#ive got a million wips

[moon-upright]

did i just complete a fanfiction ... ⁉️

[driftsart]

... Have I told you that I LOVE your artstyle, character design, and au? Like really badly. I want to hug Rung and all.

I might finish this another time, but have it anyway :D

KSJDSKLSKDSJS TY!!! THAT LOOKS SO GOOD!1!!!!11!

I was actually gonna work on Rung's reference right after I finish Terminus ksjksjsks this was good timing ;D

[youokaybucky]

Today I'm thinking about...

This Buck

With this Bucky

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

i dont know much about trigun but i think it would be silly if vash and knives (they are brothers?) or vash and wolfwood (lovers? enemies? idk) were drawn like that barbie and ken mugshot meme. From what you post Mr Vash Stampede just seems like ken. little silly guy

YOU HAVE THE MOST PERFECT TIMING WITH THIS EVER I'm literally in the middle of drawing a picture of knives and vash that looks like this.

theyre brothers your honor

[doxiedreg]

Im going through it so hard but I'll survive I prommy *I'm facedown on the floor and burning*

[boonanaghost]

being not-obsessed with SOMETHING is so empty…. Like struggling to figure out what to draw or even think about besides schoolwork… i need to get obsessed with something pleasseeeee

[astranauticus]

'wow the vibes are rancid in here today!' i say, referring to the inside of my own brain

[sabrerine911]

Goofy barbarian ladies shenanigans WIP(BG3)

featuring Karlach and my "half-giant" non-Tav Beth Ravencoft

Saw this really dumb Barbarian/Bard meme that I found super hillarious on a DnD fb page, so I felt like doing my dumb take on it with 2 barbarian ladies in this case.

I know for a fact someone is gonna do a proper, million times better, high quality Bard Tav/Durge version of this meme with Karlach, so I wanted to rush mine out so it doesnt look like I tried to copy whoever did it instead of the meme itself XD

In my case I went with my crossover character, wich ironically really works with this dumb template since she is a snarky wisecracker herself.(she has negative charisma but she still got a strong "vicious mockery" game XD)

In my headcanon, as some of you that follow know, these two are an absolute pair, battle sister besties. So I felt like it would be funny to sometimes have them try to pull a Ligma style joke on eachother.

On a side note, I decided to Draw Beth with her canon vampire hunter gear, cause Ive been neglecting drawing their canon stuff for too long, and im kinda sick of drawing the storm sorc robe since its the closest thing she has. Might canonize the change of gear in the future BG3 crossover comics.

[ofmermaidstories]

Bad day for nosy people who need to know what old fandom is 👀👀

lmao, i’m trying to talk myself out of it so that i don’t turn my current WIP list upside down on itself but. 🥹 i fear it has very powerful claws. 🦞 i’ve been mulling over like, why it ([Old Fandom]) is so attractive to me right now and i think it’s a combination of a few things!! like, one is the fact that i never originally left it by choice—real life kinda forced me away from my hobbies, and by the time i could circle back again, the fandom had died (i find it really interesting that so many modern fandoms don’t have staying power, but that’s a different discussion) and i was interested in different things. but now it’s seeing a revival and i’m remembering how much i loved it and how i never really… got closure for it, LOL, as silly as that sounds. 🥹 i never finished any of my ideas. 🥺 i went back into my old account actually, like a couple of weeks ago, and went through my fic drafts i had at the time and it—idk. i guess it just made me nostalgic. 🥹 it’s different, tonally, to what we do here in the bnha/x reader niche!! and it makes me itchy. 🥹😩 god!! so itchy. i wanna dig my fingers into it and move things around. dig it up from the garden. perform necromancy on the lover that doesn’t even know they’re dead, and blinks and finds themselves sitting in the same old kitchen with a cup of coffee in their hand. 🥹🥹🥹 i’m better equipped now—i know how to keep myself interested in long-term projects, how to finish them and, most importantly, what i like.

there’s a lot of stuff i like to write that i just don’t, here in our niche. either because it doesn’t fit in with the bnha world or just doesn’t like… suit the x reader POV. and that’s on me LOL, a better (or maybe more determined) writer could make all those things work, but part of what i like about bnha and x reader and [old fandom] is that they’re distinct—they all feel different. i wrote a lot before i got here!! i wrote so much. i wrote so much that i like, kinda burnt myself out on it LMAOO. there were tropes i liked and settings and tricks i used all the time that after a while they got boring to me. 🥹 and now after a million years of doing something different, i’ve realised—oh. i really liked all that. 🥹 i really like it, still.

idk!! idk. part of not naming the fandom is also because i haven’t decided if i wanna jump back in or not lmao. do i do it, knowing it’ll slow everything up even more? we tell ourselves all the time here in fandom circles that it’s just fanfic/fanart! you’re here to have fun! if it gets hard or boring or you wanna try something new—drop it! do it! you don’t owe anybody anything!! which is all very true yes sure. except i, me, mermie, want to finish things. i want the satisfaction of finishing the IAL series. im actually very proud of the fics, and while i know i will finish shouto’s (barring being kidnapped by pirates or aliens or death himself ig 💀), i also know im a slow writer, and that letting myself deviate off path into a completely different fandom will make me slower. 🥹 so idk. i guess ive just been ruminating on fiddly details like that LOL. also i don’t have a solid plot in mind yet (even tho i have a general gist of what i want) so that’s also probably the main leash rn LMAOOO. tbh if i get one im going in swinging, fist first, so let’s all hope that i remain idealess on that front lest the demons take me. 🥹🙏🏽

[theshippirate22]

so i started a fic for this a while ago and it got lost in my wips but then @henderdads posted this and i got right back on my bullshit to finish it! also on ao3 tw: panic attack

November 1985-

Steve had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel of the Beemer while he stared out at the theater ahead of him.

Just looking at it, just thinking about what he was about to do, made his skin crawl. He felt guilty and dirty and miserable, but he didn’t really have any other choice. 

Okay, that was a lie. There were definitely a million other things he could be doing. He really needed to clean his room, he was falling desperately behind on movies Robin said he needed to see, and he was supposed to be writing an essay to help him get into Ohio State. There were tapes to be listened to, people to check on, God, his car needed an oil change.

But here he was, anyway, neglecting all of it. 

The dashboard clock switched to 11:35 and his stomach burned. He’d gotten himself so freaked out, he was going to throw up in the gutter and drive home before anything even happened. The only thing that stopped him was the thought of what waited for him. The dark, cold, empty house, his relentless nightmares, and his sleepless night.

11:40. His hands were getting cold against the wheel, but he still didn’t will himself into the warm oasis that was the theater. Not yet. He still had time. 

He felt like an addict, lying to his friends and family before relapsing back into heroin. He knew it wasn’t like that, that if they knew, all he’d get was funny looks and maybe a snarky comment directed at his intelligence (or lack thereof), but that didn’t make it any better. He still hated himself. 

He’d promised to give this up a long time ago, to abandon the lifestyle entirely. Actually, he had turned into something of a doormat at this point- always driving the kids places and covering any of Robin’s shifts when she bailed and offering his house and money up to whoever took advantage of it- because anything he did that didn’t help somebody else felt selfish. He wasn’t allowed to be selfish anymore. He had to repent for when he was selfish.

11:45. Steve groaned softly and got out of the car, attacked by the cold air as it seemed to soak through his sweatshirt. 

Way to put the guilt into guilty pleasure, moron, he thought to himself, pushing through the doors to the theater. His inner monologue was starting to sound more and more condescending. 

The teenager at the counter glared up at him through her eyelashes, popping a bubble with her gum decisively, clearly annoyed to be running midnight showings at a shitty theater. He slid a five-dollar bill across the counter to her and took a deep breath before forcing out the words.

“Rocky IV, please.”

She looked at him like he was stupid, and he was about ready to run back to his car and pretend none of this had ever happened. This was just another stupid nightmare to haunt him while he tried to sleep. 

She handed him a ticket, the bright red DRAGO VS. BALBOA staring up at him-mocking him really- and passed over his change without saying anything at all. 

Okay, that was the hard part. That was the part that made him interact with someone, a live actual person, made him admit his sin out loud, make it real and out there.

As soon as the ticket was in his hand and he was walking to the specified theater, he could breathe again. The guilt still writhed heavily in his stomach, but he could fight down the nausea enough to function. Half his brain, the half that had been in control for a good while now, was screaming at him that this was wrong, he was sick and twisted for wanting this, while the other half kept reminding him softly that it was just a movie. No one had to know about it. It would help him tonight- maybe he could get some sleep when he got home- and then it could disappear forever, and he would never think of it again. 

It’s just a movie. 

Steve was ten when the original came out. His dad had paid for him and Tommy H. to go one Saturday and God, they loved it. They’d gotten in a playfight in the parking lot waiting for Tommy’s mom to pick them up, mimicking the final match between Rocky and Apollo (Steve was Apollo every time they played; Tommy refused to be anything less than the hero, even if technically he was the loser) and Tommy had accidentally knocked him in the face and made his nose bleed. That might’ve been one of the best days of Steve’s childhood if he thought about it.

Three years later, he and Tommy went back and saw Rocky II the first night it was out, and watching Rocky win lit something in Steve on fire, and he convinced himself he could do anything, like how Rocky could still get up even when Apollo had beat him to shit. 

Steve got into his first fistfight that summer. He lost, because he had never actually fought before, and his punches were loose and messy, but he didn’t even care, staring up at Jack Donahue through a black eye, because Rocky lost his first fight against Apollo, but he won the second, so next time Steve would win. 

He went to Rocky III on a date in 1982 (still waiting to win that second fight, although now it was really Fight 8 or 9 because he’d gotten his ass kicked a good number of times since Jack Donahue). The girl he was with got bored halfway through the movie, climbed into his lap and convinced him to make out instead, but he kept getting distracted by Clubber Lang, and Apollo’s training advice, and Rocky and Andrian’s big house and their happy family, glancing over her shoulder absently as she trailed her mouth up his neck. There wasn’t a second date with her. He didn’t even remember her name. 

He remembered what color dress Adrian wore to the final fight, though. 

He hadn’t watched any of them since September of ‘84 when he’d rented all of them and binge-watched them one night, mostly to remind himself that Billy Hargrove was just a watered-down Clubber Lang who came to steal his title and insult his (nonexistent) wife and mess up his life. Rocky beat Clubber Lang. Steve would beat Billy.

Within the next few weeks, however, Billy ended up on the ever-growing list of people who had whipped Steve, his Heavyweight-Champion-Of-the-World belt that manifested itself as King Steve of Hawkins High was stripped from him, and he’d started his proverbial pilgrimage to salvation. 

He didn’t get to like Rocky anymore. King Steve liked Rocky. Just Steve didn’t have any reason for that luxury. Rocky was athletic, and mindless, and masculine, everything that everyone hated about King Steve, so Just Steve didn’t get it anymore. 

It’s just a fucking movie. He reminded himself. No one has to know.

They had unfinished business anyway, Rocky and him. Maybe it was fate, or some shit that IV should come out like five months after Steve did get his first win against the Russian soldier.

Hey, old friend. I did it. I won. I got back up. I won. 

We won, Rocky. 

Steve hid in the back of the theater, in the dark, where no one would recognize him. There were only maybe a dozen other people in there anyway, but in the dark, he could relax. 

He almost felt safe, even, when the opening montage started. There was something so familiar about it, like returning to the house you lived in as a child, but the same sort of estrangement from time. Watching Rocky best Clubber again, knowing Rocky would win, was such a comfortable thing. God, these movies were so good. 

He almost didn’t feel like such an asshole anymore. 

Rocky was a dad now, you know. Had been since the second one technically, but only now was the kid old enough to have a personality. Watching him with his son was maybe when the six-nugget thing really solidified for Steve. He wanted that, he wanted the house and the kid and sparring with Apollo-the friend who knew- and Adrian. 

God, he wanted someone to love him the way Adrian loved.

She was always just there, in the very best sort of way. As if at any moment, Rocky could look over and she would be there, grinning at him, helping him back up, fixing things. And she would shake her head and laugh at her moronic boxer husband and still sing with him when he started up out of tune and flush when he flirted with her. 

The reminder of the slump in Steve’s love life manifested itself as a sort of sad aching in his stomach. He redirected his attention out of his thoughts and back to the movie. 

The plot was a little mindless; he’d admit it. It was basically the same premise as the last one: Some Big-Bad-Boxer popping up out of nowhere to whip Rocky’s ass just enough in the first half to build a vague sense of suspense as to whether he was going to win the final fight or not, but the only difference now was that he was sparring against Communism or something as a metaphor for the mini-Red Scare happening. 

Steve didn’t mind. He knew enough Russians to be pretty psyched about Stallone wailing on them for a few hours. 

It’s Apollo Creed, however, who first takes his place across the ring from Ivan Drago. Steve was fine. He was well aware of the fact that whatever happened during this fight would mean absolutely nothing in comparison to whatever happens at the end, except maybe deciding the intensity of the training montage (That was the other thing; Survivor was doing a bunch of the music, how could Steve miss out on that?)

Apollo put on a show, with dancers and lights and that stupid flag robe he’d had in the first one, so this would be good. Mediocre writing, good entertainment. 

“You will lose,” Drago growled. 

They danced around each other in the ring. Apollo threw a good number of jabs in the beginning. It felt good. Steve almost smiled. 

But something happened when Drago started fighting back. Apollo stumbled against the ropes, dripping sweat; Rocky yelled something. Steve missed it- he could feel his pulse throbbing in his ears, suddenly a little too aware of his clothes and where they clung to him. 

Drago kept fighting. He punched and punched, each one landing hard and solid against Apollo, against flesh, in a rapid thunk, thunk, thunk. 

Steve’s hands started to shake. 

Apollo leaned back against the corner post as the bell rings-end of the first round- looking dazed and far away. 

Rocky begged. “I gotta stop you. This fight’s finished.”

Apollo’s answer thudded through Steve’s head. “Promise you won’t stop this fight. You don’t stop this fight.”

Bell. Second round. Apollo looked stoned, tripping over his own feet as he tried to dance. Steve knew the feeling. Then Drago had him in a corner and it won’t stop, fists pounding against him again and again. Sweat flew off Apollo’s head and fell against the mat like rain. He doesn’t go down. 

There was so much blood. Steve couldn’t breathe. He felt the adrenaline in his sweaty, trembling hands, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t movie excitement, it felt real. 

Apollo fell back against the ropes, their support being his only saving grace. His wife screamed from the audience “Stop the fight!” but they won’t, the Russian won’t stop, the fight is still going. 

Steve must have started hallucinating. For a moment, all he could hear was his own breath, exhausted and wheezy with pain. 

“Scoops... I... I work... Scoops...”

Robin is screaming, sobbing, wailing, voice pounding through his aching head. “Stop it! Stop hurting him!”

A final blow to the jaw. Apollo swung backwards toward the horrified faces of the audience, then lunged forward in depletion. There was blood in his teeth and on his face and staining the white rags and his eye was swollen shut. And the Russian’s wife smiled. 

The doctor grinned, white teeth glimmering against the dark beard. He demands something in Russian, and Steve doesn’t understand, but he wants to, he wants to make it go away. 

The soldier leans in a final time, delivering a solid blow to his temple. 

Steve’s sight fizzles in and out like a kaleidoscope as he falls.

His head hits the concrete floor, and he feels it, the burning pain at the back of his head, seeping up through his brain until his sight goes black. 

Apollo was on the floor. His body seized with fatigue and Rocky grabbed him, cradling him in his lap, and he was screaming, crying out for something, and the Russian was still talking but all that gets through to Steve is the grating accent and the fear. 

“What did you do to him?!” Robin screams, pulling his weak body towards her with bound hands. “Steve, wake up! Steve, oh my God, wake up, Steve!”

It felt like someone had shoved cotton in his ears. He couldn’t hear anything but his own pulse and his own breath, but somehow, Drago’s last couple words made it through.

“If he dies, he dies.” 

Steve got to his feet before he realized he was doing it. His legs were moving, and he wasn’t telling them where to go, but they knew somehow. All he was aware of was the nausea sweeping through him like a tidal wave and the trembling, paranoid fear taking over his entire body. 

“Who do you work for?!”

“Scoops Ahoy. The ice cream place.”

Thud. His face burned. 

“Who do you work for?!”

“Scoops!”

His head flew to the side, pulling something in his neck and shooting white-hot pain down his spine. 

“Hit him again.”

Steve collapsed against the bathroom floor. He didn’t even have it in him to make it to a stall and lock himself in; he just melted there against the wall. 

Sweat dripped down his forehead and his back, drenching him. He couldn’t breathe; his sweatshirt was too tight around his throat and his jeans were touching too much of his thighs and he couldn’t get his chest to move. 

Every muscle in his body was too tight to move. Maybe he was having a seizure or a heart attack, but it didn’t even matter, because his head ached around a phantom black eye and a scar on his temple that had taken much too long to heal. His eyes felt massive and dry, like if he didn’t get air soon, they were going to pop out of his head. 

He knew he needed to breathe, get the air in and out in a timely manner, but every time he tried to open his mouth, he would just wheeze out “Scoops,” or “Robin!” 

The Russians killed Apollo. He was laying on the floor next to him and Robin, in those stupid Americano shorts that were the same color as Steve’s uniform, and Steve knows they’re coming for him next. He played Apollo with Tommy; he is Apollo and he’s about to receive the same fate. 

He watched the door to the bathroom in terror like Dolph Lundgren was going to storm through at any moment to try and fight him next. Steve couldn’t win. He wouldn’t win. Not against a Russian, not against Drago. 

They were going to kill him. Drago was coming, and as soon as he found him, he was going to beat him to death just like Apollo. 

Maybe Steve was sobbing. That would explain the burning in his throat and the noise making his head throb. He couldn’t stop it though; he couldn’t seem to control anything except to pull his knees to his chest and curl in on himself to try and protect his head and his ribs. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, suffocating, shaking, anxious hands tearing through the hair at the back of his head, partially to cover his neck, partially to pull at the roots of his hair until he felt something other than fear. Eventually, he stopped crying, the tears were gone, but he still couldn’t breathe, and his whole face felt clogged up with whatever was left of his sobs. 

That only made him panic more, realizing he wasn’t getting any air, and his hands moved down his neck to claw away at his throat and open something up. His nails were dull and harsh, tearing up the skin as he pawed at his Adam’s apple, hyperventilating so loudly, it filled up all his senses so that was all he could hear for a good long while.

“Hey... You alright?” 

The voice felt far away and soft like it was spoken by someone who had never experienced the harshness of sensation. God? Steve thought stupidly, carefully acknowledging that to be the first thought he’d had in a long while that wasn’t about his own demise via Russian cruelty. 

“Harrington. Can you hear me?”

Steve forced his head up, pupils blown wide with adrenaline, glancing skittishly from wall to wall, trying to remember where he was. 

“Right here. You’re okay. Try and breathe for me, Harrington.”

Steve’s shallow breaths continued, hands trailing back up to pull his hair again. He didn’t get there, however, because warm hands clamped softly around his wrists and pulled them away. “Careful. Don’t hurt yourself, honey.”

Steve could see his hands, when he moved his fingers a little bit so he could comprehend that they were his, then followed up the foreign hands- now gripping higher up on his forearm to keep him from falling backward- along pale arms and black sleeves, then up along the corner of a tattoo peeking from underneath the collar of the shirt. Higher up, face-to-face with him, although he hadn’t actually seen it until now, was a tangle of messy curly hair and choppy bangs framing the darkest brown eyes he’d ever seen.

“Adrian?” He choked out. Relief surged through him at the recognition, despite the nagging at the back of his mind that that actually couldn’t be Adrian, because Adrian was here with him, and she was gonna take care of him and fix things like she did for Rocky. “Adrian...”

“Sure.” She mumbled. “Deep breaths, Harrington. Like you’re swimming.” She took a few exaggerated deep breaths for him to mirror, and he nodded weakly, trying to force his lungs to expand entirely. 

For a few seconds-or minutes; time really had no meaning for Steve anymore- this went on, Adrian taking one breath and Steve copying until he could do it on his own. She loosened her grip on his arms, eventually dropping them completely. “There you go. Feeling okay?”

Steve hesitated while he assessed. His scalp burned from tugging on his hair, and he was sure he’d scratched his throat up pretty bad, but his hands weren’t shaking nearly as much as they had been a minute ago, and he could unclench his jaw finally- he hadn’t realized it had been so tight; the tension was probably the root cause of the headache- so yeah, he decided. “Better.”

“You ever had a panic attack before?”

He shook his head, choosing not to speak again because of the pathetic gravelly sound of his voice and blinking quickly to fight off the next wave of tears- exhausted ones this time.

“Pretty scary, huh? But it’s okay, it’s not forever. It always goes away. You’re safe, okay?”

He nodded weakly, gazing off over her shoulder to be sure the Russians weren’t coming. God, he was going to have to protect her if Drago came. He could fight, he could protect her...

“You aren’t quite back, are you, Harrington?”

Steve startled, darting his glance back toward her. “My...” He choked out, frustrated that his voice didn’t sound right yet; still too wet and broken to be his own. “My name is Steve.”

Adrian chuckled softly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know who you are, Steve. I’m glad you know.” She brushed a stray piece of hair from his eyes. “Can you tell me where we are?”

“Bathroom,” Steve mumbled. “Starcourt.”

“Starcourt? Like the mall? No, it burned down months ago. Remember?”

Steve swallowed hard, staring at the tile. It wasn’t like Starcourt’s- instead of red, green, and orange, this was green, blue, and black. It wasn’t Starcourt. Starcourt was over. Gone. He took a deep breath. “ShowTimez. Theater.”

“Hey, there you go.” She shifted her knees out from under her- it was painful to kneel for so long- and settled cross-legged across from him. “Do you... do you know who I am?”

“Adrian,” Steve whispered quickly. 

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, almost disappearing under dark bangs. “Like from the movie? Gee, thanks, Harrington, you know how to woo a guy.” She tore her sight away, almost blushing, and continued self-consciously. “Not quite. You... you probably don’t know who I am. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Steve felt bad for getting it wrong. And if it wasn’t Adrian... who cared enough to be so gentle with him? Panic started to fill up inside him again. Who had caught him? Who knew he was here, worse, who had seen him crying? He looked back up, trying to reassess, figure out the right answer. 

Upon better inspection, it very much wasn’t Adrian. Besides the hair and the eyes, they didn’t look at all similar. Actually, it was a man, which should’ve been his first assumption given that he was on the floor of the men’s bathroom, but he also forgot his own name for a second there, so he would let it go. He had thick, steel rings that Steve couldn’t coherently recognize into any shapes yet, and tattoos on his arms that Steve hadn’t noticed in his first sweep either. But the face was familiar. Tommy had hated him, loved to pick on him in high school. Maybe Steve had had gym with him junior year. But really, Steve knew him because he was always in the background of whatever place he was driving Dustin to. The party joined Hellfire in September; Steve had been seeing this guy vaguely for months. The name was slow coming to him- everything felt lagged- but eventually, he managed, “Munson. Eddie.”

He grinned. “Yeah! See, I knew I wasn’t that forgettable. Go ahead and call me Talia Shire though, that’s the best name I’ve been called in a while.”

The corners of Steve’s mouth twitched. Maybe it wasn’t Adrian, who he knew he could trust- She's not real, moron, he reminded quickly- but Eddie was harmless. Dustin talked about the guy so much, it was like Steve already knew him anyway. 

God, Dustin. What if Eddie told Hellfire and the kids found out he’d been here, and worse, that he’d freaked out? He didn’t know if he could handle it if the kids ever found out he wasn’t as strong as he pretended.

“You can’t tell Dustin.” Steve blurted out. 

“What?”

“He can’t know I was here, that I was...” He struggled for the words.

Eddie nodded softly. “Yeah. Okay. I won’t tell him.” He lowered his voice as he said it like it was already a secret. “What the little shit doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Steve nodded haphazardly to communicate that he agreed, but he just felt like he looked stupid.

“Hey, uh, do me a favor, and don’t tell the kids you saw me here, either, actually.” Eddie continued. “It goes against my code and everything to watch...” He trailed off, suddenly aware of his audience and needing to watch himself.

“Sports movies.” Steve finished. Eddie grimaced, so he added, “Yeah, no, I get it.”

Eddie nodded, forcing a smile, but it was still tainted with guilt like he’d said something wrong.

Steve was quick to stifle the awkwardness. “How come Rocky makes the cut then?”

“Oh, I don’t really know.” His shoulders relaxed a little and he admitted, “I rented the first one on accident. I was looking for Rocky Horror Picture Show, and the tape said Rocky and I’m a fucking moron, and thought they were the same thing because whoever labeled the tape didn’t bother to write the whole thing, and then I’d already paid for it so I just... watched it and... kinda got sucked in. I love a good suave-athlete-falls-for-a-freak plot.”

Steve grinned. “Me too! I only cared about the boxing when I was younger, but now...”

Eddie tipped his head and stared at him bewilderedly. 

“What?” 

Eddie shook his head dismissively, tentative smile pulling at the side of his mouth, mumbling, “Never would’ve guessed.”

Steve felt horribly seen, like he’d said too much, flush creeping up his face, and he reached up to pull on the hair at the back of his neck again. But Eddie just laughed softly and pushed himself over next to Steve, leaning back against the wall and brushing his shoulder.

“Are you going to be okay to drive home?”

He nodded, starting to shift to his numb, tingly feet, stumbling and having to prop himself on the wall. “Yeah, I should probably go.”

“Hey.” Eddie grabbed his wrist, softly; he could pull away if he really wanted to. “Calm down, give it a minute. You just started breathing again, let’s make sure you’re good to go.”

So Steve didn’t pull away. He slumped back against the tile, legs sprawled forward to get the blood flowing again. 

“Does your head hurt?” 

Steve glanced over. “What?”

“Just... uh,” He shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to find a different way to address what he was thinking of. “You were pulling your hair. I wondered if maybe you... you know, what? It doesn’t matter.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little white bottle of Advil. “If you want some.”

“Why do you have that?” Steve chuckled softly, taking it from him thankfully. “I mean, I’ve heard your drug-dealer reputation; I just didn’t realize this is what they meant.”

“Har har.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “It’s for Sinclair actually. He’s been-”

“Bitching about his ankle? Yeah, I keep telling him I’ll wrap it for him but he’s-”

“Being a shithead about the whole thing. He’s gonna drive me to do something drastic.”

“Seriously!” Steve cried. “I’ll hold him down, you can punch.”

Eddie laughed, a real, actual laugh and Steve thought he was going to have no choice but to implode. He was so pretty; he understood the Adrian-mistaking suddenly. 

Steve wanted to say something, wanted to make him laugh like that again, but before he could grasp anything, the door shoved open and shattered their perfect privacy. 

It was the bubblegum girl from the front desk. She popped the wad of pink obnoxiously, huffing out “Dude, the movie’s been over for like twenty minutes. We’re closing.”

Steve and Eddie shared a conspiratorial Ah-shit-we’re-in-trouble look, before getting to their feet. Steve was still holding the Advil bottle, somewhat uselessly because he’d forgotten he had it. He popped it open and swallowed a few, handing it back to Eddie who banished it back to his pocket.

Bubblegum Girl stared them down the whole way out into the lobby, the pair of them giggling as they went, until eventually they stepped into the cold darkness outside the theater, and the spell was broken. Here they were again, in real life, where things were not so great as that bathroom floor or the world within Rocky.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Eddie asked softly like he was afraid something had changed the second they’d passed through the doors.

Steve nodded vaguely. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

He shot him a peculiar look and turned off towards where he was inevitably parked, calling out, “Stay safe, Harrington.”

Steve laughed out loud.

March 1986-

Steve hovered over Eddie, who was sitting on Steve’s bathroom counter with his legs over the side, cleaning up the blood on his face with antiseptic wipes Nancy had pulled out of nowhere. His stitches were soft and pliable still, and Steve hated how bulky and thick his fingers were for a moment because if they were small and slim it would force him to be gentler.

Eddie cried out as he brushed over the top of the gash and Steve cringed, yanking his hands back softly to avoid hurting him anymore. 

“Sorry,” Steve murmured. 

He was afraid to reach back to finish the job- Eddie was in enough pain as it was- so he stood there, watching him for any more signs of discomfort.

Eddie lifted his head languidly, glancing at the slash of bright red on Steve’s forehead, the angry crimson chain around his neck. He tentatively traced his fingertips along his skin, not along the scab, but just below it, and Steve hummed out a low sound in relief. 

“You alright there, Balboa?”

It came out a little more slurred than he would’ve liked, but he was on a good deal of narcotics for God’s sake, and it must’ve delivered itself well enough because Steve offered him a small smile. 

“Feel like a large wound,” he offered in his best Stallone accent.

Eddie laughed, and it hurt like a mother on his broken ribs and the stitches in his side, so it quickly delved into a whine, and Steve instantly reached out even if there was nothing he could do. 

He caught his hand, pulled it into his lap, just to hold it there. Steve didn’t say anything.

“Steve.”

“Hmm...”

Eddie let go. Took Steve’s face carefully in his hands, even though the stretch sent pain shooting through his torso. “I understand now. Everything. Robin told me about the Russians.”

Steve swallowed thickly, head dipping almost in shame, as if it was too much to meet Eddie’s eyes and risk finding his pity there.

Eddie just tipped his head back up gently. “If I had known... I... I wouldn’t have let you go home alone that night. That’s... that’s not what Adrian does.”

Steve tipped his head just a little like he didn’t quite understand the sentiment.

Eddie swallowed. “I’m gonna kiss you now. You ain’t gotta kiss me back.”

He properly grinned this time, leaning in to meet him halfway, hands placed carefully on Eddie’s knees as he pulled in his face. 

And he did kiss back. What can he say? He loves a good suave-athlete-falls-for-a-freak plot.

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

Hi! I just got here. I'm curious about so so many of your WIPs (probably I am here to stay, I'm so curious xD) but don't want to send a million messages, so to pick one... Xie Lian Mud AU?

CW: Suicide mention/suicidal ideation

MUD AU MY BELOVED. this concept came from this prompt and ive been slowly plodding away at actually writing it. TLDR Xie Lian goes to Ghost City after escaping the coffin to ask Crimson Rain Sought Flower to finally kill him. Hua Cheng doesn't recognize him and assumes he's a ghost because he's still wounded and covered in grime from the coffin. He loses the bet and instead of being killed ends up in the service of the Gambler's Den Spirited Away style. He then proceeds to have a magical healing journey of ghostly employment while his and Hua Cheng's contentious relationship slowly becomes more...

“This humble one asks to be granted the gift of a quick death.”  Ghosts all around the den break out in loud chatter. Some jeer, and others catcall. A woman in green robes, with flowering branches sprouting from her hair like deer’s antlers, leans in and grins.  “Gongzi, I can help you with that for free. You don’t need to bother Chengzu, I could eat you right up.”  The kneeling ghost shakes its head, but doesn’t otherwise respond.  “And why should you need to come to me for that?” he asks, out of a sense of his own curiosity. It’s a strange request for a ghost, for whom typically the ‘life’ they live to must be actively clung to to be maintained, but not the strangest the Den has seen.  “This one heard that the Lord of Ghost City, Crimson Rain Sought Flower, can grant impossible favors. This one’s luck is not good, but I thought… to try.”  “I can,” Hua Cheng says, “For the right price. What will you offer me for the gift of your dispersal?”  “... I have little to offer my Lord besides myself. Anything I could give, I will. Whatever my Lord asks.”  “And why do you suppose that I would have any use for you?”  “This one has some talents, if my Lord wishes to make use of them. Fighting and strategy, repairing and cleaning things, and ah… performing I suppose.”  “Oh? Are you a musician?”  “A passable one. Most of my performances were more physical in nature. Sword swallowing… that sort of thing.”  Hua Cheng can’t help but snort, as the den’s patrons and workers alike burst into loud and delighted hollering.  “So,” he drawls, “you want to pay me with your body?” 

[cowboybrunch]

writerly questionnaire tag!!!

finally getting around to this, thanks a million @the-golden-comet (here) @harmonic-melodii (here) and @fortunatetragedy (here) <3

About You

When did you start writing?

as soon as i could hold a pen. i have notebooks FULL of little me's stories (i keep everything ive ever written. for nostalgia.) it was mostly silly escapism for a lonely child but now it's sweet to look at and giggle. from when i was maybe eight? nine?: "Pain and fear, like a perfect recipe. Pain and fear, milk and eggs"

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

mmm probably. when i say ill read anything, i mean ill read ANYTHING. i dont think ill ever write a hockey romance but im down to clown

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

poetry-wise Bhanu Kapil has been a massive inspiration for me. also Kaveh Akbar and Ariana Reines (Mercury sits in a place of honor on my bookshelf). for novels? i feel like i emulate whatever i last read. Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver did horrible (affectionate) things to the way i write

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

my office! my favorite place in the world!! cozy lights (that double as gamer lights), diet coke can graveyard, comfy office chair big enough for me to sit in a way that absolutely destroys my posture. sticky notes everywhere (a fun challenge! can i read my own handwriting?) AND!! i have an audience

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

reading something else, talking to someone about whatever im stuck on, setting a timer and just dumping everything in my brain (something in there HAS to be worth pursuing)

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

HA!

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

overbearing parental figures that believe they're acting in the best interest of their kid... surprising when i realized that it's in almost everything i write characters that are good at heart but commit atrocities due to their circumstances... less surprising oh! and death. i write a lot about death (someone pointed this out recently and i was like huh. you right)

Your Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

Missy and Theodore staring at each other like

sorry! Theodore is my favorite!! he got here first!!!! he's my precious loser baby boy who HAPPENS to be the heir of death but he's trying his best! he's pathetic!! he's doomed!! but he means well! he doesn't want anyone to die alone! he wants to be good! he wants to be good soooo bad!! he hates rivers but loves the ocean!! he lies to everyone, including himself! he's simultaneously full of self-loathing and self-righteousness!! AND... he's bisexual!!

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

i would kick it with Robbie for SURE. snarky little smarty pants that can't sit still for more than five minutes, we'd be peas

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

*looks around nervously* ... Marcella (BOO!! TOMATO!!) im sensitive and she would be mean to me!! i feel like we'd warm up to each other eventually but not before she made me cry

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

they just kinda... show up. and reveal more about themselves as i write them

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

ougffff. lots of anger in these parts. most of my characters are angry, esp the women. as they should be

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

depends on the character! for main guys, they get listed descriptions but i cant picture them in my head (thank you picrew). but others? they're like. blurry shadows moving through the story (do NOT ask me what Uriel looks like! i DONT KNOW!)

Your Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

words in brain make story in head. need story out of head so i can focus on literally anything else no but seriously. that quote that's like "the only thing worse than writing is not writing." it's like. a maintenance activity. if im feeling especially wound up it's probably because i havent written anything lately

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

if you leave me ANY comment i am kissy you on the forehead. just knowing that someone read it let alone enjoyed it... waoh

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

i am... trying very hard not to fall into self-deprecation here. i think there are things that i do well and things that i can improve on, but even if i write something and think it's "bad" i can still learn from it. all practice is good practice!!! (said through gritted teeth)

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

yea! i would find comfort in it i think, same way i do now. have my little characters for company

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

i am my own target audience. i am the conductor of the self-indulgence train but there's room aplenty if you wanna hop on

tag! @illarian-rambling @writingrosesonneptune @sarandipitywrites @mrbexwrites @mysticstarlightduck and a wide open tag if you havent done this yet. gimme a peek into your brain!!!

[anadorablekiwi]

Good plan 🫂💜

Body, we’re at work. Now is not the time to be feeling weak kneed and lightheaded

[tonydaddingham]

😈 !!! annnddd hmmm..... "eyes" for word search?

regrettably the current bit im writing is too spoilery BUT i shall do a double bill feature from the, frankly, millions of "eyes" mentions ive got in this chapter alone

crvwly wip wednesday game!

[viscerawrites]

status update 9/28/2024

just a lil post to announce what fics ive worked on/tasks ive crossed off my checklist today! its mostly for myself rlly fcngnhkk buuut its here if anyone's curious ig? Im just chilling

---

what ive accomplished today:

wrote 492 words for chapter 2 of where love didn't exist

today was the first time ive been able to work on this fic (w/o anxiety) since i first posted it in january, so that's pretty nice! tbh i lost so much confidence in it after i lost my therapist since i was hoping to use it as a coping fic while i processed shit. but who knows, maybe it'll still help me learn things abt myself. regardless, im excited to be back at it!

wrote 156 words for my sleep token oneshot wip, the body as a temple ; got it to 913!

i havent worked on this one in a while either lol, mostly bc i started it right before The Anxiety started hitting me every time i sat down to write. i was honestly rlly nervous to return to it cuz i was scared I wouldn't be able to keep writing it at all. but im giving myself the grace to move slow, so. rare W for me.

retyped/sorta edited 582 words for chapter 1 of my hollywood undead wip the exorcism of jorel decker

i actually posted this 1st chapter a long while ago! then i deleted it, tried to rework into original fiction, realized i was having much more fun writing it as bandfic, and then foolishly orphaned the original version instead of just deleting </3 but the good news abt that is. idk if i still have it in my google docs at all. so at least i have that to reference LOL.

---

soo.

today is saturday september 28 (this month is going by way too fast fr) and it's just past 6pm rn. got a late start today bc i was exhausted as shit for a while, then i talked to my mom incessantly for what was apparently hours. So i only got started around 3pm (but i still needed to warm up, soo it took longer. Bleh).

didn't set my checklist goals at the start of the day like i planned to bc i was having The Anxiety and a bit of decision paralysis. and was also worried abt.. Various things. so it doesn't feel as successful today, but ive still gotten shit done and that's what should matter to me.

out of everything ive typed today, ive done abt 1,230 words in total so far. Most of that was unfortunately just me retyping shit ive already written and am now moving from google docs to ellipsus (which i highly recommend btw). i typically prefer to retype into new software instead of pasting; it gets the brain flowing better.

but i did still write some new words, and a lot of what i retyped was modified and added to. or cut. Whatever it needed rlly.

im still trying to find the proper schedule for myself + the best way to juggle my millions of projects/ideas. I need to allow myself some wiggle room while still having some structure. adhd is making this a bit difficult (as it so often does), but it's rlly just trial and error rn. Plus a lot of self-acceptance and focusing on making things easier and more fun for myself - instead of worrying abt the "most reasonable" way to do things. Or anything others might recommend.

I do still plan on writing some more before the night is done, so I might be back w/ an update for this before I head to bed. I got distracted by my brother while writing this post so it's now just after 6:45 LOL.

---

gonna close this post off w/ music ive been rlly liking today! bc,, why not.

Animals - Ice Nine Kills (maroon 5 cover)

Disturbia - The Cab (rihanna cover)

What I Never Learned In Study Hall - Ice Nine Kills

[raccoonfallsharder]

Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟupdated 1/17

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 25/27 chapters | wip| word count: pending. ♡ check the masterlist for expected updates ♡ ♡ see the "holiday special" ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ Winter Across the Galaxy * ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ [new 12/5] ♡

see new fan art of my girl jo! a few gorgeous sketches by @moonnpiie ♡♡♡♡ and a Chapter XXIV jo by @frostedwitch ♡♡♡♡

girl falls first; racoon falls harder.

Rocket isn’t sure how he continues to be surprised by her, or how he never seems to anticipate her next move, especially when — cosmically speaking — Jo’s the most predictable frickin’ person he knows. For one damn thing, she is constantly dropping down to the ground in front of him: in front of the cage with a plateful of food. In the streets of Conjunction. By his bed while he slept. The very first time she’d used her mouth on him. And then the next time, too. That whole experience had been so brain-melting he still isn’t sure he’ll ever recover. But for whatever reason, when she sits down at the foot of his chair this time and takes his hands in her own — so carefully — his heart is suddenly, unexpectedly, in his throat. He can’t breathe around it, can’t swallow. When she starts speaking, he already knows what she’s going to say. He can feel it in the air, like static electricity building toward a spark. Because, just as she’d said, she’d already told him a million times before. With and without words. But still. He can’t breathe. And once she’s done confessing, and gives him two kisses — one pressed into each palm, to keep — she looks at him patiently and shifts like she’s about to rise to her feet and go about her night, like she’s not expecting anything back. Because of course she’s not.

[NEW 1/9] ✧･ﾟ:*Chapter XXV. Little Love Stories. in which both of our heroes learn a little about themselves. ❤︎

i know there are parts of this don't read smoothly (sorry sorry sorry) but in general i am so so so happy with this chapter. drax. (╥﹏╥) we have two more chapters to go, which is.... kinda making me cry tbh. i already miss these two idiots so much. ~♡

explicit lines or references* abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

General summary/notes + links to recently preceding chapters behind the cut.

let me know via comment, message, or ask if you'd like to be added or removed from my fanfic taglist ♡

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slow burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies).

let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best boy raccoon

*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship.

Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron.

Chapter III. A Kindness. in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

Chapter IV. Got There First. in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food.

Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave.

Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units.in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course.

Chapter VII. I'm Here. in which we visit Knowhere.

Chapter VIII. The Care & Feeding of Human Pets. in which our heroes practice breathing and we lean into a new trope: “there was (technically) one bed.”

Chapter IX. Scrapmetal and a Dream. in which we redefine homemaking.

Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice. in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way.

Chapter XI. Let It Be. in which Xandar is saved and good lives are lost.

Chapter XII. So Much It Hurts. in which we try not to fuck up the vibes.

Chapter XIII. Don’t Wait. in which a lost sister is found and Drax grapples with the concept of sarcasm.

Chapter XIV. Exactly Like a Flower. in which comfort is shared.

Chapter XV: Galaxy-Breaking Shit. in which more comfort is shared, and life is good. Briefly.

Chapter XVI. Run. in which Rocket falls victim to his superstitions.

Chapter XVII. A Seedling. A Fox. A Little Girl. in which the party is divided.

Chapter XVIII. I Happen to Know a Guy. in which our heroes get fucked. Again. Still not in the good way.

Chapter XIX. He Was Loved. in which a planet is killed, a friend is made and lost, and nobody still has any frickin’ tape.

Chapter XX. Some Nerve. *in which an ultimatum is given.

Chapter XXI. I Very Still. ❤︎❤︎ in which our heroes get fucked. In the good way, this time. Finally.

Chapter XXII. Got There Worse. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket does not say "I love you."

Chapter XXIII. We're Gonna Need a Bigger Table. ❤︎ in which the galaxy continues to spin.

Chapter XXIV. Space Would Be Better. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket ~discreetly~ claims the title of boyfriend.

Chapter XXV. Little Love Stories. * in which both of our heroes learn a little bit about themselves.

Chapter XXVI. Other Side of the Window. ❤︎

Chapter XXV. The Most Beautiful Thing in My House. ❤︎❤︎

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ Winter Across the Galaxy * ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆A Holiday Special *

Epilogue: Interviewing Rocket & Jo. ten years after Window ends. short/drabbly, silly fluff.

explicit lines or references* abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @pretty-chips ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @glow-autumz