#im writing for a niche audience

[saltcxrcle]

in a ruby brainrot mood and i need to write a fic about her inspired by maneater by nelly furtado bc that is such a ruby coded song its insane

[pigeons-with-jello]

this is for other peoples work for the record not your own for the record

my personal take below in case you dont care/dont wanna be influenced

im kinda curious because i think playlists and stuff are really cool in printed books and are fun in fics and give insight to whatever the author was thinking about but also i would like to make my own playlists the author cannot give me cannon music

[somecluelessidiot]

Hot take: Benvolio and Tybalt should've fallen in love

[smytherines]

this was supposed to be under a thousand words, but at least it's almost done

[illiaccrest]

Honestly I've been trying my best to be charitable and not hate Firefly the character (she's fine. I think if she's supposed to be soooo important to us Aventurine's 3+ hour backstory should have gone to her instead but she's fine), but the whole TBxFirefly romantic subplot shlock contained pretty much every clumsy trope that I despise in a romantic subplot so I didn't think it was cute, I hated it.

On top of that there's the ongoing trend of games letting you choose your player character's gender but not the gender of your love interest, which is basically the developers saying loud and clear "WE ONLY CARE ABOUT STRAIGHT MALE GAMERS" and I'm tired of every single game doing this. Honestly if it continues and we don't have the choice to either reject FF or choose someone else it'll just be too cringe and I'll probably drop the game.

[rose-tinted-vision]

WIP Wednesday

Mysterious lotus casebook (Fanghua)

“Curses dont exist, Fang Xiaobao, I’ll be fine.” Li Lianhua waves dismissively, taking a bite of the scallion pancake, “this pancake tastes like any other pancake.” “They use the freshest scallions, plucked from their own field, and it’s fried with the minimum amount of oil so- don’t try to change the subject!” Fang Xiaobao scowls, “are you sure you feel fine?”   “Its placebo, don’t you think? As long as you don’t believe in luck, you won’t have bad luck. People’s so-called curses won’t work on you either.”

A journey to love/I am Nobody crossover (Qian Zhao & Xu San centric)

clarification that Xu San is basically Qian Zhao, who has been cursed with immortality

Xu Si still remembers the name that Xu San had introduced himself with when they first met. Sun Yuanzhou. He had searched it up in historical records, online, had pleaded with Er Zhuang to look into it only to turn up with nothing. It confirmed his suspicions that it was a fake identity, if nothing else. Just as Xu San was not his real name, Sun Yuanzhou was not either. He briefly wonders just how many identities his “San-ge” had cycled through, how many people he had sent off in his very long life.

Tiger and Crane (Wang Yuqian/Xiao Yunzi)

“have you made up your mind?” It was not the first time Xiao Yunzi had asked Yuqian the same question.  He knows that his Prince was a flighty person, easily swayed and prone to acts of spontaneity. He could let most things slide– going along with the Prince’s pace was easier than trying to stop him– but there were certain things he had to draw the line at. Especially when it came to matters of the state. The first time he asked the question was when his Prince had voiced his wish to escape.

[skitskatdacat63]

I feel uninspired and lack motivation for art again so I thought of an ask game for me :)

Send me(or comment) a number from 1-34 and I will draw my corresponding oc

I mentally struggled over whether I should make this post, because ik ocs are niche and probably not many people care for it, but I realized I could have been using those hours to y'know. Actually draw something. So I might as well just post it

[sorikkung]

sorry to everyone who followed me for gbgb or wgoin and realised you will probably forget abt the series before you ever find out the ending bc i just take MONTHS between updates and the scope of these stories are So Long itll prolly take years to finish wgoin alone and instead of writing either of them im writing an Even Longer Story im 85% sure i'll literally never finish because Holy Fuck Its So Long but alas i have some of the most severe adhd you will ever see and i can only write what Sparks Joy. i am at least granting yous the mercy of no longer posting chapters of these other stories until i have more of it written so you dont have to wait as long between updates.

[saltcxrcle]

best friend's brother ── . ✶ c. miller

summary: you weren't one for clichés, but you ended up falling into one anyway

pairings: clay miller x reader, clay miller x fem!readerノ: wc: 4.4k warnings: set after the events of the movie, no use of 'y/n', falling for your best friends brother trope, slight enemies to lovers, smoking (both reader and clay), mentions of the events of the movie, flangst, shot gunning, some sexual tension, kissing, making out, fluff at the end, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own a/n: RAHH CLAYY MILLER MY LOVE!! my first fic for this final boy (and it certainly won't be the last) also i had to make up a lot of shit for bc we get crumbs of clay's backstory and the timeline of the movie, so is this canon? absolutely not! but that's what fanfiction is for :p so enjoy me writing for a jarpad character that isn't sam winchester <33 clay miller masterlist

GOD THIS WAS SO CLICHE. 

Sitting on the porch with Clay and sharing a cigarette while your heart was beating so fast at how close he was, your shoulders were touching as fingers brushed against one another as you passed the dwindling cigarette between the two of you. You thought that you would be the exception to the rule of falling for your best friend’s older brother. 

You had been best friends with Whitney since you moved to New Jersey when you were four years old, and your mom made your small family of three introduce themselves to their next-door neighbors. 

You remember you hid behind your mom’s leg when the door opened, and a woman with brown hair and kind eyes answered the door. You hadn’t wanted to move from your old house in California. But your dad had found a better job across the country and moved despite your complaints, dismissing you because you were a kid and didn’t know any better. 

But the woman at the front door managed to coax you out from behind your mom when she mentioned that she had made cookies the day before and asked if you wanted one. You lit up at the prospect of getting a sweet treat before dinner that day. The woman introduced herself as Miss Jenny and called for her kids to come and meet the new neighbors while she grabbed a cookie for you. 

You could hear the thundering of footsteps from the open door, and a boy who looked to be around two years older than you and a girl your age came into the doorway. Your parents introduced themselves to them while you stared at the floor, shyness creeping back into your system, and all you wanted to do was dash to your new house. 

But the girl was bright and bubbly and didn’t seem to mind your shyness. 

“Hi! I’m Whitney!” She greeted you cheerfully.

You murmured your name in response, just barely being able to meet her hazel eyes. 

“Here you go sweetie.” Miss Jenny had come back from the kitchen and handed you the cookie on a napkin from behind her kids. 

“Thank you.” You said quietly as you sent her a small smile. 

The boy scowled. “Mom! That was the last cookie!” 

“Clay.” Miss Jenny's tone sounded like your mom’s when you didn’t listen to her. “We can make more later.” She promised him. 

The boy you now knew as Clay looked slightly happier, but his eyebrows were still scrunched as he stared at the cookie in your hands. Clay huffed before ducking back into the house. 

Your lips were pursed. “He can have it if he wants.” You went to hand the cookie back, but Miss Jenny shook her head. 

“It’s fine sweetie, I planned to make some more tomorrow anyway.” 

Whitney looked at your parents. “Is it okay if she could come over and play with me tomorrow?”  

You stared at Whitney in surprise. You hadn’t expected to make a friend this quickly. 

You looked behind you to see your parents nodding. 

“Of course!” Your mom said with a smile. 

From that day on, you and Whitney stuck beside each other like glue. You were the more introverted one out of the two of you, while Whitney was the social butterfly. But she never once left you behind and always tried to get you out of your shell. Whitney was the sun to your moon; the two of you balanced each other perfectly. Meanwhile, you and Clay never seemed to get along with each other. It wasn’t like you did anything to him, but he took you getting the last cookie personally and made it known. 

He was relentless in his teasing of Whitney and you if you were over at their house, which was quite often. And it didn’t stop when you guys grew up, if anything, Clay acted more like a dick when he was a teenager. He went through his “bad boy” phase, as you would like to call it. You heard all about him ditching class, getting a motorcycle, smoking, and going to parties from Whitney as you and your parents helped her with their mom.

Eventually, Clay left your life when you were fifteen and he was seventeen. Your parents took Whitney under their wing, and the two of you grew closer than ever as you supported her while her mom went through her chemo treatments. But you guys slowly drifted apart when you guys got into different colleges. 

Whitney wanted to stay local to help with her mom while you tried to go to school in New York. Although you wanted to stick by Whitney and apply to schools in the state, she encouraged you to apply to your dream schools in New York. You remember the day you left for NYU, which was bittersweet, filled with tears and promises that you’d call often and come back home for the holidays, which you did. 

Your world turned upside down a few years later, and you were finishing your last year of undergrad. Whitney had gone missing, her mom died, and Clay came crashing back into your life. 

You remember the day of Miss Jenny’s funeral and seeing him for the first time in years at the podium, speaking about his mother. You managed to make it to the funeral, letting your professors know about the family emergency and taking the first flight to New Jersey back to your hometown. 

You vaguely remember Whitney telling you about calling Clay and getting into a fight about not helping and being there for their mom. 

You lingered in the cemetery long enough for Clay to approach you. 

“Whitney’s missing.” Clay’s voice was slightly thick with grief as he stared at you hard. 

Your brows furrowed. “What?” 

“Are you kidding? Did you not notice her absence here?” He gestured to the nearly empty graveyard. 

“Of course I did!” You scowled at him. That was all you could think about, but you didn’t want to question him when he was being bombarded with his own family members and receiving condolences from others. 

“When was the last time you talked to her?” 

“I can tell you it was more recent than you had.” You couldn’t help but snark at Clay, crossing your arms over your chest.

Clay glared at you, his jaw clenching in frustration. “When?” 

You sighed. “Right before she hit a dead zone. Whitney told me about the camping trip with her boyfriend and his friends.” 

“And you haven’t checked in on her?” 

“She said she wasn’t going to have service.” You said through gritted teeth. “Besides, I've been a little busy with school.” 

“So school is more important than your missing best friend.” Clay nodded in mock understanding. “Got it.” He flashed you a sarcastic grin before shaking his head, his hair falling in his eyes.

“Oh, fuck you! Says the guy who ran off doing god knows what and refused to come home to help his sister care for their dying mother.” You pointed a finger into his chest. “Do not accuse me of not caring for your family when it's clear you didn’t in the first place.” 

Clay’s eyes flashed with anger as his nostrils flared. He stared down at you with a clenched jaw but said nothing. 

The two of you stared at each other in tense silence. Your eyes took in Clay for the first time since you saw him earlier. If it was possible, he grew even taller since he was seventeen, and he definitely filled out his lanky frame—the broadness of his shoulders wasn’t something you could overlook. Clay’s hair was the longest you’ve ever seen, but his eyes kept the intensity he had since he first laid eyes on you. The hazel color swirled and shifted into a stormy grey like the overcast sky overhead. 

Clay was attractive—you weren’t blind. There were times when you thought he was cute in your youth, but his callous attitude towards you never failed to remind you why you never tried to befriend him. 

“Help me look for her.” Clay whispered into the silent afternoon, breaking the tense atmosphere. 

You closed your eyes as you took a step back, putting a distance between you and Clay. “I can’t.” You murmured, your heart cracking at your admission.

“Why not?” 

“I don’t have time.” 

“What do you mean you don’t have time? Your best friend is missing!” Clay looked at you incredulously. The person that Clay knew would have said yes to him in a heartbeat. 

You could feel the tears that you kept suppressed all day, threatening to spill over. “I’m going back tonight.” 

Clay scoffed. “Back to New York right? To some big fancy school in the big city while Whitney is out there missing? Some best friend you are.” The venom dripped from his voice as he shook his head, disappointed. 

You had no idea that Clay even knew where you were going to school or that he apparently kept tabs on your life. But his remark about going back to school instead of looking for Whitney got under your skin, but you’d never admit to it, never to his face. 

“Fuck you, Clay Miller.” You spit out, fury coating your words. You walked away, shoving at his shoulder with your own. You didn’t want to be there any longer than you had to with Clay. 

About a month later, after graduating, you were back home for the summer, having applied to grad school in New Jersey, and you would stay at your childhood home until you found a job and an apartment. You had gotten a call from an unknown number, which you almost didn’t pick up, but there was a pull in your gut that compelled you to answer. 

The woman on the phone asked for your name, which you confirmed. She called to inform you that Whitney was in the hospital, and you needed to come in and check in on her. 

The phone call was soon over at that point; you quickly grabbed your bag and left the house hastily. You vaguely remember your parents asking where you were in a rush for, spitting out that Whitney was in the hospital and that you’d call them once you saw her in the flesh. 

The drive was short, almost breaking all the traffic laws to get to the hospital as fast as you could. Anxiety twisted at your stomach as you walked through the lobby; your voice was wavering, asking the nurse at the desk about Whitney. 

The nurse had a reassuring smile on her face as she looked up your information, and once you confirmed your identity, she led you to Whitney’s room. 

You practically sobbed in relief at the sight of Whitney, bringing her into a fierce hug as the two of you cried in each other’s arms. You guys had a tight grip on one another as she shoved her head into the crook of your neck. 

You guys only pulled apart until no more tears were running down your faces. You wiped at your face with your jacket as you pulled back and took in Whitney’s appearance. 

She looked a little thinner from the last time you saw her, and you knew Whitney had some cracked ribs and a few other bruises, but other than that, she was fine. But you had a feeling that what she saw or experienced was worse than how she looked right now. You had so many questions fluttering around in your head but kept them to yourself so as to not overwhelm her. 

You went to open your mouth to say something, but before you could, the door opened and cut you off before you could speak. 

Your head snapped to see Clay entering the room. His clothes were covered in dried mud, and Clay’s shirt was stained beyond recognition. Your eyes zeroed in on his face. There was a large gash on his cheekbone that looked to be cleaned since butterfly bandages were covering the wound. 

The two of you locked eyes, his eyes were filled with relief but you could see the lingering fear within his hazel gaze. They flashed with something unfamiliar, but it looked akin to fondness before it was gone. 

“Hey.” You murmured, the corners of your lips twitching slightly. 

Clay swallowed thickly. “Hey.” He responded with a nod of his head, his dirty hair falling in his eyes. Your eyes followed his hand as he brushed it back, noticing how big they were.

You cleared your throat before you turned back to face Whitney. There was a knowing smirk on her face, and you rolled your eyes at her. 

The cold concrete seeped through the thin pajama pants you were wearing as you blew out the smoke from your mouth, the tenseness from your shoulders relaxing as the nicotine flooded your system. Smoke curled around you as moonlight lit the street, and the small porch light you were sitting underneath illuminated the path up your porch as you sat on the steps leading up to your childhood home. 

You glanced at the house right next to yours before taking another drag of your cigarette. 

It had been over a year since Clay found Whitney. That night you came to the hospital, Whitney and Clay filled you in on what happened hours before they made it to the hospital—being kidnapped at Camp Crystal Lake, Clay finding Whitney, and killing the guy that kidnapped her. You were in shock as they recounted the experience, seeing how Clay could barely get through his story without stumbling over them. Your heart broke when he mentioned how he met Jenna and how she was killed. 

They had to spend the night at the hospital for evaluation, and you picked up Jenna the next morning. Clay followed behind you on his motorcycle back to their house. Clay was surprised that the house hadn’t been claimed by the bank, but you explained that your parents helped pay it off, and it was all theirs if they wanted to stay. 

You looked away from the house and back down to the cigarette in your hand. It was on its last legs, so you stamped it out and let it rest on the ashtray that you had brought out before taking out your last one of the pack. 

“You know those things that wreck your lungs?” The familiar timber of Clay’s voice broke the serenity of the late summer night.” 

You huffed, looking at Clay approaching your porch and walking up it. “You’re one to talk Mister ‘I started to smoke in high school’.” 

Clay let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, knowing that you were right. “Yeah, but I stopped a couple of years ago. Besides, I thought you hated smoking.” 

“Things change.” You murmured as you looked up at Clay. “But I only smoke if I’m stressed or really drunk.” You didn’t know why you felt the need to explain, but seeing Clay in grey sweatpants and a tight v-neck shirt was loosening your tongue. 

Fuck, it should be illegal to have shirts that tight. You thought as you saw how Clay's sleeve was snug around his bicep. You swallowed thickly as he sat down next to you, Clay’s scent filling your nose, notes of pine, amber, clean linen, and something that was distinctly him. 

“Right, so I’m assuming that you’re stressed then?” 

“You’d be correct in that assumption.” You grabbed the lighter from beside the ashtray that was in between you and Clay and lit your cigarette, inhaling as you did and letting your lungs feel the slight burn from the process. 

“Can I bum one off of you?” Clay was silently glad that you kept your gaze in front of you, his eyes zeroing in on how your lips wrapped around the filter. 

“Thought you stopped smoking Mr. Paramedic?” You asked with a smirk, blowing the smoke from the side of your mouth as you turned to look at him. 

“I like to indulge from time to time.” Clay couldn’t help but smirk back at you. 

If someone told you that you could hold a conversation with Clay without wanting to strangle him when you were a teen, or better yet, a year ago—you would have laughed straight into their face. 

In the past year, there were bumps in the road after Clay and Whitney came back home. There were a lot of late nights staying up because of nightmares from both of the Miller siblings (whether Clay wanted to admit it or not), and it was clear that they were struggling with them. 

You remembered how Clay’s face twisted when you handed him a business card with your mom’s practice on the front of it. 

“Mom can’t take you as her client because of conflict of interest and whatnot, but she has a few other people that you can be referred to.” You explained after seeing Clay stare hard at the card in his hands. 

“I don’t need-” 

“Nope, you do need it, don't deny it.” You quickly shut down any protests coming from him. 

You saw how much he pretended to be okay, to be strong for his sister, who suffered from nightmares as well. But Whitney was proactive and started therapy after one terrible nightmare that plagued her for days after she had it. 

Ever since the siblings moved back into their childhood home, you were there almost every night to help and comfort Whitney. One night, Whitney was sleeping soundly, but as you were walking back from the bathroom, you passed by Clay’s room and heard murmuring, followed by a quiet shout of Whitney’s name. 

You opened the door to see his head jerking side to side, his eyes shut tight, and tiny no’s falling from his lips. 

You made your way to the edge of his bed. “Wake up! Clay!” You called his name out in a whispered shout as you shook his shoulder. 

Clay’s eyes snapped open, and he woke up with a sharp gasp. He sat up quickly. The blanket that was covering him fell from his chest and pooled around his waist. His eyes were frantic as he looked around his room before they met yours. 

Clay visibly relaxed when he realized that he was at home and rubbed at his face. “Sorry if I woke you up.” His voice was rough and thick with exhaustion as he mumbled his words

You shook your head. “You didn’t.” You replied with a whisper.

You realized that your hand was still on his shoulder—Clay’s bare shoulder. Your eyes flickered down his body, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and you could see his tanned skin being illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight peaking through his curtains. You almost choked on your breath at the sight of his sculpted body, so you immediately averted your gaze and ripped your hand off of his shoulder. 

You locked eyes with Clay again, and something passed between the two of you. When the Miller’s came back, Clay was still cold towards you but after this night, things changed between you. There was this unspoken tension between you, but a tentative friendship started to develop over the months. 

You remember how he came to you and told you about planning to be a Paramedic and that he had started the process of being trained. Something in your chest warmed when Clay revealed that you were the first person he told. 

“Besides I’m not a paramedic yet.” Clay shook his head. His hair was getting long enough to where he could tuck the wayward strands behind his ears. 

“Right but you'll be one soon." You waved his words off. "It’s my last one.” You told him, waving around the now-lit cigarette. “But I’m feeling generous.” You passed it over to Clay. 

“I’m honored.” Clay joked as he took it from you, his fingers brushing against yours, and the brief contact sent a shiver down your spine. 

You practically had to tear your eyes away from Clay; seeing his lips wrapped around the cigarette and taking a drag was making you feel warm, and you stared out into the street. 

With the friendship that you built with Clay, you learned a lot more about him from him rather than from Whitney. He was witty, kind, caring, and fiercely loyal to the ones he cared about. Somehow, along the way of developing this friendship, you started to fall for him. But I pushed it down because there was no way that Clay wouldn’t see you as more than Whitney’s best friend. 

“I’m sorry.” Clay said after he exhaled the smoke, passing the cig back to you. 

Your eyebrows furrowed before taking a drag. “For what?” You asked, blowing the smoke away from him and tapping the excess ash in the tray. 

“For being a dick to you at the funeral.” 

“Oh.” You were slightly surprised that he even brought it up. You guys hadn’t really rehashed any problems that had occurred before you guys became friends. 

“And for being an asshole to you growing up.” Clay added when you didn’t say anything else. 

You chuckled. “At least you’re owning up to the fact that you were mean to me when we were younger.” The cigarette was a little halfway done, and Clay took it from your outstretched hand. 

Clay huffed a laugh through his nose after he inhaled some of the smoke. “Yeah, well you took the last cookie so we had gotten off on the wrong foot.” 

“I get that." You snickered quietly. The cookies that Clay's mom used to make were delicious. "But you continued to tease me even when we grew up. Especially when we were teens.” You pointed out with a raised brow after you calmed down, looking at Clay with a knowing look. 

He shook his head. “That was because I thought you were pretty and I didn’t want to find my little sister’s best friend pretty.” 

You swallowed hard as you felt your heart start to pound against your chest. “Ah.” your voice was slightly hoarse before you cleared it. “So, you decided to be mean. God, you were such a teenage boy.” You teased as you shook your head. 

Clay laughed. “Yeah, well it's not like I knew how to talk to girls all that well. The ones I really liked at least.” Clay corrected himself when he saw the sharp glance you shot him. 

“Do you still find her pretty?” You asked boldly. 

“Who?” Clay’s eyebrows furrowed, and there was a wrinkle in between them that you wanted to smooth out with your thumb. 

“Your little sister’s best friend?” You bit your bottom lip as you met his gaze, nerves ratting your senses. 

The wrinkle between his brows became more prominent before it smoothed out, and a smirk pulled at his lips. “Yeah, she’s gorgeous now.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at him. “That’s good. You still like her?” 

“Yeah, even after all these years, I don’t think I ever stopped.” Clay leaned in closer to you, his scent getting more potent and more intoxicating, with smoke lingering around the two of you. 

“That’s good to hear.” You murmured in the tiny space that was left between you and Clay. 

“Want to finish this off?” He tapped off the excess ash of the almost-finished cigarette. 

“Sure.” You went to pluck it out of his hand. But he brought it up to his lips instead of taking the last drag of it—the orange glow of the cigarette illuminated the amusement that filled his eyes. You looked at him in confusion. 

Clay extinguished the now-finished cigarette into the ashtray, his mouth and lungs filled with smoke. He took your chin in between his thumb and forefinger and tipped your face up towards him. 

Your mouth parted instinctively as his lips got closer to yours until there was only a sliver of space between the two of you, and you knew what he was trying to do. It had been a while since you shotgunned anything with someone, but doing it with Clay was making a heat pool in your lower belly. 

Clay started to blow a steady stream of smoke into your mouth as you inhaled it, your eyes locked on his increasingly darkening ones, his pupil eclipsing the hazel color of his gaze. Your hands itched to grab his face and pull his lips towards his, but let him shotgun the remnants of your cigarette with you. 

You blew out the smoke once you had inhaled it all, and the two of you were left staring at each other. Clay's fingers on your chin moved to extend and encompass your jaw, and his thumb was resting on your bottom lip. 

Your noses were brushing against each other as your hand hesitantly rested on his clothed thigh.

You blinked up at him, eyelashes practically fluttering against his cheek. “Kiss me.” 

Instead of a response, Clay’s lips descended onto yours, and fireworks sparked behind your eyes as Clay kissed you passionately. His other hand came to rest on your free cheek as you moved closer to him, the hand on his thigh coming to rest on his waist. 

You couldn’t think about anything else but Clay, the flavor of nicotine and mint flooded your taste buds as Clay’s tongue danced with yours. You hadn’t felt like this with anyone else before, the world faded as you lost yourself in the feeling of Clay’s soft lips against yours. It was overwhelming in the best way possible, and you could feel arousal zipping through your body as Clay dominated the kiss. 

The two eventually broke apart, unfortunately needing air that was in your depleted lungs. But you didn’t stray far, resting your foreheads together as you took in sharp breaths together. You opened your eyes to find Clay already looking at you, his gaze filled with adoration and lust. 

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” Clay asked, stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

“Shouldn’t you have asked me that before you kissed me?” You had a teasing smile on your face. But you felt giddy at the idea of Clay taking you out. 

Clay rolled his eyes. “I didn’t hear you complaining about it.” 

You giggled at his words, riding the blissful feeling that flooded your veins from the kiss the two of you shared. “You’re not wrong. But I’d love to.”

Clay sent you a bright smile that filled your stomach with butterflies. “Good.” He murmured before leaning in again and pulling you into a gentle kiss, making you melt into it. 

Yeah, falling for your best friend’s brother was cliche, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.  

[daisies-on-a-cup]

crazy thing about writing is desperately wanting to share what you're currently working on but not doing so because you want your mutuals and readers to be organically surprised and perhaps even delighted by the work once it is complete and published, but also that desperate want to share does not leave you, not one single time, so you are left staring at your document like this

[olderthannetfic]

i primarily write rarepairs and/or in semi dead fandoms, so im used to the lack of feedback on the fics i post, but had a situation some time ago im still mulling over. at the risk of sounding entitled but here goes nothing

so i commented on a fic in a very small non-english fandom (fic was in english tho but translated for the sake of finding a bigger audience according to the author). i also have a side tumblr dedicated to this fandom and esp the niche im into where i occasionally post one-shots and my one short story im v proud of that's centered on one of my villain blorbos.

the fic featured my unpopular villain blorbos and had a cool premise, and the lack of comments made me kinda :/ so i expressed my excitement on the first chapter and squeed a bit about the fic on the second chapter. author was delighted and said "i havent thought abt this fic in a while but your comment motivated me to write a bit more". so far so good! yay!!!

then they replied to my second chapter. "omg i just realized who you are, you're [name of my sideblog]!!!!!! i read your little longfic and love it so much, and your writing as a whole inspired me to write this fic!"

and like. im happy i inspired someone and having made someone's day. i really am, that's always nice. but at the same time im a bit hung up on the absolute lack of comments and general engagement with my fic even though people seem to like it! and if they don't and it was just an awkward attempt at complimenting someone who is also in the fandom... idk. i wouldve rather just not have them mention my fic at all.

me problem? maybe. most likely yes. i dont rlly hold it against the person and i rlly hope they continue their fic. but man, i am still a bit grumpy as a whole about it, hmpfh

--

[mayxo-hxh]

What are your fave hisoillu fics?? :3 (I trust yr opinion heavy)

I love getting the opportunity to yap about my fav hisoillu fics because there really arent that many I like. And Ive yapped abt them before but i still love re-yapping abt them over and over. And so. Inhales. DEALER AND MIND THE SCARS!!!!!!!!

Are you into a hisoillu get-together story. Not from the very beginning, just from a comfortable point of their already existing relationship? Dealer. Dealer dealer dealer. One of the first fics ive read abt hisoillu back in 2020 and one I am still heavily fond of to this day. Their characterizations, ESPECIALLY HISOKAAAA, is so good. soooooooo good.

I could genuinely go on and on about every little detail and scenes i adore. And guess what... it has a SEQUELLLLL!!! Sequel one shots called break even!! Just as good!! I dont get why no one ever recommends this fic when recommending hisoillu fics in general like theres no way im the only devoted fan right. COME ON. READ DEALER!!!!!! READ BREAK-EVEN!!!!!!!!!

Now wait. hear me OUT. Are you into. Hisoka being vulnerable. Hisoka post chrollo fight meeting back up with illumi and dealing with the aftermath of the injuries. and do u like it all going so wrong it gets u in ur feels until it goes right and u start bawling in ur double feels. do u like the involvement of leorio and a possible teamup of him and illumi. do u like killua finding out his older brother is dating hisoka in the worst-funniest way possible. DO U LIKE ALLUKA. u MUSt. MUSTTTT. read mind the scars. MIND THE SCARRRSSSSSSS. I cannot fucking stress this enough. One of-- dare I say THE best written fic for hisoillu on ao3. Its a masterpiece from the ground up. I would even recommend it over dealer. Thats how badly I NEED you to read it. If mind the scars has no fans then im dead.

sorry for the extremely messy reply-- i havent slept in over 24 hours bcs of semester submission withdrawals lmao.

Anyways!! As always, I also have my bookmarks on AO3 that recommend some hisoillu fics that i found worthwhile to read ^^

and if u fuck with my hcs... then ull also fuck with my own fics!! (on the same account) But I gotta warn, theyre VERY specifically made Just For Me. It may not be a very general cup of tea for everyone. demi virgin hisoillu, trans hisoka, and my favorite stupid au where hisoka is a mermaid and illumi is a human diver-- u get my drift. I'm the target audience. I self indulge HARD and generally write my fics for myself, or rather what I wish to see more of in the fandom, based on my niche hcs.

Have fun!!! (join the mind the scars fanbase NOWWWW)(pls)

[tanadrin]

kind of a funny experience writing porn and posting it to ao3, because the approval-to-effort ratio (as measured by things like comments and kudos) isn't necessarily what i would expect. real weird short-form porn one dashes off in a couple of hours that one assumes will only appeal to a niche audience ime gets a much higher positive-feedback-to-word-count ratio than more intricately plotted stuff that takes more effort and feels like it has a bit more general appeal. heck, maybe it's because the audience is niche that people respond more strongly.

[qoldenskies]

Hi, this is a silly question, but welp. Do you think publishing new content on ao3 pays off? I feel like the fandom is dying a bit and I don't know if it's worth writing ff :((

maybe this is just my personal opinion because i wasnt here at the height of the hype especially in 2022 (i watched the show in march 2024 and got into the fandom in june), but the rise fandom is not dying, dont worry.

there are posts here that frequently get thousands of notes, sometimes within days, fics that have gotten pretty popular that are RECENT, a whole culture of aus and events and zines that are still running.

ive been in dying fandoms (the pjo book fandom is so dead yall its joever) and in fandoms that were never even big in the first place (i was in a niche pokemon webcomic community that had upwards of maybe like 40 people active in its discord server, and most of the adults there were republicans or child groomers or usually both .... i know hell, i was there for like four years. trust me) and i havent been in a community as big as rise's since liiike. 2019, i think!

and regardless of any new official content coming out, its also good to note that there are a lot of active and dedicated tmnt fans who make official content for other, much older iterations too, and ive noticed a lot of the people who do are older which is definitely a good thing. fandoms at the peak of their hype are usually INSANELY preteen-infested and it's not a good environment i think should be desired. the discourse i see going around on tiktok right now is deranged but its not new by any means. i REFUSE to be a boomer because im only 18 and i know what its like to be 12, but i do not desire nor envy that kind of fame BAHFHDHGH

but like still. point i was getting to is that even if its not at its peak of popularity i dont think the fandom will be dying any time soon and it's not something to be afraid of. i can cite several fics that did wonderfully in numbers (although i dont recommend basing quality off that, its just important to note) despite being recent and have had the fandom in a chokehold as of late. canary continuity could probably count as one of those considering how crazy it was around november or so..... i miss november :')

i think we all kind of see ourselves like drops of water in a bucket and hesitate to come in so strong because we underestimate the importance of our own voices, especially because fandom attracts very socially anxious people, but a lot of the anxiety about engagement can be mitigated by engaging yourself and being the change you want to see! this also counts with creating content-- the thing about ao3 is that you can have completely different audiences for different fics unlike other platforms from what i've seen, so something may flop at first and then do really well later, or even take a while to kick off (cvd and coming undone have been getting some love lately ive noticed... i keep telling myself i'll continue them and then forgetting)

i'd say its definitely worth a shot to post, because ive noticed that ao3 comment sections are overwhelmingly positive in most cases. ive gotten some passive-aggressive or pushy comments before (usually out of confusion because they werent paying attention, which isnt my fault, or because theyre excited and what to see more, which i still do find flattering) but its always been in a sea of a lot of really wonderful people, which has been really helpful because i have disabling anxiety and constantly doubt myself haha.

i think the advice i see a lot of "write for yourself" is kind of unhelpful and doesn't get to the root of the problem because i think it takes away from the fact that art is such a deeply social part of human expression, and we create it to share it,,, i think a better way to put it is that you should write self-indulgently, and there's always a good chance of finding your people by the time you're finished-- i've connected with a lot of people with VERY similar tastes to me because of my writing and it's been miraculous because as great as my other friends are, their interests vary wildly from mine LOL. its worth it even if you dont kick off immediately!!! and of course i urge everyone to engage with artists and writers whenever you can, it means the world to them!!

[s4mu-k41d3n]

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝕿𝕬𝕶𝕰 𝖄𝕺𝖀𝕽 𝕿𝕽𝕰𝕹𝕮𝕳 𝕮𝕺𝕬𝕿

𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 𝐱 (F)𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: drinking/alcohol, older ages, the reader is titled Lady Name.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐈 𝐃𝐎?: if you want more writings like these just pop off in the comments and tell me. i’m very very nice and approachable!!. although. i will only be able to do that during long breaks in school. reblog, like, to help me reach my audience because i reject having no likes when i spent so much time on a work (T U T) this is episode one, i will be doing maybeee three to four episodes>3< separated because im lazy and school is coming aagaaaainnn:( these have many simple clues of the next chapter! i got lazy too at the end im so srry!

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈. 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊

A man was fumbling in his room while monotonous evening crooned in fervid rays whilst the sun marred against the window sills, the luminescent lights flickered cowardly against the walls as the remaining delinquent scurried off. He abruptly avails from the door with chiseled locks pruning against his belt. The nagging case nestled between his nimble fingers, his skin was strained with distended flesh along the creases of cold fanning out of his breath as he strode over the wood. The tavern was awfully prepended, vice classes chattered loudly with unbridled laughter as various whispers slipped past while he was seen amongst the sea of men and women bickering to themselves.

The jar shook against the sachet, the rays of light humming on the ritz of expenses. His shoes grimly tapped on the floor, his hands reached out to push out the door with a flashy bang.

It was around 2 o’ clock in the evening, carriages were strolling by the streets while various villagers were pleasantly enjoying their daily coffee, some were permeating their rage to the coffee shop owners in pure disdain. It was a usual day, a common day for most folk. But for Dazai? Oh no, no. It was a cycle of dread and fear despite his very joyful advances. While he was flocking by, his gaze instantly set on a bar nearby the coffee shop, he recently had gave into his partner’s shenanigans of blubbering him into work (in which he had 42 pieces of documents unfinished) and the drunken man thought measly: ‘Perhaps a small sip of alcohol wouldn’t hurt later, afterall. I must reward myself since I have buried myself into bulbous amounts of work yesterday. Kunikida won’t pester me about it. Since it’s the weekend… Yes, yes. That does sound excellent!’ A gleeful smile came across his face, a shine of some relief was sprinkled onto his eyes. He pulls out his rotary dial phone, skimming through his contacts.

He walked over the pavement, his case swaying against the rigid air. It was empty and foul, the scent of beggars pleading by the wall while people simply passed by. Dazai finally reached the antique shop he hoped looking for, he recently found an artifact settles on the news. A poster was stuck into the wall with various other posters but only one he was looking for. A niche book, it was frigid with dull golden interior, a white and empty cover, only lacing the title it shows; in the news a subtext proclaimed: ‘Fellow Folk! A Merry Christmas to you all, we claim the jolliest applauds for our new findings in the temple. We present to you The Book, the everlasting artifact that holds the most powerful and dangerous power. Our artifact is sent to our Lady Name for her to keep. We trust in her that she will be the guard to this accomplishment. At the Lady’s Art, it will be stored in the box of glass. It will be prohibited from being touched.’

Since it was his privilege, he stepped in the antique shop. The bell’s clapper dinged as it echoed throughout the room. The walls were painted with the liveliest shades of blue (no, of course not. It was rather lifeless), the sides were stocked with many antiques. One that caught his eye was a light brown basket that was sheered off into brittle pieces was put together in a globe, if it wasn’t odd enough. It had freckles of dried-out flowers that obviously glued to the basket. It was perhaps an attempt to shed a dash of symbolic meaning into the piece. There were ornaments nestling in a bag, a glass fountain that was tipped over by the wall as spurts of water was dribbling down. Usually the water around here was lacking. It was rather unsafe and dirty, and if it were clean. It was most likely it would just be a drop.

He browsed over the rest of the materials delicately swinging off the ceiling, he glances towards the woman exiting the backside. It was to his expectance, Lady Name. “My Lady,” He bows. “May I have your consent to visit the newest artifact? I have came across by it on the news, I surely didn’t expect for an empty line-” He was suddenly cut off by your tone of voice. “Yes, Mister Dazai.” The man was unexpectedly surprised you knew his name so quickly, perhaps it was the hat he “borrowed” from Chuuya, and the coat that was flowing onto his shoulders that gave it off. Especially his signature pendant casually being shown off into the public was a careless act of him. He huffed exaggeratedly, pestered as he was troubled with his thoughts before he heard you picked the lock. You hastily pocketed the key in your dress, brushing off the dust speckled onto your collar.

You click the door open, greeting him into a parade of artifacts that was hidden discreetly into a hall of golden fabrics simply dragging over the glass. The man quickly followed you inside, pushing him in as you swiftly locked the door. Pulling the curtains down for privacy. “Come here, quickly. Don’t be a quarrel.” You scold him; for Dazai, everything was so hurried! Were you in a struggle? Was someone watching you? It was all a mystery, again. He was snapped out of his thoughts in a manner of fact—astonished when yoi pull the cloth to the ground, his eyes excitedly gleaming at the precious artifact. “Woah, Lady Name. What is this artifact? What is it that is so special about this particular book?” He crosses his arms, leaning forward as his gaze was latched onto the object. You glance towards him, “I’m not sure,” you mutter. “I haven’t been told much information.” You add, he simply nodded in response to your declaration.

For now he’ll keep his suspicions hidden. You weren’t too bad, perhaps close to the field. Either way, you were oddly odd.

[lavendersixer]

okay y'all sometime in december im going to write about the holidays, and since the Pine's are canon Jewish i wanna do some audience research. im putting this out now so it has some time to circulate before the holidays start

it would mean the world to me you guys could tell me your favorite Hanukkah traditions/celebrations. it could be what you do or what you think the Pines would do, either way. i would love something super niche and specific to make it feel real. im atheist but my family celebrates christmas. so i don't want to write a really detailed christmas and leave Hanukkah lacking by including just the basics 😭

please let me know if this is disrespectful in any way, my only intention is to create better and more inclusive writing.

much love 🫶🫶