance between him and the angel; limiting their interactions, their usual touches.

Anytime now, Lucifer would break and show his true colors, Alastor would think, waiting for the boot to drop. Lucifer would end up angry, and dissatisfied, and that was that.

But it never happened. Lucifer never expressed discomfort when Alastor avoided him, seeming to be understanding of the others need for space. He was just as affectionate as before, though initially a bit held back, as though gauging Alastor's comfort.

Months would pass, and the king never faltered. Their friendship remained strong, if not growing ever closer than before. Alastor found himself even growing more comfortable with the man. Affectionate touches were becoming common, hugs and head pats and cuddles being a welcome thing, with the reassurance that the shorter king would never disrespect his boundaries.

Lucifer seemed genuinely happy about it, despite being clearly told that none of Alastor's actions hinted at anything romantic. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that Alastor was getting more affectionate towards him as a friend. The embarrassment the radio demon felt at having Lucifer basically tear up (no really, he was crying so hard, full on drama sobbing) with joy in front of him was intertwined with the sheer incredulous fondness he felt for the man at that moment.

They were sitting at a couch one night, more than a year passing since that confession. Lucifer was leaning back, resting against the cushions, while Alastor had his head on the smaller one's shoulder, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, legs tucked close to his body. Both had a book in hand, two nearly empty cups of tea on the table in front of them. Every so often, Lucifer would flex his fingers that rested on Alastor's head, running a digit against the other's ear, often prompting the demon to lean into the touch. White wings enveloped the two, blanketing them against the chill of the night.

As Alastor turned the page of his own book, relaxing into the touch of his dearest friend, he wondered how he ever got so lucky in hell.

[tennessoui]

writing warm up that got away from me

It takes thirty-two more hours for the realization to come to Sidious, and he blames Skywalker wholly for the delay. The boy's own stupidity and black-and-white view of the galaxy must be rubbing off on him, that's the only reason Sidious can think of for not having thinking of this sooner.

Kenobi. 

And Skywalker.

The answer has been sitting right before him this entire time, but he had been too blinded by his own hatred of Kenobi to see it. And Skywalker's hero worship of the man hadn't helped, of course. The way Skywalker talked of his old Jedi master evoked images of untouchable saints, glowing angels, benevolent deities...the same way he talked of those sentients he fancied himself in love with at the height of his relationships with them. Gilded and perfect and infallible. It was the way Skywalker loved, to paint his paramours as idols placed upon a pedestal.

How had Sidious missed that Skywalker had already done the same thing with Kenobi? Years ago! For years, he has endured Skywalker's fanatical praise of his Jedi master. He has listened to him complain about the man, his fastidiousness, his devotion to the Jedi Order--but oh, those moments that Sidious had made the mistake of agreeing with Skywalker's own words! He has never felt closer to losing Skywalker's trust than those times he let a bad word about Kenobi slip past his lips, even though Skywalker himself had already said much more damning things.

And yet no matter the argument, no matter the disagreement between Kenobi and Skywalker, Skywalker's faith in his master did not waver. He never took his master down from that pedestal, no matter how many times Kenobi revealed himself to be just a man.

Sidious has spent years resenting that, resenting Skywalker's unshakeable devotion to his master. He has spent years trying to ingratiate himself to the boy, trying to replace Kenobi as the boy's mentor, his father. And every time he has failed because it seems that no matter how often Kenobi manages to break Skywalker's heart, Skywalker gives it to him again without hesitation.

But...but if Skywalker were to see Kenobi through the lens of a man in love, if they were to fall into bed together and strike up a romance, then surely...surely Kenobi would flinch at the force of Skywalker's naked devotion.

[heartofalifer]

sometimes I lay at night thinking what exactly did daisy write in the description of alec hardy's tinder profile and what pictures did she use that made her think that could get women to swipe right on him. was it selfies? was it candid photos she took? was alec wearing that blue jumper on and reading a paper with his legs crossed in the photos? I need to know

[presidentofthelipglossclub]

ok i love rescue bots and the fandom but we are NOT tapping into proper fic potential ok. where are the fics about heatwave and jules verne meeting in the future? where are fics about the rescue bots’ missions/lives in space? where are the fics about them on other planets or just on cybertron? where’s the fics on frankie and heatwave talking about triple changing? where’s the fics on the rescue bots meeting team prime? where’s the fics on an au of the show where heatwave accepts optimus’ offer to join his team? WHERE ARE THE FICS??

[catguangcorner]

boxing arc of LCLA goes crazy tbh we've got qiao ling busting the boys' time shenanigans (and her not believing at first until they prove it via HER being involved in said time shenanigans); we've got cheng xiaoshi's parasocial relationship w his idol shuang hai (man is obsessed); he's shaking crying downing drinks w shuang hai cos said boxing CHAKPION has no one to confide in except two twenty something year olds who did some sleuthing for him; cheng xiaoshi's all like "im your BIGGEST fan why are u being such a LOSER right now 🥲" and lu guang is sitting there quietly except for when scolding cxs for drinking too much too fast 😭😭😭 i love this show

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[hexiewrites]

craving some validation today, so here, have a little preview of what I'm working on this week:

“Harrington, hey! Harrington, Mark Donahue from CBC Sports. Great to see you out here tonight, first game as a rookie, right?” Steve grimaced a little and shifted his helmet to his other hand as the mic was shoved in his face. The team was stalled at the entrance to the rink, likely waiting as the Bruins were introduced and did their skate out. Still, he didn’t really need this right now. “Hey, yeah man. Thanks, look, I’m just trying to-” “We’ll be quick, Harrington, don’t worry about it. How are you feeling tonight? Your dad’s in the audience, eh? Is he excited to see his son play his first ever NHL game?” Steve grimaced slightly at the thought but forced his face into something close to a smile. “Sure, yeah, yep. Really, uh. Really excited for us to win tonight.” The interviewer–Donahue–laughed. It didn’t sound friendly. “Ah, got it! So you gotta get a win for the old man, eh? Of course. And, is there anyone on the Bruins tonight that has you worried? Maybe someone like Eddie Munson?” Steve couldn’t stop the frown that tugged his eyebrows down. He’d sat through all the media training, yeah. Smile and nod, just here to support my team, the regular nonsense. But really? His first night on the big ice and they were asking him about Munson?

(while you wait you can always reread carve your name into my chest for your steddie hockey fill ;))

update: you can now read it here

[leenfiend]

i’m listening to those literary demerit episodes on dirty laundry feeling like a klance scholar rn and also shaking my fist at the fucking sky because clearly a lot of klance fic was influenced by it and god.......i wish i could live in a different timeline......we gotta do better this time soldiers. give me in character fic im on my knees begging. 

[scionshtola]

taking opinions

[pikkish]

idk if this is a good prompt but put doomguy in myhouse.wad I think he would find it enriching

Right, so I've been mulling on this one for a little bit now, n I'm not opposed to writing something for you, I'm just not... entirely sure what to write? Because the thing is, myhouse.wad doesn't actually really have anything to do with Doom as a story. Sure, Doom is important in that it's the vessel through which the story is told and one of the connections between the narrator and his dead companion. But as far as Doom itself goes, and the story about a man who was too angry/stupid to die, fighting demons and saving earth, none of that is at all relevant to myhouse.wad and its story. For all intents and purposes, Doomguy isn't actually a character in myhouse.wad. So I'm not really sure how exactly to fit him in there.

[agentplutonium]

WIP Wednesday

I got tagged by @ejunkiet! Thank you for the tag <3

I can't think of anyone to tag, but if you see this and want to do it please do! You do not need to wait for a tag to do something like this

I will be honest I haven't been writing all that much recently, but there a few things I was able to clang out in between classes and other commitments I have, so there's that. Both snippets are Milo/Sweetheart (because of course they are), one being the Mafia AU I am working on that was inspired by Laveau and the other being a new genre I am trying out. Anyway, snippets under cut:

Mafia AU:

“Yeah, well, David thinks this is a great idea,” Sweetheart teased, arms wrapping around Milo’s waist. “I never said it wasn’t,” Milo said, smiling, “getting to watch you up on that stage while I’m behind the bar? It’s going to be like a dream come true.” Sweetheart rolled their eyes, but the adoration behind them was still there when they returned to Milo. “We’ll see what David thinks of you slacking while I’m up there.” “Speaking of David,” Milo said, pulling back just a bit, “were you able to talk to him? About-” “It’s all settled,” Sweetheart cut him off, waving away the concern. “He knows the risks, and he’s willing to take them. He said that he takes care of his dancers, and I’m no exception.” Milo nodded, relief flooding through him for a moment. He knew David wouldn’t refuse to help, but they both knew what Sweetheart was trying to escape. However, they didn’t have to worry about that. “Good. You’re going to do great tonight, Sweetheart.” Sweetheart grinned, “Of course I am.”

Another Milo/Sweetheart Snippet: CW for suggestive conversation. (This fic might be my first smut fic, honestly. but we'll see where that goes. moving on)

“We’re going,” Milo whispered into their ear. “hmm?” Sweetheart hummed, leaning back against him, a warm pressure. “What for? I thought you were enjoying yourself,” they teased.  “I’m going to get my hands on you in the next few minutes, whether it’s in front of these office jockeys or not,” Milo said, dark eyes watching them.  “But we still have the pack celebration to go to,” Sweetheart reminded him, turning so they could press into his side. He had a hand on their hip without thinking, holding them in place. “That was part of our deal.” “They can wait,” Milo said lowly, “besides, they are used to how I am with you. These buzz kills?” He paused to gesture to the other partygoers discreetly, “Wouldn’t know what to do with themselves if I kissed you right now. Without tongue.” Sweetheart laughed, hiding their amusement behind the glass that they were holding. “You can’t go calling them buzz kills, Milo, this is networking for me,” they chastised. They didn’t disagree, though.  Milo rolled his eyes playfully. “Well, they know about the other party, just not when. So, we can go.” Sweetheart considered it, not breaking eye contact with him while they did, always trying to see his intentions. As if he wasn’t already upfront about everything with them, but this was a game that they played. There was something in their eye, a playful glint that he—well, that he really liked. They smirked, taking a sip of their drink. They didn’t miss the way he followed the path the liquid took as they swallowed if the smug look they wore had anything to say about it. “Wait for me beside the car,” Sweetheart said finally, pressing the glass that they had into Milo’s hand. “Let me explain my absence before another rumour gets out about me.” They didn’t have to tell Milo twice.

anyway. i miss writing. i hate when university gets in the way.

[flythesail]

I was just rereading the short stories I wrote for workshop in college and it's weirdddddd because they're not bad, but also... I would NOT write that now

[trashsketch]

im so sorry writers, i cannot read because i read slow and i read inattentively and i read at night when i cannot sleep. i read in the dark without my glasses with epubs on my phone most of the time. all of this accumulates and i can never truly read more than like. a few thousand words at a time probably. disappointing news for people with brilliant fics that have word counts that hit like 60k and beyond

if you are a fic writer reading this, your only takeaway from this stranger's ramble is not to worry about writing long because you maybe feel pressured to, cause i love shorter fics. i myself have only written one complete thing and it is like 1.1k words. writing is hard! fandom is free. if it sucks hit da bricks. you can take it easy on your own work

(and this is work. it is fun and it is a hobby but it is still work to sit down and write. AND its unpaid. cut yourself some slack! i once read a fic that was unfinished but at the end the author still gave a bullet point summary of plot points that were gonna happen and i still loved it i aTE THAT SUMMARY UP)

(another point: long fics are amazing! i've read a few on occasion! what im saying is if you feel like your fic needs to be long because only then will it be "good" then you are my target audience here, because i am also you. i am reassuring you. go post that 400 word drabble. i will eat it up. many fics that have changed my brain chemistry forever are like 1k words or less)

[domoz]

Wakes up slams a fic about mangeko headcanons online and goes back to sleep.

kinda pre-mada/tobi if you squint

CW for a mercy killing.

Cool fingers pull away from Madara's temple, and chakra with them; without it, his eyes return to aching, as they do almost every day now.

He opens his eyes to the sight of Tobirama frowning down at his notes.

Ask Madara even last year if he would have let Tobirama anywhere near his eyes and he would have laughed in your face and then probably killed you on top of it. That they were here now was due to what else but Hashirama's meddling -- a comment here or there revealing that he knew Madara's eyesight was failing, a reminder of his ability to heal. When he'd tried, the admission that this, he could not help, but that his brother was much better at fine details like eyes than him --

He'd put the thought in Madara's head, and Madara had rejected the idea every time he'd thought of it -- through every migraine, through every day where his eyes ached so badly he preferred not to open them. He would not let Hashirama's mad scientist of a younger brother anywhere near his eyes.

Until Izuna had noticed. Had started pressuring Madara into taking his eyes. Madara knew Izuna would get his way given enough time to manipulate, and he would not leave his brother to live blind.

"What if I find a way to fix them?" He'd exploded, "Will you drop it then?"

And that had left him with only one place to go.

Tobirama had not gloated at him, had agreed that the payment for curing his failing eyesight would be the information he learned doing it. Had even agreed that Madara could reject any question he asked without explanation.

Though really, the thing that had convinced Madara that he hadn't made the worst mistake in his life was, when he admitted the weakness of the Mangeko, Tobirama's response -- faintly bitter -- that all bloodline limits had their drawbacks.

(Madara did not ask after Hashirama. But he wondered).

So far, Tobirama has not done anything to hurt him. Had, on the very first day, said that he could repair at least some of the damage to his eyes but admitted that until he could understand the root cause it would likely degenerate the next time he used his sharingan.

"Not any worse than last time." Tobirama remarks, "So at least the reinforcements held. But you haven't used the advanced state of your doujutsu, have you?"

"No." Madara admits. And that was the rub -- the cause had been obvious. The Mangeko forced in too much unrestrained chakra for even an Uchiha's well developed eye coils to handle, and the damage to the coils affected the body. It was finding a solution that was acceptable where things had stalled.

"Prolonged use could even start to affect the brain." Tobirama had said, flat and clinical, after the first time Madara had let him run a sweep of medical chakra through his eyes, "Though I suspect you would already be long blind by then."

Back then Madara had grit his teeth in a valiant effort to not explode at the man in anger. Now, he recognizes that was a simple statement of fact, nothing more. Whether or not Tobirama has plans to do anything with what he'd learned Madara still isn't sure, but the man had promised to heal his eyes and apparently intended to keep it with same work ethic that he had used to help construct the village. His methods have been rigorous, sometimes exhausting, but there is no question on if he was trying.

Which was to say that it was becoming clear, now that Madara has some idea on how to read the man, that he was just as frustrated with the lack of progress as Madara was. He doesn't show it by sighing or rubbing at his temples like Madara might, but by glaring at his notes and pressing down with his pen so hard that it might break.

"What, exactly, is the roadblock right now?" Madara still doesn't know if having the Senju speak his thoughts out loud helps or distracts, but in the end they are his eyes, and Tobirama always humors him when he asks.

This time, he has to take a long moment to pull his thoughts together.

"If it were just too much chakra, I think I could find a solution. There are techniques that temporarily increase the size of ones coils…"

Madara blinks, "The Akimichi?"

There had been some talk about Tobirama taking an Akimichi onto his team recently. Did that have something to do with him?

Tobirama finally looks up. He nods, but there's a unhappy tilt to his mouth.

"It allows for more chakra to pass through, but it makes the coils weaker. It's not a problem for the Akamichi since their chakra is so stable and their coils are more robust than most. For an Uchiha…" He looks away, gaze unfocused, "You could handle it normally, but the Mangeko makes your chakra especially volatile."

Tobirama pauses for only a moment. One of the first things he'd asked had been the reason for the extra instability in chakra that happened when the sharingan was activated, and Madara had said he would not answer. To his credit, he hasn't asked again.

"…And every solution I've considered for reducing the volatility will likely also end up reducing the power in some way." Which was unacceptable, it went without saying.

A month ago Madara would never have volunteered this information, but he's tired -- of the constant ache, of the experiments, of Izuna behaving as though he would be fine if he were blind. Tobirama has won the information he'd asked for, by attrition, and by accident.

"Part of the instability comes from the technique itself." Madara admits, closing his eyes so as not to see Tobirama's sharp gaze snap to him (and that had been another odd thing -- Madara wasn't sure he had ever made so much eye contact with a non-clan member before), "And part of it comes from the fact that in order to activate it, we have to recall the memory that awoke the sharingan in the first place."

He keeps his eyes closed, so he does not know what expression Tobirama makes, only that the man's voice is unusually hesitant when he clarifies, "…Every time?"

"Not in full, but the emotions that come with it? Every time."

The riverbank, the determination to protect his family -- that memory was like an old friend to him.

He called up his Mangeko less. That one still ached.

He has not woken up, and the healers said it was likely that he wouldn't before he passed.

Tajima had given as good as he'd gotten, and Madara prays that Butsuma Senju's death had been as long and agonizing as his father's has been. He reaces out, folds his hands over Izuna's, over the blade his little brother holds. The tremble in Izuna's hand was too small to be seen, but Madara can feel it as he wraps his fingers tight.

He does not comment on it. Just this once, such weakness can be forgiven.

If Tajima is only going to lie there unconscious and in pain until he expires, then there is only one thing that makes sense. If Madara and Izuna can grow more powerful from his death, then Madara knows with surety that it's what he would have wanted.

Izuna squeezes his eyes closed and takes a steadying breath before opening, meeting Madara's whirling sharingan with his own.

"Okay." His little brother breathes.

Their hands move together. The cut is quick and deep, but the blood still sprays over their hands, over their clothes. Tajima still wheezes a horrible sound, searching for a last breath, convulses when he can't.

They're shinobi, death is a thing that is a once close and impersonal, this --

This burns.

Every time.

"…I'm sorry." Says Tobirama, and Madara's eyes fly open. Because Tobirama Senju is a man who does not apologize, much less for things that have nothing to do with him.

The look on his face is unreadable, but it's not pity, Madara thinks.

"For what?" Madara wheezes, ears buzzing. He has no idea whether to be furious or not, no idea what to feel at all.

Tobirama raises an eyebrow, "The sharingan gives perfect memory, does it not? To have to recall such things every time…" He shakes his head, "Perhaps your clan is more sane than I ever gave you credit for."

There's so much unsaid in that statement that Madara will ruminate on later, but for now he warns, "Messing with a sharingan user's memory is not only nearly impossible, but a taboo as well."

There have been plenty who have tried, who wanted the memories burned into their eyes out and gone. And clan record after clan record showed that, without fail, those who tried went insane. This was a line he would not allow Tobirama to cross.

"I suspected as much." Tobirama agrees easily, if not a little wry. "Fine. No memory manipulation. Then what about emotions?"

[kimjunnoodle]

ya know a good cry is sometimes what you need