#inspiration strikes at the most inconvenient times

[artemisdesari-blog]

Final exam today. I am not ready. I want to write this one shot and the next chapter for Careless To Let It Fall. I want to write about my idiots being in love and trying to save the galaxy and each other, not spend four hours doing the maths I've been studying for five years. Typical that the day I have an exam is the day I feel massively inspired to write all the things

[sapphichotmess]

Absolutely Smitten

Modern!Ellie Williams x Plus Size!f!Reader (not really specified but that’s what I write)

Name inspired by Dodie’s song Absolutely Smitten

Even though this is not 18+, I am an 18+ blog, mdni

read the second part here!!

Warnings/Tags: horrendous writing (not edited) with very little dialogue (idk how to human), fluff, meet cute, rushed ending, reader is able-bodied

~2.7k words

I am up to doing more parts of this! Maybe? 

The melted-butter-colored morning sun filters through the windows of a quaint bakery, casting a warm glow across the wooden-floored interior. Birds chirp their songs, squirrels scutter up trees, causing the rustling of leaves, and an owl up too late calls out one last time. Such a beautiful sight is cause for a relaxing morning.

“Fuck!”

You curse as the all-too-familiar clatter of metal hitting the floor pierces the peaceful atmosphere of the bakery, abruptly drawing your attention away from the serene scene outside. Your brain still wanders as your non-stick shoes squeak on the tile flooring of the bakery, and it doesn’t catch up until you’re nearly toe-to-toe with disaster. Flour dusts otherwise pristine countertops like a fresh layer of snow and cascades like a white waterfall onto the floor. Bread dough clings stubbornly to multiple places in the kitchen: the countertop, the edges of the mixing bowl, and even the crevices between the tiles on the floor. Amidst the mess stood the culprit—a temperamental mixer that seemed to have a mind of its own recently.

"Of all the mornings for this to happen," you mutter, placing one hand on your head and one on your hip in frustration. This wasn't how you envisioned starting your day, but in the unforgiving world of small business ownership, setbacks like this were all too common.

With a resigned sigh, you set to work cleaning up the sticky, floury mess. You grab a towel and begin trying to wipe down the countertops first. The flour wipes off easily, some getting caught in the towel and some falling to the floor to be swept up. However, the dough sticks to the granite countertops no matter what you do. Your brows pinch in and your lips pull down at the edges as you realize that the dough is proving to be far more stubborn than anticipated. You try scraping it off with the edge of the towel, but it only smears and clings to the counter. Each attempt to remove it seems futile, making your blood boil.

Glancing over at the mixer, you can't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards the outdated piece of shit equipment. It had been a constant source of trouble lately, breaking down at the most inconvenient times and causing endless headaches.

Shaking your head at yourself for being mad at a machine, you step back, put your hands on your wide hips, and let out a controlled breath. You have to figure out how to fix this. And fast. Your bakery opens in—you look up to a clock and read the hands—shit! It opens in three hours!

Looking over the kitchen, you contemplate what you should do, trying to find an approach to cleaning up and getting a new batch of dough ready in three hours. As you focus on the mixer-made mess, inspiration strikes, and you bustle around to find a small bowl and a sponge, filling the bowl up with warm water. Your chest never rises, and you take slow, deliberate steps toward the mess with the full bowl, hoping it doesn’t tip and make an even bigger mess. When you make it to your destination, you dampen the sponge and gently dab at the dough, hoping that the moisture will help loosen its grip on the countertop.

To your relief, the tactic seems to work, albeit slowly. The dough begins to soften under the gentle pressure of the sponge, gradually loosening its hold on the granite surface. With careful persistence, you continue to work, methodically removing the stubborn remnants of dough until the countertops are once again clean and smooth. Once the dough is removed from the countertop, you get on your hands and knees to begin scrubbing it from the floor. This takes only a few minutes with the sponge and hot water. Finally, once all the pesky dough is removed from each and every nook and cranny, you grab the broom and start sweeping the flour from the floor.

As you sweep, your mind drifts to the tasks still left to do before opening time. Glancing at the clock, you realize you have less than three hours left. You nearly drop the broom from shock, not realizing that 30 minutes had gone by—you still need to get the new dough ready and finish the rest of the opening tasks.

Owning and managing this bakery by yourself is fucking difficult but you love it.

The aroma of fresh coffee fills the air as you start brewing a batch, ensuring that your customers will have their caffeine fix ready when the doors open. Meanwhile, you preheat the oven and begin preparing the day's first batch of pastries, expertly shaping dough into delicate croissants and twisting it into intricate shapes and florets for cinnamon rolls.

Trays of pastries fill the shelves, their golden crusts glistening invitingly in the soft morning light, now higher in the sky. The sound of the oven timer beeping signals that the first batch of cinnamon rolls is ready, and you quickly remove them from the heat, the tantalizing scent of warm cinnamon, brown butter, caramelized brown sugar, and yeasty bread filling the air.

With the rolls cooling on the counter, you turn your attention to the display case, arranging everything with steady hands and care to showcase their deliciousness to potential customers. The final touches are added—a dusting of powdered sugar here, a drizzle of simple syrup there—before you step back to admire your handiwork with a satisfied smile.

With only minutes to spare before opening time, you quickly tidy up the kitchen, wiping down countertops and washing dishes with practiced efficiency. The last of the flour is swept away, leaving the floor sparkling clean and ready to welcome customers.

Finally, shoes squeaking, you make it to the front entrance to unlock the door and flip the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open.’

But as you turn to walk back behind the counter, you hear a familiar bell ring.

The bell hanging above the door you just unlocked. The one you still stand in front of, back turned.

Suddenly, the floor is flying towards you, just a blur of dark hardwood before your eyes flutter closed, and all you can see is darkness.

When your eyes flutter open, pain explodes through your body, your eyebrows scrunching and eyes clenched back shut. Your chest heaves with labored breaths and your heart races like it’s trying to break from your ribcage. Stars dance behind your eyelids as you struggle to regain your bearings, disoriented and dazed from the sudden fall.

What the fuck just happened?

Slowly, agonizingly, you manage to push yourself into a sitting position, blinking away the haze of confusion to assess the damage. Your head throbs with each accelerated heartbeat, a dull ache spreading through your limbs as you tentatively move to check for visible injuries. But before you can fully process what has just happened, a shadow falls over you, and a voice cuts through the fog of pain and confusion.

"Shit, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

The raspy voice is laced with concern, tinged with a hint of panic, and it takes a moment for the words to register. When they do, you turn to see a figure kneeling beside you, their features blurred by the remnants of your fall.

Struggling to focus and blinking hard to try and clear your vision, you manage to make out a pair of piercing green eyes staring back at you, filled with genuine worry, auburn eyebrows drawn in, causing worry lines to appear between them. As your vision fully clears, the face comes into sharper focus, and you realize that you've never seen this person before.

She sports a somewhat slender jawline, high cheekbones, proportional top and bottom lips—both somewhat plush—and fair skin smattered with freckles the looked like an artist took their brush and flung paint at them.

Despite the pain pulsing through your head and the disorientation of the fall, you find yourself momentarily captivated by the stranger's striking features. There's an undeniable warmth in her pale green gaze, a kindness that puts you at ease in spite of the awkwardness of the situation. Her eyebrows are still pulled together, the sight of the lines in between them making you want to reach out and smooth them away.

She cocks her head slightly, her short auburn hair swishing with the movement and catching a ray of sun, turning slightly red—the color reminds you of a brown border collie’s fur. As you follow the movement with your eyes, you register her earlier question. With pain still throbbing in your head you manage a weak nod, unable to find your voice amidst the chaos of the moment. The stranger's expression softens with relief at your response, the worry lines between her brows fading, and she reaches out a hand to help you to your feet.

"Here, let me help you up," she offers, her voice gentle as she assists you in standing. "I really didn't mean to slam the door like that. Are you sure you're okay?"

You manage another slight nod, though the throbbing in your head protests with each movement. Your eyes swim and something roils in your stomach, nausea curling up your esophagus. Taking a deep breath, you steady yourself with the captivating stranger's support, her hands gently holding you around waist height so as to not make you uncomfortable.

Well, fall would be an understatement—it was more like a push to the floor.

Assaulted by your own door.

God, could this morning get any worse?

As you gain footing, knees no longer shaking—though if you keep looking into those eyes, they might start all over again—the stranger lets go of you, her right hand swiping over the top of her nose before both hands are tucked in her pockets. A soft blush spreads on her cheeks, moving up from her neck all the way into her hairline.

She still seems concerned, though, softly asking, "Are you sure you're okay?"

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips at her sheepish expression. "I think so," you manage to reply, your voice faint but steady. "Just a bit shaken up, I guess."

The stranger nods in understanding, her expression softening with relief, though the blush stays. "I'm glad to hear that," she says, her tone genuine. "I really didn't mean to barrel into you with the door like that. I was just in a hurry, and… well, I guess I wasn't paying attention."

Despite the circumstances, you can't help but chuckle breathlessly at her admission. "No harm done," you assure her, your grin widening, cheeks pushing up and making your eyes squint. "Just a little stumble, that's all."

With a shared laugh, the tension and awkwardness between you begin to bleed from the atmosphere. The stranger offers you a warm smile, straight white teeth glittering in the mid-morning sunlight, and a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes.

"By the way," she says, extending a slightly shaking hand towards you, "I'm Ellie. Ellie Williams."

You grasp her hand in a firm shake, a sense of gratitude washing over you at the charming introduction. You were nervous standing here in front of this… piece of art sculpted by the likes of Michelangelo, and you knew you would have stumbled and made a fool while introducing yourself. Besides, her slight awkwardness is cute.

You give her your name back, saying, "Nice to meet you, Ellie," with a small grin, the remnants of a chuckle still lingering in the back of your throat, threatening to creep up as she shuffles on her feet awkwardly. “Though I don’t know if it is very nice since you kind of slammed into me with a door…”

She jerks as though hit with something, eyebrows shooting up and eyes widening in shock. Her face darkens more, further showcasing freckles artistically splattered across her face. She stammers out another apology, her words tumbling over each other in her rush to express her regret.

"I-I'm so sorry," she says, her voice wavering with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to... I mean, I've been wanting to come into the bakery for a while now, and I guess I got a little too excited, and..."

Her words trail off into awkward silence as mortification registers on her face, her shoulders folding up towards her ears. She shifts on her feet uncomfortably, unable to meet your gaze. It's clear that Ellie is flustered, her cheeks flushed the deepest red you’ve ever seen as she struggles to articulate her thoughts.

Despite your lips turning up into a slight smile and choking on the giggles that tried to escape at the poor girl, you can't help but feel a surge of sympathy for her. "No harm done," you assure her, your grin softening. "Just a little unexpected introduction, that's all."

Ellie's shoulders relax slightly at your words, a shy smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Thank you," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

As Ellie continues to fidget nervously, hand dragging over her nose again, you sense that there's more to her awkwardness than meets the eye. So, you offer her a kind word of reassurance. "You know," you begin, "you're always welcome here at the bakery. No need to rush next time."

At your invitation, Ellie's eyes light up with gratitude, looking more like an excited dog by the minute. "Thank you," she says, her voice light and filled with genuine appreciation as she bounces on her heels, her auburn hair dancing with her movement. 

Feeling your cheeks heat at the depth of her stare, you find yourself fidgeting this time. There's something about Ellie's enthusiasm that's infectious, drawing you in despite the lingering discomfort from your fall.

Before you can gather your thoughts, Ellie reaches for a nearby pcake display, her eyes alight with anticipation. "I think I'll take one of these," she says, pointing to a freshly baked red velvet cupcake nestled among its companions.

You watch as she pays for her purchase, a sense of admiration growing within you for her unbridled enthusiasm. Despite the chaos of the morning, Ellie's presence has brought a ray of sunshine into your day, and you find yourself feeling grateful for the chance encounter.

Taking a moment to appreciate the way she lights up the room with her infectious energy, you can't help but wonder about the person behind the cheerful facade. There's a warmth in her eyes and a genuineness in her smile that speaks volumes, leaving you intrigued and wanting to learn more about her. And there's an undeniable chemistry between you, a connection that feels both unexpected and strangely familiar.

So, you summon up your courage to do something probably wholly unprofessional as a business owner. You take a deep breath and meet Ellie's green gaze head-on. "Hey, um, would it be okay if I got your number?" you ask, your voice tentative but earnest.

Ellie's eyes widen in surprise at your request, but her smile only grows wider. "Of course!" she exclaims with a small scoff-like laugh, her enthusiasm bubbling over. "I'd love that."

With a sense of relief flooding through you, you fumble for your phone, fingers trembling slightly as you input Ellie's number. As you exchange contact information, a sense of excitement blooms within you, fueled by the prospect of getting to know Ellie better.

With a final exchange of smiles and promises to stay in touch, you bid Ellie farewell, watching as she heads off down the street with a spring in her step. As you turn back to the bakery, a sense of anticipation fills your chest, mingled with the lingering ache of your fall. 

With a final nod of assurance to yourself, you straighten up and take a step forward. Despite the unexpected start to your encounter, there's something strangely comforting about Ellie's presence—as if fate had intervened to bring you together in that moment of chaos.

taglist

@les4elliewilliams @abbyshands

[haravath0t]

Beautiful Stranger

(college au!alhaitham x f!reader - inspired by laufey’s “beautiful stranger”)

Alhaitham would be the type of man to double major. As a man that loves to see connectivity from the very root of things, he’d definitely be a History/Linguistics Major.

He’s definitely the type of man to just show up to classes and leave the minute the system says it should end. A lecture ends at 10:50 AM? He’ll be out the door the minute he sees his watch change numbers. If he finds his professor to be terrible on “rate my professor”? He’ll simply come on syllabus day and test days.

The man is busy! He surely would find a way to sustain himself. He’ll probably start off as a tutor in the student center to teach students within his majors. If there’s empty days, he’d surely be the type to simply catch up on his work.

His phone would be on “Do Not Disturb '' 90% of the time. The remaining 10% is due to an argument his roommate Kaveh strikes about not seeing emergency notifications. Not that taking off the mode would make a difference anyways. The only people actively contacting him are Kaveh or other classmates from pre-requisite classes like Tighnari or Cyno.

He practically graduates with perfect grades and a stellar GPA from undergrad. It’s almost astonishing how a man that’s rarely around manages to be graduating with Summa Cum Laude honors.

By the time he joins a master’s program, he’s seeming to be set on what he wants to do now. He doesn’t seem to enjoy tutoring all too much, so professor is out of the question. However, the idea of conservation and working on archives catches his interest. Preferably, a library preservation technician. Yes, a job with minimal communication, yet a close up look at documents that he has either studied or not? It seems almost ideal!

He has already found a path to graduating with a masters degree too, already having planned out how to tackle writing his thesis with ease unlike his peers. However, there’s been a string of inconveniences he’s been experiencing lately in his own place: Kaveh. Kaveh has been hammering away at making his own architectural models. While Alhaitham didn’t really see this as a dealbreaker of living conditions, he won’t deny how his precious sleep gets lost, even if his soundproof earpieces are on his ears.

Two weeks and no improvement, he decides to go against his usual decision making and decides to make a late night stop to the library of the university. He finds it to be easy enough; he lives quite near it, and certainly no one would be there. It’s almost perfect. He finds the floor with the study rooms, finding a desk with the outlets and sitting on it with what he considers a content look on his face. However, it’s when he takes a quick look around that he realizes that he’s not the only one. There’s you.

Now, you were definitely quite the sight. You were in the study room across his, the clear plexiglass separating you both. You two were technically facing each other, yet the laptops you two were typing away at were enough to cover most of what you two were doing. He saw you with a comfortable appearance of a sweatshirt and some sweats, your position on your chair quite comfortable as you hacked away at your own work. The only time he managed to fixate on your workspace was when he was deciding to stretch his arms. He took in all the formulas on your papers, all the charts and plots you’ve made, and the handwritten notes with long words and arrows between them. He saw the word “metabolic pathways” and deduced that you were a science major at the very least.

“Alright. Cool. Back to work.” He told himself. And he was working quite well. However, he wouldn’t lie, he found the way you studied to be quite amusing. He’s passed by a good amount of students in the library when he was tutoring. Some people were quiet and worked away, some people probably brought in food, some people even cried and slammed their laptops shut. However, you seemed to be in your own little world. You had your tablet being your own main source of brainstorming, you had your papers scattered by chapters, and you had brought some food for yourself and…coffee?

The sight of the huge cup slowly being drained by your constant sipping almost made him want to chuckle. Almost. His long fingers stayed idle as he watched you quietly mouthing the words to whatever song you had in your headphones, your head bopping along with the tune.

“Hmph.” He’d grunt, going back to his work. The next time he’d look up at you is when you went to tap him on the shoulder. “Excuse me?” A voice asks, making him take off an earpiece and look back. Sure enough, it’s “science lady”, as he has dubbed you. “Yes?” He asked. He wanted to look amiable enough for you to talk to him, but you saw his plain look on his face. He almost looked…unamused. You suddenly felt so embarrassed to disturb him at this ungodly hour. “Do you mind watching my stuff? I’m going to be using the bathroom.”

The question made him scoff before he realized: Why would he need to watch over it? Everyone looked like they’d be doing nothing of the sort, but still, seeing the look on your face made him realize it was an earnest question. And so, he decides to agree. Seeing your face brighten accompanied with an earnest thanks almost made him want to smile. Almost. He saw the way you briskly walked to the bathroom, which only amused him more.

The coffee only gets to you after how much you’ve been drinking it. Though, you couldn’t get over how cute this guy looked! Did he look kinda scary? Yeah, but you couldn’t deny that he looked quite cute. Though, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because you were cooped in your research lab so much that you found anything amusing nowadays, including this mystery guy. Still, he had interesting eyes, you had to admit it. You liked his shaggy silver hair, the way he casually came in and seemed so fixated on his work. What a shame it might be a one time thing. Oh, how did this library crush become part of your thoughts so quickly while you washed your hands.

You thank him as you return to your seat with a little thumbs up, and he only sends you a little smile back. You would be lying if you said that the little curve at the edge of his lip made you wanna squeal. What you didn’t see was that his green eyes were staring at you as you sat down, waiting for you to see a particular item. And you saw it, alright. He can tell just by the raise of your brows and your wide eyes. It was right on your keyboard of the laptop, a paper torn out of the corner of his notebook. His penmanship was quite remarkable, and the contents of it amused you: “Maybe a little water would be more efficient than that coffee you’re chugging, no?”

Alhaitham practically was curious to see how you’d react. He could only gauge your reaction from your eyes, seeing your hand reach for a piece of paper before your head disappears behind the screen. He didn’t know what you were thinking either when you passed back a paper to him. It was a blank page which only contained your handwriting: “My water bottle actually spilled on my way here.” Next to it was a little sad face next to it.

Now, Alhaitham wasn’t prepared for that type of wholesome response. In fact, he’s surprised that it went as well as it did. He saw you practically scurry back to your studying table with a tiny smile on your face, your eyes back to focusing on work. However, it did not go without you making a little scene of taking yet another sip of your coffee from your large cup. It didn’t occur to him till you gave him a tiny smile that he was stealing glances your way a little too much. He was long done with his workload for the night, yet something bolted him to his seat. There was something that kept him in this crowd of procrastinating students.

Though, it’s clear that you were trying to be diligent despite your antics. He couldn’t deny that he found the way your lips pout as you concentrated on an endearing sight, or that you were the one he’s been oddly eyeing in this busy space. He was a bit let down seeing that you wouldn’t be looking his way for a while. You didn’t look at anything but your work until a push of a chair is heard, the tall man is seen making his way out. Your eyes carefully watch him with some sort of melancholy stirring in your heart, wishing he stayed longer, or that he wrote even just one more note to you.

Little did you know that as Alhaitham kicks off his shoes at his house’s foyer, he’s left thinking of a particular science girl chugging on coffee, clinging onto the post-it with a particular someone’s scribbles and sad face. Little did you know that the man was thinking of an excuse to visit the library tomorrow night, wondering if you’d be there.

[palebluewords]

The Sanctuary

Summary: You've found yourself in the fabled Sanctuary. Now that you are in the wolf's den, what more will you discover?

Part Six of Dead Weight: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

A/N: Phew, it's been a while! I don't know if or when I'll update again, but this is a story I've been circling back to over the past couple years when I've gotten the inspiration and it means a lot to me that anyone's read it. If you've read in the past two years, thank you :)

There was a moment of silence as you took in Michael’s words. He had not only thwarted the witches again, but also isolated you from joining forces with them. Both of you were now beyond their reach. From the smirk on his face, this was the plan all along.

“You son of a bitch!” you roared, letting your control slip. In the skylight, lightning streaked across the night sky, and a bellow of thunder shook the room. Michael quickly steadied himself, relishing in your fury. “They were right there! Why did you-”

“Oh Miss Y/L/N,” he tutted. “Did you really think I would leave you behind? You’re the most valuable export from that hellhole.” Mead, overcoming her shock at her new surroundings, returned to Michael’s side.

“Michael,” she murmured. “What’s so special about Miss Y/L/N that we couldn’t kill her with the others?” Michael regarded her respectfully as he answered.

“I have my reasons, Mead. Right now, we have to prepare our newest addition to the Sanctuary for her introduction tomorrow morning.” You stumbled to your knees, aghast.

“But,” you sputtered. “What about the witches? They’re still looking for you at the Outpost-”

“You’ll forgive me if I'm in no rush to participate in their little last stand,” Michael dismissed your concerns.

“But, you wanted them dead! After everything that’s  happened-”

“They will get what’s coming to them, believe me. But right now, there’s more pressing developments to attend to, now will you please stand up?” Slowly, you rose to your feet, staring him down. Looking at him, you noticed how different he looked now that you had abandoned the harsh lighting of the Outpost. Here, the moonlight made him look ethereal, a ghost who looked through you in the last living garden in the world. You tore your gaze away, chilled.

“What do you plan to do with me?” you asked, voice low. “Because I assure you, you won’t be able to stop me from leaving here.”

“Oh please,” he scoffed. “Drop the theatrics. I left your friends in Outpost Three to waste, the world outside remains ash and dust and God on high still doesn’t want you. There’s nothing for you outside of this Sanctuary.”

“Then why the fuck did you bring me here?!” you spat at him.

“All in due time, but I can assure you it’s not nearly as nefarious as what you’re thinking.”

“This is cheating!” you exclaimed, causing another strike of lightning. “The Outpost…that was supposed to be where everything was settled, you knew that damn well when Cordelia was at the doorstep!” Michael laughed.

“Cheating, Miss Y/L/N, really?” Then, with the controlled force of a conductor, he swung his hand up toward the skylight, and metal paneling came out to cover it up, closing out the view of the storm you had brought on. Now the light was much dimmer, Michael all but a specter against the darkness. “Do you really expect me to play by your rules? You don’t even know what they are. As it happens, the little showdown you and Cordelia had planned for me was merely an inconvenience that I didn’t have time for. I was anxious to return home.” The last word fell out of his mouth awkwardly, tripping you up. Of all the words he could have used for this place, why go for that? 

You shook your head, your frustrations finally taking their toll. What were you even doing anymore? 

Your path has become more and more oblique, with no hope of an end to your mission on earth. Time and time you’ve sought to prove your worth, and you’ve failed. You began to cry.

Michael froze as Mead stepped back, repulsed. You hid your face in your hands, quietly sobbing. Then, with a short roar, you sounded a thunderclap that vibrated through the room. This is what you’re reduced to, wailing in the stronghold of your enemy, your hopes of joining forces with your only allies shattered. You heard Michael shuffle toward Mead before speaking.

“The door out is that way, if you see anyone, ask for Josephine and tell her I’m here.”

“Michael,” Mead prodded. “Are you alright with this one?”

A pause before his answer. “Of course I am, just get Josephine and this will all be taken care of.” Mead stayed a moment, before finally obeying her orders and quitting the room. You wiped your eyes, useless creature you were.

“Oh,” Michael’s voice taunted you. “Come now, angel. How is this going to solve your problems?”

“Damn you,” you seethed. “I was supposed to be with them! I was there to help them beat you and you ruined it.”

“If it’s any comfort,” Michael lilted. “You could never have won. Cordelia was never any match for me, why do you think she never tried to take me head on herself?” Hearing him say this made you halt your crying, having remembered all the cards in your hand.

“Not just Cordelia,” you sniffled, your voice clear and low.

“I’m sure she had all the other remains of her coven along for the ride as well,” Michael said dismissively. “But it still doesn’t matter. They’re all easy pickings to me. I would have destroyed them just as I did the rest.” You lifted your head, your eyes staring vacantly up at him. 

“Of course,” you said. “I remember.” Then, adding before Michael could ask. “I was there, you know. When you attacked Miss Robichaux’s academy. I escaped with Cordelia. I felt you there.” Another pause. You couldn’t see Michael’s face in the dark, but you could guess he was keeping his guard up as he took this in.

“You really are her friend, then,” you could picture the smirk playing on his lips. “And you kept it to yourself so well. I guess it makes sense now, I suppose I felt you too that day. I felt something...unpleasant. Of course, I didn’t realize it was you then. It’s a shame you took off, it would have been a delight to meet you in the waking world then.” You scoffed. “Alright then, who else managed to leave with you? I can’t quite remember who all I did away with that day.” This comment made your lip curl in disgust.

“Oh you know,” you said. “There was Myrtle, and Madison, who I know you’ve met. And these other two witches who were fairly newer. Coco and Mallory were their names.” You smiled at him. “One of them was going to be the next Supreme, you know. How convenient that you took off, giving her all the more time to build her powers.”

Dead silence. You couldn’t help but chuckle at what you’ve dropped on him. Serves him right for walking out on his own reckoning. He has to miss out on all the revelations that come with it. Finally, he spoke again.

“I suppose I’ve come to accept that you’re going to keep surprising me,” he said slowly. “But to think that Cordelia managed to fool me…and Coco Vanderbilt of all people-!” Was he actually…embarrassed? You were fully grinning now.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think the ruse was intentional on her part. I think Cordelia wiped their memories before the apocalypse…but yes, you had a very powerful Supreme under your nose, and now you’ve left her behind to continue to plan your downfall. Scary, isn’t it?” You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “And to think, you could’ve eliminated that threat this whole time, but I guess I was just too interesting, wasn’t I?”

“Angel,” Michael seethed at you. “As troubling as you want this news to be, I’m not changing course. If your witch friends still want me, let them try and find me again. Until then, make yourself comfortable.”

“Fuck you,” you hissed. “If you really think that I’m going to just sit here-” The door to the garden reopened, letting the outside light break inside of it. In stepped Ms.Mead, trailing behind a tall and slender woman. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder, and she wore a light blue nightgown. She looked between the two of you, the sleep falling away from her eyes, confusion taking its place.

“Michael,” she whispered, a slight accent on her voice. “Is this-?”

“Josephine!” Michael greeted, immediately painting a smile on his face. “How good to see you again. This is Y/N Y/L/N of Outpost Three.” He took you by your shoulders- you flinched at his touch, but the fabric of your dress protected you from any real sting- and walked you over to them. “Our newest neighbor. Would you be so kind as to show her to one of the empty rooms? Preferably one of the ones in the west side of the facilities.”

“O-of course!” she responded, looking at you with wide eyes. Michael stopped just at her side to give his last order.

“Oh, and when you’re done: fetch de Flores and tell him we need to speak. It’s most urgent.” Josephine nodded, and he walked off. You watched him as he disappeared down the hall.

               With that, Josephine hurried you through the halls of the Sanctuary. You were equal parts impressed and disgusted by the marble walls and pillars. The bright white, in contrast to the dim yellow of the outpost, was both refreshing and blinding.

       Eventually, you were ushered into a bedroom, one of the most beautiful you'd ever seen. If not for the lack of windows, it would have been indistinguishable from a bedroom in a palace. In lieu of windows, however, were detailed paintings that looked to be of Renaissance persuasion.

    "I believe these are one of the more special rooms," Josephine remarked as she scurried out. "Congratulations. Make yourself at home." Hearing that word made the hairs of your neck stand. With that, she was gone.

      You took in the room. The fully furnished sitting area, the four-poster king bed, and the biblical painting of Adam and Eve in the wall all made you want to vomit. What a hell you've placed yourself in, and worse yet, you know you've only scratched the surface of it. You were in completely uncharted waters, and on Michael's terms.

You could not stay here. You resolved to go at that moment. Whatever was outside the Sanctuary was outside Michael’s reach also. You would rather wander the scourged earth haplessly than live under Michael’s watchful eye, waiting for the board to move again. You sat on your plush bed, and used your powers to lose an hour. You blinked once it was done, then changed out of the Purple dress. As unideal as the white nightgown laid out on your bed was, the purple dress was ten times worse for moving around. You stripped off the dress, put on the nightgown, and then put the purple jacket over it to feel less exposed. Then, you set out into the Sanctuary to find an escape.

The place seemed even more like a maze without Josephine to guide you through it. You mused that if Gabriel was here, he could use the angelic omniscience that you still lacked to chart a course out. Alas, you were still of that different, lesser make. You would have to search on foot.

A fruitless endeavor. The grand halls seemed to swallow you immediately, the bright lights teasing you around every corner. You passed the supposed ballroom what seemed to be a dozen times. You saw the ceiling in it and thought it must stretch for miles.  Painting after painting seemed to repeat so much that soon enough they started to blend together. Every time you thought you were trying a new path, you found yourself in the same godforsaken hallway outside the ballroom. Eventually, you couldn’t take the circles anymore, and walked inside, looking for any other paths to take. At the far end, you saw a set of double doors and scampered over to them. You pushed them open, and found an empty kitchen.

Empty, except for a teenage girl and small boy sat up on the counters with food in their hands. Their heads snapped toward you, the girl assuming a defensive demeanor at the sight of you. She looked you up and down, evaluating you.

“Are you the newcomer?” You steeled yourself against the door.

“Yes, I am,” you looked around, searching for an excuse for being here. “I stepped out of my room and couldn’t find my way back.” The boy looked at you impassively, neither believing nor disbelieving, he just looked right through you.

“What part are you in?” the girl asked you, still watching you closely.

“The west part?”

“Back out the large arches, take a right, you’ll find it among all the doors.” She stared at you, silently commanding you to leave. You bowed your head, desperate to get away from her cold gaze.

“Thank you,” you stumbled out of the kitchen, beelining in the direction she told you to go. Who was that?! You're stomach turned, a sensation you'd only experienced in the past because of Michael. There was something in the coldness of her gaze... Good or bad, it wasn’t natural. As you crossed the ballroom again, you saw Michael's shadow dance against the hallway walls. As you entered, you saw him walking toward you.

"Michael-" you began.

"To bed, angel," he dismissed you. "Nothing for you to do now. You should get your rest." 

“Are you doing this?” You asked. “With the hallways? I’ve never been lost like this.”

“Could be the sleep deprivation,” but as he smirked, you knew your true answer. “Goodnight, now.” And with that, he turned and walked away from you. Without thinking, you spat at his back as he walked by you. He only chuckled. "Yes, better get some sleep." You watched him disappear around a corner and huffed. You knew how to go nowhere but back in the direction of your room. A bird in its gilded cage. Very well. To bed, then.

You enchanted your door behind you and fell asleep in your comically large bed. You dreamt of the garden and the stars you hadn’t seen in so long.

---

The next morning, you awoke to a gentle knock on your door. You knew immediately that whoever it was, it wasn’t Michael. Nausea induced by his presence aside, he would have had a much grander way of making himself known. Adjusting your nightgown, you opened the door to Josephine.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she greeted curtly.

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Josephine, how can I help you-”

“Mr. Langdon wanted to ensure that you didn’t miss breakfast,” she interrupted. “He was very adamant that you meet some of the others.”

“Others,” you repeated. “How many other people are living here?”

“On this level or in the whole Sanctuary?” She took your stunned look as answer enough. “Throughout the complex are two-thousand people. Mr. Langdon has appointed leaders to multiple units of the Sanctuary to oversee their goings-ons. Beyond the facilities we have multiple radiation-controlled cities in-progress  that we are using to rehabilitate those out there who survived the nuclear blast. Those are currently at six-thousand, with more arriving every day. In our unit, the Eden unit, we have two-hundred. Mr. Langdon oversees this unit.”

“That’s…quite an operation.”

“Mr. Langdon is a dedicated man,” she shrugged. “Will you join us?” You thought for a moment. So far, everyone you’ve met seems oblivious to who Michael is, or at the very least accepting of it. You had to wonder what Michael’s aim is to pack this place full of seemingly harmless people. What did he want with them?

“I will,” you answered. “Just give me a moment to get ready.” You closed the door. After freshening yourself, you searched the wardrobe of the room.

You would only be a little embarrassed to admit to the sigh of relief you breathed when you saw a selection of clothes beyond the Victorian era and the purple monochrome. The clothes here were normal. The range was casual to formal and modern day to items that couldn’t be associated with fashions earlier than the 1960s. Whatever Michael was up to here, it at least wasn’t playing period dress up with human dolls. You wondered if it was so he could stand out more, with his bold makeup and clothing. A wolf among the sheep.

You settled on a flowing white top and a pair of flared- would you believe it- jeans. You reopened the door to Josephine, finally taking to note her own beige maxi skirt and brown sweater. Almost like being in the real world again. “Ready.”

Some of the hallways Josephine took you down were all too familiar from your accursed walk the night before. You felt yourself tense as you remembered how Michael’s magics had disoriented you. Today, you could make out the twists of the halls perfectly, assuring you he had let his little hexes fade. The halls also didn’t hold the same foreboding energies as before. Along the ceilings so you could see little skylights letting sunlight in. None of them were so grand as the one in the garden, but you relished in seeing the blue of the morning sky again.

Finally, Josephine brought you to a large set of doors. “I hope you’re awake by now,” she muttered, as she lifted the giant knockers and slammed them three times before opening them. “Look sharp.” Your eyes widened at the site.

A sea of two-hundred faces, all sat at long feast tables, all turned to look at you. Stupefied, you looked around. You saw a litany of groups and families and couples sat together, looking at you as the strange new outsider. What kind of place was this? At the back of the room, you could make out the outline of Michael’s form, sitting at a head table, with Mead’s dark figure sat at his side. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and you could see he was wearing a plain, white shirt with billowing sleeves. A far cry from the Outpost regalia. You could tell he was looking at you, and you just knew he was smiling. After a moment, he rose.

“My friends in Eden,” he boomed. “As you all know I have been on an expedition to our smaller outposts to rescue the survivors housed there. It was to my dismay that I found them all overrun and destroyed.” Hearing this, you remember the smile on his face when he had told your fellow survivors at Outpost Three the same news. “But I found hope in my last stop, one person who could live with us in our Sanctuary and join us in rebuilding the earth. An exceptional and compassionate young woman whose heart, like all of ours, longs for the world before the nuclear winter, a most excellent addition to our mission. Let us all welcome our newcomer, the lone survivor of Outpost Three, and all other outposts, Miss Y/N Y/L/N!” With this, you were enveloped in thunderous applause.

“Lone survivor?” you asked Josephine.

“What else would you call it?” she asked you. “Come, he wants you at the front table.” With that, she led you across the sea of well-wishers, all smiling kindly at you. Michael stared at you the whole way. It felt like an eternity before you were finally standing before him, feeling like an animal being sold to the slaughterhouse.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Michael greeted you. “I’m so glad you could join us.” Your eyes grazed over the rest of the table. From the right of him, you could see Josephine going to take a seat, as well as a little girl next to them, beaming at you. To his left, you saw two empty seats,  next to them a woman dressed in bright greens and yellows, and a large man dressed in a simple plaid shirt. Meanwhile, Mead stood behind Michael’s chair, not even bothering to pretend to eat.

“I didn’t know that I could refuse,” you said. At this, the unnamed man chuckled, and the brightly dressed woman smiled at you.

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint us with your wit,” Michael continued, unfazed. “Do come and sit, your food is coming soon.” A moment passed, and you realized that he meant for you to sit next to him.

“I don’t know that I’m hungry,” you told him.

“But of course,” he said with complete ease.. “How could you ever find your appetite after those cubes in the outpost? But this food is real, I must insist you indulge yourself.” Seeing there was no tactical way to make him relent, you climbed the platform step and sat yourself next to him. Your companions to your right were quick to introduce themselves to you.

“Glad to have you,” grunted the man in plaid. “The name is Roger Richards. I’m the unit planner for the Sanctuary. I design the infrastructure.” You inclined your head.

“So you designed these skylights?” you asked. He nodded. “They’re wonderful.” His eyes glittered with pride.

“They’re actually pretty basic in design,” he said. “I just thought that these people would need some sunlight.”

“Roger loves to be modest,” tittered the woman next to him. “I’m Phoebe, I’m the overseer of agriculture. I heard from Langdon you tried one of our apples already?” Your stomach crawled at the memory of the poison coursing through you. You forced on a weak smile.

“Oh yes,” you said. “It was such a relief to have a taste of the world before.”

“Well,” she smiled. “Then you will like the Sanctuary.” At this, you couldn’t force yourself to agree. So you smiled again, and pretended to turn your focus to the food you had no stomach for. Your gaze kept flicking to Michael next to you, happily digging into his breakfast. You wanted to smack the cutlery out of his hands.

“Josephine is Head of Operations,” he said without looking at you. “She sees all of the in-between and nitty gritty of the Sanctuary. She also oversees the nursery.”

“Who’s the little one?” You asked him, stomach churning while looking at the painfully oblivious little girl.

“Rebecca, she’s a rescue. Are you going to eat?”

“I told you,” you said. “I’m not hungry. What do you mean ‘rescue’?”

“She’s a survivor from the nuclear wastelands,” he told you. “An orphan from the fallout. Now she sits as a symbol of hope for us all. Isn’t that inspiring?”

“Hope,” you repeated, too tired to laugh at the suggestion. “Just what kind of a sick game are you playing with these people?”

“All in due time, Miss Y/L/N,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to spoil it too early.” Then his gaze flitted to a man approaching the table, dressed in black robes. Your heart leapt a moment, mistaking it for Satanic attire. Once your panic subsided, you looked closer and realized with dread that rather than the anarchic black and red of the Satanists, this man donned a familiar vestment of black and white… he couldn’t be…

“Ah,” Michael smiled. “Father de Flores, good morning.” You looked at Michael in shock. “This is Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Of course,” said de Flores. “It is my pleasure to meet you at last.” You opened your mouth to speak, to scream, anything to warn this man of the demon in his midst. Michael clamped his hand on your shoulder, purposefully grazing a finger over some exposed skin on the nape of your neck. The sting of his touch was enough to shut you up. You could only nod as the man took his seat next to you.

Michael removed his hand, and you watched as he flexed his fingers in pain. A moment invisible to all but you. He lifted his eyes to meet your accusing gaze.

“Oh angel,” he whispered the nickname for only you to hear, before speaking again at full volume. “You really must see the chapel that Richards designed. It is truly something to behold.”

[thecatundertheladder]

So I know I did a poll on which au I should write for next and I was going to stick to it and write some more for my ToE au, but inspiration strikes at inconvenient times so here’s how Garmadon got his destruction powers in my Garmadon Son of the Overlord au.

When Garmadon was still a baby (I’m thinking around a decade after the dividing of Ninjago), the FSM decided to give him some powers that didn't originate from the Overlord, but from FSM themself. So, one day, they held balls of creation and destruction energy in front of Garmadon to see which he would choose. And baby Garmadon crawled over to the destruction energy and started trying to play with it. So FSM embedded a small portion of his own destruction within Garmadon.

Had FSM been slightly more sensible, they probably would have seen the child destined to kill them choosing destruction over creation as a very concerning thing, and quite possibly wouldn’t have given Garmadon the power to destroy realms, but they weren’t, so FSM didn’t find this concerning. If anything they were delighted - their oni instincts were thrilled at the thought of teaching them how to use the essence of destruction.

The original elemental masters that were still around when this happened (which was most of them) were not happy with FSM for giving Garmadon the essence of destruction. While some of them had eventually warmed up to the idea that FSM was going to raise Garmadon and had even started liking him, the were all of the opinion that the child that was destined to kill FSM actively choosing destruction was a bad sign (“destruction does not equate to evil” FSM would tell them. “Maybe not, but it is still tool with which to kill you by”, the elemental masters would answer).

It was even worse that FSM had willingly given the essence to him. Needless to say, the original EMs thought that the FSM had lost their mind. Unfortunately, the opinions of mortals (even if they were mortals that FSM was close friends with) were not enough to sway a dragoni god’s parental instincts, and so the essence of destruction stayed with Garmardon.

Being a spirit-god, Garmadon's powers grew with him, and by the time he reached adult-hood, his abilities rivaled FSM's at the same age. But at this point he didn’t just have the abilities he inherited from the overlord and the essence of destruction, he also had of control over all the other elements (albeit not as strong as his control over destruction and darkness -the essence he had inherited from his birth parent). The FSM loved Garmadon to the point where he had accidentally given him all the same powers that they have.

[ultrainfinitepit]

Town of Puddle: Werewolves

Last updated 08/15/2023

Werewolves (or more generally, werecreatures) are a subset of shapeshifters who are differentiated from others by four key factors:

Werewolves have a humanoid form that is nearly indistinguishable from human.

Werewolves must always transform into their wereform during the night of the full moon. Wereforms vary, from humanoid or beast-like to dramatically monstrous. Many werewolves maintain control of their faculties during the transformation, making it more of an inconvenience than a threat. Some werewolves can transform at will at any other time.

Werewolves are weak to silver.

Werewolves are often immortal or extremely-long lived.

Werewolves are the most common werecreature, but there are many other types of werecreatures. Because werewolves are the most common of them, all werecreatures are often referred to as werewolves even if their beast form is not a wolf.

Werewolves all have a trait called “lycanthropy.” It is a curse, a magical affliction not a disease. Lycanthropy can most commonly be passed through a bite that draws blood, but there are other ways to pass it and it depends on the werecreature: similar to vampirism. 

There are many debated origins for werewolves, but they actually come from a single source. You may notice many werewolf traits are shared with vampires. This is because werewolves originate from vampires. 

The first werewolf was an ancient vampire Lycan: a child of Rapha and Asherah. After Rapha was killed, Asherah’s hold on reality and her kingdom began to wane. Lycan sought to take her place and make a new kingdom, one that would be entirely holy and free from what Lycan had come to see as Asherah’s evil demonic influence.

Filled with hubris and encouraged by their human followers, Lycan sought to make himself into something no longer vampire: human or greater than human, perhaps divine. The Cure that Lycan devised did indeed make him something else, but not a god: the first werewolf. It is said that Rapha, though dead and scattered into stardust, saw Lycan spurn Asherah his mother; saw Lycan seek to become a god; and cursed Lycan to be what he truly was: a monster with no control, a twisted wolf - unholy not because of his birth, but for turning against his family. While werewolves nowadays tend to maintain self-control in their beast forms, Lycan did not, and in fact was driven into a frenzy by Rapha’s curse. Lycan went after their followers and turned them all into werewolves, together they became the First Pack and scattered across the globe, spreading lycanthropy as they went. 

The members of the First Pack became legendary and were hunted by those seeking glory through the ages. None now remain, even Lycan was hunted down. But it is said Lycan’s immortality was twisted just as his body and mind were; and now his spirit lives on to spread lycanthropy and to turn any werecreature into a frenzied beast.

Perhaps if the Cure was discovered again, if used on any other without Lycan’s hubris it would indeed cure vampirism. But no one has yet rediscovered it, and no trace of that ancient recipe remains. Those who pursue it always seem to meet a grim end, as if Rapha strikes down any who tries.

Below are my Puddle werewolves.

Wash Whitlock is a former British naval officer, who now works for the Order and acts as Ariel’s keeper. In the course of his duties he accidentally became a wereotter. Wash has wisely decided he does not need to share this information with Order higher-ups, though his colleagues are well-aware and tease him incessantly. 

Nuniq is a member of Ariel’s crew. She is the ship’s doctor, and practices both magic and science for healing. She is a Greenland wereshark. For her family, being a wereshark is hereditary on the mother’s side but can skip generations, and only develops around puberty. Nuniq had to track down her great-grandmother for help, when she found out she was one. That journey inspired her to continue traveling and exploring. Nuniq is approaching eighty but doesn’t look that old thanks to her wereshark nature. Greenland sharks can live incredibly long.

Below are @wyrmzier's werewolves.

Ines Luna was a catholic nun who performed all of her duties wonderfully. She was chaste, pure, and kind. She worked as a school teacher at the adjacent all girls school. Despite her faithfulness and piety she harbored deep guilt over her lesbianism, and when she heard rumors of two of her students attempting to elope to be with each other she went out to guide them to the right path. But she did not find any students, just an ancient feral wolf who attacked her. She was saved in time by the angel Dame, but with her life still intact the curse rooted in her veins and she was turned into a werewolf. The curse proved unwieldy. Ines could barely control herself every full moon; she feared her own bloodthirst and a powerful heat edged on by the presence of her savior. Her convent grew fearful and ashamed and kicked her out. The church was all Ines knew, but again Dame saved her and they wed and lived happily ever after.

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of June. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) All This Time | Teen & Up | 1046 words

Louis Tomlinson had been best friends with flower shop owner Gemma Styles for years. It wasn't until she suggested he date her alpha brother that he ever thought of Harry that way. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea...

2) On The Borderline Tonight | Mature | 1470 words

Note: The main pairing is Louis/Ethan Hawke.

Louis is an artist in need of inspiration. He finds it one sunny afternoon in a Brooklyn coffee shop.

3) Everything Is So Fine, Little Bit Of Sunshine | Not Rated | 2,009 words

Fluffy PWP of catboy Louis and his boyfriend Harry.

4) Soulmated | Mature | 2046 words

Niall forces Louis on a date. Ends differently than both of them expected.

5) Beauty And The Beast | Explicit | 2216 words

A virginal Louis is ‘sacrificed’ to the Beast to ensure the safety of his village. Dressed in ceremonial attire, Louis is locked in the stocks at nightfall and offered up to the Beast.

6) Darling, Just Hold On | Explicit | 2481 words

“I’m actually dying for a piss, but I don’t really know what to do about that. Here’s COACOAC.”

7) Thank You Five! | Explicit | 2719 words

It’s fifteen minutes to the start of Harry’s set and he is nowhere to be seen, much to the stress of everyone else……it might be that he is a little busy with a certain blue-eyed Doncaster lad.

8) Obey Your Alpha | Explicit | 3413 words

Harry and Louis are mated, but Simon isn't happy about it. He ends up separating them from each other. All is good though.

9) Don't You Know That I Am Right Here? | Mature | 4314 words

Louis is proud to be an Omega but his journey hasn’t been exactly easy so far. There’s nothing technically “wrong” with him, or so his doctor likes to remind him when he goes to see him every year since he was 15. His situation is more unusual than a medical problem, but it doesn’t mean most alphas will see it that way. When yet another inconvenient heat threatens to disturb his grad school move-out date, he sets a plan in motion. Enter best friend and gentle alpha Harry Styles.

10) I Can't Get You Off My Mind (I Still Crave It) | Mature | 4519 words

"You're an idiot," It was Lya's time to interrupt. "Why would you want another guy when you already have yours? Don't you ever get tired of those silly games?" "It is different!," Louis defended himself again, mouth open. "How come it is different?," Lya asked again. "I love Harry," it was easy like breathing. "He's the love of my life, I'm going to marry him," Louis looked around, until his eyes looked with Harry's, glossy and vibrant. "That guy was just a hook."

11) The Way to My Heart | Teen & Up | 6516 words

Louis' having a bit of a dry spell, until he bumps into an attractive alpha in the supermarket and leaves with his number. It was a hard bump. Very... muscular. The only problem is, said alpha asks Louis to cook for him - which is not exactly his skill set.

12) New Alpha | Mature | 6841 words

Request: Can you do omega Louis goes into heat and Harry finds him. They mate and Louis get's pregnant. But with more story behind it. Thanks (I know it's standard. But I really love werewolf stories.)

13) Rock My World | Mature | 14238 words

Harry threw the burly guy off the hot, clueless man in seconds. Harry turned his back to the pit of rowdy men and planted his feet to keep them steady. “Are you okay, kid?” The man he saved was even more beautiful than Harry expected. His tiny, elfish nose crinkled at the pet-name. The black lines around his eyes made his blue eyes even more striking. His cheekbones were prominent, making his overall frame even more small. “My name is Louis and I’m fine. Get off me, perve!” Harry hadn’t realized he’d kept his free hand against the small of his back or that it kept the man pressed directly his chest. Harry hated releasing him even in the slightest; Louis was much safer here. “Can you not see I’m security? That it’s my job to save idiots like you?” “Idiot?” Louis shouted to be heard over the man currently screaming his head off into the microphone. “Well, I’m sorry for being small, you dick! Not my fault they slammed into me!”

14) One Day I'll Come Into Your World And Get It Right (A Relaxing Afternoon.... Or Is It?) | Explicit | 14652 words

Zayn treated Louis to an afternoon massage with his friend Harry. They meant well. But Louis was sensitive, and Harry found him too much for his taste and... They're going to send Zayn a fruit basket.

15) What's Left Of My Halo's Black | Explicit | 22464 words As Harry sucks lovebites into Louis’ neck, Louis hopes that one day those marks will cover the way he can still feel Alex’s handprints burned into his flesh. As Harry’s nails drag scratches along Louis’ back, Louis hopes that one day the scabs on his heart will heal and drop away just like the scabs on his skin. As Harry fucks him down into the mattress, the bed shaking with every thrust, Louis hopes that one day his mouth will forget the shape of Alex’s name, won’t trace it over and over as the heat builds inside him, won’t want to scream it when he comes. Maybe one day he’ll open his eyes, as he slowly floats down from his post-orgasm haze, and won’t expect to see Alex’s face smiling back at him. But today is not that day.

16) True Blue | Explicit | 23409 words

Louis has always prided himself on making plans. His freshman year of high school he’d spent the entire night color-coding a five-year plan to get him to the exact career that he’s in today. When his parents wouldn’t let him and Zayn see the midnight premiere of the final Harry Potter, he’d crafted an intricate slideshow mapping out each outcome that his parents were worried about and countering every argument they’d tried to give. Just last week he’d sat down with Harry and forced him to listen to his ten-step process for them to secure the front row at their favorite artist’s show. It’s with this experience under his belt that he starts to devise another plan. One to start pulling his weight and also to prove to Harry and everyone that he is very much capable of fending for himself, thank you very much.

17) Hope Your Life Leads You Back To My Door | Explicit | 56709 words

“What’s the matter?” Louis asked quickly, eyes wide in alarm. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never gone anywhere alone like this,” Harry whispered, his voice shaky. Louis didn’t look surprised, but there was something really fiery about him as he spoke again. “Then come now,” he insisted with a grin. “Just trust me. Get on this train with me and I promise you’ll have so much fun.” Louis Tomlinson wasn’t ever someone Harry thought he’d trust or look to with such open admiration for having the spirit to do things like this, but suddenly, he did. He trusted him and he wanted this. He was going to do it.

18) Where I Burn To Be | Explicit | 143346 words

There were very few people who managed to get under Louis’ skin as effortlessly as Harry had, and even fewer who had done it in only a day and a half. It was quite an accomplishment, really. They’d only interacted a handful of times and yet Louis had the insatiable desire to slam the locker into that frustratingly well-defined face that never seemed to hold any expressions other than contempt and arrogance. “That’s right. I do own the skies. And you wanna know why?” he sneered. Without his boots on, Louis was a fair bit shorter than Harry, his eyes pretty much level with Harry’s chin and his socked toes bumping into the boots of the other man, close enough that Louis could make out the tiny scar on Harry’s brow and the individual shades of emerald in his irises. He was handsome, but that only made Louis hate him more. Heart thumping heavily against his sternum and his hands balled into fists, Louis lifted his chin defiantly and plastered a coldhearted smirk across his lips. “Because I’m the best goddamn pilot here.”

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[awlimagines]

How they act when sick

CELIA/CECILIA

Cecilia mostly knows her limits from being sickly before moving to the valley. She will not try to work in the fields but wants to visit the Goddess Pond. Cecilia is surprisingly good at slipping away from Marlin and Vesta’s watchful eye each time. They eventually speak with you to request you keep an eye out and go with her if you can. Ceci notices this after you conveniently follow her along the path with the excuse to pick herbs and flowers. She seems paler as she insists you don’t change plans because of her and worrying about being an inconvenience. You convince her it’s no bother and you’re worried for her health. Over time, you convince Cecilia to use your home as a halfway point. She eventually confesses your milk soup has become her favorite comfort food for the days she feels weak.

CODY/GORDY

Gordy is close to being a perfect patient. He takes medicine and limits his exertion according to what is appropriate without much oversight. Gordy doesn’t cause you any stress worrying over his well-being even while sick, most of the time. He is prone to forgetting to care for himself when inspiration strikes. Gordy cannot let it pass by remaining in bed or sitting idle and must act before the idea flees. He becomes intently focused and often does not hear your protests. Your first fight with Gordy occurred over this tendency. Unable to distract him, you stepped between him and his art. In retrospect, you knew it was a bad idea, but at the moment, you didn’t realize it until his fist hit the metal next to your head. The action scared both of you. Gordy recovered first to lecture you on how dangerous it was to get in the middle. You defended by saying how he wouldn’t listen and take a break. You compromise by him keeping a notepad to note his inspirations, and you make sure to have his attention before moving in front of him while he is working.

DARYL

You find him complaining about the lab being colder lately though it feels like a sauna. It takes a while, but you convince Daryl to hold still long enough to check his temperature. You confirm he’s running a fever and should probably rest and recover. Daryl is appalled by your suggestion. He cannot take a sick day! There is too much Daryl needs to do for the day. Daryl shoos you from his lab so he can continue work without distractions as you attempt to reason with the man. You stop by Van’s to purchase medicine before sneaking back into the lab. You find Daryl writing a formula on his chalkboard though it's just the same small sequence repeating. Daryl is worse than a child in refusing the medicine and taking a nap. You learn Daryl is apprehensive of medication and its effects in forcing him to sleep. He worries thieves will take his work. You promise to keep watch over the lab before he finally relents. Daryl eventually falls asleep with your wrist held in his grasp to be sure you won’t leave.

FLORA

You exit your farm to see Carter heading for the inn. Carter explains that he isn’t sure what Flora is cooking, but he cannot be a part of it this time. Feeling concerned, you head for their tent near the waterfall. Everything appears normal when you arrive. It isn’t until you call out a greeting and pull back the flap you see the problem. Noxious fumes make you gag as Flora turns to you from a tar-like gunk bubbling in a pot. While you try to clean the mess, Flora explains she felt under the weather and planned to take medicine. Then she thought it would be more effective to take all of them and add additional healthy herbs and plants from the mountainside resulting in the black sludge. You beg Flora to let you know in the future instead of taking matters into her own hands. You know several recipes and safe mixtures from your mom’s nursing career that would be better than blind experimentation. Flora looks thoughtful for a moment before agreeing to your request.

GUSTAFA

Gustafa always claimed he was one with nature. You believed him; he was the only person you’d ever seen smile and seem unbothered by a downpour. You weren’t concerned when you found the man leaning with his head pressed to a tree around the Goddess Pond. Gustafa turned his head only slightly to look your way when you teased him about communing with nature in such a way. He offered a weak smile in return, which told you something was wrong. Gustafa tries to wave you off, explaining that he just needs a moment. He felt a little dizzy and wasn’t used to getting sick, so it caught him off guard. You ignore Gustafa’s protests as you drag him back to his yurt. Once there, you have to argue with him about fetching medicine. Gustafa insists it’s nothing that serious, just a cold. You both agree for him to rest and check on how he feels from there. Gustafa comments it’s hard to sleep during the day as it feels too quiet in the yurt. Instead of leaving him to rest, you stay and sing an old lullaby you know until you both fall asleep. 

LUMINA

It’s near impossible to assist Lumina when she’s sick, not because of her, but because Romana and Sebstatian hover. The butler banned you from the mansion until Lumina begged to see you. He only allowed you in with strict rules and a search to ensure you weren’t bringing anything unapproved by Dr. Baddoch’s treatment plan. Lumina herself seems to handle her temporary cold well and is more upset that everyone is in a frenzy instead. She dutifully eats, rests, and medicates as she should. Lumina’s only complaint is how dreadfully bored she gets sitting in her room all day. She is thrilled when you bring new books for her. You receive a short heartfelt thanks before being rushed from the manor as Romana summons Dr. Baddoch for a spike in Lumina’s fever when her cheeks turn red.

MARLIN/MATTHEW

Marlin’s old job in the city was not generous with sick time, so he learned to work through it. He keeps the same mindset at Vesta’s Farm. Marlin has trouble accepting that Cecilia and Vesta will handle his share without feeling guilty and pushes forward to do it himself anyway. It takes both of them and threats from Vesta of tying him to the bed to confine Marlin indoors. When you visit to buy seeds, you catch him peering from a window, craning for a look into the fields. You have to lure Marlin from the window with questions about hybrid crops and what would be better combinations. He finally seems to relax as he explains why your first attempts were terrible and how to improve them.

MUFFY/MOLLY

Molly doesn’t get sick often. She claims it's because of how close you get to everyone else in the City. Her immune system had to be strong from a young age. Molly does suffer immensely from seasonal allergies in the Spring and Fall. The amount of pollen in Forget-Me-Not Valley is higher and something she’s only somewhat getting used to. Molly’s dainty sneezes, headaches, and watery eyes tear at your heart. She handles it relatively well, though she clings to your arm more outside when she’s off work. Molly is over the moon when you gift her some local honey, hoping it helps her symptoms. It seems to work, as she’s happy to show off the liquid gold from her hunny.

NAMI

Nami is the type who doesn’t need your help. She is self-sufficient from traveling on her own. Nami would whether treat herself and stay curled in bed than bother anyone else. That isn’t to say she won’t appreciate you doing little things for her here and there. The homemade meals you bring are always enjoyed with one of her favorite worn books while she recovers. Nami does not want you in the room too long for worry that you’ll end up sick. She shoves you from the room when you mention her flushed face and checking her temperature.

ROCK

Rock already enjoys taking it easy and now has the perfect reason to. He handles sickness and pain well overall. You would think Rock was faking his illness or injury if it wasn’t for Dr. Baddoch’s expert diagnosis. You quickly learn giving Rock a bell to ring for assistance was a terrible thing to do. He summons you for everything under the sun. He doesn’t like the TV channel and wants it changed; the pillows are flat, he’s hungry, he needs a sip of water, etc. When he notices you beginning to get frustrated, his reasons change. Rock claims he was lonely and wanted to see you. He thinks cuddles from you might make him heal faster. A kiss would probably be even better.

[murderedbyhomework]

飛翔||flying, soaring (3785 words) by saltier_than_the_sea Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 莲花楼 | Mysterious Lotus Casebook (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Di Feisheng & Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi, Di Feisheng & Fang Duobing, Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi, implied, Di Feisheng & Wu Yan Characters: Di Feisheng, Wu Yan (Mysterious Lotus Casebook), Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi, Fang Duobing, mentioned - Character, Original Characters Additional Tags: Character Study, Di Feisheng centric, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Child Death, essentially DI Manor trauma, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, it's not graphic i swear just referenced, giving Wu Yan backstory, Author's first language is not english, no beta we die like li xiangyi Summary: 步步高昇，漢語成語。意思是指職位不斷上升。出自《二十年目睹之怪現狀》| To rise steadily in position. Or, Di Feisheng, from when Di Manor, to meeting 15 year old Li Xiangyi during his rooftop dance, and the years between.

Apparently writing inspiration truly does strike at the most inconvenient times so here’s shameless (I’m lying I’m so ashamed of myself) self promotion

[iybms]

the spark lights all the same

an exercise in lance's pov

rating: G pairing: keith/lance words: 1458 tags: pov lance, kissing, rivals to lovers ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24766531

Lance's heart skips a beat the first time he sees Keith laugh, but he doesn't really understand why.

He stares a little too long.  He doesn't like Keith, and definitely not in any way that should warrant the fixation that this new expression on Keith's face is inspiring in him.  So he does the same thing he does with every emotion he's not ready to confront:  buries it until it's convenient.  Which is pretty much never.

It's only unearthed, in fact, because Keith has this horrible, infuriating, even more inconvenient habit of laughing at him.

And it's just rare enough to see Keith laugh at all, that it gets more and more difficult for Lance to be pissed off by it.  For him to stop from staring at the turn of the corner of his lips, the tilt of his mouth, the shape of his teeth, the pucker of his cheek on one side.  Lance catches himself cataloging Keith's smiles in his mind like limited edition stamps.

Fuck, he realizes.  They are limited edition.  One of these days, Lance is gonna strike out embarrassingly with a pretty girl, or collide with something in Blue while he's not paying attention, or get dissed by Pidge for opening his big mouth when he knows jack shit about math or coding, or, or― or Hunk is going to make some lame cooking joke that doesn't even make any sense and Keith is going to laugh because he doesn't make any sense, and then the Galra are going to attack, and that last laugh about goo donuts or whatever is going to be Keith Kogane's final, rare, stupid smirk.

Lance hates this.  Why is he even thinking about this?  He hates this.

And the thing Lance hates the most is that sometimes he thinks Keith is going to laugh at him, but for some completely inexplicable, bizarre reason, he doesn't.  Instead, Keith listens to him.  Keith supports him.  Keith has his back.

Keith cradles Lance in his arms, carrying him to a healing pod.  Keith rescues him from the airlock.  Keith asks him what's wrong.  Keith helps him up, over and over again, no matter how many times Lance gets knocked down.  Keith pretends Lance isn't crying when he finds him homesick on the observation deck.

Lance is so frustrated, it's all he can do to just return the favor.  Listen to Keith, support him, have his back.  When Lance ends up as Keith's Red Paladin, it's like finding the most mortifying pair of shoes that fit absolutely perfectly.  Not the way it felt perfect piloting Blue, how manifesting his intent had come easy.  Rather, the Red Lion flays him open and strips him down.  Exposes some deep, aching, desperate piece of him that he hadn't been ready to acknowledge until now.  Flying the Red Lion at Keith's side feels less like a good fit than it feels necessary in some part of Lance's soul.

Blue felt like home; Red feels like some breathless, cosmic destiny.

He realizes one day, he's become friends with Keith.  No wait, not just friends.  More than that.  Partners, somehow.  More than just regular comrades, more than family.  The bond he shares with Keith has become deeper than the bond he shares with any of the other paladins.  Maybe even Allura, in Blue.  He sort of resents that a little.  But he also…

He also… really treasures it.  Shit.  He feels really, really special.  When Keith's eyes are focused on him like That, like they're equals, like Keith respects him as much as Lance respects Keith, because― because he does, Lance respects Keith, and admires him, and has ever since the first time he saw him ace the simulator at the Garrison.  But now, it's not just because Keith's a great pilot, or even because he's the Black Paladin.  It's because he's lost so much and he still won't give up.  Not on Shiro, or on his mom, or on Lance.  After suffering so much loss and rejection from people who should have been there to take care of him, people he should have been able to trust, experiencing violent emotional severances that could have broken him irreparably,

Keith still stands tall as a leader, a soldier, and a symbol of hope to the weak and disadvantaged.  He still fights for what he believes in with his whole, entire heart.  Against all odds, he still finds ways to connect with and love the other members of their little paladin family.

Even when he has every excuse to be vindictive and bitter, and every opportunity to be vain and cruel, Keith is… he's… he's stubbornly determined to be kind, and altruistic, and forgiving.

And against all odds, Lance has come to ―

maybe ―

love that about him.

And annoyingly, the closer and closer Lance gets to Keith, the more he finds there is that he can't help but love.

So when Keith's eyes are focused on Lance, yeah, in training, or in a debrief, or on a mission, or just in a conversation or wherever, Lance has started to feel this little spark that lights up in his chest.  Come at me, Keith might say.  Or, Where to?  Or, I'll lure them, you watch my back.  Always with this unwavering trust in Lance that no one else has in him ― hell, that even Lance doesn't always have in himself.  It doesn't matter if Keith is angry or teasing or bloody, or if he's dead bored in a diplomatic meeting just looking to Lance for silent commiseration.  The spark lights all the same.  It thrums under his skin, in his hands, all the way to his fingertips, like an extra little boost of adrenaline.  It makes him feel extra connected to Keith, ready for anything.  Even in the murkiest depths of self-doubt, Keith makes him feel like he can do anything.

And then one day, he finally does it.  It's been so long, he doesn't even realize that he's been trying, or how bad he wants it.  How overwhelmed he's going to be when he gets it.

They're alone, walking a corridor in the ship.  They're both exhausted, and Lance is just talking.  They have a lot of shared experiences now, and plenty of common opinions about particular missions and aliens and diplomatic policies, and Lance makes the driest inside joke.  Absolutely arid.  Ruthless.  He is so tired.  Keith―

laughs.

Keith laughs, and Lance,

Lance is wide-eyed, mouth softly open, breath caught.  His heart has skipped like four beats, at least, at finally being the one to make Keith Kogane laugh.  Not at him, no.  Not this time.  No, Lance made Keith laugh, because he meant to make Keith laugh.  A joke that was meant for Keith and only Keith, exchanged for a laugh that was meant for Lance and only Lance.  Something within Lance shudders shamefully with the selfish realization that he wants to always get to be the one who makes Keith laugh.  He wants to keep all of Keith's laughter and smiles to himself and hoard them deep in his heart, in the same place where he started cataloging Keith's smiles years ago.

Keith's eyes glance open at him in mirth, and the electricity that ignites in Lance makes his whole body tense.  For a moment while his gaze is locked with Keith's, it's all he can feel.  Gooseflesh dances along his arms and the hair on his nape raises, and just as it seems Keith is about to prickle with concern, Lance can no longer stand still.  He can't.  He's possessed, by this fanatic need to be closer, to capture the remnants of Keith's laughter in the most intimate way possible.

All he can do is close the distance between them, take Keith's face gently between his trembling palms, and tilt in to kiss him.

He's half-drunk just on the closeness alone, but then Keith's lips soften, come to Lance's wet and open, and then again, over and over, and Lance thinks he must be entirely delirious.  He quakes from the inside out, because there's no way this is really happening, right?  There's no way he's actually kissing Keith, for real, kissing him deeply, all frantic and reverent like this.  There's no way he's doing it, and getting away with it, and getting kissed back.  That's just, statistically improbable, he thinks.

And yet, here is Keith's tongue, touching Lance's, and Keith's hands, grasping greedily at his waist, pressing him close.  Lance chokes on a pleased noise at the sheer satisfaction of being wanted by Keith in return.

And when Keith huffs a little chuckle, bursting with awe, right up against and into Lance's mouth ― just like that, there is nothing else at all in the universe.

[not-quite-there-myself]

Hello! I hope I’m not bothering or annoying you. Can I request you to write something really comforting w/ Fruit Tart and Whiskey (as a separate characters) in a format of headcanons? Like they’re calming (or at least trying to calm) gen neutral reader who had a really bad day. Or just what their methods of comforting someone are? Are they being gentle with you? Or are they can left you behind until you simply calm down yourself?

I’m sorry if im troubling you. Have a good day! Thank you so much for your blog, this is one of the most special places for me.

Combatting A Bad Day

A/N: You're not troubling me at all, anon! I'm so flattered that my blog is a special place for you, it makes me happy that you enjoy it here. Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy.

Fruit Tart

Fruit Tart sees you as an equal, and as her attendant she sees you as worthy of her time. But if you catch her having her tea time, you won't be in luck if you wish for her sympathy. Nothing matters more to her than that, not even you. However, if you leave her to her own time, she'll come see you on her own volition after she's had her tea. She may be a little arrogant, but she isn't so cold as to not pay attention to your downing mood. Fruit Tart would notice something like that anytime.

She's got a very direct personality; with a butterfly accompanying her, Fruit Tart asks you what the matter is without beating around the bush. If something is bothering her attendant, she would find it an inconvenience at most. It wouldn't do for her attendant to look as troubled as you are now. If she can do something to fix your state of mind, you best tell her. It isn't a suggestion, really. It's more like a demand.

No matter what reasoning you tell her, Fruit Tart can listen well. Even if she doesn't relate to what's making you feel upset, she still respects it without much judgement. On one hand, her hearing you out may help you feel better. On the other hand, no promises that she'll do everything she can to cheer you up.

Fruit Tart isn't the type to have an inspiring speech or a comforting collection of words to help you out of your rough day—calming someone down isn't exactly one of her strengths. In fact, she might get upset on your behalf listening to the day you had. How terrible it must've been... However, if you had a bad day because of a certain individual, she can help with that no problem. She isn't afraid to... have a chat with someone about how poorly they've treated you. If you just didn't feel like you had a good time in general, she might invite you to have tea with her next time the clock strikes four.

Whiskey

Whiskey notices when you've been feeling a little down, like the day hasn't been treating you well. Whether or not you seek him out is entirely up to you. He might give you a brisk visit, starting some small talk about your day to try to pry you open about how bad you're probably feeling. But if you show no signs of seeking someone out to confide in, he'll leave it at that and leave you to your own devices.

If you do choose to confide in Whiskey, he'll be ready to hear whatever you have to say. Venting or ranting to him won't shake him up in the slightest. He's had pretty rough business partners in the past likely much worse than any outburst you could possibly make. Would you like some comforting words? Advice? A distraction? Whiskey could probably find something to alleviate any undesirable feelings. His methods in calming down clients are flexible, depending on what they need. Your needs are no different.

He's a good talker and knows just how to ease someone out of an unhappy mood. He's calm and collected when talking to you, and his words are careful, sensitive to how you react to each sentence. Whiskey's good at keeping the peace when it counts. His neutral, undisturbed tone, as well as his stability and confidence to assist you in any means possible may help you feel less upset, too.

He's honestly so good at dealing with you that it feels suspicious, criminal. Oh, but you're his master. Whiskey insists that a simple chess piece like himself can only really do what he's supposed to, what he's commanded. He really doesn't mind what he does when it's you who asks him, especially when it's something as simple as comforting you after a bad day. Just know that if you ever need him again after another bad day, or a bad week, or even a bad month if it happens, he'll be there by your side to assist.

[triptanite]

Hand in bloodied hand

a little work in progress peak at a named durge tav X wyll piece I just whipped up

unfortunately nothing sexy in this other than some mild durge violence - I love contrasting personality pairings with coincidentally similar story beats so I feel like Wyll could have a really interesting dynamic with a durge. Timeline wise I'd imagine this is quite early into the journey, they're acquainted enough (and Wyll has his horns) but they aren't buddies just yet

enjoy :3

Pairing: Dark Urge Tav X Wyll Ravengard

Content warning/s: depictions of violence

MASTERLIST

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Wyll's right horn is slick with blood, his boots filthy with viscera, his hands calloused and bruised. But even so, he stands tall. Viis is quite certain that hesitation would be a foreign word on Wyll's tongue. Something catches in their throat as they watch him, a feeling they're not familiar enough with to verbalise.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

"Behind! To your right!"

There he is again, the Blade's shout like a beam of light in the darkness. Without taking their eyes off of Wyll, Viis swings and braces their short sword against their side. They heave backwards towards the sound of rattling chainmail. They grunt with the effort, hoping that Wyll considers that enough thanks for his help.

Wyll's right horn is slick with blood, his boots filthy with viscera, his hands calloused and bruised. But even so, he stands tall. Viis is quite certain that hesitation would be a foreign word on Wyll's tongue. Something catches in their throat as they watch him, a feeling they're not familiar enough with to verbalise. Wyll knows his body well, shifting his weight on his feet with the practiced agility of a ballroom veteran. His rapier strikes with a kind of delicate brutality, skewering vital organs, spilling only a reasonable amount of blood. Wyll's precision is as deadly as it is merciful; his unwavering confidence permits his enemies a quick death.

Viis kneels to pommel a creature that they don't care enough to identify with the butt of their sword, then pommels them again. The creature whines in agony, a pitiful plea to one of the gods. Viis exhales in short, rasping breaths, thirsty, devoid of moisture. They dampen their lips with the bloodied tip of their tongue, pierced by habit during combat. A gnarly cracking sound accompanies a few shallow gasps before Viis finally lands the killing blow; they spear through the creature's neck into the soil below with such force that it could be considered decapitation. This makes them smile, mouth stained with a smear of crimson.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

hope u enjoyed! I'd like to write a bit more of this later on, inspiration comes at the most inconvenient times

take care <3

[fellowpoet143]

I love how writing inspiration strikes me at the most inconvenient of times. I could be listening to a lecture, sitting in a waiting room, or trying to fall asleep at 2 am when I get an idea for a novel/shortstory/poem, and I say to myself "WRITE THAT DOWN WRITE THAT DOWN. GET IT ALL ON PAPER THIS INSTANT BECAUSE YOU WILL FORGET ALL OF IT LATER IF YOU DON'T" And so ties up the next hour or two of my day/night, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

[fanonplussed]

thanks @lu-sn for tagging me!

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason.

--

first fic ever published: Settling Down, Settling In

this was Beka Cooper post-canon fic from 2011 and also the only het fic i ever wrote lollll though i then proceeded to publish nothing else for 8 years, i do still have a lot of fondness for this fic, and for the many, many het YA fantasy novels that have shaped the way i read and write

last fic published: a patient kind of guy

actually i lied, there's het in this fic too...specifically comphet, and the explorations thereof (it's a Be My Favorite fic, specifically a Pisaeng character study, nuff said). actually really proud of this one cause i like to think this fic showcases how far i've come in terms of being able to write angst, smut, humour, longing, and complex themes all in one 6k word fic

any fic i wrote for a ship only once: Five Times Wen Qing Writes to Jiang Yanli

huh, turns out i write quite a lot of ships only once, but i'm particularly proud of this femslash fic, firstly because in general there's not enough femslash in the world, and secondly because the MDZS ladies in specific deserved better!! also there's an incredible podfic recorded by some incredible people for it and listening to that was the COOLEST FREAKING THING

favorite fic for ship with most works: Thirty Years of (Someone Else's) Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!

you know what, i loved this ship SO FUCKING MUCH and this was hands down the most joyful cracktastic fic i've ever written and it's all about THE MAGIC OF FRIENDSHIP and yeah, if i could pick one work to remember of everything i wrote for these boys, it would be this one. sigh.

fic i wish more people read: Dad Joke

speaking of joyful cracktastic fics about the magic of friendship lolllll Macau and Chay have so much potential to be INCREDIBLE together as romantic/platonic co-conspirators and i didn't even realise until i finished writing this fic--this legitimately started out with me wanting to have Macau yell "it's a dad joke" about calling Pete 'dad' and then i woke up from my 24 hour writing fugue state with new, inconvenient macauchay feels lol guess the joke is on me (also i sometimes read this fic again and still laugh at my own jokes and i'm v proud of that)

fic i agonized over the most: Starving, Faithful

okay i'm sure i agonised over The Long Road Across The Wilderness - 荒尘渡 too (42k words of yi city boys on a big bang deadline ><) but FUCKING HELL the sheer amount of SCREAMING i did about the vegaspete post-credits scene for Starving Faithful man, and how it didn't ALIGN THEMATICALLY with how i'd conceptualised vegaspete in chapters 1 through 4 with the HUNGER and the OWNERSHIP and i rewrote that ending scene SO many times (with very patient, intelligent handholding from my incredible beta) and in the end just kinda went fuck it and gave up lol tbh i still have no idea if it's as resonant or consistent as i wanted it to be but overall i think i did pretty okay with that fic anyway

fic that sprang fully formed from my mind: Seven Years

444 words of Xue Yang character study that just flowed out in like 10 minutes inspired by this piece of fanart, one of the coolest collab and writing experiences i've had because i'm a plotter so that's basically never happened to me before and has never happened to me again lol (maybe i should actively look for fanart i like to see if inspiration will strike again hmm...)

work i am proud of: all of them. genuinely. i worked hard on every single one of those fics and at least one person has enjoyed reading each one of those fics, and i dunno i just think that's really, really cool. fandom is really pretty special <3<3<3

--

tagging @ghost--houses and @giraffeter

[lineffability]

#32 for today's wip ask game!

What’s the funniest/strangest way that inspiration has struck you when writing fic?

usually it's the other way round i think, inspiration strikes me and THEN i want to write fic, and it's always, of course, at the most inconvenient of times. today i started typing a few sentences into my notes app in the queue at the supermarket and then i was so desperately trying to finish typing that the cashier was alr pulling my items and then i had to HUSTLe to get everything into my bag fast (which i am v good at - and cashier/customer battles are no joke here in germany!! beepbeepbepeepepepep goes your food) i prevailed!

[the-northern-oracle]

DAILY DEMON ORACLE READING

April 17th, 2023

Welcome to today's Oracle reading, an important message to you from the Universe! Please choose a demon card below and then proceed to receive your message.

Today's demons are:

Saleos/Sallos (Refreshment), Ose (Danger), Agares (Strength, Turmoil)

Let's begin!

SALEOS/SALLOS (REFRESHMENT)

You are entering a period where it will be important for you to look back on your past and learn from your mistakes, though don’t let them weigh you down. This is a time of spiritual renewal, with the possibility of new love on the horizon. You may have regrets that trouble you and are finding it difficult to move forward because you do not feel you are worthy of all that life has to give. Look at events happening around you and find inspiration in the blessings that are being offered to you. You have put in the effort to come as far as you have; now you can relax and take in the fruits of your labor. Learn to master your emotions and see yourself as deserving of good fortune so that, when disaster strikes, you will come to view it as an opportunity for growth rather than an inconvenience. Through these actions, you will find you are fully capable of healing your soul and finding peace along your journey.

OSE (DANGER)

You have recently been presented an opening which, on the surface, appears to be everything that you have been asking for. Be warned, though, that all may not be as it appears and there could be unexpected consequences to proceeding without foresight. Consider all advantages and disadvantages of taking this chance, for it has the potential to disrupt your life in ways that you are not quite ready for. Your own intuition will be your greatest ally and it is important that you take time for quiet contemplation before making your decision. It appears that there will be significant changes in your life regardless of whether you go forth or not, so carefully consider your position. No matter what choice you make or path you choose, conflict cannot be avoided but ultimately it will bring about opportunities for spiritual growth.

AGARES (STRENGTH, TURMOIL)

You may soon find yourself in a situation that pushes you to the edge and puts you on the brink of giving up. This will disrupt your emotional and mental well-being. It will be tempting to throw your hands up and give in to the chaos, but doing so will only serve to deepen your inner turmoil. You have resources available to you; taking time to rest and pamper yourself will give you the respite you need during this time. You will also find that your friends and loved ones are more supportive than you might give them credit for; don’t be afraid to lean on those who care about you and seek security in your relationships. It is also important that you find peace within yourself; you have what it takes to get through this. A solution will be found and the conflict will be resolved, leaving you with a better sense of self and closer bonds to the most important people in your life.