#it is healthy to have unfinished projects and it is healthy to have projects you will never finish

[ms-demeanor]

Hi, this is maybe a pointless question where the answer is just "that's how life works," but how do you have energy for all the things you do? You seem to be constantly juggling 50 different projects and juggling them well. You create so many community resources, do deep scientific dives on your own time, excel at work, plus maintain social and familial relationships. I was able to maintain good work performance, a hobby, and social life for maybe six months last year before I burned out

The thing is I'm juggling it badly, it's just that you see the curated version here on tumblr! I've got probably five times as many stalled and unfinished resources/projects as I have completed ones, I am in a constant state of numbness/anxiety at work (since the new company bought us I'm really, really overworked and have been putting in 10-12 hour days pretty regularly - it's why my posting and writing here has dropped off and my fiction writing is basically not happening), and I'm actually a pretty shit friend because it's difficult for me to make time to communicate with people and leave the house.

My two tricks to make it seem like I've got it together are:

Just do a lot of shit. Some of it will get finished even if you end up with a ton of abandoned projects and if you do this at a high enough volume you can still get a lot done

Join some kind of club or regular hangout event; once a month I go hang out with the same group of people i've been hanging out with for twenty years and sometimes we'll plan things outside of that group and that's most of my social life.

I am also exhausted at all times but I've got the shark version of ADHD where I feel like if I'm not doing something I'll die.

I am probably deeply in danger of burning out but I've had the same "maybe if I get hit by a car I could take a couple weeks off of school without it destroying my life" feeling since i was 10 so it's hard for me to gauge if there's a collapse of any kind coming.

Have you ever tried to get yourself to sprint by falling forward and just putting your feet in front of yourself? It's like that, but I've managed to keep my feet under me so far. I'd say "if I had to deal with any obstacles it would make me fall flat on my face" but I'm actually more productive in catastrophes so. Who knows!

Mental illness. I think the answer is mental illness. I am not a healthy example to follow and I don't want people to think that the way that I act is A) Normal B) Healthy C) Effortless D) Sustainable.

I am just obsessive and weird and I don't sleep very much and I don't leave the house very frequently. I think things were better before the pandemic, when I was doing things with the band and could go to shows because Large Bastard wasn't immune compromised, but a lot has changed in the last five years.

[fr04k1e]

GIGIS WORLD AU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AUGH

AAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH its not even fully done yet i still have like 4 other characters to make but honestly i might scrap or put this project on hiatus i have no motivation to work on it anymore sobs

i will give you guys the ideas i had for the characters i didnt end up making though, and the idea i had for the toon handlers.

Flutter - Gardener, works in the garden and grows/collects seasonings for the kitchen and decoration for the casino customers/staff

R&D - Casino Hosts, working directly with customers to make sure they want to return to the casino and ensuring they have a good experience.

Looey - A comedian/magician on the stage in the disco, a solo preformer. Magician by day and comedian during after hours

Pebble - A security dog working within every part of the casino, with his loud bark he can alert other security of unwanted guests, and using his sharp teeth he can hold them down long enough to deal with them.

Cosmo - A chef in the kitchen, working along with shrimpo. He specializes in pastries, but can also cook other, more healthy foods if needed.

ok thats about it for the toons i didnt end up getting to design. ill ramble more about the actual lore here if anyone cares about that LOL. keep in mind i got like almost nowhere with this so its very VERY vauge and unfinished also im not a good writer whoops

' the basic idea is that the casino had been running fine up untill they had faced a lawsuit, causing them to shut down everything and abandon the casino. Since the toons had been made specifically for the casino they had just been left in there to handle themselves. Eventually, one of the toons had grown curious and decided to tear down one of the machines. After ripping open the back of the machine, black ooze leaked out and covered the bottom of their feet. Not thinking much of it and assuming it was just oil of some kind, they continued, getting the liquid all over their hands and face, along with their legs. After tearing open the machine, they had found little to nothing of interest and left to get themselves cleaned up. However, when they tried to wipe the goo off, it wouldnt budge and instead had covered more of their body. After a short while, they began to feel hollow on the inside and an ache in their bones, what happened afterwards had become contagious and slowly began to infect the whole casino. '

TOON HANDLERS!! they have a whole new purpose here. They work mostly as managers for the toons, each handler has their own line of work and toons to keep track of and train, only 4 have designs tho lol. IGNORE the reindeer names i couldnt think of anything else ok

ok so IN ORDER

Harvey - the bartender, he works with Rodger, Dandy and Sprout. often exhausted, but not rude by any means. mostly quiet and closed off

Prancer - the director, works with Glisten, Poppy, Boxten, Shelly and Looey. a jumpy cheery fella, mostly looking to have fun and trying to be as positive as she can be. bigender monarch

Doner - the (old) director/beauty worker, used to work with Glisten, Poppy, Boxten, Shelly and Teagan, but had been fired after a long time working there due to extreme mistreatment of his toons. although he was closed off, he never seemed to be too angry or aggressive towards other handlers, but when a toon would mess up or act out he would become ruthless without the other handlers knowledge.

Rudolf - the chef, works with Shrimpo, Cosmo and Flutter. a happy and cocky chef who tries his best to make his job entertaining and teaches his toons in more extreme fun ways.

there SHOULDVE been way more but as i said before i dont have motivation to work on this anymore lmao. also glisten canonically has BPD in this my #bpdwarrior

TAG ME IN FANART OR IF YOU DECIDE TO EXTEND THIS AU A LITTLE BIT!! ID LOVE TO SEE IT my twitter is @d1spatches and my tiktok is @0tt3rpaw

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Oh no. Sir I believe I'm going to need you to explain that Dragon Age 2 opinion, that is a BLAZING hot take

I really don't think it is. Although of course all of this is personal opinion, not some sort of divine proclamation on high about which video games people are allowed to prefer, so take please it in the spirit it is offered.

Origins is a worldbuilding walking tour as much about explaining its own in-universe lore and fantasy history as it is about either its characters or the actual story that is happening in the game. It's a cool world! With some great lore! But also it is built entirely around Generic Fantasy Plot Structure #1 and never particularly seems interested in innovating, or surprising the player. On top of which, a lot of its setting and lore is pretty weakly sketched and doesn't really get developed into something either visually or narratively compelling until it gets built out in later games.

And while Inquisition has some genuinely fantastic characters, everything else about the game suffers very badly from the plague of BioWare Magic™, i.e. the production was an absolute mess up until the last minute when five hundred extremely overworked and underpaid creative geniuses somehow managed to wring a functional experience out of the trainwreck. It was made with fucking Frostbite of all things, jesus christ, it's holding together with spit and duct tape.

Now, Dragon Age 2 shares a bunch of the problems of Origins and Inquisition. It too bears the hallmarks of "our executives couldn't plan a healthy game production cycle if their lives depended on it" with a lot of unfinished content, half-assed sidequests and a truly frustrating over-reliance on a combat system that isn't half as engaging to use as it needed to be.

But Dragon Age 2 also has something neither of its siblings could ever even hope to match: an actual compelling protagonist.

Like, listen, I know people adore their headcanons about their Wardens and Inquisitors, and it has made for some truly amazing fanworks, but Hawke is literally the only actual character out of all of them. Hawke has conflicts, problems, needs and drives that actually inform and push the story forward, they have a family and a history and a reason to give a sh** about the central conflict of the narrative.

In Origins and Inquisition both, your character becomes the main character of the story entirely because of fate and random chance. You are the Chosen One and you are the only one who can Save The World because you're the last of the super special elite fantasy Hero Squad, or because you got some green magic stuck in your hand by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because the character is a complete blank slate onto which the player is expected to project themselves, random chance and circumstance are the only tools the plot can use to position them as main characters. There is no character to drive them to it.

In Dragon Age 2, Hawke becomes the champion because they're trying to build a new life for their family in Kirkwall, and end up embroiled in the chaos and politics that befall the city as a natural consequence of living in it and dealing with the conditions of it. Hawke and their family's needs and wants drive their actions, and push them to engage in endeavors that influence the course of history. They have agency (in the conceit of the narrative, at least) over how their life turns out, they make choices that have consequences, rather than being dictated into the position of Main Character by a literal looming apocalypse that permits no other course of action.

And I'm not about to sit here and claim that Dragon Age 2's story is perfect or that every character is a masterpiece or that every plotline is amazing. No, there's plenty of scuff and jank and things that have aged poorly and unresolved plot threads and all the rest of it.

And I am definitely not forgetting the godsdamned DLC where BioWare threw it all overboard by inventing a Special Bloodline Plot where oops it turns out Hawke actually IS a special chosen one specially chosen by a special fate to have a special role in Saving The World because they're special because of fate and destiny and blah blah, I still think that was phenomenally stupid (especially when Corypheus wasn't even Hawke's goddamn main villain to deal with what was any of this supposed to add to their character ffs BioWare)

But even with all its problems, the simple fact that Hawke is a character you can give a shit about independent of your own projection as a player - the fact that Hawke isn't just an empty bland blank slate with no personality, no traits, no wants or needs or drives - that has made Dragon Age 2 infinitely more memorable to me than either Origins and Inquisition. I think about it to this day. I think about Hawke to this day. I care about what happens to the character in a way that I just simply could never bring myself to do with either my Wardens or my Inquisitors.

[driflew]

dare i say treesekai

ilex you've seen this one already but it's basically all i have. one of the unfinished/unposted treesekai 2 scenes i started and never finished. even opens w the last two lines of the end of actual treesekai bc thats how webcomics are—opening w the last two panels of the previous episode

Ren glances down to the fabric of his glove—still in tact—and then covers the kiss with his other hand. 

The knight may have been right. His engagement may be in danger, after all. 

—

Ren is… distracted. 

It’s not entirely his fault. A lot goes into planning a wedding, especially one on the royal scale. Of course he’d end up a little overwhelmed, a little more scattered than normal. Bdubs has no interest in helping him—Hell, Ren had hardly been able to find proof of the man’s existence since the engagement party three days ago. 

It doesn’t bother him. Really, it doesn’t. Not when he’s got more pressing matters, like the wedding. Or their dealings with their neighboring kingdoms. Or the knight. 

…Especially the knight. 

Really, Ren can’t be faulted for taking a walk to clear his head. Breaks and days of rest are healthy for the mind, too. And it looks good on the King to pay attention to the affairs of his castle. There are a lot of perfectly valid reasons for Ren to stop by the royal guard’s training grounds for a while. And honestly, it can’t hurt to step out into the yard and chat with a few of his knights—learn some names, get a better look at some faces, see if he recognizes any voices. 

After nearly two dozen awkward, stilted conversations with hesitant, unfamiliar knights, Ren leaves. 

Even though he’s aware no one realizes he was looking for someone, he’s embarrassed. He feels… stood up, almost, though he might be projecting. The wound of the engagement party is still fresh in his mind, after all—waiting for nearly an hour in the hall for his fiancé, only to find the man already inside, surrounded in happy, touchy guests. 

Ren still stings. 

Dwelling on the memory is probably why Ren isn’t looking where he’s going, which is why he walks right into someone. The man stumbles back, off balance, and Ren doesn’t think twice about grabbing his waist to catch him. 

“Uh,” the man says. He’s blond, with a black headband tied around his forehead. His hair is damp, as is the front of his shirt, and he smells like he’s been exercising. Ren doesn’t think he saw the man outside, though his features seem somehow familiar. Ren stares a moment, trying to figure out where he’s seen the man, only to watch as his face grows steadily redder and redder. 

“Your majesty?” the man almost squeaks, and Ren remembers himself. He drops the man’s waist, letting him fall entirely to the floor. 

“Sorry! I thought you’d caught yourself!” Ren says, holding his hand out to help the man to his feet. 

Only when the man’s fingers are held in Ren’s own does Ren recognize him. How could he not, after all, recognize the same hand seared so clearly into his memory?

“You’re the knight from the engagement party,” Ren gasps, and the man Ren has spent the last few nights lying awake thinking about blanches. 

“I, uh,” he fumbles, “There were a lot of knights at the engagement party.”

“But only one who spoke to me in the hall,” Ren says, pulling the man to his feet, “Only one who told me he’d give me a hand.” Ren clasps the man’s hand in both of his own, staring into his eyes, “Only one whose name I’d like to know.”

The knight stares at him, seemingly unaware of his mouth hanging open. Ren would feel guilty, but if he didn’t want to be left in shock, then maybe he shouldn’t have done it to Ren first. 

“Martyn!” calls another voice. The man’s head snaps over, and Ren knows his name—Martyn, the knight from the engagement party; Martyn, the stranger bold enough to call out the king’s foolish optimism to his face; Martyn, the only man in the world who wants Ren to be happy. 

“There you are! When you ran off like that—” another man runs through, skidding down the hall, “Your majesty?!”

This knight, Ren does know—his name is Skizzleman, though most people call him Skizz. Martyn drops Ren’s hand as Skizz stops beside them, looking anywhere but Ren’s face. 

“Hello, Sir Skizzleman,” Ren greets.

“Hello, your majesty!” Skizz bows in greeting. When Martyn doesn’t copy the motion, Skizz not-so-subtly elbows him in the side. 

“Sorry, your majesty, don’t mind him,” Skizz explains. He stands up, then smacks Martyn’s head down into a bow, “He has a head injury.”

“A head injury? How did you sustain that?” Ren asks, concerned. 

“I… don’t remember?”

“It was a very bad injury,” Skizz adds, with a sage nod. He releases Martyn, who rubs at the back of his head as he straightens up again. 

“Are you alright now?” Ren asks. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Martyn glances to Skizz, “Mostly. It’s nothing you need to worry yourself with, King Ren.”

[wttcsms]

excerpts;

i have over 100k+ words in unfinished drafts/wips in my google docs. yikes.

in an attempt to gauge general interest + also to motivate myself in attempting to at least finish half of the projects i've started, i'm going to share some of the fics i think y'all will be most interested in 🤍 (and also because these are my usual first rough draft attempts, so these are just the best of the worst LOL)

as always, lmk what you think, what you're most excited for, and i'm always open to chatting about any of my concepts in depth 🤭

featuring keiji akaashi, atsumu miya, sae itoshi, tobio kageyama, naoya zenin, satoru gojo, + a plot that's still open for any character so tell me why ur fave deserves it (all with fem reader)

— brace for impact, keiji akaashi elevator pitch: rich college girl with daddy issues is roommates/put under the care of old-time family friend, 20-something y/o keiji akaashi

“I just don’t want you to waste your life away.” He answers, which is the truth. He really hates picking you up when you’re drunk off your ass, unable to defend yourself against the swarms of sleazy college guys that are attending the same party as you. He hates the fact that you’ve been raised — if the dozen father-daughter interactions you had with your dad counts as him “raising” you — to believe that money can solve all your problems. Because, sure, having money has gotten you out of many tight spots, but it wasn’t money that drove to a college on the other side of the city to pick you up, it was him. He has to stand here and watch you push the universe’s boundaries, trying to test your luck, to see if there’s a problem or a bad situation that you can’t get out of this time. You’re reckless and privileged and insecure and rich — the deadliest combination for any college age girl to be. You’re going to ruin your life before it even fully begins. It’s like your default mode is self destruction. 

“Not this speech again.” You sigh, shifting your body so that your knees are turned towards the door instead of him. “Y’know, Akaashi, you’re not my dad.” 

“Yeah, because unlike him, I actually care about you.”

You’re silent now, still staring out the window. He’s usually better at keeping his mouth shut, but it’s hard to do whenever you’re constantly pushing and pushing and testing his patience and he’s just so—

“—sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. It’s a wonder how the words leave his mouth; you think the way he’s clenching his teeth acts as a formidable enough boundary. 

Actually, you think, it’s entirely justifiable. You’re coy, not dumb. You know when you’ve pushed Akaashi too far, and this is one of those times. And, really, you kind of — scratch that — you do deserve it. All of it. And then some. You’re irresponsible, and you drag him out to the other side of the city so he can act as your guardian, your protector, even though that is most certainly not the role he planned on playing. Honestly, you’re just surprised that he hasn’t left you out to rot like everyone else, and you’re thankful, you really are. But what are you supposed to say? That? The truth? Probably. 

You don’t, though. You just mutter some weak ass retort that sounds an awful lot like “you need to get laid” before staring out the window for the rest of the ride. 

— devil on my shoulder tellin' me i'll die soon (i don't really want that to impact you), atsumu miya elevator pitch: yakuza au but a healthy amount of porn and plot. sequel to this.

The first time Osamu Miya meets you, you’re unconscious, and he has a feeling you’d be grateful about this fact considering the state you’re in. 

Atsumu’s carrying you bridal style, and even in your sleep, you still cling to him. The sight would be almost sweet, but Osamu’s not an idiot. There can never be anything sweet in his dear older brother’s life. Even in the pale moonlight, Osamu can see the bruises and hickeys lining your neck, a trail of them that seem to disappear underneath your clothes (he wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a map of hickeys littering your skin). Your hair is sticking up at odd angles, your lips are swollen, and you are knocked out in every sense of the word. 

If the situation wasn’t serious (even without verbal confirmation, he’s well aware of how dire this situation is right now; Atsumu wouldn’t have visited him if it weren’t), Osamu thinks he would have made a comment about his brother’s rough handling. 

(He doesn’t, though, because Osamu knows all about just how rough his brother can get — after all, they both had the same upbringing.) 

“‘Samu,” Atsumu says, and his voice makes him sound like he’s worse for wear. He sounds like when he was fourteen and had his first taste of initiation, when a group of the strongest men would beat him relentlessly for thirty seconds and he wasn’t allowed to fight back. The crack in his voice is subtle, and even though Osamu rarely speaks to his brother anymore, he’s still a master at reading him. 

“Who’s the girl?” Osamu nods to your sleeping form, trying not to focus on the purple and red marks. God, he can’t tell if he, Atsumu, you, or all three of you are lucky it’s so dark. Osamu can’t really believe it’s possible to go out in public after a night with his brother; not without being on the receiving end of a few concerned looks. 

“I need a favor.” Atsumu ignores his question, which is typical behavior for him, so Osamu’s not entirely too surprised or annoyed. “She’s in danger, and it’s—” 

Atsumu grimaces like the next words he’s about to say are going to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. And maybe it’s because that’s his brother and they grew up together, or maybe it’s because ‘Tsumu’s always been a little predictable (or has Osamu just always been good at predicting?), but Osamu can almost mouth what his brother’s about to say.

“—my fault.” 

So, you must be someone awfully important to his brother then. Important enough that Atsumu would finally visit him in person after all these years (with barely any warning beforehand, too). Important enough that Atsumu would treat you so roughly (if the marks on your body are any indication of what you’ve been through) and still care about you so deeply. Important enough that he’s finally taking accountability, finally taking the blame for his actions.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Atsumu’s left him genuinely speechless for a moment. 

“Please, ‘Samu.” Atsumu Miya is not the type of person who breaks down easily. He does not beg, he commands. But right now, Atsumu sounds like he’s this close to getting down on his knees and clasping his hands together if that’s what it’ll take to get Osamu to help him. “You told me you would owe me after what I did for you. Consider this your repayment.” 

Apparently, you’re someone so important to Atsumu, he’s cashing in a favor that’s worth his life just to ensure your safety. Osamu can’t tell if that’s true idiocy or true love — then again, there’s hardly a difference between the two, is there? 

“Idiot. I would have helped ya regardless, y’know.” He means it. Every word. 

“I know.” And Atsumu means it, too. Because even if they’ve went years with little to no contact, even though they both belong to two completely different worlds, they’re still brothers. Which means that they also know each other as well as they know themselves, and Atsumu knows that Osamu can never truly be at peace until he feels like the completely imaginary debt he owes is paid back in full. 

The universe must have a taste for irony, though, because Atsumu thought that ensuring your safety and bringing his brother peace would make him feel good. Instead, transferring you to his brother’s arms allows the weight of the world to rest more comfortably on his shoulders. 

Osamu takes one last look at his older brother, and he’s not entirely surprised to see that his attention is on you, dark eyes staring so intensely at your sleeping figure, he wonders if he’s trying to commit your face to his memory. He’s worried about Atsumu. Sure, he’s got a whole entire gang on his side, a rather powerful one too, but ‘Tsumu’s never been the greatest at being left alone to his devices, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

But then Atsumu looks up at him, and Osamu feels like they’re both fourteen again. Trapped, vulnerable, in immense pain… But not alone, never alone. 

“Thanks, ‘Samu.” 

“Any time, ‘Tsumu.” 

(It’s the same words exchanged by their teenage selves years ago, whenever Osamu would help him clean his cuts and sloppily stitch him up.

To them, it was another way of saying “I love you”.)

— it always leads to you [chapter one], sae itoshi elevator pitch: literally the long ass, long awaited start to this series. if you listened to taylor's new album (ttpd)... yeah, that's basically the new soundtrack for this fic. do what u will with that info <3

A hard pill to swallow is that people never get over their first loves. 

It’s like, scientifically proven, or something. There’s been studies, you think. Not to mention that you belong to the group of people who have never gotten over their first loves. 

You’re aware that it’s probably embarrassing and should be something that brings you shame, but when Sae comes knocking on your door, infrequent, surprise visits that always catch you off-guard, you find yourself opening the door for him. 

(He has a key. He can let himself in any time he wants. You think he must forget.)

This time, he’s not knocking on your door, but he is waiting in the stairwell near the entrance to the floor of your apartment. He’s got a baseball cap on and a dark sweatshirt, and you want to tell him that everyone who lives here is most definitely getting shitfaced at the college bar you just left (the one whose only redeeming qualities are that it’s by campus and the drinks are cheap). He doesn’t have to worry about hiding his identity. 

You frown when he approaches you. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you pout and complain about this halfheartedly, but it’s all for nothing. Sae never tells you when he’s coming; it’s almost like you’re just a spur-of-the-moment decision to him, which doesn’t feel right since the Sae you grew up with was always meticulous and purposeful with his actions. Granted, the Sae you grew up with left on a plane to an entirely different continent four years ago, and the one you have standing next to you now sometimes feels more like a doppelganger than your ex-boyfriend. 

He doesn’t answer, because of course he fucking wouldn’t. He waits for you to fumble with your keys; if you knew he was coming, you wouldn’t have let Akane convince you to take as many shots as you did. Now everything is kind of blurry and hazy, and your hands shake despite the lack of coldness you’re feeling. 

You delude yourself into thinking that there’s something of the old Sae left inside of him as he gently pries the keys from your fumbling fingers and unlocks the door to your apartment himself. 

Entering your apartment feels like traveling in a time machine, only instead of traveling back in time or to the future, Sae is entering a present-day parallel universe. This apartment, with its best (and only) amenity being a short distance from campus, could have been his. Could have been shared by the two of you, even. 

If he had stayed, that is.

Sometimes Sae ponders what his life would be like if he stuck around. If he had never had the ego or the audacity to want to see more of the world. You know better than to ask him why he never visits you when you’re on a holiday break from school, and he thinks it’s because you still know him the best out of anybody, even Rin. The truth is, Sae is too uncomfortable to come crawling back to his childhood home that he grew up in, the one he’s spent years determined to grow out of. He only comes back home when absolutely necessary — out of eldest son/family obligation. 

This college apartment, seeing remnants of a life you’re living that he doesn’t know much about (even though all he has to do is ask, and you would gladly tell), feels wrongly nostalgic. Like, the sweatshirt lying haphazardly on the couch displaying a big, fat Tokyo U logo on its front could have been his instead of your roommate’s. He could have played college ball instead of trying to get recruited directly to the big leagues. Sae’s good enough to get a scholarship. Even received a letter informing him that Tokyo U would be more than glad to have him, full-ride. 

(The letter resides in the back of his closet, crumpled up but never forgotten.) 

And, most importantly, you wouldn’t be looking at him like this. 

Even drunk off of cheap alcohol, you sober up startlingly fast when you see him. You shouldn’t give him so much power over your life, but he’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t relish in the overwhelming relief that you still love him just the same. Nothing ever changes back home, and he says this with disdain, but when it comes to your unshifting affection for him, he figures staying the same can’t be all bad.

“Y’know, it always feels like you’re judging me when you just stand there and look at everything.” An intoxicated you is an honest you. If he wasn’t so determined to mask everything about himself, he would have smiled at your admittance. 

He doesn’t smile, though. He just continues to let his cold eyes roam across the entirety of your cramped, college apartment.

— an indentation in the shape of you, tobio kageyama elevator pitch: idol!reader who goes into hiding after a major scandal despite being the victim x pro!tobio who's been hopelessly pining after you since forever. now you're in hiding, but also living in the apartment right across from his.

SEARCH NEWS: [NAME] [SURNAME] > TOP RESULTS (SORTED FROM MOST TO LEAST RECENT)

WHERE DID [NAME] [SURNAME] GO? *INCLUDES EXCLUSIVE PHOTO OF HER MOST RECENT SIGHTING!*Posted on March 10, 2019

[NAME]’S SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN, IDOL HAS NOT BEEN SPOTTED IN A WEEK Posted on January 4, 2019   BREAKING: [NAME] [SURNAME] GOES SOLO! LEAVES IDOL GROUP TO START HER OWN CAREER! Posted November 6, 2018

KENTARO TANAKA NOW DATING J-POP IDOL AYAME MATSUMOTO, [NAME]’S FELLOW GIRL GROUP MEMBER!Posted on November 1, 2018

AFTER RECEIVING BACKLASH FROM ANNOUNCEMENT OF HER RELATIONSHIP, [NAME] [SURNAME] ISSUES AN APOLOGY ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS Posted on September 3, 2018

NEW COUPLE ALERT! IDOL [NAME] AND HER RECORD LABEL’S EXECUTIVE, KENTARO TANAKA, SPARK DATING RUMORS Posted on August 16, 2018

When you spend most of your adolescent and young adult years standing in front of a camera, constantly served on a platter for the masses to scrutinize during your most formative years, you get used to being seen. People’s eyes locked in on you isn’t a comfortable feeling, but it’s one you’re very well acquainted with. Watchful, judging gazes cling to you like a second skin. 

It comes with the job is what your personal manager, Fumiko Gima, tells you, right before she tells you to toughen up. You had been fifteen at the time and saw a blogger discussing how you were the least attractive cast member on the children’s ensemble show you starred in. 

All eyes are on you from this point forward. You really going to let them see you cry? Fumiko is not a nice person, but she is incredibly kind, in her own way. She’s the type of person who believes in tough love, all while claiming that she doesn’t even think love exists. 

You think about the disapproving frown on her face when you revealed your relationship with Kentaro Tanaka. 

“You think you’re in love with him?” Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Fumiko is barely seven years older than you. Her youth is evident in her flawless skin and shiny hair (both of which are maintained by very meticulous routines), but the flat expression she wears on her face makes her seem like a woman who found out the hard way that her thirties are not going the way she planned. You’re eighteen when she asks you this question, and you don’t know how a twenty-five year old woman can have such an intimidating aura, but you think that only adds to her beauty. 

“He told me he loves me.” 

“People like him and I don’t believe in love.” Fumiko makes a face; sometimes, she lets her poker face drop in favor of making a face of disgust, annoyance, irritation, or extreme smugness. Right now, she looks disgusted. “Well, I wouldn’t normally place myself in the same group as him, but our industries are pretty much the same. You don’t get to where we’re at because of love, that’s for damn certain.” 

At this point in time, you’re adamant that it’s love because that’s what he says it is, and you’ve never been in love before, but you know that it’s something great. You’re eighteen, and insecure, and he’s in such a powerful position — he could have anyone he wants, and he loves you, so he picks you. Maybe Fumiko is just bitter because no one’s ever chosen her. 

— angel of the morning, atsumu miya elevator pitch: historical, ambiguous war au ft. soldier!atsumu x the civilian sweetheart reader who nurses him back to health

It’s the thunder that wakes you first. 

Lately, you’ve been a light sleeper. Paranoia is a good companion whenever you’re a young, pitifully unmarried lady who lives alone. You keep a chair propped under the knob of the front door, and you no longer open any windows, scared that you’ll forget to lock them at night. 

Normally, it’s the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, or the creaks that come and interrupt the silence of the night (your parents used to swear that old houses just make those noises) that keeps you up. Sometimes it’s the neighbors next door; they like to get into screaming matches that seem to be so loud, they shake the walls of your home. 

It’s not your neighbors’ arguing that rattles the walls tonight. It’s the thunderstorm that the sweet old man at the farmer’s market warned you about. You be safe out, miss. Take some extra apples. It might be too flooded for you to go out like you normally do. 

You pull your blanket over your head, enveloping yourself in darkness but doing very little to block out the noise outside. The thunder seems to only grow louder, each boom punctuating the lightning that you’re certain is striking through the sky. It’s too loud. 

And rhythmic. 

You listen closer… Three booms in succession. A pause. Three more booms. After a minute of this pattern, the sound only comes more rapidly — louder than before, too. 

The loud booms — it’s not from the storm, then. 

There’s someone knocking at your door. 

You debate hiding under the blanket forever. Maybe this stranger will go away and leave once they realize that no one is going to answer the door. Besides, no one trustworthy is roaming the area at this time of night, right? What possible explanation could there be for someone to be stranded outside at midnight during a major thunderstorm? 

But the knocking persists. Whoever this stranger is, they don’t know when to quit. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so paralyzed with fear. 

“Open up!” A muffled voice still manages to cut through the front door, traveling all the way to your bedroom. It only serves to make you more afraid; what sort of monster is waiting for you outside? The storm rages on, and the knocking won’t stop. 

What happens if this person is in genuine trouble? Would a murderer truly be going through such lengths to kill someone? A thief? 

Well, you rationalize, it’s not as if you have many items worth stealing. Besides, you have no family, no marriage prospects, and a dwindling stash of money with no means to make more. You’re just existing at this point, and you’re surviving on limited time.

So you make your way to the front door, cringing as one section of the floor creaks as you tiptoe through the darkness of your home. You highly doubt the stranger outside can hear you, but you still hold your breath as you peek through the curtains. It’s too dark inside and out for anyone to notice the movement, and all you can make out is a large figure. There’s a knapsack by their feet and hanging off their shoulder is a gun. 

The knocks shouldn’t catch you off guard by now, but one particular hard bang against the door has you jumping in surprise, away from the window. 

This stranger must be a soldier. 

There’s not a lot of fighting to be done down here. The southern towns have mostly been unaffected. Most of the war is being fought up north. All the southern soldiers write back home, telling stories about the cities they visited, careful not to mention the red that runs through the streets and the way the citizens will have to update the population count on the sign outside their City Hall. 

But still, you know what everyone knows — when a soldier, especially one from your side, shows up on your front step, you better let him know that this home is now his. 

You slide the deadbolt with shaky hands, turn the lock on the doorknob, and only hesitate for a few seconds before removing the chair that serves as your last barrier. He’s a soldier, you remind yourself, hoping that you’re not wrong. The least you can do for him is offer him a hot bath for leaving him outside for so long. 

You open the door, revealing a blond-haired soldier weighed down from the weight of his sopping wet uniform, his hair sticking to his forehead because his face is also covered in rainwater, and it’s now that you notice that he’s got one arm wrapped around his abdomen. His hand is pressing down on his side, and you don’t think the dark liquid coating his fingers is water. 

“Finally.” He says. “I’m First Lieutenant Miya, and I fight for the south. I am seeking temporary refuge in your home, and I require only what you can afford to give me. I–“ Before he can finish rattling off what he’s been forced to memorize for times like these, First Lieutenant Miya falls forward, his body crashing into yours. 

It’s been a rough day. 

A rough week. 

A rough month.

A rough life, really, but Atsumu Miya’s long past the days of whining and complaining about things he can’t control. For example, he no longer dwells on his father abandoning his mother right before she gave birth to him and Osamu. There’s still a bitter taste that gets left on his tongue when he mentions dear old pa, which is why, for the most part, he chooses not to discuss him at all. He can’t control the way the north and the south view each other; sure, the mandatory draft isn’t his definition of a fun time, but he honestly didn’t have many plans after school, anyway. He probably would’ve joined the cause, regardless of the law or not. It’s just… A choice is nice to have, y’know? 

Like, if he had it his way, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in some ambush tonight. If only he weren’t just a lieutenant. If only his captain weren’t such a dumbass.

If he had a group to command, Atsumu’s certain that he wouldn’t lead his men into obvious traps, unlike some captains. But newly promoted Brigadier General Kita isn’t here to force people to listen to what Atsumu has to say. Kita has bigger problems to worry about, bigger troops to organize. 

Atsumu’s morning starts off bright and early with a five mile trek in the woods. The sky is overcast, and anyone with eyes is capable of predicting the storm that’s coming. Atsumu suggests building temporary shelter before the rain makes it too hard to walk; it’s already hard enough to navigate now, but Atsumu’s visited this town before, when he was a little boy. It floods easily, too easily. 

His captain doesn’t listen. Typical.

Around noon, they take a short break to eat. Rations are getting lower. Atsumu suggests that two or three soldiers turn around and head towards town to get supplies. His captain argues that their group is already small enough and sneers that Atsumu must be a northie lover since he’s trying so hard to sabotage this plan. 

The plan is shit, by the way. The captain swears his intel is good, that he’s just oh so certain that a troop of northern soldiers are planning to invade a series of small southern towns. They’re supposedly cutting through the woods to be discreet, and they plan on striking at night.

Atsumu thinks that the captain is just falling into their trap (spoiler: he’s right). There’s no way anyone would bother capturing small towns, just like there’s no way people ever want to listen to someone who’s just a lieutenant. Nobody thinks they have anything to offer, so it’s not worth the time to even pretend to care. These towns aren’t loaded with resources. They aren’t located in any coveted areas. There are only a couple of farms, but even then, they’re not big enough to justify wasting troops to terrorize the townspeople. 

But First Lieutenant Miya follows his orders anyway because what else is he supposed to do? Unfortunately, talking back comes to bite him in the ass because as nighttime starts to settle and the first drops of rain start to fall, his captain gives him a slimy smile before telling him, “Since you have such great ideas, Lieutenant, why don’t you go ahead and turn back into town to get us some of those supplies we needed?”

Well, Atsumu has a few choice words in reply, none of which will get him back into his captain’s good graces (not like he cares to be anyway). Atsumu can argue that it’s dark out, and no one in their right mind is going to be up at night. Atsumu can throw back his captain’s words and remind him that their measly team is already lacking in numbers. He can make the captain look dumb and ask him where the supposed enemy troops are at, since apparently they’re supposed to be capturing the town right about now. He can abandon the men, go back home, and enjoy a homecooked meal from ma. She wouldn’t care enough to scold him for being a dirty deserter; the lecture will come, surely, but she wouldn’t be too harsh with him. Atsumu misses home. He misses his brother, who belongs to a different troop. He misses Shinsuke, his former captain. He misses his mom. 

What he does end up doing, though, is biting back his tongue. He barely nods, clenches his teeth as he reluctantly says yes, sir, and treks off on his own. 

He’s about three miles in when the bullets start flying. 

Isn’t this just a lovely way to finish off the night, he thinks, before sprinting through the trees, weaving between them, trying to ignore how loud and how close the shots sound. He thinks he’ll probably go deaf by the time this damn war is over. A bullet narrowly misses his face, and then he starts to think he’ll probably be dead before then.

He can’t see. If he can’t see, he doubts the enemies can, either. That’s when he gets an idea. His legs are sore, he’s thirsty, and every step he takes is punctuated by a sloshing sound because the area is flooding, just like he predicted it would.

(Sometimes it’s a pain being right all the time.)

The shots are still coming at him in rapid succession, and he believes maybe it’s because they still think they have to shoot at him. If they think they got him, maybe they’ll leave him alone. It didn’t sound like anyone was bothering to chase after him, meaning they’re all probably perched in trees or hiding in bushes, shooting blindly into the night, hoping to land a lucky shot on a target. 

Before he can pretend to be hit, though, some bastard does get a lucky shot on him.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but yell out, the bullet piercing the side of his abdomen. A burning sensation begins to form on the spot where the bullet decided to make its happy home, and Atsumu can’t help but fall to the ground, clutching at the bottom half of his body. 

A minute goes by with no more shooting, and he’s glad he’s in enough pain not to realize that had he thought of his little plan of pretending to be shot sooner, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. 

It’d be so easy just to lie down and die. It’d be a slow death, sure. Painful, very much so. But no more fighting. No more captains belittling him. 

But if you die, a tiny voice in his head reminds him, it wouldn’t just be you that dies. It’d kill ma. It would ruin Osamu. Don’t be a selfish bastard. 

He allows himself only one more minute to stay absolutely still. He thinks the adrenaline pumping in his system helps to numb the pain, which is saying a lot, considering the fact that death would be preferable over this excruciating sensation. When he’s certain the coast is clear, he struggles to stand and keep himself steady.

He cannot die like this. 

Atsumu Miya knows better than to get upset at things he can’t control. He can’t control flying bullets aimed at him. He can’t control enemy soldiers; hell, he doesn’t even have soldiers he can control, enemy or ally. He can’t control a lot of shitty things that seem to happen to him, but as long as his heart is still beating, Atsumu Miya controls his own fate. He decides what happens next. 

It’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, he rationalizes. He walks all the time. It’s not such a hard task. The storm continues to rage on, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t even mind the water. He pretends that he’s not freezing. He pretends that he doesn’t care that his uniform is sticking to his body, making the dirty fabric cling onto him as if to act as a second skin. 

There’s a white flag in his knapsack. During training, they said to use it as a last resort. Die before you wave it, or something like that. 

He knows the intended use for it, but right now, he needs it as a tourniquet. He tightens the flag around his waist, using all his diminishing strength to get it as tight as possible. He can trick himself into thinking it’ll stop the flow of blood leaving his body, but at least it’ll slow it down. It’ll grant him enough time to make it into town and get help. 

He doesn’t choose the first house he sees; he chooses the one he likes the best. It’s nothing all too impressive — certainly not the biggest, but from what he can make out in the dark, it looks quaint. It reminds him of home, almost. There’s a porch with a bench outside and flowers on a window sill. It seems to glow in the darkness of the town, its paint a much brighter shade than the surrounding houses. A nice family must live here then. 

He knocks on the door, and there is no answer. Atsumu Miya did not walk this far with his life literally draining out of him to only make it this far. He knocks and knocks, and because he is too stubborn, even to the very end, he doesn’t quit. Someone must answer the door. It doesn’t cross his mind that perhaps this lovely family he’s envisioning might not even be home. It feels like ages since he first started banging on this door, and he thinks this might be it.

And then the door swings open, revealing a young lady with a certain glow about her. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but right now, you look like an absolute angel. His bright beacon of hope. 

“Finally.” He swallows hard, trying to remember what he’s supposed to tell you. The proper words are evading him right now. Honestly, even standing is a struggle now. He thinks he does a good enough job, but then he blinks, and his eyes don’t open back up after that.

— to the victor belong the spoils, naoya zenin elevator pitch: the dark longfic i mentioned abt borderline yandere naoya + how he basically slaughtered your whole entire clan and is going to force you to marry him because you have a cursed technique that will basically grant him invincibility

“Who did this?” You’ve seen Naoya so angry that his words seemed to shake the very interior of the room he was shouting in. You’ve seen Naoya so furious that he had everyone in his vicinity cowering in fear, scared to face his merciless wrath. Never have you seen him so enraged that he can hardly speak, the sentence coming out from between bared teeth; they’re discernible growls more than they are words, but his message doesn’t need to be understood in order to know his intent. 

Naoya Zenin is out for blood. 

“Tell me who did this.” He demands, hand gripping your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up and stare him directly in the eyes. You know why he does this; he can read you like a fucking book. He’ll know if you’re lying before you can even finish whatever fabricated story you’ve spent forever formulating. There’s no point in trying to trick him because it’ll cause him to get angrier, and then what? Then, you’ll have the whole entire room’s blood on your hands. A massacre dedicated just for you. 

You hadn’t cried when he had taken you from your home. You hadn’t cried when you were about to be killed by that curse. You hadn’t shed a single tear despite the unfamiliarity of the Zenin Estate, despite the fact that you were forced into a marriage with a man you did not know, despite the fact that you’ve never been this far from home, suffering silently in feelings of isolation and despair. You hadn’t cried after all of that, yet now you’re sobbing? Now you’re here, struggling to stand on your own, clutching onto the material of his shirt as if he’s your only lifeline, dangerously close to burying your face in his chest and crying your little eyes out. He’s been angry more times than he’s ever felt any other emotion. He’s numb to the feeling of his blood rising, of his vision being tainted with red, of having nothing but sick thoughts and vivid memories of torn flesh and severed limbs surrounding him. This emotion isn’t foreign to him; it’s a part ofhim. And he’s angry, yes, but there’s something else that he feels when he looks down and sees you making yourself smaller, as if trying to use him as your own personal shield.

— balancing act [chapter one], satoru gojo elevator pitch: the first month of your bet will you and gojo inevitably get together <3 the start of this series.

You have what you order down to a T. You first started your tried and true method of restaurant ordering when you were but a wee little intern, too shy to go to town on a rack of ribs in front of your peers and bosses. Once you entered the city’s dating scene (which is actually Dante’s tenth circle of hell — it’s just never discussed because that’s truly how vile trying to find a good man in a big city is), you realized that there’s not much difference between lunch dates and client lunches. 

You have the obligatory greeting exchanges (“hi,” “hello,” “how are you,” etc.), the awkward smiles, the mental countdown going off in your head as you wait for the perfect moment to get right into business (“what do you expect to gain from this partnership?” — a line surprisingly used more often in your meetings with potential investors and clients). There’s the pained professionalism, the tight-lipped smiles, the napkin resting in your lap, the battle to maintain constant eye-contact. When you sit across from someone at a table, date or client, you don’t see the person; you see a goal. 

And you’re good at working towards a goal. It’s why you’ve always been the analyst your managers rely on, why you’ve morphed into the senior associate that all your juniors look up to at G&G Capital, and why you automatically figure that if you set your sights on a man only to have him end things, it’s not you who was at fault. It has to be him. You’ve charmed the toughest clients and built fantastic working relationships with the most well-connected M&A lawyers; if you’re this good at professional relationships, why wouldn’t you also be fan-fucking-tastic at a romantic one? 

All the men who have taken you out on dates before wanted to sweep you off your feet. An ex-boyfriend once admitted to you that you appeared so unimpressed at everything, it had become this fun, twisted competition with himself to see what he had to do to get a look of amazement on your face. 

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re impressed.” Gojo says gleefully, holding open the dirty glass door so you and Utahime can walk in. 

Utahime looks like Gojo just slid open the backdoor to a white van and told her to get in. There’s shock with a hint of disgust evident on her pretty, doll-like features, and you know you’ve got a similar expression, too. 

The floors inside this restaurant — if the dingy, dimly lit shack crammed with small tables and rickety chairs can even be considered a restaurant — are sticky with decades’ worth of mystery liquids that have congealed into the half-inch thick residue that coats the floorboards. You have to purposely think about moving one foot in front of the other in order to walk because actual pressure needs to be applied if you don’t want your heels to become glued to the floor. You’re walking in front of Utahime and Gojo, and you end up choosing a table in the far back; it looks the cleanest. Briefly, you wonder if you’re allowed to be here, then think better of it as Utahime takes the seat next to you, and Gojo takes the one across. You highly doubt there’s a hostess here that’s dictating where the customers sit.

Especially since, upon one glance of the whole place, you realize that it’s empty save for you three. 

“Gojo, if we get killed, I hope they murder you in front of us first,” Utahime hisses. Her family’s so rich (and traditional), she’s never willingly been to a restaurant that doesn’t have a Michelin star. Before college, she’s never even eaten out at a chain restaurant. Being caught in a place like this has Utahime mentally spiraling towards rock bottom. 

“I hope they would, too. I don’t think I have the stomach to watch you meet your grisly end.” Gojo says serenely. Usually, he says things loudly, teasingly, gets all up in your face. When it comes to Utahime, he likes to play at being nonchalant. He’s been doing this to her for over a decade now, and it still grates her. 

Before Utahime can reply, the shaky voice of an older woman is exclaiming, “Oh! Welcome in! Have you gotten a chance to look over the menu?” The voice belongs to a short, plump woman with gray hair, a wrinkly face, but a kind smile that reveals yellowing teeth. She’s got a slight hunch to her back and nails with overgrown cuticles. You try to do a mental calculation of what you could buy this building for, to ensure that this sweet old lady never has to work a day in her life ever again. 

“You know what I want, Mrs. Kimura.” Gojo is giving her one of his signature dazzling smiles. “You can just double the portions today since my friend Utahime here eats enough for a family of five.” 

Mrs. Kimura lets out a throaty laugh. Utahime kicks Gojo in the shin from underneath the table. You’re wondering what Gojo orders from this place, and why does he order here so often to the point of them memorizing his meals? 

“I’m glad you brought friends with you today, Satoru. Meals always taste better when shared with loved ones!” She directs a warm smile in your direction, and you feel bad for returning it with your normal polite one. Tiny and brief. It’s more muscle memory than born from any real emotion. She’s shuffling away to the kitchen before you can try to summon a genuine smile for her, and Utahime’s phone is ringing, filling this near empty space with the tinny, anxiety-inducing sound of an iPhone ringer. 

She doesn’t excuse herself; just looks down at the glowing screen, grabs her phone, and heads outside to take the call.

Which leaves you sitting across from Gojo. Just the two of you. Just the two of you in a dingy restaurant seemingly run by only one old woman. The table looks older than you. The chair you’re sitting on makes a weird squeaky noise with any slight movement of your body. There’s no decor on the walls, no windows either. Nothing to distract you, nothing for you to feign interest in as you wait for Utahime to come back. 

You straighten your posture, try to discreetly look out the front door to gauge how close Utahime is to wrapping up her conversation, and find yourself with no choice but to look in front of you. All you see is Gojo.

He’s tall, you know that. Broad shoulders. Definitely not hideous, you can give him that much. You just feel shocked at how much space he takes up, how it feels like your eyes have to stretch to try to accommodate all of him. 

You don’t know why you feel so awkward, almost like a teenager going on her very first date with a boy she barely knows but still, for some inexplicable reason, wants so badly to impress. You can’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt this way, and you definitely don’t like this feeling at all. 

“How’d you find this place?” You ask him.

“I like to support small businesses.” He’s not teasing you, but Gojo has this bad habit of always adding a playful inflection to his words. 

“I hope you tip well. You look like their only supporter.” It’s not meant to be an insult to the painfully empty restaurant. You know how much Gojo is worth; when Itadori Googled “Satoru Gojo net worth” and showed the results to everyone, Gojo caught him in the act, looked at the top result, and threw his head back in laughter as he told Itadori to “add an extra zero and triple the number.” You think back to your calculation and assessment of the place. “Might as well buy the business.” 

“You make capitalism so cute.” He has to be teasing you now. You scowl. 

(He means it.)

— i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed, satoru gojo elevator pitch: yandere gojo, royal au, nanny!reader... yeah idk what happened to this fic either, just that it was depraved and i wish i wrote more to share LOL

You’re acutely aware of the noise you’re making, every huff and small, desperate gasp for breath only further betraying your location, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You know, deep inside your pounding, frightened heart, that it doesn’t really matter how fast or how far you run. 

I will always find you.

Just the mere thought of him is enough for you to ignore the ache in your legs and push forward. If you can find the exit, if you can just see the daylight, surely you’d be able to—

You stop in your tracks.

There are two paths: one right, one wrong. Left or right? Freedom or imprisonment? 

There’s no time to waste, but you can’t make a choice. Which decision would be the right one? Surely either route would still be able to lead you to the exit, right? The sharp snap! of a branch being trampled on leaves you even more frightened. Without thinking, you take a left.

— i think you're too divine for my human mind, undecided elevator pitch: rough around the edges but w a heart of gold underground fighter!character x ring girl!reader. i think this was gonna be for bakugo LMAO but i do not have bnha brain rot so maybe a bllk or jjk or hq boy... NO ONE SAY ATSUMU I DON'T WANNA GIVE IT TO ATSUMU

The couch seems to shift with his weight, and you swallow hard, staring straight ahead at the same cement wall you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes because you’re still too much of a fucking wimp to navigate this area by yourself. 

Despite the two of you sitting at opposite ends of the couch, there’s only about one foot of space separating his knee from yours. You suppose that he gets away with the manspreading since he probably has no qualms with punching anyone who voices their offense. After witnessing just how brutal the infamous [ring name nickname] can get, you know that you’re definitely not going to be the one to say shit to him. You can’t even look at him.

Where the fuck is your sister? You have your arms crossed, covering your torso, and you think you must have subconsciously pressed yourself as far back into the couch as you possibly could. Everything about you must scream out “she wants to disappear!!!”, and the worst part of it all would be the fact that it’s the truth. You knew coming down here would be a bad idea, and the sinking feeling of regret is practically solidifying itself into your stomach. You think you could throw up. 

“Hey,” a voice — a deep voice, scratchy and low and so scarily close to you — breaks the silence. “You must be…”

Of course, you’re used to it by now. Always being referred to as “Akemi’s little sister” no matter the situation, the person, the setting. It makes sense, you rationalize. Everyone knows Akemi. And so, by extension, they must know you — her shadow, her little sister. 

“...helped out Sakura.” 

“What?” You don’t know anyone named Sakura, but you finally turn your head to properly look at him as you answer. He’s got on a white shirt now, incredibly form-fitting, and he’s staring right back at you. You're quick to meet his eyes before getting too nervous and focusing on the space just below his eyes. Then, that becomes too close to eye contact for comfort, so you settle for staring at his jaw. It’s a nice jaw. Sharp. He could probably cut you with it if you contradict any of his statements, so maybe you should pretend to know this Sakura girl. 

“You must be the girl that helped out Sakura.” He repeats. He says it slow and almost carefully, like he thinks you must be some sort of idiot who can’t comprehend the most basic of statements. “Gave her your jacket.” He clarifies, and it makes sense. The girl with the hot pink colored hair must have been Sakura. 

“Yeah.” You nod. 

“So why are you here?” 

“Huh?”

“Y’know… Pretty girls like you don’t normally end up here without a reason. So what’s your reason?”

He says it so casually, throwing it out there as easily as a punch. He probably means nothing deep by it, probably doesn’t even realize the fact that it is a compliment. 

He called you pretty.

“My sister.” You answer, finally looking away at him to look down at your hands that have settled nicely into your lap. Your cheeks feel a lot warmer than they did a second ago. You decide to blame this as a result of too many sweaty people in one basement. 

“She a ring girl?” 

“She’s dating a fighter here.”

“And you?”

“What about me?” 

“Are you dating a fighter here, too?” 

You look him properly in his face after that comment, almost resisting the urge to laugh. Fear that he’ll get offended and smack you into the floor stops that reaction. Instead, you stare at him, slightly surprised, lips almost curled up into an amused smile at just how unbelievable it would be for you to date anyone like him. 

“You finally did it.” 

“Did what?” 

“Look at me.” He holds eye contact, almost as if he’s trying to challenge you into looking away. “I don’t bite, y’know.” He smiles, showing off a surprisingly straight row of white teeth, not a single tooth missing despite the nature of his… job. “It’s against the rules.”

Yeah. Because [character], the fucking [ring name nickname], looks like the type of man who follows the rules.

[squilfmybeloved]

welcome. to my long awaited bookmark irondad spiderson fic rec bonanza

before we start gotta @ my beloveds who wish to see these bookmarks,, here u go <333 @cowboylikeyouu @constant-bi-panic @bexinator3000 buckle up cause this is gonna be a RIDE

biggest mysterio fuck you ever. obviously if i bookmarked it, it's a 10/10. unfinished, but still a 10/10! essentially, peter gets kidnapped by beck- i found this was lowkey written like a crime show (criminal minds or others) which i LOVED!! it also contains one of my favorite suspense theme scenes ever: kidnapped character escaping and fighting to get to their family, who are there and trying to save them- it creates such suspense and really keeps you on your toes, with a healthy dose of healing and hurt/comfort afterwards. the healing period always gets me, it's so rewarding to see someone heal after an event. definitely reccomend <33

any marvel fic by @bluesweatshirt fr got me on my fucking KNEES bro. i would sacrifice the soul of my firstborn for these fics. shit is IMPECCABLE chef's kiss. if ur looking for somewhere to start reading irondad fics and want something on the shorter side, these are absolutely the best place to start!! this is me. if u even care

oh boy. okay. this is... a roller coaster. it's definitely on the longer and heavier side of fanfics but god it is so beautiful. i finished this fic in one night in 2023 and i still continue to go back and read it. be mindful of the tags, folks- like i said, it's definitely a heavy one, but it's so fucking worth it to finish. i don't even have the words to describe it. this fic is ultimately soul shattering and tapes it back together at the same time. credit to @arthropodwithapen for creating this stunning masterpiece that legit changed my life <333

these had me both sobbing and laughing so hard i cried. my personal favs are the long game (i sobbed) and how to get banned from monaco (again) (i laughed so hard i cried)

rhodey my love <33 he doesn't get nearly enough attention and i love him!! uncle rhodey and peter bonding save me... save me uncle rhodey peter bonding

UGHHH i love these.. especially breaking the cycle of shame.. go read!! now!!

this is similar to spaghetti and red wine - soul shattering, taped back together, crying screaming rocking in a corner throwing up. go read and give this some love-- just mind the tags and warnings!!

HAHA this is like a trip. got me laughing giggling kicking my feet,, definitely a mood improver if u need a good laugh

short, sweet, silly- laughed a lot and heart was indeed warmed <33 (u can tell im running out of words,, it doesn't mean i don't love these!! my word vomit is just dying down)

my love (mine all mine) by spacecowboysfrommars

crying screaming throwing up staring at a wall desolately. i love it (i loved the lovely bones so much.. it's definetly a movie u should watch)

here's a link to the rest of my bookmarks if u guys wanna check out more irondad/harry potter/the last of us fics <33 MWAH enjoy besties, if u wanna yap to me about these fics feel free to send asks or message me!!

[godsandvillains-if]

can you tell us a fun fact about each of the ROs? mostly Paladin because I love what we have of them so far haha. also thank you for writing this, cant wait to get more!

Not actually fun facts, but interesting facts! 😉😉

Wildcat sometimes sleeps like a cat on the couches and beds around the tower, most of than not as an factual cat. When Paladin sees this they will just gently grab them and carry them to their actual bed.

Ace is very ticklish. Particularly in the armpits, sides, neck and feet. Interesting enough they can feel ticklish on their prosthetic arms, particularly in a spot in their inner elbow.

Zodiac, it comes with no surprise, is your typical "mother hen". They make sure that everybody on the team is uninjured after a mission or if they are eating healthy.

Paladin is quite an interesting character. They secretly engage in lengthy conversations about weapon design and fighting techniques via an anonymous chat room—only Stardom knows about it. They also have a habit of sharpening their blades and cleaning their weapons everyday before sleeping. They have the flexibility and agility of an elite Olympic gymnast, which they use during covert missions.

Archon is actually extremely competitive and will do almost anything to one up the other members of the team in any kind of competition, regardless of how trivial it is.

Stardom probably has ADHD, which they refuse to get diagnosed for some reason. It's why their lab is a mess of unfinished projects.

Mars learned how to play several musical instruments by themselves, so they are self-taught. Their favorite instruments are the piano and the koto, a Japanese string instrument.

Thanks for the question!! 🥰

[pixelnrd]

Do you have any tips on maintaining a legacy for this long??? Your decades is so so fun and I think I want to do one of my own, but I've never done anything like this before and I'm scared I'll lose interest

Oh boy, I mean... my major tip is be really hyper-focussed and uncomfortably committed and you might stay stuck on the same project for 4 years?

I’ll be more helpful under the cut ✨

Jokes aside, this Legacy has been going since mid-2020. I think the major things that set me up to keep going with it were contextual factors, these being:

I started during the pandemic when I was unemployed and studying online, so I had literally not much else to do and could commit lots of my free time to playing and creating.

The pandemic in my country went for 2 years. In those 2 years I played through the Langstons from 1890 - 1950. The decades challenge was like a personal project that kept me engaged and sane during what was an incredibly boring and isolating time, which is why I was able to be so consistent and committed. Since the pandemic ended, and my real life resumed, I've found it much harder to remain consistent due to real life pressures on my free time, or even to stay engaged if I feel like I have a lot of work to do with crafting the story and get overwhelmed.

I’m now a parent with little kids and spend most of my evenings sitting around at home rather than going out and doing things, which is perfect for sustaining a sims habit and carving out time every day to work on my challenge.

Since I got more than half-way with the challenge before I slowed down in 2022, the urge to complete this Legacy (rather than leave it half-done) has really motivated me to keep going - it’s what got me back in even after I planned to exit simblr when I became a parent. But maybe that's just my personality though - I can’t leave projects unfinished!

I think the moral of this is: depending on your own standards for yourself, and the kind of content you want to create, this kind of undertaking can take a lot of time to get through and you need to chip away at it in a way that is sustainable for you. It doesn't have to be as long as mine (a decade for each generation), and I probably wouldn't recommend that. It also doesn’t have to be a huge narrative story either if that isn’t enjoyable for you.

It's easy to lose interest and it's ok to take breaks to refresh and regain your enthusiasm. Working on anything to burnout point isn't healthy and if it doesn't bring you joy then it isn't worth your energy! I have had many instances of needing to refocus my vision and motivation over the course of this Legacy into something that is sustainable and enjoyable for me. It’s hard!

[queenofthegayships]

Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter

I don't like them together, and its not even a bias. I thought she was kind of annoying at best, becoming very possessive very quickly. which like, go woman, go after what you want

But then she shoots at Steve.

First off, its highly unlikely she would have known the shield would protect Steve.

The shield is vibranium, the rarest metal on earth and not widely known. It was made with the last bit the world had available to them (as far as Howard was aware) and I doubt Howard would have advertised it or it's qualities to people, even in his own circles. Besides, vibranium looks like any other metal so even if she had known of its existence, she wouldn't have been sure that what Steve was holding was vibraniam.

Second, the gun she fired at Steve came from a table of what looked to be experimental and unfinished weaponry.

They were in what was probably Howard's starks research and development facility. And again, the table of weapons the guns came from looked to still be in development or at the very least, laid out for inspection and testing. This means that Peggy wouldn't have known that the gun was 1. Reliable 2. Safe to use and 3. Functional

Third, she fired a weapon in an enclosed space with no ear protection.

I mean, really? She's an agent for fucks sake, she should know better (even if the practice of ear protection wasn't widely taught at the time) And even then, she was risking the bullets ricocheting off into a room of experimental and likely volatile projects and innocent people.

Finally, with all of that, what gave Peggy the right to shoot at Steve?

Because she saw him kissing another woman? Is that REALLY an excuse? Absolutely not. For Peggy to react in such an extreme way over something so small just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s a massive overreaction that, to me, paints her in a very possessive, unhealthy light. She didn't even bother to try to ask him what had happened and she knew Steve by that point. She KNEW he wouldn't just be throwing himself at women, he could barely talk clearly with one. And what part of that kiss gave "consensual" on Steve's part? It was clear he was uncomfortable. The lack of communication here and the absence of Steve’s voice in the situation further highlights the power imbalance in their budding relationship.

At this point, Steve and Peggy weren’t in a full-blown relationship, just mutual attraction and some shy flirting. This makes Peggy’s behavior even worse. It wasn’t just a case of an overemotional reaction between two partners, it was a reaction between two people who weren’t even officially together. Instead of talking things out, she resorts to violence, major violence, because pulling a GUN on someone you are supposed to like is a huge red flag. Peggy’s behavior crosses a line from emotional overreaction to controlling, and it's alarming to think how much worse it could’ve gotten in a more serious relationship.

As for Endgame. I absolutely disregard that as canon. The way they resolved Steve's story in that movie feels wrong to me, and I don’t think it fits with the development of his character throughout the earlier films. Steve’s journey, his trauma, and his growth all lead to a different outcome, one that doesn’t involve going back to Peggy. The entire Endgame conclusion feels like an attempt to please fans, but it sacrifices the deeper emotional and character growth Steve underwent in the previous movies.

Besides, they knew each other for only 3-4 years and probably only saw each other intermittently during that time, with Steve often away chasing Hydra and Peggy occupied with her own SSR missions. It seems pretty clear that the attachment Steve had to Peggy wasn’t natural or healthy, and honestly, it comes off as a bit strange. Though his attempts to move on were probably skewed because of the reminder of her involvement in SHEILD, and for some reason placing Peggy's niece, of all agents, to spy on Steve in the Winter Solder. (I'm not even going to bother getting into Sharon)

[secretly-small]

New Project

So I have a question

There’s a size shifting friends-to-lovers blood magic fairy fantasy that’s sitting unfinished in GD.

One sentence summary: “Crazy, kinda suicidal rebel fairy girl meets goody-two-shoes human boy.

Would you be interested? If so, I think I might begin posting weekly chapters to Wattpad. The thing is, I’m the kind of person that once I start posting a story, I will not DNF it. It will get written all the way through even if not a single reader cares. So I want to make sure there’s some sort of interest/desire for this project before putting it out there. Prologue:

“Be careful,” the girl barked. The boy rolled his eyes, and he wanted to make a sarcastic remark about how many times they’d done this before. But he kept his mouth closed, knowing that those down the hall would hear if he dared speak. 

Before them stood rows of cradles. The babies within slept peacefully, bundled up in wads of cloth. Most were similar ages—only a few months old. There weren’t many more than a dozen in this little town, but that didn’t matter. They only needed one. 

Smart on their feet, the boy and girl crept up to one of the young. It looked healthy, about the right size and age. Exchanging glances, the two nodded. But just as they were to begin, a shadow crossed the doorway. 

“I’m just going to go check on the children!” called a voice, and the two gasped. Quicker than should’ve been possible without making sound, they dove behind the nearest cradle and held their breaths. Though the mother was only there a moment to ensure all of the babies were undisturbed, it felt like hours. Finally, her footsteps grew quieter, and the two released a synchronized sigh. 

They stood and prepared to resume their task, only for more parents to grow closer. The girl gritted her teeth, looking down to find the closest baby to them. It was thin and perhaps only a few days old, but it’d have to do. Without a word, she bent down toward it, pulling out her knife. 

“Are you sure? This one doesn’t look very alive,” the boy whispered, wrinkling his nose at the pale creature. 

The girl waved him off, positioning the knife along the child’s arm. “We don’t have time. It’ll have to do.”

The boy nodded and gripped his hand over the baby’s mouth, silencing its screams as the girl slit its wrist. Blood bubbled from the wound, and the girl bit back a sick smile. She reached down to her pocket and pulled out a thin glass vile, collecting enough blood to fill it halfway before sealing it off. As soon as they were done, the boy released his hand, and the baby shrieked in agony. Its voice filled the building, echoing down the halls to the ears of the chatting parents. But by the time they’d reached the nursery, the boy and girl had vanished. They’d executed their drawing just as smoothly as ever, and they’d never return to that village again.

As for the baby, she didn’t ask for this fate. She felt nothing but terror as her mother tied a blanket around her arm to stop the bleeding. Tears rolled down pale cheeks as she screamed for help. She cried and begged for the pain to vanish like the girl and boy just had, but she didn’t get her wish. The wound took weeks to heal, and its scar would haunt her for the rest of her life. 

Soooo, yes? No? won’t be offended- just curious whether this catches somebody’s eyes.

[fiercestpurpose]

Really stupid revelation, but I think having different hobbies over time is actually a good thing. I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be like my mother, who moves from one hobby to another, leaving behind a bunch of unfinished projects and supplies she no longer needs, but actually, I’ve decided that switching hobbies is probably healthy. When you pick up a new hobby, you have to learn something, which keeps your brain stimulated. Also, if you lock yourself into doing something because it’s supposed to be your hobby instead of because you actually want to do it, you might be a little bit miserable on account of not getting to do things you want to do. Have fun. Try new things. Do what makes you happy.

[crystaleevee4]

i already posted this on a fic recs thread, but since that doesn't get active tag reach (or something), i'll post it again on my own blog :) because i am insane about @slashmagpie's fics

Rating: Mature

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Category: Gen

Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP

Relationships: impulseSV & Skizzleman, GeminiTay & impulseSV, impulseSV & MisterJoker & Skizzleman & TangoTek, GeminiTay & GoodTimesWithScar & Grian & impulseSV & Skizzleman, GeminiTay & Misterjoker & TangoTek

Characters: ImpulseSV, Skizzleman, Geminitay, GoodTimesWithScar, Grian, TangoTek, MisterJoker

Words: 36,282 | Chapters: 9/? (Unfinished)

Ghost hunting's not an easy gig. While the rewards can be great, the sacrifices can be greater, and Joker, Impulse, Tango, and Skizz found this out the hard way. Years after they go their separate ways, Tango and Joker are approached by Gem, a member of Impulse's new ghost hunting team—a team that has gone mysteriously missing on a job gone wrong. Gem needs help, and despite all of their years out of the business, Tango and Joker can't resist the call to return to the world of ghost hunting. There are still so many questions they need to answer, after all—like why did Impulse stay, even after everything went wrong? What happened to Gem's team? And why did no one tell them about Skizz?

Additional notes from me:

As far as I know, the MCD is temporary. No one dies for real!

update I lied its real

There's some passive suicidal ideation, so watch out for that

Actual scenes of (implied) suicide, but it's not real. On that note...

Unreality

Some pretty unhealthy, codependent relationships

Anyways! Really, really good fic. Magpie also wrote the Lifeline AU, if you know what that is, and if you're someone who's read LLAU and enjoyed it, OH BOY are you in for a ride with ACTTV. Especially my fellow imp and skizz fans, i'm so normal about them in this fic trust me

LLAU fans, remember Impulse and Skizz's dynamic in the series? yeah this is basically a role reversal and it makes me SICK

No one in this fic is in a particularly healthy mental space, but especially not impulsesv. He is the author's favorite guy to put through So Many issues

Magpie's usual themes of grief and change and betrayal and love!! yay!!

You ever regularly go through a process that is making you slowly lose your sense of self in order to have just a little bit of security? yeah that's [REDACTED] in this fic

Also, a song I heavily associate with this fic: Fire With Fire by AlicebanD! Great song, highly recommend you give it a listen!

[peppizza-au]

Ok, if you don't feel like drawing your story, you can always put it in text form. we won't be mad. i just want to know what happens next

hey, i understand if you didnt mean anything malicious, but please dont do this, guys. even if i change to an easier format, im still not obligated to give you guys content, and ive currently been exhausted with work and other personal projects. i may get it again at some point, but i currently have no motivation to update this blog specifically, and i heavily struggle with motivation already. i honestly thought itd be a miracle if i even got halfway through this story before losing my drive, but i wanted to try anyway.

forcing myself to create for an optional project i started for fun purely to meet demand isnt healthy for me, will result in a dramatic drop in quality for updates, and possibly ruin the story i want to tell. an unfinished story is better than a rushed and half-hearted one.

it really warms my heart how many people love this blog, and im not exaggerating when i say i read and appreciate every single ask (that isnt blatantly mean-spirited). but im a human, not a machine. if peppizza doesnt continue, its for a good reason. if peppizza does continue, it will continue with time. please think before sending asks like this, even though im pretty sure it wasnt intended to be impatient or inconsiderate, it absolutely comes off that way.

thats all for now, thank you for reading.

[the-tmnt-ficfinder]

Ficfinder finds: The Lemonade Leak

Rottmnt Fanfic Summary: "Leo can not sleep, because there is a thing in Donnie's lab, pretending to be his twin. Or: It turns out that being created as a biological super soldier comes with a few... modifications. Some of those, more dangerous than others."

The Lemonade Leak: Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is unfinished, and as such, this post will be updated as fanfic updates. This fanfic is only available to those who have an Ao3 profile. This fanfic is written by @turtleinsoup, so go show them some love and support!!

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Plot is five out of five!! Its complicated, confusing, and filled with exciting plot twists! This is the kind of fanfic where you could read it many times over, and find hints/spoilers in the beginning chapters that you never would have seen till reading further in. So much intricacy!!"

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Suspense/Mystery is five out of five!! The Lemonade Leak has incredibly high amounts of suspense, and by suspense, I don't mean 'oh no, what ever will happen?' suspense. But rather 'OHMYFREAKINGGOSH WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN?!?!' kind of suspense. The Lemonade Leak is an incredibly hard to put down fic, and especially because each chapter leads to cliffhanger after cliffhanger! The mystery in The Lemonade Leak is wonderfully well done, and interictally woven into each chapter! I always assume each offhanded sentence said could mean something, and often times, it has meant something!"

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Angst/Hurt is four out of five!! The Lemonade Leak contains a healthy dose of angst, and hurt in both the physical and emotional departments. The angst is often layered, and is achieved chapters later i.e. a sentence said five chapters ago, comes true, or hurts feelings five chapters later, making it so much worse ^^"

Fluff/Comfort: 💛💛🖤🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is two out of five!! This fanfic contains low levels of fluff, and very minimal comfort. There is no happiness, only pain lol. If you enjoy a very angsty, low comfort fic, this one is for you!!"

Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Emotions Conveyed is four out of five!! While reading this fanfic, I felt so many emotions (including high amounts of stress and anxiety lol) and this fanfic even made me think on a deeper level. I could feel how the characters felt, making this more than just words on a screen."

Drama/Tension Level:💛💛💛💛💛

"Drama/Tension Level is five out of five!! The Lemonade Leak is a highly intense read that will for sure have you on the edge of your seat! The tension in each chapter is very palpable, filled to the brim with sibling and twin drama. The best part? Each chapter ends on a cliffhanger, making the panic real."

Triggers: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Triggers are four out of five!! The Lemonade Leak has its fair share of triggering things, ranging from volatile thoughts, to body horror, to medical triggers, and even more! Made me shudder more than once."

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Reading) is five out of five!! The writing style is incredibly smooth, poetic, and even has some special effects later on, that are incredibly fun to read!! Eye pleaser for sure."

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛🖤🖤🖤

"Legibility (Audio) is two out of five! While some of the poetic writing is incredibly fun to listen to in audio book form, once you get later on in the story, audio book is very hard to listen to. Some of the later chapters, which are in Donnie's POV, are almost impossible to listen to due to the symbols used, and intricate equations placed in the writing. Very hard to understand while listening to, but absolutely gorgeous to look at! The Lemonade Leak is for sure a fic that is more fun to read rather than listen to."

Length: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Length is three out of five!! The Lemonade Leak has a chapter count of 37 chapters, and a word count of 143.5k words though that may change as the story progresses."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Lemonade Leak: Chapter List

(Chapters will be added as I rate and appraise them ^^)

Chapter 1: The Apostate

Chapter 2: The Fool

Chapter 3: The Maker

Chapter 4: The Prophet

Chapter 5: The Witness

Chapter 6: The Liar

Chapter 7: The Body

Chapter 8: The Carver

Chapter 9: The Believer

Chapter 10: The Devotee

Chapter 11: The Gardener

Chapter 12: The Hostage

Chapter 13: The Caretaker

Chapter 14: The Weapon

Chapter 15: The Bearer

Chapter 16: The Twin

Chapter 17: The Corpse

Chapter 18: The Noun

Chapter 19: The Sculptor

Chapter 20: The Missing

Chapter 21: The Monster

Chapter 22: The Stranger

Chapter 23: The Warden

Chapter 24: The Carnifex

[rikis-girl]

Is love worth it?

Warnings: Suggestive, angst, mentions of mobs Pairing: idol!Sunghoon x fem!reader Synopsis: Sunghoon and you have a healthy relationship but not everyone shares the same opinion.

You woke up to the entire fandom of Engene criticising your relationship with Sunghoon and his "poor" taste in women on the internet with no idea of the person who leaked the information. Will the hate break you up? Do you ever find out who revealed your private lives to the entire world?

A/N : This is a draft that has been rotting away since may 24, I really need to work on these unfinished projects. I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I do making these scenarios in my delulu head and posting it here <3

[ashilrak]

ahhhh i've been trying to subscribe to that idea of posting despite it not being "perfect" and for the most part i'm happy with it and totally recommend. but sometimes i get such intrusive thoughts when i read other fics and they're so good and i think about mine and i know i shouldn't compare, it takes time and work and it doesn't mean people don't enjoy my fics etc etc but there's a shame that creeps in that makes me want to hide and delete them sometimes. 😅

oh and i also have adhd so i get so many ideas but i keep bouncing between them. sometimes they're for multi-chapter fics but i disappear in-between bc my brain decided to jump into a different fandom for x amount of time before bouncing back. i know i write for myself and all but i still feel guilty and ashamed when i leave people who clearly enjoy the story for months before updating. have you ever experienced this? how do you deal with it?

Hi! I've experienced all of this. At some points, it's been the sort of thing that has torn me up and at others it's been negligible.

For me, it comes back to writing for myself. It's very easy to get caught up with wanting to do something for the readers, especially when I know how haunted I personally am by fics that I've adored reading that remain unfinished. There are some unfinished fics I have that I've tried to come back to when I've returned to fandoms and it'd take re-outlining to get back into it, and at that point I'd rather start over.

The key to accepting this is accepting the nature of fanfiction. Every creative has started an idea and just not had it take flight — maybe it's not the right time, maybe it's not quite a full idea, or maybe they realize it's not one they care to do anything with. If you try an idea for a novel and it doesn't go anywhere, no one will ever know. If you try an idea for a fanfiction, you probably posted those first couple chapters online.

I have friends of mine who have gotten 80% into writing a novel and couldn't decide on an ending so abandoned it for another project. This is the sort of thing that happens all the time, it's just that with fanfic you're usually sharing the rough draft as you go.

Discipline does play a factor in finishing fic, of course, but I think there's a line between having the discipline to keep writing a story you're passionate about when motivation is lacking and continuing to force an idea that just isn't taking shape (for whatever reason).

The only way you're going to ever avoid this entirely is if you write a fic beginning to end before you ever start posting. That's not the most fanfic writers' experience, and that's okay! But it means writers and readers risk fics that will never be finished (for any number of reasons). This is why there are a good number of readers out there who only read completed fics.

Fanfic is a hobby, and I don't think it's healthy to tear yourself to shreds or force yourself through something you hate for something that's supposed to be relaxing and fun. Parts of it can be stressful — I've run several gift exchanges and loved doing it, but that doesn't mean there weren't points I was tearing my hair out over defaults and unresponsive participants — but ultimately, it's supposed to be something that brings you joy.

Long fics are an undertaking, and sometimes writing is the last thing you want to do, but the project as a whole is satisfying. I do think there's a lot of value in long-term projects, when the day-to-day can sometimes suck but you know you're working toward a goal. Achieving that goal is huge, but it's also hard, and it isn't the only goal someone could have with writing fic.

If that is a goal you have, there are ways to work toward achieving it. But, how to do that (especially in the face of ADHD) is an entirely different conversation.

And to address the point of comparisons, I don't think it's something that will ever go away. It's to be human, I think. But I have two favorite ways of dealing with that. The first is to separate myself as a reader and a writer. I write because I enjoy it and I read because I enjoy it. If I am reading something that is absolutely amazing, sure I'd love to one day be able to produce that, but more importantly in that moment, I'm really enjoying reading it. The second way is to try to learn from the writing I love. I'll take a step back and ask myself what about it do I love and how are they achieving that? How can I learn from that and bring it into my own work? For me, these are two separate actions. I could read the same work twice through these different lenses and have entirely different experiences.

Ultimately, fandom is for fun and that's the most important thing 🩷