#it seems like it doesn't make sense because i'm excerpting but the bits i cut out don't make it make any more sense. it's mostly just

[platoapproved]

for @dancinbutterfly who requested this, but also any non tvc book readers who may be curious... here's some excerpts from the scene in the vampire armand where a bunch of guys are bidding for which one of them gets to fuck amadeo and marius encourages it / treats it as a game / commands amadeo to kiss one of them while he kills him. imho this is a part of the text the show writers likely drew inspiration from for the idea of marius 'donating' amadeo.

for reference, these are all taken from chapter 5! so @dancinbutterfly you can direct your friend who doesn't believe this was in the text there.

how do i even begin to content warn for this, it's so fucking BAD. i guess the usual tva warnings for grooming & csa, sexual assault, pedophilia, kind of incest?, slavery, just... marius bein' marius y'know. (IT'S REALLY BAD. like i do just want to emphasize for anyone who has not read tva it's quite explicit and upsetting plz be aware):

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[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for tabetharasa behind the cut; alpha Jazz, a dark alley, and a very pretty omega. ( + non-chrono link for mobile users )

Jazz has no idea why Red Hood thinks he smells anything but delicious, but there’s a very reckless and dubiously-ethical part of her that would be willing to prove it to him. Not that she would, obviously, because that would be, again, incredibly unethical and highly inappropriate and also a total dick move. 

She just could, that’s all. Just if it came up or whatever. 

“Well, it’s not,” she says, mildly put out by whatever’s going on here, and Red Hood growls. His scent blockers continue to be useless. Just–absolutely useless, yes. 

Ancients, he smells so good. What is she even supposed to do about how good this omega smells? 

Maybe offer to walk him home, or at least offer him her jacket so he has enough alpha scent on him that no one bothers him on his way back to his den. Although he’s a crime lord–or a vigilante? one or the other, whatever–who’s built like a truck, so that probably isn’t really a concern, she supposes. 

Then again, some people seriously do have no sense of decorum. 

Or survival instincts. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Red Hood snaps. Jazz frowns. That seems like a disproportionate amount of anger in his tone. Maybe he's sensitive about his pheromones. Well, if people have been telling him he smells like death . . . 

Though “death” doesn't necessarily smell bad, in Jazz's opinion. 

Admittedly, that's a liminal's opinion and besides the point anyway. But still. 

“Alright,” she says. “But can you get to your den safely? Or . . . somewhere you can den down, anyway, I don't know. I assume you have a headquarters or a safehouse or two, something like that. Or at least can afford a heat hotel or know a decent clinic.” 

Red Hood hisses at her. It crackles through his modulator, but the sound of it still makes her jeans a little . . . uncomfortable, she'll just say. Sue her, she likes omegas with a bite to them. Johnny 13 definitely didn't win her over by being the sweet and polite type; he won her over by being a blunt asshole in a leather jacket who'd convinced her that he was a sincere and straight-up person. 

She wonders how “sincere” the average Gotham crime boss really is, but it’s a little difficult to concentrate on that question with the scent of old books and burning cedar filling up her nose. And also that note of lilac. That note of lilac is a problem. 

A serious problem. 

“I realize heat drop is probably imminent and you must be uncomfortable, but it’s a valid concern on my part, given your condition,” she says, which normally she’d make sound politely disapproving but really can’t make sound any kind of disapproving right now. Again: the lilac. “So can you?” 

“Fuck makes you think I'd let you anywhere near my den?” Red Hood snarls. Jazz blinks; tilts her head. 

“Nothing,” she says. “What makes you think I was asking to go anywhere near it?” 

Red Hood–stalls, briefly. Jazz tries to be polite about how incredibly obvious a tell that statement was. 

Flattering, but incredibly obvious. 

“I mean, I'd be happy to escort you if you’d like,” she says. “Or lend you my scent, if you need it. But I'm not trying to presume anything.” 

“Fuck off,” Red Hood snarls. “Nobody escorts an omega like me.” 

“Do you think maybe you have some self-esteem issues?” Jazz asks. Heat is almost definitely making him a bit more volatile and emotional than normal, considering the kinds of things he’s been saying to her, but it still seems like a valid question. Being on their cycle doesn’t make people different people; just makes it a bit harder for them to censor and control themselves. 

Or a lot harder, sometimes. 

Judging by how strong Red Hood’s pheromones smell right now . . . 

Well, he might be having a harder time than he’s used to having, so far as “controlling himself” goes. 

Jazz certainly is, all inappropriate knotheaded puns aside. 

Do Poison Ivy’s pollens make cycles hit harder, actually? Or does the suddenness of the effect disorient or throw people off, maybe? 

Well, that’s a worrying thought, since Red Hood seems to be out here alone. 

“‘Self-esteem issues’?” Red Hood repeats incredulously, his pheromones briefly sparking with bewilderment. Jazz decides not to press it, since he might be feeling a little vulnerable right now. 

“Yes,” she says. “Is there someone you can call, if you don’t want an escort or to borrow my scent? I could wait with you until they show. No offense, just Park Row’s not a very nice neighborhood.” 

Red Hood laughs. 

“No fucking shit!” he says, spreading his arms. “It’s Crime Alley!” 

“I know, sorry, I just keep accidentally calling it ‘Park Row’ in my head. Still new in town,” Jazz apologizes. She assumes a crime lord would prefer his territory be correctly referred to, anyway. Seems like a thing. She knows standard humans don’t actually have haunts–even most liminal ones don’t, including her–but sometimes she does . . . well, not forget, exactly, but just . . . expect them to anyway, she supposes? 

She spent way too long in Amity, yes. 

Even without Crime Alley being Red Hood’s actual haunt, though, it’s still disrespectful to call it the wrong name. It’s still his territory either way, and she imagines someone on their cycle especially wouldn’t appreciate the mistake. 

“What is your damage?” Red Hood snarls, his voice modulator crackling threateningly as he visibly bristles, and Jazz catches notes of that electric and unexpected edge in his pheromones again. Still vaguely familiar, but still not quite what it seems like it should be. Just . . . 

Really, if she didn’t know better . . . well, she’d think he was liminal. But that seems like a very unlikely coincidence for her first week in Gotham, so . . . 

Then again, her life is her life. 

It’s not really the time to be asking Red Hood about his levels of ecto exposure, though, and she’s pretty sure they’ve both got more important priorities right now. 

“We don’t really have time to unpack all that, to be honest. You really do need to get home,” she says. “Or at least call someone to pick you up. If you go into heat drop alone in Crime Alley, I can’t imagine it’s going to end well.” 

Red Hood hisses. That might’ve sounded like a threat, Jazz realizes belatedly. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, apologetic again. “But it’s not safe, is it?” 

“If anyone I don’t want near my ass tries to touch me, I’ll put a bullet up theirs,” Red Hood growls, low and crackling. 

“That seems like a lot of trouble when you’re on your cycle, though,” Jazz says. He’d have a body to deal with, and maybe someone would call the cops–well, she supposes it is Crime Alley, so maybe not . . .? But it’d be self-defense anyway, and if he is a crime lord, maybe he has people for that. 

Hm. 

She really needs to get familiar with this area as soon as possible, yeah. And just Gotham in general, really. Every city has its own idiosyncrasies, but Gotham is its idiosyncrasies. 

Well, so is Amity Park, of course. 

“I think you belong in Arkham, lady,” Red Hood says. Jazz feels like a Gothamite should be more understanding of someone taking supervillain attack side effects and hostile heated-up crime lords in stride, but apparently not. 

“Technically, you’re not wrong,” she says with a wry smile. She’d offer him a handshake, but that’s not really appropriate for an alpha to offer to an omega in heat. Especially not an unmated alpha, which Jazz very definitely is. “I start Monday. Jazz Fenton, psychiatric intern. At your service.”

Red Hood manages to very clearly stare at her without actually taking off the helmet. It's actually an impressive amount of expressiveness to get across, under the circumstances. 

Or there could be a touch of liminal empathy happening, admittedly. That's possible too. Especially with another liminal involved. 

Jazz briefly considers what knotting a liminal omega might actually be like if an empathy loop got established somewhere in the process, which is a lie, because what she’s actually imagining is picking up this liminal omega and showing him exactly how delicious she thinks he smells. 

Definitely inappropriate. 

“They will literally eat you alive,” Red Hood says. 

“I mean, there’s a risk of it,” Jazz allows, because nothing is a perfect guarantee. It’s just not a very large risk. Comparatively, she means. 

“You applied to Arkham on purpose, lady?” Red Hood says disbelievingly. 

“Oh, no,” Jazz says, shaking her head. “They made me an offer. Somebody read my thesis and liked it, apparently.” 

Well . . . “thought we should interview you for either a position or to have your file established for whenever the convictions start rolling in”, whichever. The interviewing psychiatrists had a range of reactions during her interview, she supposes is the best way to put it. 

Jazz really doesn’t think it’s fair to classify her parents as actual supervillains, but an increasingly long list of professionals has, admittedly, not agreed with that assessment. 

She can’t imagine what they would’ve thought if she’d told them about Danny, considering. 

Well, it’s not her problem if someone else is going to be close-minded about things like that. 

“I’m sorry, I’m really not trying to be pushy here, but are you sure you don’t want to call anyone? Or want my scent. Or . . . literally anything,” she says, gesturing a little awkwardly with her shopping bags. “I do get told my pheromones are pretty discouraging to unwanted attention, if that helps?” 

“Sure they are,” Red Hood snorts. Jazz tries not to look disapproving, given his compromised state. That kind of thing can bother omegas in heat, she knows. 

“That’s what people tell me,” is all she says. Obviously it’s not just the default parts of her scent that make it a strong deterrent, but as for the force of the emotions and claim she can put into it . . . 

Well. She just hears it’s “discouraging” to other alphas pretty regularly, that’s all. And also some betas, depending on their sexuality. And, um . . . well, a little closer to “catnip”, for omegas, but . . . 

“I’ll believe it when I smell it, knothead,” Red Hood snorts again. “Prove it.” 

Jazz isn’t sure that’s a good idea, considering–again–his compromised state, but, well . . . he’s clearly a strong omega himself, and maybe she’s a little miffed by him just assuming she’s lying about something like that, that’s all. She knows plenty of alphas do lie about their pheromones or even lay on fake ones, but . . . well, it’s hard not to wonder if he just thinks she’s a lesser alpha because she’s female, or because of how she’s dressed or looks or speaks, or just because. 

Her inner alpha doesn’t love the experience of one of the most gorgeous-smelling omegas she’s ever scented sneering at her worth as an alpha without even giving her a shot to prove it, either way. 

“Are you sure?” she asks.

[eyesthatroll]

wip catalogue ! ft. qh43, lh43, jh86, nm29, tz11, jc37, dm91

author's note; hey everyone, mari here, just wanted to say thank you for 1k followers!!!!!!!!1 that's crazy, and you guys are so so amazing and cool and swag. i thought about doing a celly, (fun fact, i've never done one of those!) but i've decided to save that for next time and attempt to do a draft clean out.

i have 117 drafts, really just pages upon pages of unfinished work that i'd like to get out at some point. so, if you enjoy my writing, under the cut will be excerpts from fics/oneshots/series' that i haven't finished. if any of them of them peak your interest, please let me know by either leaving a comment, or something in my inbox. i'll try and work on the ones that have the most interest first, and then finish the others. if this doesn't make sense, or you have any questions, you can let me know in the same fashion.

dad!jt compher x fem!reader

Eamon huffs out of frustration. “She’ll already marry Sammy B. by then.”

Laughter escapes JT’s lips, “and who is Sammy B.?”

He huffs again. “He has black hair, and he sits by her in reading. Why can’t I have hair like mommy?”

“I got my hair color from my dad, your papa, just like you got yours from daddy.” You explain.

“Well, I don’t want daddy’s stupid h-hair.” Eamon’s voice waivers, and the tears that he was holding in begin to free fall. He turns into your side, clutching your shirt.

This idea randomly came to me. Eamon would probably be in either first or second grade, and has a little crush like all kids have. Said crush doesn't like his hair color, and tells him that flat out because kids are menaces and very blunt. OR. Was floating around the idea of the same concept, but perhaps a teenage girl? tween girl, maybe middle school age, and the boy she likes only likes blondes, so she asks to dye her hair blonde? But obviously that conversation would be waaaay more mature. I don't know. If you have any thoughts, feel free to let me know.

———

jack hughes x fem!reader (best friends brother/kinda enemies to lovers)

"You can put your drink on my tab." A voice says, coming up from behind you, a hand on the small of your back as he takes a seat at the barstool to your right. You smile to yourself, shaking your head before turning to him.

You quirk a brow at him, "I did that already."

He rolls his eyes at your answer, taking a sip of his own drink, some beer you'd never heard of until earlier tonight. You'd taken a sip of Luke's earlier, and about gagged at the taste. "Of course you did."

You shrug your shoulders, no shame in your game. You were at a bar with about a dozen NHL players, you'd be damned if you had to buy your own drinks. "I already told Lukey I'm not paying for anything this weekend."

The request: Hiii can I request something where reader and luke know each other from college and they’re at a party or bar and jack is visiting luke so they see each other and jack is interested in reader but she’s playing hard to get 🤭

I changed the request a bit, so it's set in this season when Luke is already with the Devils, and reader visits during that 5 game homestead. This would probably be a long one shot, and I like the idea of combining these tropes:

forbidden

best friends brother

enemies to lovers (but not insanely enemies)

(more below, but a different part than above)

He scoffs, his hand pushing into your shoulder, playfully of course. "I love this relationship that we have."

You quirk a brow, bringing your glass to your lips, finishing off the rest of your white russian. "And what relationship is that?"

"The one where you pretend you're not in love with your best friends older brother."

"I always did like Quinn." You respond, an innocent smile on your lips.

"No-"

You cut him off. "Plus, he has that whole Captain thing going on. Very sexy."

"He has a girlfriend!" He exclaims.

You shrug your shoulders, leaning in closer to face him. "That's too bad."

You're obviously joking, but Jack doesn't seem to catch on. "And, you're too young for him."

You shoot him a questioning look. "But not for you, huh?"

He slides his barstool closer to yours, the fabric of his jeans making contact with the bare skin of your knee. "Are you still dating that college fuck, what was his name.. Alan?"

Your tongue rolls over your bottom lip. "Aiden."

He nods, feigning a look of realization, while you both know that he knew his name. "Right, Aiden." He confirms. "The guy who leaves you on the side of the road at 3am."

You scoff, shaking your head. "That was one time."

Your eyes shoot to his palm, that has found a place on your thigh, his warm hand against your cold skin sending a chill throughout your body.

"I could never leave a pretty girl like you on the side of the road." He continues.

Probably going to have a lot of bickering throughout the fic, reader will be hardheaded and uncompromising on fucking up her friendship with Luke. I haven't fleshed out the personalities I want them to have yet so this is in a very rough stage. If you have any thoughts, feel free to let me know.

———

nathan mackinnon x fem!reader (5 year age gap)

“Today’s my 23rd birthday.” You say, before taking a sip of your drink, your attention to the right, where a man as struck up a conversation with you at the bar.

He takes a swig of his beer, his eyes roaming your body before they finally meet your gaze again. He looks conflicted, his brows tensed as if battling an internal war.

You weren’t stupid. You graduated college top of your class—with honors, and even if you hadn’t, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that you were speaking to an older man.

The only man, to even catch a sliver of your entire, in the entire bar. You’d caught eyes with him from across the room, back when you were pushed in a booth with your friends. He looked away immediately, but you could feel his eyes on you every now and again, before you finally excused yourself from the table and went up to the bar. You wore a black slip dress, your hair cascading down your back with silver glitter hair tinsel placed throughout. You didn't bother turning to see if he would follow you, you don't chase, you attract. If he sat in the chair next to you, then he was buying you a drink. And if he didn't, then you'd move on to the next.

“Happy Birthday.” He finally said.

"What happened to your nose?" You were over the birthday formalities-having received them all night. You had questions for the man sitting next to you, starting with his bruised nose, a prominent and formidable feature dominating his face that you couldn't take your eyes off of. With him looking straight at you, you could see that it curved slightly to your right. Nothing stopped the thoughts of feeling it against your skin.

"My nose?" He questions. There's surprise in his tone of voice, like he forgot about the bruise on his nose, or surprised that you'd asked about it.

"Quite the shiner you got there." You comment again, bringing your glass to your lips again, this time finishing off the rest.

"Uh-" he pauses. There it is again with those tensed eyebrows, you wished you could gauge what he was thinking about. "Work incident."

"Damn, where do you work?" You let out a chuckle. You hadn't meant to be blunt, but you couldn't imagine what line of work would create a bruise like that.

He finishes his beer, setting it back on the counter with a light thud. "I work in..sports."

"What are you like a gym teacher?"

He laughs, for the first time since he's sat down next to you. You could tell that he had a nice smile. "Something like that."

Another fic starting in a bar. Don't know how this started, but very self indulgent as I am 22 and suffer from nate mac brainrot daily ! I have no idea for plot at all, literally nothing. I'd probably want to include smut of some sort, that seems very much where the vibe is heading, but I am absolutely terrible at writing it, so I'll have to do some research and practice writing that (if you have any tips-please let me know!!)

———

quinn hughes x fem!reader (debating on making this an oc)

Quinn and Reader (debating on making reader an OC!) are getting married in a week, and reader is still struggling to write her vows. Will probably be a long fic and include the wedding. A bit angsty, but a lot of fluff to make up for it. I'd probably give reader/oc emotionally distant parents?? Or maybe her parents are divorced? Not sure. It'll mid offseason, so we'll probably see a lot of familiar faces (j. norris, b. tkachuk, etc.)

Your frustration mounted as you released an exasperated sigh, the eraser of your pencil frantically working overtime to correct yet another line that failed to capture the right essence. You flicked away the eraser remnants with a swift motion of your palm, straightening out your legs and allowing the spiral notebook to settle in your lap. Leaning back against the arm of the couch, you closed your eyes, simultaneously opening and closing your hand in an attempt to alleviate the cramping in your fingers. A burgeoning headache threatened to take hold, and you could feel a slight discomfort in your eyes after hours of writing without the aid of your glasses.

A week, you were getting married in a week, and you still hadn't finished writing your vows. Admittedly, you had procrastinated until the last minute, but you hadn't anticipated the challenge to be this daunting. Your love for Quinn surpassed anything you had ever experienced, so why was expressing it in words proving to be such a formidable task? Frustration morphed into annoyance, and you carelessly tossed the notebook onto the modest coffee table before rising from the couch and heading towards the bathroom.

You were grateful that no one was home at the moment. Everyone had gone out for lunch, and you chose to remain behind, citing a lack of sleep the previous night as the reason for your decision to take a nap. While that wasn't entirely false – your night had indeed been restless – your true intention wasn't to catch up on sleep while the others were away. Quinn, being the caring soul he was, insisted on staying with you, but you resisted his efforts and practically ushered him out the door. That was about an hour ago, and you were keenly aware that their return was imminent.

Delving into the medicine cabinet, your fingers located the bottle of aspirin. You poured two into your palm, easily popping them into your mouth and washing them down with water from the sink. Gazing into the mirror, you couldn't help but cringe at your reflection. The extent of your fatigue hit you with full force – the bags under your eyes were darker than you had ever seen them.

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

quinn hughes x fem!reader

This would probably just be a fluffy, short, domestic blurb, don't really have any other plot ideas for this.

Arriving home from work, all you wanted to do was take a shower and collapse into your bed. Tonight was an exception, with your shift extending later than usual, around 10:30, instead of your customary 9. Combine that with your regular hour-long commute, and it's almost midnight by the time you finally get home. Silently navigating through the dark and quiet house, it appears that your boyfriend is already asleep. However, as you step into your shared bedroom, you find him slumped against the headboard, eyes fixed on his iPad, headphones in.

The soft glow from the screen casts a muted ambiance in the room, the only sound being the distant hum of the city outside. Your initial fatigue gives way to a subtle pang of guilt, realizing he stayed up to wait for you, something he quite often did when he was home, even though you insisted he not.

He doesn't notice you, until you've crossed over to your dresser to grab your nightclothes before your shower, slightly jumping before dropping his iPad and taking out his headphones. "Hey, you're finally home." He comments, climbing out of his previous spot on the bed to sit at the edge of the bed, his legs hanging off the edge.

You yawn, turning around to face him. "Don't you have to be up early tomorrow?" You question. He pats his thighs, gesturing for you step over to him.

Leaving your clothes to rest on the dresser, you walk over to him. Quinn widens his legs so you can step in between them. Wordlessly, his fingers trail up your waist, to your chest, beginning to undo the buttons of your white lab coat. He slides the fabric off your shoulders, leaving only the black satin blouse you'd been wearing underneath.

He pulls gently at your collar, drawing your lips to his softly. His hands drop to your waist, gripping at your sides to guide you on top of him until you're straddling him.

"Are you okay, Quinn?" you ask, breaking apart from the kiss, just enough for your foreheads to remain pressed against each other.

"Just missed you." he mumbles, pulling you into a hug, his head finding a comfortable spot in the crook of your neck.

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

jack hughes x fem!reader

Toxicity, angst, angry sex, maybe second chance love, idk.

"Where have you been?" Jack's inquiry slices through the air, surprising you as you step quietly through the front door. Your boyfriend, still awake and perched on the couch, rises to his feet the moment the door closes, arms crossed at his chest, a sour expression gracing his features. Your brows furrow in confusion as you lift one foot behind you, placing your hand on the wall for balance while attempting to undo your heel.

"What?" His question catches you off guard, especially because you had left him multiple messages earlier, clearly communicating your plans for the night—messages that went unanswered, leaving you on read once again. He sighs, a mix of frustration and concern, and crosses over to you, bending down. Without a word, he grabs your knee, gently pulling your heel-clad foot to rest on your knee, his hands deftly moving to undo the straps. He repeats the same with the other foot, before releasing you of his hold.

"I don't like you being out this late," he says, the firmness in his voice evident as he pushes himself up from his feet. Suddenly, he's towering over you, and you angle your neck to look up at him, annoyance etching your face.

"Sorry, Dad, didn't realize I had a curfew," you slur with a wry smile, a hint of laughter punctuating the absurdity of his concern. With a last dismissive glance, you shake your head and push past him, your shoulder bumping into his side as you ascend the stairs to the bedroom.

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

quinn hughes x fem!reader

Quinn shows the reader that she can enjoy her birthday when the two of them spend it together for the first time. Would be super fluffy, reader will be written to have two dads, though I might make it an OC instead.

Quinn's persistent nuzzling against your shoulder blade disrupts your peaceful slumber. With a groan, you bury your head deeper into the pillow, yearning to cling to a few more precious moments of sleep before the demands of the day pull you from its embrace. Gradually, he initiates a series of tender kisses, commencing at your collarbone and concluding at that delightful spot just beneath your neck. "Happy Birthday, Angel," Quinn murmurs, his warm breath brushing against your skin.

Gently parting your eyelids, you shift on your other side to meet his gaze. His eyes are already fixed on you, brimming with adoration, as his teeth graze at his bottom lip. The morning sunlight filters through the blinds, casting a warm glow that accentuates just how gorgeous he truly is. Even in the early hours, with disheveled hair and faint remnants of drool, he remains undeniably handsome in every retrospect.

"Thank you," you express your gratitude softly, a subtle shyness tinting your voice.

Birthdays, even as a child, never held much appeal for you. The discomfort of being the focal point, the recipient of attention, has remained a constant, and birthdays, with their inevitable spotlight, are something you've always actively avoided. Yet, here you are, facing a birthday that feels different, primarily because Quinn is here to share it with you. This marks the first birthday you're spending with him in the span of your three year relationship, and it's a welcomed departure from the usual routine. It's a rarity, considering his demanding schedule that seldom grants him time off, but you know it's because he'll be leaving for a four game road-trip on Monday.

Reaching over, his hand envelops yours, fingers applying deliberate pressure that prompts a satisfying crack from your knuckles. It's a peculiar habit he picked up from you, a subtle exchange of quirks that began when you surprised him with it initially. "I have a special day planned for you," he announces, punctuating his words with a tender kiss pressed into the center of your palm.

"You know I don't want a fuss, Quinn," you mumble, weariness etched across your features.

He senses your reluctance and responds swiftly, his touch gentle as he brushes a strand of hair away from your eyes. "Not too much," he reassures, his words soothing against your worries. "Just want to celebrate you, Angel, on your day." Drawing nearer, he shifts, propping himself up on his right arm as he hovers over you. "Will you let me?" He wets his bottom lip, anticipation palpable as he awaits your response.

A small, close-lipped smile graces your lips as you reach up, your fingers delicately tracing over the overgrown scruff that lines his face. "Of course I will." A wide grin spreads across his face in response to your words, and he leans in, morning breath be damned, as your lips meet in a soft, synchronized dance.

He breaks apart, planting a kiss on your nose, before carefully stepping over you to get out of bed. "You get ready, I'll make breakfast."

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

luke hughes x fem!reader (but not really)

This is part two to Nobody's Love. I finished it, but I absolutely hate it, and will basically be starting over from square one. Below is where we would've left off, but when I finish this properly, it won't start with this dialogue, it will probably open within a flashback, and this part will be later in the story (if that makes sense).

"What's going on here?" Your blood runs cold at the sound of his voice, and you immediately break away from Jack, moving with an urgency as if you'd been caught doing something forbidden. Frantically, your hands move to wipe away the lingering traces of tears that you'd shed just moments ago. But your efforts to disguise your emotions prove futile as Luke's keen eyes detect the remnants of your sorrow, and his face contorts into a mix of confusion and well-intended concern.

"Why is she crying? What did you do to her?" Luke's voice brims with accusation, his words directed at his brother.. He takes a step forward, his intent to comfort you clear in his movement. You instinctively shuffle backwards, creating a protective distance, your arms loosely crossing over your chest.

Jack scoffs, disbelief etched across his features. "I didn't do anything," he retorts, his tone dripping with emphasis on the word 'I,' subtly implying that Luke is the source of your distress.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Luke's words slice through the air, laced with an unmistakable edge. His face tinges with a reddish hue as his gaze drills into Jack.

Again, would love to give you a bigger excerpt, but I hate everything else of what I've written LMAO. Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

quinn hughes x darcy sorokin (black fem!oc)

Basically a quinn x single mom au. May rewrite this entire thing. Also, started this months ago and loved the name Sunny for the kid (Sunny Sorokin) (no relation to the hockey player) but now I kind of hate it :)

Quinn became utterly enamored with her the moment his gaze met hers in the diner. She was a delightful surprise, replacing his usual waiter, Johnny, to collect his order. Her dark skin seemed to radiate a subtle glow under the dim diner lights, and her curly hair was artfully gathered in a loose bun resting at the back of her neck, adorned with a floral bandana draped over it. When she smiled, her dimples and the slight gap between her front teeth only added to her charm, leaving Quinn captivated and unable to shake thoughts of her for days.

Quinn stumbled upon Alma’s, the quaint diner, during his rookie year in Vancouver. Its unassuming atmosphere, a hidden gem tucked away, immediately resonated with him, providing a sense of ease. Combine that with the staff’s familial treatment, and he easily became a regular patron. Now, however, his visits weren’t just about unwinding and savoring a meal; he hoped to encounter the beautiful waitress he had learned was named Darcy (not through inquiry, but thanks to her name tag — he was too anxious to ask). Quinn relished any excuse to come to the diner, whether to be served by Darcy or simply steal glances at her when she wasn’t looking.

Quinn’s attempts to discreetly observe Darcy didn’t go unnoticed. She could sense the weight of his gaze, subtly tracking her movements around the diner. Intrigued and slightly puzzled by his behavior, Darcy decided to approach her co-worker, Johnny, to inquire about this regular customer. Johnny, with his wealth of experience at the diner, shared that Quinn was a nice guy who had been a faithful patron for years. He detailed Quinn’s routine of ordering the same breakfast every morning—soft scrambled eggs on wheat—followed by prolonged disappearances, especially during the summer months. Armed with this newfound knowledge, Darcy’s curiosity about the handsome and somewhat mysterious customer deepened. 

Darcy couldn’t deny the undeniable attractiveness of the man. His chestnut brown hair, steadily growing out since their first encounter, months ago, often required his attention as he habitually moved it out of his line of sight. His eyes, a deep brown that occasionally hinted at hazel in the early morning light. The way his teeth grazed over his bottom lip during conversation, though she was unsure if it was born out of nervousness or mere habit. Following the tumultuous chapter with her ex-boyfriend, after nearly five years, another man had finally found a place in her thoughts.

She harbored these thoughts secretly, keeping them locked away from anyone but herself. With her son, Sunny, now five years old, she couldn’t afford to be hasty. Sunny, more aware of his surroundings, comprehended things with greater clarity. She had already delicately explained the departure of his father, her ex-boyfriend, wanting to shield him from the unnecessary pain of the wondering, not knowing. And despite yearnings for companionship, she held the burden of guilt for Sunny’s lack of a father figure, and understood the importance of not rushing into a relationship that wasn’t genuine. Both she and Sunny deserved better, and she was determined to prioritize their well-being.

Let me know if you have any thoughts.

———

quinn hughes x fem!reader

Quinn and Reader go to their favorite diner late after a game. Probably lots of fluff, reminiscing. Possibly out of character Quinn, not too sure if he'd be into pda in front of the wags LOL.

Hovering in the distant corner, your fingers nervously toyed with the security pass draped around your neck, its edge resting just above the waistline of your jeans. A cluster of other wives and girlfriends lingered in the same vicinity, engaged in casual banter among themselves. You offered polite smiles, but there was no effort on their part to include you, nor did you make any overtures to join their conversation.

At last, you caught sight of a familiar mop of brown hair making its way down the hallway. The impulse to sprint towards him, leap into his arms, and plant an immediate kiss on his lips surged within you. However, with watchful eyes fixed on you, you opted for a more restrained approach, contenting yourself with a gentle caress of your hand against his right bicep. "Great game, Quinn."

A puzzled expression settles on his face, seemingly oblivious to the attention directed your way, or perhaps indifferent to it. His calloused hands find their place on your waist, guiding you closer as he dips his head low to meet your lips. Your fingers intertwine around his neck, and as his towering figure elevates you slightly off the ground, he murmurs, "Thank you, baby."

An orchestra of 'awws' surrounds you, a symphony of approval that bathes your cheeks in warmth. Quinn, charmed by your bashful response, lets out a chuckle, drawing you back into the protective embrace of his side. As he ushers both of you towards the back door, he bids the women farewell with a casual, "Goodnight, ladies," leaving the echo of their admiration suspended in the air.

"Goodbye, Quinn!" Their voices lingered with a touch of wistful admiration. You couldn't help but notice the collective enchantment Quinn seemed to cast on them. It wasn't entirely surprising—your boyfriend possessed a magnetic blend of boyish charm and dorky allure that had a way of rendering anyone weak in the knees. Since being crowned captain and amassing a string of victories, his newfound confidence only added to his undeniable sex appeal.

The night air nips at the exposed skin, coaxing you to cling closer to Quinn's comforting frame. As you approach the car, the two of you reluctantly break apart. "Do you want me to drive?" Quinn shakes his head with an easy smile, planting a tender kiss on your forehead before courteously opening the passenger side door for you.

You smoothly slide into the car, and Quinn secures the door behind you. With a jog to the driver's side, he swiftly settles into the seat, key in the ignition. Your hand instinctively reaches for the heat controls, but Quinn, ever attentive, beats you to it. After ensuring your seatbelt is on, he rests his hand on your thigh, the warmth of his touch contrasting the cool night air as he skillfully navigates out of the once bustling parking garage.

"Eddie's?" His voice dances just above the soft melody of the radio in the background. Tilting your head to the left, you catch his gaze for a fleeting moment before his focus returns to the road.

"Okay" You nod absentmindedly, a yawn escaping your lips as you lean your head against the window of the car.

He peers at you once more, skepticism lingering in his gaze. "Are you sure? We can just call it a night and head home if you're tired."

Your hand descends onto his, offering a reassuring squeeze. Fatigue clings to you, but the knowledge that he's hungry and wouldn't eat if you went home propels you forward. "I want to go out with you, Quinn."

A grin overtakes his lips, and he brings your hand up to his mouth, peppering a kiss against your palm.

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

dawson mercer x juniper hughes (fem!oc) (luke's twin)

Remember last halloween when I floated around the idea of dawson x hughes sister. I started it, barely a sliver into the universe. I also know very little about dawson other than I think he's an absolute cutie pie, so I'll have to do some research for this series for sure. Will deal with heavy topics such as alcoholism, addiction, etc, so if that is triggering for you, this may not be the series for you, please take care of yourself, love you.

Juniper Hughes was no stranger to the judgmental eyes. They seemed to trail her everywhere she went, the invisible weight of societal expectations bearing down on her, reminding her both of who her family was and who she wasn't. While her brothers excelled as perfect, professional athletes, following in her parents' footsteps, she had been on a different journey—one of recovery from alcoholism after her expulsion from school due to underage drinking.

Twelve long years of arduous study, relentless commitment to extracurricular activities, unending string of tests, and the suffocating pressure of expectations—Juniper endured it all. Only one fateful night was enough to strip away everything she'd worked for. In the blink of an eye, her scholarship to Brown University was lost, her only friend torn from her, and her dignity shattered into pieces. The ruthless media, once her cheerleaders, rapidly transformed into her tormentors, subjecting her to a public shaming campaign for her mistakes, constantly drawing odious comparisons with her accomplished brothers. The intrusive question hung heavily in the air, echoing endlessly: where had her parents gone wrong with her?

Why was she so deeply flawed while her brothers seemed to glide through life unburdened? Why couldn't she manage a regular relationship-whether it was with alcohol, food, or people, but they could? Juniper's life had always been marked by relentless effort, a result of sheer necessity. Unlike her brothers, nothing seemed to come naturally to her—school, sports, it all required double the hard work just to lag two steps behind them. Alcohol served as her escape, a means to shed the heavy cloak of perfectionism that enveloped her. It provided release, a fleeting respite from her self-imposed pressures. Juniper enjoyed the person she became when she drank, but the mornings after, the ensuing guilt and repercussions, they ruined her.

"Cleaned out the guest bedroom for you, Twinny," Luke's voice is gentle as he opens the bedroom door, ushering you inside. Juniper offers him a nod, accompanied by a faint smile, and steps into the room. It's devoid of any distinctive character, featuring only four white walls, a simple bed, and a closet. As she walks around, she can't help but grimace, the stark emptiness of the room triggering memories of your time in the rehab center.

Juniper gracefully lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, her fingers delicately tracing the intricate designs on the black and white duvet. Luke and Jack linger in the doorway, observing her with wordless, almost reverent gazes, as if any sound might shatter the fragile stillness of the room. She clears her throat, then turns her gaze toward her brothers. "Thanks."

While this fic will deal with heavy topics, I don't want this entire series to be super depressing, so I'll try and add equal amounts fluff!!

———

jack hughes x fem!reader

Part of the Bless the Broken Road series. Jack gets the kids up and takes them to school for the first time without readers help. Super fluffy. Might completely rewrite it, though.

"Hey, wake up." Y/N shakes Jack awake, her hand pressing into his shoulder as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to him.

Jack groans, stirring in his sleep, his eyes squinting open to meet her chocolate brown gaze.

"Remember, school starts at 8, kids need to be up by 7, and you need to be out the door no later than 7:45."

Y/N leaned down to plant a tender kiss on his forehead before straightening up. With grace, she retrieved her phone from the dresser and picked up her coat hanging from the back of the door. "Yeah, I know, I got it, baby," he dismissed, though when Y/N glanced back at him, his eyelids had drooped shut once more.

She flicks his cheek. "Don't fall back asleep!"

She was well aware of Jack's exhaustion, considering he had a late game last night that went into overtime. However, she had a scheduled meeting with a contractor at the bakery early in the morning, which meant Jack had to shoulder the responsibility of taking the twins to school.

Smacking her finger away, he forced his eyes open once more and sat up, leaning against the headboard. "I'm up." He rasps, "now go before you're late."

She gives him a knowing look, shaking her head. "Call me if you need anything."

"We'll be fine." He assures.

Things were definitely not fine. Jack couldn't pinpoint when or how it happened, but at some indeterminate moment, he'd drifted back into sleep, only to be roused by a gentle poking on his forehead and a soft voice by his side. He blinked his eyes open, finding his youngest son, Adler, right in front of him, his lips curved into a pout.

"Where's mommy?" Adler asks.

Jack's eyes shoot wide open, and he promptly sits up, his gaze fixed on the alarm clock perched atop the dresser, which displayed the time as 7:36. With a swift hand running through his tousled brown hair, he mutters a curse under his breath. Adler instinctively takes a step back as Jack moves abruptly, his tiny hands fidgeting nervously, forming knots of unease in front of him.

Exhaling a deep breath, Jack pushed off the covers, swinging his feet to the right side of the bed. He gently grasps Adler's shoulders, using one hand to push stray curls out of his eye line, his voice soft and reassuring. "Mommy had to go to work early today,"

Adler nods. "So no school today?"

Jack shakes his head. "I'm gonna take you. Will you wake up your brother for me, please?"

He nods, and Jack breaks into a grin, pulling Adler into a tight hug. With a gentle lift, Jack stands up, eliciting gleeful giggles from Adler as he spins them around in a circle. The sound of the child's laughter fills the quiet stillness of the house, prompting laughter of Jack's own. Setting Adler back down, the boy immediately dashes off, sprinting back to his bedroom.

———

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

jack hughes x fem!reader (ex-situationship to lovers??)

Months ago, when Jack had insisted that you attend your first hockey game when the season started, he had presented you with one of his jerseys. It had ended up tucked away in the back of your closet, gathering dust and fading into oblivion. In fact, you'd nearly forgotten about it altogether. However, the morning after your conversation with Luke, a sudden thought about what to wear to the game had crossed your mind. You were certain of one thing: you had no intention of donning Jack's jersey. You did briefly consider asking Luke for one, but that would have been counterproductive since he shared the same last name as him. Instead, you were determined to indulge in a little pettiness.

On that particular day, you impulsively ordered a Red Wings jersey from eBay. It happened to be Moritz Seider's jersey, though you didn't really know much about him, or whether he was still actively playing or not. Frankly, you didn't care. You had no intention of cheering for the Red Wings, you simply saw the purchase as a final "fuck you" to Jack Hughes.

Reader and Jack "breakup" and so she wears a different jersey to a game to spite him. Jack gets jealous, yada yada you can probably guess the vibes.

———

trevor zegras x fem!reader (bookstore owner)

Trevor comes into readers bookshop a couple times a week, begging to take her out on a date. Might turn into a 3 times he asked and the 1 time she said yes type thing. Not sure!

"Go on a date with me." Your gaze transitions from the non-fiction books that you were presently shelving to the tall blonde on your right. He regards you with eager anticipation, awaiting your response, although it seems to be no different from all the previous rejections you've given him.

"Don't you have anything more productive to do than pester me while I'm trying to work?" Your voice carries a tinge of irritation as you descend from the small stepladder.

He offers a nonchalant shrug, feigning innocence with an expression of mock sincerity. "Just one date."

You push your way past him, making contact with his side as you stride back toward the front desk. He tails you, mirroring your movements like a lost puppy, eventually leaning his elbows casually on the tall counter, opposite to where you take a seat behind it.

"Why must you deny this obvious chemistry?" He's teasing, his face leaning on his hand as he looks intently at you. You let out a huff of laughter, settling into the spinny chair.

"Does rejection get you off or something?"

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

luke hughes x fem!reader

Reader broke up with Luke months ago, and doesn't expect to see him again, but she does, and he wants answers. Angsty, but will probably have a happy ending.

You tried your best to move on from him, putting in every ounce of effort you could to try and forget him. You threw yourself into your work, deliberately steered clear of the songs that held his memory, and even canceled your ESPN Plus subscription to shield yourself from the overpowering sadness that welled up whenever you saw him on the ice.

You weren't angry with him; anger had no place in your heart. After all, you were the one who had made the difficult decision to end things with him. You had asked him to leave your apartment as he struggled through sobs, his voice filled with desperation, seeking answers about what had led to the dissolution of your relationship. And despite the tears brimming in your own eyes, you didn't break down, standing your ground as he tried to challenge your conclusion.

Your sadness clung to you like a relentless shadow, casting a long and persistent gloom over your life for months. The vibrant and extroverted girl you once were seemed like a distant memory as you found solace in the confines of your home. Days passed in mechanical, robotic-like motions, each one blending into the next in a monotonous blur. Even the cheerful banter and laughter of your co-workers, which once provided a semblance of happiness, now felt like distant echoes in the cavernous emptiness of your heart. And nights were spent curled up on the couch, lost in the embrace of comforting films from your childhood, each frame a desperate attempt to escape the crushing loneliness that had become your all-encompassing reality.

You were aware it wasn't healthy, and though that knowledge weighed on you like a heavy anchor, you made no effort to climb up to the surface for air. The relentless ache in your chest, filled with sorrow and regret over losing the boy you had loved so deeply, was like a suffocating fog, clouding your vision at every turn. You couldn't go anywhere without being haunted by phantom images of him, his presence lingering like a stubborn ghost in the back of your mind.

It only got worse in the weeks leading up to the Devils vs. Red Wings game. You were aware that he would be in town, and that knowledge sent you spiraling into self-pity and uncertainty. You had deliberately steered clear of any rumors about his dating life, but your mind couldn't help but obsessively wonder whether he still missed you. Whether he mourned the loss of your relationship, or had moved on to someone better – a fear that had haunted you ever since he moved to Jersey even before the breakup.

It's a rainy Tuesday night, and you impassively make your way to Walmart with one single purpose in mind: to purchase alcohol and junk food. Your plan was simple – to watch the game and numb your sorrows with alcohol. You were fully aware of how pathetic it might seem, but at that moment, you simply don't care.

You stretch up onto your tiptoes, straining to reach a tall bottle of merlot perched on the top shelf, your shopping basket hanging from the crook of your elbow. In your haste to secure your wine, a sudden, sharp pain pierces your sternum. Your grip falters, and the basket slips from your grasp, clattering to the floor with an ear-splitting thud. One hand flies to your chest, your fingers resting on your heartbeat that pounded wildly against the thin fabric of your shirt. Disoriented, you stumble backward, the voice of a concerned stranger echoing in the distance as your vision blurs and darkness encroaches.

Let me know if you have any thoughts.

———

jack hughes x fem!reader

Jack spends the night at Readers apartment for the first time, and asks her to move in with him. Probably would be a short blurb, maybe 1k-1.5k words and under.

"You live in this building?" Jack inquires, his gaze sweeping over the aging building, a typical five-story apartment complex in dire need of renovation. You nod at him, shutting the passenger-side door as you step out.

"Is this area safe?" He inquires, his eyes lingering hesitantly on the parking lot.

You were roughly forty minutes from Jack's neighborhood, and while this area was a bit rundown and perhaps less safe, you thankfully had never encountered any issues.

"Uh, yeah," you respond, taking Jack's hand and leading him toward the entrance. After a moment of rummaging in your bag, you locate the key to the building, insert it into the lock, and swing the door open. Jack grabs the door, gesturing for you to enter first.

Your building lacked an elevator, so you faced a long climb to the fifth floor, where apartment 48B awaited.

As you unlocked the door, you visually cringed at the chaotic scene that greeted you. Clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor, dishes forming a precarious tower in the sink. You hadn't had a chance to tidy up before Jack insisted on spending the weekend in your modest abode. And although you hesitated, knowing your apartment was far from perfect, you couldn't resist any longer. You two had been dating for about a month, and he had yet to see where you lived. He'd casually mentioned it a few times, so you knew it was time to swallow your pride and invite him over.

"Sorry bout' the mess." You apologize, nearly tripping over yourself to grab a pile of clothes off the floor.

Jack runs his hand across the wall to his right, his fingers tracing the scattered nail gun holes. "What the hell happened to the wall?" he asks, furrowing his brows in concern.

You pause in your cleaning, turning to face him. "Oh, the neighbors like to get drunk and play with their nail gun. Don't stand too close." you warn, shaking your head.

———

quinn hughes x pharmacist!femreader

Nothing started for this, but my time working in a retail pharmacy has me obsessed with writing this pairing. Might make her an OC, though. I love the idea of a badass working woman who doesn't put her life on hold just because she's married to a hockey player.

———

If you're wondering about the status of Never Have I Ever, I'm gonna be honest, I may discontinue that 🫣. Sorry! I just have no motivation to write out that storyline now, but maybe sometime in the future I will.

author's note part two: Obviously this isn't all of my wips, only some, and most haven't been edited at all and a very rough drafts, but I wanted to give you a glimpse of what I have sitting in my drafts. I also have a lot of things in my inbox that I want to get written, but I have been slacking (clearly). I also wanna do some song fics because I've never done one and think that could be cool. Again, if you have any thoughts, don't hesitate to let me know.

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

For my own personal reference re: Dove eventually getting therapy:

The canonical therapist is named Jana. (Pre-boot canon, anyways, but I already cherrypick what I want from comics vs. cartoon, so what harm can a little continuity picking do?)

So according to the comicvine page here:

https://comicvine.gamespot.com/jana-bodie/4005-77183/

Jana appears in: The 2011 Zatanna series, issues 1, 8, and 11, and a Zatanna TPB from 2017. (Which might contain the same issues?)

....I've been wanting to read more about Zatanna for years, anyways.

(Kinda tempted to see what that post is talking about re: Sanctuary in Heroes in Crisis, but I didn't like the way that story handled my favorite characters, so I'm not too keen on reading THAT.)

Note-taking to come below the cut as I skin through to glean some canon tidbits.

From the excerpt I've already seen: I know her office seems to change its appearance (maybe shift its entire reality around?) based on her clients. Probably what they'd be the most comfortable in.

I forgot to remember it, but Jana herself seems to change shape, too!

I wonder if her changing form is a thing she does intentionally? Does she ask each client what they'd be most comfortable talking to her as? Because if she goes on What the Client Is, I think it could be really interesting if she takes a demon form upon meeting Dove, which Greatly Concerns Dove, until she explains that no, no she REALLY identifies more with her (mostly) human half and would very much prefer that form, please.

I just reread the excerpt on the post, and noticed her office seems to be accessible through otherdimensional means. Going there would probably disorient Dove quite a bit. (Which could give them a reason to work on her emet*phobia because traveling like that tends to get her senses and her stomach worked up. I don't think It Would Happen^tm, but she'd still be nervous and unsettled.)

"All are welcome to consult with her"-- that would probably relieve a sticking point for Dove. Trigon is canonically known in mystic circles, so Jana probably knows about him, right? So Dove would have learned He's Well Known and would worry Jana would refuse to treat her for it if she found out who her father is. That might be one of the things that Dove doesn't Specify until after several sessions. (Jana could probably tell Dove isn't keen to talk about it, and would probably ask why. But Dove wouldn't tell her without a lot of trust being built up first.)

Also, "her office is a neutral zone between realities". So maybe Dove wouldn't be AS disoriented as usual when she's traveling between facets of reality, but she could still mention that she was nervous to go there because it USUALLY makes her feel unwell?

(Azarath was described as being "between the dimensions", so maybe it's actually reassuringly EASY for her to get there? Dove physically has Azarathean blood, after all!)

And judging by Zatanna meditating in a circle of candles and the visualization of a ghostly form re-entering her: You need to astral project to get to Dr. Bodie's office? I mean, Dove can DO that but she'd probably need help. (She's much better at meditation as an adult than a teen, but astral projection isn't on her specialty list.) Maybe that's where I can have Raven come in: Helping Dove GET there the first time, but she won't STAY there.

(giggles to myself in Nexus reference that nobody will ever catch, probably.)

Actually? Hell, I've written Dove trying the soul-self thing a couple times! It never goes very well for Dove. Maybe this can be how she learns to do it Her Way, even if she's not as delineated between physical and astral bodies as Raven is.

Srentha could definitely help her Get there, though. Traveling between dimensions is one of HIS Specialties^tm.

[pathsofoak]

this is way overboard, but would you mind answering all of the aro write question asks? sksjdjdjdjdjdhbddj🙈💚

YES. YES. HELL YEAH!

answering for the maze runner. I'm putting it under a cut because my mind can't accept that 'name' doesn't mean "write an essay"

I'm leaving some out that have terms in them that I've never heard before (I'm not really versed in the aro lingo of the internet), because there is a lot of questions. I answered most of them, but it genuinely is a long read XD. Little TW for a bit about aphobia around question 20.

Name one character you headcanon as arospec because of textual reasons

Thomas. I mean headcanon is a strong word (it's more of a this wouldn't NOT make sense situation), but he gets closest. Mostly because of the way his attraction to Teresa and Brenda is written. It's just always seemed so one-sided and a little forced to me. I don't have the excerpts handy but there are so many moments where any romantic actions shown are almost entirely initiated by the girls. Sometimes Thomas doesn't even seem to want it. Thomas I think is the only one to ever have a romantic subplot at all, and the way it sometimes feels forced by both the writer and the characters themselves just scream aro to me sometimes.

Ironically enough I've never really thought about it before because the romance in itself doesn't seem as thematically important as his other strong bonds in the series, so any headcanons relating to it just never happened. I've never been very set on any in particular anyway. I can vibe with whatever I read. Even in stories where romance itself is the story, like a lot of fanfic is, as long as the story is compelling I'm sold.

2. Name one character you headcanon as arospec just because you feel like they are

Thomas again, but to add a second name, Frypan maybe? I can honestly find a reason for anyone though. Most characters in TMR don't have a romantic angle to their characters anyway so my current philosophy is "aro until told otherwise or I happen to be reading something where they're not.

4. Name one character you headcanon as romance repulsed aromantic

Thomas, but specifically book!Thomas. He just seems so uncomfortable with it sometimes (I have never thought about it this deeply but it's sucked me in now). In the movies absolutely not, he kind of leans into it I think (though it's still usually Teresa being the active party, I've noticed). But in the books I do get this vibe.

5. Name one character you headcanon as aroace

Both, also Thomas maybe? Or it's just because I'm giving him a lot of thought now. I'm a sex-repulsed ace myself (I think, in my own definition of it), so to be honest it doesn't even really come up in my mind to think about it unless sex happens or is important to the story.

Both romantic and sexual attraction is kind of this thing of like "oh right most people have that" like I'll completely forget it's a thing sometimes. It really just never comes up to me as a specific thing to think about. For me it not being there is the default unless canon says otherwise. It's a lot easier for me to point out a specific character and go "that's NOT that."

6. Name one character you headcanon as aroallo

Referring back to that previous paragraph, because this one I do have one for.

Frypan. The aro part is more of a feeling, but if we're looking at canon in the movies there's that scene where Teresa is changing clothes and Newt has to direct his attention away. I suppose there's a line between finding someone physically attractive and being sexually attracted to them, but that was the first one to come to mind. Like, literally, I read through the questions and my mind was just like "Thomas. Thomas. Thomas. OH YEAH THAT'S FRYPAN."

8. Is there a character you think would be aromantic due to trauma, neurodivergence, or mental illness?

I think if someone were to not feel romantic attraction because of trauma, the trauma would have to have some romantic element to it. Otherwise it would just be a general fear of connection in general to me. So on the trauma one, no. Not really, the trauma (that one specifically, trauma they've got plenty of) isn't there.

I'm neurodivergent myself and I'm not really sure where I stand on aromantic and that seen as connected? I mean if someone is neurodivergent and aromantic and sees that as related that's their thing, but for me they feel like very separate experiences. Most ways to be neurodivergent (including my own) make connection difficult. Connection is a two-way street. Attraction isn't, per se.

But to actually answer the question, no, not really.

9. Is there a character you just cannot ever see as alloromantic?

Nope. If the story is convincing, I'll be convinced. To use Thomesa as an example again, it absolutely feels forced in the books, and in the movies the romantic angle feels a bit 'added on' to me too, but when I read fanfic with it, it really isn't that hard to see the connection. Thomas, Teresa, and Brenda in canon are a bit of a grey area I suppose, but in fanworks whether I buy it mostly depends on how much the writer buys it.

Though I only have that with romantic attraction. Sexual attraction is this weird foreign thing to me that I don't and don't really feel the need to understand.

10. Is there a character you just cannot ever see as aromantic?

Nope. Same story as last time, if the story is convincing, I'll be convinced. But in general I think it's impossible for me to not be able to see characters as not romantically attracted to anyone unless romance is thematically important or a crucial part of the story. With the Maze Runner, it's always felt to me like this web of connections and influences between all characters is much more important to both the story and I think the writer too, than "who does Thomas kiss." (Though there is an argument to be made about the forced-ness of Thomas's relationship with Teresa and how his relationship with Brenda in the books is Thomas's choice rather than WCKD's, in ways.)

11. Is there a popular ship you can’t stand because you headcanon one or more characters in it as aromantic?

No, not really. But I never 'can't stand' a ship for a reason like that. It's more the content of a specific story that I might not like (more 'steamy' content even if it isn't sexual, for example, is something I'd rather not read, and will skip over if it's there. Even if it's important). When I do 'can't stand' a ship it's usually because I find it morally objectionable, but in TMR's case I haven't seen ships like that. I honestly don't give it much thought, though.

12. Which relationship dynamics do you prefer to see? Romantic, platonic, sexual, familial, queerplatonic?

I suppose a mix between platonic and familial? AKA found family, to me. I don't really see relationship dynamics as something you can put in boxes so easily, though. I don't see any kind of positive familial relationship happening without having or growing a platonic basis.

I'm not at all interested in sexual relationships. I skip over it. Sometimes so effortlessly I forget it's a thing. Romantic relationships are different. It kind of depends on the story. If it's thematically important enough, and if it influences the plot enough, I don't really mind. But it's not like I seek it out.

I don't know enough about how a queerplatonic relationship works to answer, to be honest. (Hence why I'm skipping 13.)

But the general summary is that a relationship between two or more characters isn't a dealbreaker in a story for me as long as it doesn't eat away at the rest of the story. Like I said. If the story is convincing, I'm convinced. Unless it's sex.

15. Is there a character you think wouldn’t feel romantic attraction at all, but would still enjoy a romantic relationship?

You know what it is about the Maze Runner with me? All of them. I can see literally anyone like this, because it is generally my attitude when I read stories with a heavy romantic focus (though I'm not sure how I personally would feel about a relationship like that). I do not for one second understand what's going on, but that doesn't mean it can't be interesting. Like maths? Maybe? I like maths. I do not get what I'm doing but I've always liked more simpler maths. (now I have a whole analogy in mind for how I interact with the concept or romance lol. Remind me to mention that sometime.)

16. Do you ever read romantic fanfic while pretending the fic is about non-romantic relationships?

Nope. It also feels kinda rude to me. Someone poured a lot of time and effort into that, and then I'm out there pretending like they wrote something entirely different. Because I do believe romantic attraction is something definable and different from how I form relationships, I just. don't get how. There's some kinda reason in maths, but I have yet to find it.

It's also the phrasing of the question. About ... instead implies that the romance is a very important part of the original story. If the romance isn't convincing I might accidentally mistake it for something else (that has happened once. I was in the middle of an AO3 comment and then while looking for a quote realized I'd read over a throwaway line of one character fantasizing about uh.. rather intense kissing.)

But if you'd tell me to choose between two fics of comparable quality and plot, I'd pick the one less focused on romance. I can't say I don't understand disregarding romance as someone aro though. It's hard to find any media without a romantic angle in it, especially in fandom. If something 100% devoid of it is what you're looking for, either in original works or otherwise, it's either pretend otherwise or walk away empty-handed. (As I've done in many bookstores, because I'm still a little leaning toward YA in terms of tone and style but YA is so romance focused it's hard to find something that isn't.)

17. Are there romantic fanfic tropes whose appeal you will never understand?

Never understand, no. This is the autistic part of me talking, but there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for most of everything. I just can't relate. I can understand it appeals to someone, just not to me. The only reason it's not that simple when I look at my asexuality is because the 'repulsed' part comes into play and I'm simply less likely to admit it or have a normal conversation about it because I simply don't want to know which sexual tropes there even are.

18. Platonic soulmates: do you like the concept or not?

Ehh. I'm not really a fan of the concept in general. Romantically or platonically. I don't have a smart answer for this one, I just don't like it. If someone else does, that's great, but to me it just feels like a romantic concept with the word platonic attached to it.

19. What is your dream aromantic themed fanfic?

Short answer, none.

Long answer, I personally tend to avoid media heavily focused on it. That I'm aromantic isn't that important to me, it just is. I mean the entire identity is literally defined something not being there, that's all. The problem is, when you try to write a story that is aromantic themed, you know what you'll eventually have to touch upon? Romance. Because it's not there, and that's what sets aromantic people apart from alloromantic people.

My interest doesn't lie in aromanticism. If it happens to appear, great, and I'd love to see more representation, but really my ideal 'aromantic' story is one where romance just simply doesn't appear the same way I would love to see a non-binary character simply do appear without that being the focus. You know the way those lesbian cartoon shows so easily (in terms of the storytelling, I'm not in anyway downplaying any possible censoring involved) show two girls in a relationship, but at no point does it have to be so strictly defined.

It also has to do with my attitude towards labels. It highlights something other to me, that isn't there in my opinion. It just is. Period. The reason I call myself aromantic or non-binary isn't necessarily because those distinctions are important to me, they're not. They tell you precisely nothing about me. (See the connection to tell me about the plot?) I like stories where characters have someone to have their back despite all odds, I like stories about learning to love oneself, I like stories about vulnerability, I like gentle caring touches in my scenes, I also like absolutely brutal whump from time to time. I love writing complicated choices. I love the "I can't help you without inevitably harming you but I'm willing to risk losing you to see you live" trope.

At no point does the fact that I've never even considered romance come to mind, because I've never considered romance.

The concept or aromanticism is inherently tied to romance by its very definition. You can't write an 'aromantic story' without highlighting the contrast, without diving into aphobia, into allonormativity, because all these things influence 'the aromantic experience' so much more than the lack or romance every will. Because the lack of it means it doesn't come to mind.

I'm only aromantic because most people are not, so my difference has to be given a word.

Anyway my ideal maze runner fic at the very least includes and highlights the fact that all of them are kids, and the support and care they should have gotten. Also Thomas wrapped in a blanket. Actually anyone wrapped in a blanket and gently rocked in the arms of someone else. And parent-figures. They all deserve them.

20. Which fandom you’ve been in was the most aro-friendly?

That's a hard question to answer, because I don't exactly advertise it. Fandom is usually so romance-focused I don't really risk it, or I don't really make friends I'd tell it to, because I stick to lurking until a theory or headcanon comes up that isn't romantic. Plus, like I said, the distinction isn't that important to me personally.

I've actually avoided fandom for a very long time because of this. My first introduction into the ATLA fandom was at the height of the Zuko/Katara vs Aang/Katara discourse and I just kind of walked in there like that gif with a guy holding a pizza while an apartment burns to the ground.

I've had one experience in particular where someone asked my opinion specifically between several ships, and I learned the hard way that the only thing worse that saying you like the wrong ship in that situation was saying "It honestly doesn't really matter to me." Let's just say I've stuck to gifsets ever since.

A while back I made a (sincere) post regarding a popular piece of media on here, saying I would like it if no ship at all became canon because neither seemed to fit within the theme of the story to me. Not even from an aromantic standpoint, but as a writer. Neither made any damn sense.

I'm not going to get into detail but the response was a deciding factor in me abandoning that tumblr account (and not leaving any trace to my new one. Anywhere. I quite literally fled). I got called *counts fingers* a homophobe, misogynist, troll, several slurs that don't apply nor are worth repeating, and the list goes on.

I was so scared of the same thing happening when I got passionately interested in The Maze Runner, I exclusively stuck to writeblr and very strictly refused to follow any Maze Runner related blogs or even reblog the posts. I didn't want to risk ruining the fun for myself if I risked saying 'the wrong thing' again.

Really the only reason I got into fandom again is because of my fic. I wanted new and extra perspectives, so I got to chatting with the only TMR fan that had managed to stumble onto my blog at the time. The Discord was a calculated risk (and trust me I calculated it, there is a reason I'm not naming the fandom that drove me out of my last account. Best not to awake a sleeping beast). Not one I regret, I should say, because I've discovered this bit of fandom is a lot more mature than what I've gotten used to.

I could make a whole post on how aphobia affects the way I interact with fandom spaces and even my own writing. In the former it sometimes feels like walking on a minefield when I bring it up, in the latter case, I actually had a friend tell me I was queerbaiting when they read my outline. Why? One character helps another with a bath when sick, and these two characters also happen to have to share a bed later (eleven people in one camper, what did you expect?), and I didn't explicitly state that they wouldn't become canon. (That is something I now consider doing btw. Just to avoid disappointment and the uh... experience on my side that might come with it.) Suddenly there being no romance, because I didn't think it would fit, had become, and I quote "an aromantic statement." and my story was and about being aromantic. It's not. Up until recently I still had the idea to find a way to include it anyway because I mean I write for me but ideally people also want to read it. I didn't make the final call to not force myself until very recently, when people popped up that were interested regardless.

To summarize, I think my bar for aro-friendly is a little too low to give a proper answer. There is no most, because before TMR none of the spaces I found myself in were even prepared to talk about anything other than ships (that's actually part of the reason I usually don't watch things until they're complete, and then let some time pass. That way I avoid the worst discourse. In part because it's a bit triggering, but also because it's kind of annoying to be looking for a nice gif and all you see is people mad their blorbos didn't kiss in the end), and to be really honest I haven't been around people for long enough to judge. But I guess it wins the prize, because I don't feel unsafe in the circle I've found now.

Actually to add, I think the reason my fic has gotten so long and detailed and elaborate in its attention to certain characters is simply because I didn't have a space to discuss my thoughts and theories so I put it in there. All my analysis has been put in there, and it very much shaped the plot. (Which made it very easy to tell which characters were criminally underdeveloped or used in both the books and the movies by the way Frypan)

21. Is there something people in fandom do or say that makes you feel uncomfortable as an aromantic?

This isn't necessarily about fandom, just my experience with stories in general. Nothing I haven't mentioned above, I think. It does bother me when alloromantics take any story that doesn't include romance at all as a statement. I've also been accused of homophobia once because "all my characters are straight" they're not, no one is romantically attracted to anyone. Queer rep is a complicated topic for me in my original writing because romance is an afterthought to me. I don't like writing it, I don't really understand it, and it will never be a crucial part to any theme I write, because it is an afterthought.

I would love to see more stories where romance isn't there, where I'm not constantly confronted with the fact that I am different in a way that is rare/misunderstood enough to be given a separate name. My ideal story is told from a POV that is relatable to my own, and in that romance doesn't really make the cut. It's filtered out, goes unnoticed to the point that I honestly didn't really understand it was an actually different thing from friendship until a while back. It's just always going to be double and I guess sometimes I wish it would be a little easier for some people to see that to accurately portray an identity defined by the lack of something in another way than to constantly make a comparison, highlighting its 'otherness,' is to just have the lacking and nothing more. Of course that is just based on my personal experience, there are a lot of aros to whom romance does play a greater role in their life. It's not meant as a this is how it should be kind of statement, more as a I wish there was a bit of this like there is a bit of all the different ways there are bits of everything else.

22. Do you have an opinion on romantically shipping aromantic characters?

nah. If I don't like something I don't interact. No reason to be fully for or against it. It doesn't take away the representation in the source material. I guess it's not fun that it's so easily disregarded but if I get wound up about it I'm batting a hornet's nest on top of ruining my own mood. Maybe not the most correct answer, but it's how I go about things. I've never really understood those kind of rules to be honest. Someone who wants to ship them badly enough will just ship them.

Sucks for me but hey! aromantic characters in canon. This kind of reads like a very theoretical question because I've never seen it before in any other context than stories about queerness (and then the aro character is a side character that gets forgotten about by everyone but the aros and the maybe the aces because. No romantic focus. and romance is what defines a great deal of the queer community), OR it's about being aromantic specifically, which are typically stories where being aromantic is the source of the conflict, which I'm not interested in.

23. Free question: drop a random aromantic related fandom thought

uh... all of the above lol.

But also: if you don't have the romantic angle built in by default you learn to look for different themes in a story you can identify with much quicker I think. I think maybe that's why I'm not so vocal about by the word aromantic rep (not that it's not important to a lot of people), because like I've said before, me identifying as aromantic comes from not having an experience most people do. Now this is a dangerous thing to say if there's aphobes around because it might get taken out of context, but I find it easier to find myself in stories than I think it would have been if the focus of my queerness had been on the presence of romantic interest of any kind, because I don't have to look for that romantic interest to be present in the story. I can focus on my personality, on my interests, all that. The only way anyone could explicitly 'lock me out' of a story based on my sexuality is if every single character's every trait and quirk is inherently affected by their romantic interests. Which uh... would be... less than good writing in my opinion. A little flat.

It kinda works the same with my gender identity. I don't ascribe to any set experience in general, I use non-binary or genderfluid because those are the only labels that come close and I'm expected to define it some way besides "I just am. My gender doesn't really matter to be honest." Which are a lot of words to say the man/woman ratio in a story isn't important to me on an emotional level because gender also doesn't really come up as a defining factor of who I am.

This was a long bit lol but if you read it through to the end, thanks for making my dream moment of "hey would you answer every single question on this list of asks?" come true lol.

[theinnernerd]

I got a Twitter and kinda ditched tumblr... :( this is my attempt to change that.

This is Altean Lance from a scene in my fic The Shadow of a Prince ✨🤗✨

I’ll post an excerpt below because I CAN!!!! OmG I MISSSD the tumblr platform. I’m so FREE! I can write HOWEVER MUCH I WANT about this post.

Maybe it’s nostalgia but tumblr>>>>>Twitter. And that’s on that.

It was in the dead of the night when an alarm on Keithek’s suit started beeping.

He had been trying to doze off, not feeling like readying himself for bed, but feeling sleepy enough that if he sat down and rested his eyes for a bit, he could get a decent few minutes of sleep that would sustain him for the day tomorrow. But the beeping pulled him out of the sleepy haze he had managed to sink under in an instant and he was suddenly wide awake again.

Keithek sighed. Lance had left his room.

Standing, he went to go find him. Rounding a few quick corners before he finally got to him, the boy still seeming to glow under the low light of the hall as he walked quietly down the hall.

Keithek sighed again, shaking his head, annoyed. Did the prince really think he was being sly? He knew that this was something his sister had decreed would be strictly forbidden until the threat was neutralized. Clearly, the prince still didn’t care.

He walked up behind him silently and as soon as he was within a foot of him he cleared his throat and tried not to take pleasure in the way the prince squawked with surprise and shot his gaze over to him. As soon as his blue eyes landed on Keithek’s, they instantly narrowed with anger. He let out an annoyed humph and groaned, thrusting his hands into his already tousled hair as he turned back around, clearly annoyed.

He was devoid of any jewelry or other adornments. He wasn't even wearing his crown. Seeing him without his usual get up was... strange. More strange than he thought it would be. The blue marks beneath his eyes were almost more apparent without the usual amount of decoration, and his natural features, in Keithek's opinion, were enhanced.

“I don’t think I need to explain to you that you should be in your room right now your highnesses. You aren’t safe to walk the halls alone at night.”

“How the hell are you even- you’re- it’s literally the ass crack of dawn and you’re in full quiznacking uniform?! Do you sleep? What the hell?”

The questions felt directed more to himself than they were to Keithek or anyone else. He muttered them unhappily, glaring at Keithek with almost as much distaste as the queen herself. Keithek pretended he didn’t notice the similarities in their unhappy facial expressions from the shape of their pointed faces to the curved narrow slits of their eyes. He ignored the feeling of slight discomfort he felt when seeing the queens face resembled so clearly in the princes annoyed and exasperated face.

“I’m alerted whenever you leave your room. It’s my job to be ready to stop you from making stupid decisions.”

It seemed that both the prince and himself were a bit surprised at the forward ness of that comment and the slight lack of professionalism that Keithek had let slip.

The prince brushed it off though and turned around, ignoring him as he pushed forwards where he had been going down the hall. The glare that Keithek received from him when he had stepped in front of him and stopped him from moving forward was vicious.

“Move.” He said shortly. Staring Keithek down, using their slight difference in hight to his advantage.

“You know I can not do that your highness. Keithek replied tiredly.

Lance groaned sliding his hands down his face in demonstration of his irritability. “What's your fucking problem, man?! Can't you just let me go for a walk around my castle at night if I want?”

“No.” Keithek said. “It's still dangerous.”

The prince looked visibly exhausted, running his hands through his hair and sighing. “Fine. You know what? Fine! Asshole! God! My life is the most pathetic…” He kept mumbling as he turned on his heel and began walking down the hallway again to go back to his room, getting far enough away after a while that Keithek couldn’t hear what he was saying anymore, and suddenly Keithek felt guilty.

He could sympathize, in some ways, with the prince, even if what he was doing was irresponsible and they both knew it. He wanted to be left to his own devices. He wanted to live his life. Having someone like Keithek on his back had to be frustrating. So for whatever reason, he took pity on him and blurred out something he really hadn’t expected he would actually say.

“I can accompany you however.” Keithek said to Lance’s back quickly. If you would like.

Lance halted in his steps, pausing a bit before turning back, giving him a skeptical look.

“Technically I am instructed to keep you in your room, but…” Keithek hesitated. He wanted to earn Lance’s trust. To show him that he was on his side, and that he trusted him too. He chose then to drop formalities, letting his spine relax a bit, offering Lance a look of solace.

“Look, I get it.” He said. “Sometimes You need a distraction, and trying to sleep just doesn't work. My job is to keep you safe, and I'll do that. But Nobody has to know about my breaking minor rules if it helps you relax…”

Lance just stared at him seeming as though he didn't believe his words. His eyebrows furrowed, but he turned around.

“Ok....” he said, drawing out the word. “Then I'm going to the kitchens.” He began walking forwards again and Keithek quietly trailed behind him.

Lance stretched, rolling his shoulders and yawning as they reached the entrance. He walked languidly to the counter and began collecting an assortment of food on his plate. Keithek stood at attention by the door, watching him. He filled a glass with some liquid Keithek couldn't name, and took a seat at the table, draping himself over the edge, one arm propping him up.

He was about to lift the glass to his lips when he looked up at Keithek, like he was only just realizing that he hadn't sat down with him.

Lance drew his eyebrows together and gave him a slightly irritated look of confusion.

“What, you're not allowed to sit either?” He asked sarcastically, gesturing to the seat across from him like it was ridiculous that he wasn't already there, his face twisted in annoyance.

“No, I'm allowed but for your safe-“ Keithek began but Lance cut him off, rolling his eyes.

“Oh my god, Just fucking sit down.” He said.

Keithek bristled in surprise but obeyed the prince, walking tentatively to the seat across from him, Lance’s eyes following him as he chewed, seeming to inspect him, looking him up and down.

When Keithek sat, Lance looked back at his plate, chewing and looking to be deep in thought. A long quiet ensued as Lance ate before he spoke up.

“How old are you.” Lance asked unprecedentedly, still watching the food he was pushing around.

Keithek was taken back by his question but answered after a moment of hesitation. “Twenty four,” he responded.

The prince quirked an eyebrow. “Geez, your pretty young to have such a giant stick up your ass.”

For perhaps the umpteenth time that night, Keithek didn't know how to respond to one of the princes unexpected comments.

“Do you ever, like, not take things so seriously?” He asked. Meeting his eyes.

Keithek's heart skipped, without permission when their eyes met, shocked at just how strikingly blue they were under the dim glow of the kitchens lights.

The prince was presenting himself to Keithek in ways that he had never seen him. Away from nobles, citizens of Altea, and even his sister, Lance was incredibly more casual. Almost like how he had been with the big Altean with yellow markings. Just less… friendly. He had a snarky sarcastic sense about him that Keithek hadn't assumed of him when they first met. Rather he seemed to be the professional, stubborn, hard ass that he was accusing Keithek of being now. Why he was choosing to show this side of himself to Keithek of all people, he didn't know.

When he didn't respond, Lance continued. Taking another sip from his glass. “Look. He said. I don't like being smothered, and I don't like unnecessary tension. But if my sister is going to sick you on to me for the rest of time I'd rather get over all these stupid formalities, and tell you that you are the last thing I want in my life right now.”

He paused, allowing himself to chew and swallow his food.

“But, he continued,” I'm pretty sure I won't be able to get out of this, so if you start treating me like a person rather than a fragile little flower, and loosen up a bit, we'll get along fine. Let me live my life and if there's ever someone going to stab me in the back, then you can stop them. But I'm not going to tolerate coddling and whatever other shit rules Allura gave you on how to treat me, got that?”

With his words, Keithek finally felt that he was starting to understand the prince. At least in some ways. What he was asking for was respectable, and Keithek was willing to give him that, as long as he knew that he was going to be with him at all times, like Allura had instructed him to be.

The prince was becoming more real with every interaction they had. Here, in this room, watching him slump over the table and eat his food with the most unamused face Keithek thought he had the ability to make, without his royal attire and glittering adornments, he looked normal.

Keithek nodded. “Yeah. He replied. I get it.”

“Great.” The prince said unenthusiastically, before he lifted himself back up, downing the last of his drink and then walked to put away his dishes. Keithek pushed away the mild surprise he felt upon witnessing an Altean royal wash his own dishes, his hands soapy as he scrubbed the surface of the plate before rinsing it off with water.

When the prince grabbed the entire bottle of the drink he had been sipping on earlier, Keithek looked curiously at him and asked, “what is that stuff.”

The prince frowned, looking down at the bottle. “If it’s any good?” He said, “It will help me forget that we ever had this conversation.” And with that, he took a big swig, right from the bottle, meeting Keithek’s eyes in a deadpan stare before he turned and walked out the doors. Keithek followed him silently back to Lance’s room, watching as he wordlessly scanned his hand to open the doors and walk inside, leaving Keithek in the hallway without another word.