#just the excerpt i read and shared snippets of

[persianflaw]

ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL!

ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL! The M*A*S*H fanfiction community has been approved! actually it was approved two weeks ago but i was on vacation

This community is open to any and all fans of M*A*S*H fic. Whether you're a writer, a reader, or a total newbie, this space is for you! You can talk about fics you've loved, ask for advice about a sticky plot point in your latest WIP, ask for recommendations for a ship you like, share an AO3 link to your latest fic, or share snippets from your work; the world is your oyster!

>> LINK <<

(As of 6.21.2024, communities don't let you generate an invite link yet, so just like/reply to this post if you want an invitation! This post will be updated with a proper invitation link once that feature is implemented.)

RULES (May be subject to change, but probably not that much change, lol.)

Be nice. Duh. Any bigotry or unkind behavior will not be tolerated. Welcome everyone with open arms and open hearts, and be ready to make new connections.

18+ only. Go nuts. Show nuts. Whatever.

No gory or sexually explicit images. Most of these go against tumblr's TOS, and we don't want the community to get deleted.

Keep things on topic. We're joining this community to talk about fic, so let's make sure we keep our posts fic-related! General discussions about M*A*S*H are fun, but not what this community is intended for.

If you don't like something, scroll past. We all like different things, and that's what makes the world interesting. If someone shares a fic that isn't to your tastes, you don't have to read it. Leaving a rude comment on anybody's post will get you kicked. (If you're concerned that somebody is posting bigoted or hateful material, let me know, but I honestly don't anticipate this being an issue at this time.)

Use read mores for long posts or NSFW material. This makes navigating the dash easier, and helps prevent people from getting jumpscared by lovingly detailed descriptions of oral sex on the subway, something that has of course never happened to me.

Tagging or using content notes for your writing is encouraged. This is the best way to find your audience. People who aren't interested in a particular subject can skip over, and you'll also be able to draw in the people who are enthusiastically interested! If you think a particular topic might be especially sensitive, a read more is never a bad idea.

Only give concrit (constructive criticism) when asked. This is a somewhat contentious topic in fandom as a whole, so we're keeping it simple and asking that members don't give criticism on fic posts unless the author specifically requests it.

And one final note:

Small groups and communities can easily become cliquish. Few things feel worse than joining a group, hoping to find like-minded people, only to find yourself surrounded by what feels like an impenetrable friend group with no interest in talking to you. Nobody wants to feel alone in a crowd.

So when you join this group, don't just talk to people you already know. That defeats the point of joining this kind of community, anyway! Make an effort to talk to someone new. Leave a gushing comment about a stranger's fic excerpt. Tag someone who you think has a really cool interpretation of a character you like. Reply to a post that hasn't gotten any attention. Include people who seem a little shy. Be open and friendly and welcoming.

[thescribblesofreverie]

WIP Excerpt - Aaron Hotchner x teen!reader

I thought I would share just a little snippet of a project I'm working on. It's a series about Aaron meeting a teenager on a case who ends up being involved, and there's just something so familiar about her...

Reader does use she/her pronouns.

Everyone had that one touchy subject that seemed to bring back memories of events and cases past. Everyone knew that J.J. was the one who was affected by cases involving children. 

But this time it was Hotch who felt his chest restrict with each new fact presented. With every body found the pressure of solving this case felt ten times heavier on his shoulders.

On his nightstand, the alarm clock’s neon blue numbers read 3:22 A.M. He was pacing around the hotel room, mind racing a mile a minute. The facts and theories of the case were incredibly confusing. Everytime the team got close, something drastic changed and they were at square one.

Four young, innocent girls were dead, and a fifth was going to be soon if they didn’t shape up.

Hotch glanced out the window of the third story room to see a small diner in the plaza across the street. On its left there was a tobacco store with big yellow block lettering covering the window pains with advertisements promoting vapes and discounted cartons of Mavericks. To its right there was a laundromat, with a few letters of the sign tilted from rusted out nails crumbling away instead of holding it fast. The glowing blue and pink sign on the diner read “open 24 hours”, though it flickered out every few seconds. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he sighed.

Nothing was getting done in this small room, and the diner would have coffee. He had heard before the coffee from 24 hour diners was always better. He doubted that to be true, but at least it would be caffeinated. 

He grabbed the coat off of the chair in the corner of the room, and quietly left, locking the door behind him.

It was a short walk across the street. He pushed open the door, and a bell jingled.

Soft sounds of 70’s music filled his ears. His eyes found a pastel yellow and mint green jukebox in the corner. It was your typical retro themed diner. Checkerboard flooring, blue and pink booths and tables, milkshake decals on the wall, and a long bar that a waitress was cleaning with a rag. With the typical 50’s decorations and colors, but 70’s music playing and newspapers from the 80’s on the wall, the establishment seemed to lack a general knowledge on what decade it was supposed to be emulating. Nonetheless, there was a pot of coffee sitting behind the counter, and it wasn’t like this was the strangest 3 A.m. experience he had ever had. 

Hotch looked away and sat at the counter, waiting patiently for the waitress to meander her way over to him. She finished wiping down the section of counter she had been working on and dropped the rag in a basket beneath the counter. Finally, she looked over at him.

20-24 year old girl, medium build, round face, brown eyes, umber skin, and dark black waves of hair. She shouldn’t be working alone at night, he thought. Not with a killer on the loose.

“What can I get for you?” She asked, all but rolling her eyes. Her name tag said “Marisa”. 

“Just a coffee please.” He said quietly.

“Black?”

He nodded.

As she went across the room to fill up a mug, he took a moment to revel in the peace he rarely got to feel while on a case.

The soft lighting and low music was almost comforting, in an odd way. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

Marisa set the mug of steaming coffee in front of him. “Just brewed a new pot, so you’re lucky.”

“Thanks-”

The jingling of the door interrupted him. 

“Marisa, darling!” A feminine voice cooed. 

The waitress had a look of annoyance flash across her face before she quickly covered and plastered on a smile.

“Julie, welcome in. Go ahead and take your usual booth. I’ll get you a coffee and… I’m so sorry sweetheart, what’s your name again?”

“Y/N. I’ll have orange juice, please.” 

At the mention of her name Hotch looked over his shoulder. Y/N was dressed in a pair of plaid pajama pants and an oversized hoodie. Her shoulders were hunched and as she sat down in the both, she immediately curled into the corner, like it was supporting her. Dark circles hung under her eyes and as he watched, she put a hand up to her mouth to hide a yawn.

It was early Thursday morning. And unless there was something going on that he didn’t know about, she had school in four hours. What was she doing up?

[raikan624]

School Projects

Started: August 11, 2024

Finished: August 12, 2024 Summary: A month long partner project in class. Ponyboy and Reader are paired up and find themselves growing closer as time goes on. . . Contains: Fluff, Second-person PoV, Reader's gender is unspecified, Strangers(?) to Lovers, Reader x Ponyboy, no use of Y/N Warnings: Reader is (at least) decent at writing essays, very little dialogue

You were in your History class, listening to your teacher drone on and on about something you’d started to tune out a while ago by now. Idly tapping the end of your pencil on your desk while your head was resting on your arm, only little snippets of the teacher’s rambling came into your brain like, “assigned partners”, and “month-long project”. The class was quiet, really, with some girls gossiping in hushed whispers, some doodling in the margin of their papers or fidgeting with obvious boredom like yourself, some guys discreetly mocking the teacher and making their friends snicker. Only a few kids actually listened or took notes of what Ms. Thompson was saying. Your eyes scanned the classroom, watching everyone do their own thing, then your eyes went to Ponyboy. You knew him to some degree, but you were really strangers, only knowing what each other’s names were but never really interacting at all. You knew he was a quiet kid, that he was a Greaser, and that he liked to read from what you’d seen, but nothing more than that.

When you finally tuned back in to Ms. Thompson’s ramblings, she said, “I will write the pairs on the board. Once you find your and your partner’s names, you will sit next to your partner and take notes and come up with an essay and a visual presentation, including drawn images and excerpts from text books and other resources on the rise and fall of the Roman Empire and how it impacted society. This project is due a month from now; if it is overdue, you will get an F on it and it will impact your final grade in this class.”

Ms. Thompson began writing the pairs and the instructions on the chalkboard, your classmates either looking at it in anticipation or murmuring to one another, presumably about who they hoped their partners would be. When Ms. Thompson finished writing on the chalkboard, she sat down at her desk and began to work or grade things from other classes, and there were audible groans or excited ‘yes’s from your classmates as they read the list of pairs. You scanned the list for your name, and you were paired up with Ponyboy Curtis. You just hoped that you both could relatively get along.

The students began to go to their partners and began chatting about what they would be doing for the project, how they’d design it, and who’s doing what. Ponyboy soon came over to your desk and pulled up a chair, sitting across from you with his notebook put on the desktop. The awkwardness almost palpable. ”So. . . What should we do for the project?” He asked, awkwardly breaking the silence, opening his notebook to a blank page and jotting down the instructions, due date, etc. ”I don’t know. . . Maybe a tri-fold poster or something?” You suggested. “Sure. We can do that.” Ponyboy replied, jotting it down.

After a bit more discussion, you came to the agreement that Ponyboy would do the art and visual bit of the tri-fold poster and you would write the essay. You agreed to meet up at Ponyboy’s house after school to start working on the project and that would be the main plan for meetups unless you both went to the library or something.

You walked with Ponyboy after school to his house, and you went to his shared bedroom and began studying, having taken out a few history books on the time period of the Roman Empire and the rise and fall of it, etc. You both started working and were chatting together. You found out that Ponyboy is actually a really nice guy; that he enjoyed watching sunsets, about his family life, and he found out more about you in turn. You both started to bond over time as you both worked on this project, and when you finished writing the essay you began to help him with the tri-fold poster and wrote down excerpts from the resources you had and maybe adding the occasional drawing or detail to the poster or maybe helped him with coloring it.

Before long, Ponyboy had started inviting you to hang out together outside of working on the project, like going to Dairy Queen together or maybe walking around town together, and you had quickly become friends with him. It was great. Ponyboy was a great friend and a great partner for projects, albeit you started to get a warm, almost fuzzy feeling around him; finding yourself looking at him for a few moments more than the casual glance in classes, taking in the details of his appearance. . .

Time flies by, and that definitely applied to the month to do the history project. You’d finished and the due date had come up quickly, but you both were content with how the final result came out. You’d ended up doing a small presentation for the tri-fold poster, along with your other classmates for their own visual presentations. Some kids even went to the lengths of making a class interactive bit and made handouts for the class. You’d ended up getting an A on the project, which you were both proud about, obviously.

You decided to hang out together over the weekend and went to a local diner that had affordable, cheap prices, and you’d had a good time there with him like always.

Once it got later, he walked you with you home and the walk was relatively quiet, only minimal talk happening between the two of you.

After a bit, Ponyboy had broken the somewhat comfortable silence by saying, “Hey, uh, can I tell you somethin’?” with a bit of a shy look in his eyes. “Yeah.” You answered him, looking over at him while you waited for him to tell you whatever he wanted to tell you. You’d gotten pretty close to your house by now.

“I, uh, really like you. A more-than-friends kind of like.” Ponyboy admitted.

You stood there for a moment, processing the new information while he waited for your response with bated breath. He had a crush on you. . .

“I really like you, too, Ponyboy. I’ve enjoyed spending time with you.” You told him, to which he let out an exhale of relief.

You both kept walking back to your house, and when you finally got there, you stopped at the front of your house, pulling away from Ponyboy and going to back into your house before you gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, “See you on Monday, Ponyboy.” You told him, then turning and walking into your house, leaving Ponyboy struck dumb with a lovestruck smile on his face as he watched you open the front door and go in. He couldn’t wait ‘till Monday. . .

Sorry if this is bad; I'm a bit rusty because I haven't done any writing - let alone romance writing - in ages (╥﹏╥) Requests are open :)

[the-bar-sinister]

What would you tell someone who has been feeling down for not getting any kudos or hits on their fic?

I would say three things.

First, I would remind that kudos is not a measure of quality. Kudos just means that somebody who clicked the link was compelled to hit the kudos button for whatever reason was in their head. I have read lots of absolutely fantastic fics that have very low kudos counts.

Secondly, I would remind that sometimes kudos don't happen immediately. Sometimes a fic will sit for months or years before it finally finds its 'audience' and people start passing it around.

Third, if you really want to chase those kudos, get the word out. Don't be afraid to post snippets or excerpts of your fic on tumblr or elsewhere in the appropriate tags for the fandom and ships (if there are any ships) with a link back to your fic!

Posts disappear so fast on social media, especially in large fandoms and fast tags. Obviously you don't want to spam people, but it's totally okay to share a segment of your fic that you like, along with a link to it to remind people that it exists!

[pinkgrapefloyd]

wip word game

tagged by the amazing @zannolin! tysm!

Rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word. my word was RUIN.

R (little excerpt from Ruin My Life (anti hero sequel). in this household, R is for Robby <3 have a little snippet of the miyagi fang gang playing never have i ever)

Robby crosses his arms. “I’m not, like, morally opposed to it. Just never happened. Didn’t know I was on trial here.” “You’re not,” Sam interjects. “Let’s move on.” “Hell no!” Demetri protests. “So you and Diaz never made out?” Miguel coughs into his drink next to Robby and honestly, Robby doesn’t blame him. This is just ridiculous.

U (from my spirk WIP. part of a little conversation between kirk and uhura which i really love)

Unfortunately, his mouth didn’t care much for his brain’s command orders. Mutinous bastard. “Dinner was great. So great, in fact, that I… um... tried to have the good old ‘what are we’ conversation with Spock.” Her face softened. She didn’t seem surprised by the monumental implications of such an announcement, and Jim couldn’t decide if he found that insulting or comforting.

I (garashir WIP my beloved... still in the very early stages but it's a ten course menu of miscommunication. fifty percent silly, fifty percent vulnerable. i cannot wait for you to read it)

It’s in his body, and it’s in the implication of his body, and in the air between them. I was trained to break people like you. Maybe it’s unwise to ask me to unearth the kindness I buried in the yard like a dead pet before you were even born. I’m not so sure what’s left of it now. I’m not sure you’d like looking at it.

N (another Ruin My Life snippet because I feel like most of you aren't here for Star Trek lmao. The worlds needs more Sam and Johnny scenes in my opinion!)

“No, I meant… singular they. Like when you…” Sam takes a deep breath. This day is already stressful enough without the prospect of explaining singular they to Johnny Lawrence. “It’s a girl.” Johnny frowns. “Why are you looking at me like that? I got a boyfriend, man. What do you think I’m gonna say, your father and I are super disappointed in you? You can have six girlfriends for all I care. Just don’t come home with that vegan shit.”

my word is STAR and I'm tagging @vimesbootstheory and @blinkasaurus and anyone else who sees this and is looking for a good excuse to share wip sneak peeks! :D

[soliblomst]

Wip snip --- Drarry

Thank you @smehur and @kk1smet for the tag! As I've just posted the first chapter of my new Drarry fic, I thought I'd share an excerpt from a later chapter 👀 When We Were Angels - Ch6

After the age of five, the guardians no longer gave presents for Christmas or birthdays but encouraged the children to handcraft something special for one another. This could be a drawing, a poem, a painting done in class, or any other creative gift. Unsurprisingly, Draco never received anything from the other children, nor did he bother to make any gifts himself. Then, over the years, he developed the habit of drawing something for Harry and would beg Harry not to reciprocate.

Instead, Harry opted to give him a compliment. Over time, as they learned to write, Harry replaced these compliments with little poems clumsily written on scraps of paper. His poems were objectively bad, sometimes even illegible due to Harry’s terrible handwriting and spelling mistakes. And, although they made him laugh a lot, Draco kept them all in the drawer of his bedside table, like treasures he would hold dear forever.

That Christmas morning, Draco gave him a drawing of the oak tree, which he had made using chalk stolen from the art room, while Father Virgil was too busy admiring Harry’s hideous painting. As for Harry, he gave him a new poem, this year much more legible than the one he wrote last Christmas.

“You’ve improved,” Draco commented as he finished reading the last verse, feeling a grin at the corner of his lips. 

“So have you.”

“My drawings have always been good.” 

Harry nudged his shoulder. “You’re so annoying.” 

Pleased with himself, but no less grateful for Harry’s lovely poem, Draco carefully placed it in his drawer with the others.

Read the first chapter here

I tag @pl0tty (yes yes, i want a snippet, u know what i mean), @faiell @tripably and @itsphantasmagoria ~~

[samarqqand]

hi! i recently discovered and have eagerly been reading (and re-reading) all of your fics - your writing is astounding and weaves a story so beautifully, you’ve quickly become one of my favourite silm writers ☺️ in a few comments/notes you’ve talked about other fic - bits you had posted on tumblr that i suppose have been deleted? and you also mentioned another maglor/melkor fic - would you ever post these tidbits? i’d really love to read them even if they’re unfinished!

but if not, thanks for sharing what you already have and know that it’s very much appreciated ☺️

hey hi hi -- i 100% cannot tell you what this message means to me!! seriously, i'm so humbled and so so pleased that these little fics have landed for you!! so thank you, thank you so much for taking the time to read. and! for taking the time to compose this thoughtful message. you've made my week. :']

i think a number of wip snippets or excerpts ended up deleted when i uhhh accidentally deleted my tumblr a while back (all that curation-!!). fie on me.

here's a chunk from early on in that melkor/maglor one -- it's extremely long, and even more extremely unwieldy (i've written myself into some tangles here), but the conceit is Melkor befriending & seducing Maglor in Valinor during the Noontide, & this secret companionship of course cedes to disaster (and monsterfucking, with Melkor's less porcelain, less pleasing form) once the Darkening hits.

again, thank you so much for your interest and superb-kind words. :] (& sorry for any wip-type mistakes in this except, and for the lack of the beloved ë in Makalaurë!!)

*

Tools to nurture or desecrate; tools to reap and sow. Tools to convert. Sharp tools, dull tools.

Melkor gathers each one according to his design, wrenching each free of its moorings and testing its mettle.

He follows Makalaure and two of his brothers home as a dark breeze: harmless as hearth smoke if not for its whispers of the East beyond the Sea. 

The three Noldor princes fall over themselves laughing, made pliant with drink. Casting aside pretense in Tirion’s streets, they join hands and circle into a dance. Makalaure demonstrates a complicated footwork that he insists is in vogue in Valimar; the preeminent bard would know, after all.

Maitimo is a fast learner, but over-tall: Carnistir yelps and shoves when Maitimo steps on his foot. Maitimo kicks at him, grinning. The two abandon the dance to gallop kicking at each other instead: carefree just beyond their majority and expectant of nothing more or less than this lukewarm paradise promised to them.

Only Makalaure, laughing, carries on dancing alone. He countervails his brothers’ happy warfare with defiant grace. A twist of his wrist, fingers upturned in invitation, and swift soundless steps, he entices the breeze.

He entices the breeze. 

And the breeze, enticed, curls in on him; it twists into his hair and swifts around his waist with a lover’s persuasion. Just there under its current, the suggestion of a gale: howling, hard-hearted.

And the breeze pulls.

Makalaure feels the pull. He halts and whirls around, the smile on his lips dying as he looks toward the vacant alleyways and doorsteps.

Maitimo and Carnistir take his hands again; they dance him away before he can wonder.

III.

It begins with a chime. 

The faint peal, spectral and displaced in Makalaure’s bedchamber, stills his composing.

Quill in hand and oud reclining across his crossed legs, he frowns down at the parchment as he listens. He holds his breath to better hear the tone and intuit its meaning.

He glances about his chamber. 

When he turns to his bed, he finds a jagged shadow sitting upon it. 

He quails back; the oud upsets from his lap and thuds against the carpet.

Such a dark. It rests in the way of a thing that has been biding its time.

“Do you know me, child of Fëanáro?” asks the shadow in a many-throated voice felt before heard. 

When heard, rich as velvet, beautified for Eldarin ears.

Makalaurë ducks his head against the sound, his eyes rapidly scanning his parchment and the polished oud as though to glean a means of escape.

Melkor’s voice is beautified for Eldarin ears, but it is not beautiful.

— Makalaurë’s voice is beautiful.

Melkor’s voice is —

The shadow moves to stand before Makalaurë, a penumbra stretching before his eyes.

Ruinous, Makalaurë distantly recognizes.

“Do you know me?” Makalaurë returns then, his voice level to counter the apprehension evident in the set of his shoulders. “Do you know my name? Or indeed is Fëanáro and his ire what you would seek, imposing so upon his house?”

A bright grin slices through the shadow.

“You have the wrong chambers,” Makalaure finishes, clipped.

“Impetuous are raised Feanaro’s sons,” arrives the low voice, accented with a moribund tongue. Makalaure shivers again to hear it; he slips his hands inside his robe’s sleeves to smooth at his arms. “Comforted by the futility of their lot, emboldened by the clutch of their captivity.”

Makalaure glances toward his door, meaning to depart, to hurry from his wing of the compound and call for his brothers. And yet he stays seated, cogitating on the divinity’s words so akin to his father’s. The similarity compels his cautious eyes to return to the Vala.

Fair-minded as is Eldarin wont, he responds to the familiarity with a pale hue of due respect for a Vala: “So what is it, then, that Melkor would request of Feanaro’s son?” 

“Fair is the second son of Feanaro,” Melkor speaks, “with his rare gift.”

Is it worship to share a gift?

“A song from his commanding lips.”

Makalaure grasps for his oud’s unfretted throat and straightens his back, immediately assuming a performer’s bearing even as incredulity creases his brow.

“A song.” He hesitates. “Want of a song compelled you all this way to my chambers?”

A rippling silence impresses upon the space they make between themselves.

“I do not understand.”

Such a dark. A dark new to him; for all Makalaure’s words, eluding description. He blinks into it.

“Which song would please you, Lord Melkor?”

“A song none but mine ears shall hear.”

Makalaure pauses again before he blinks down to his writing. He pages back the parchment once, twice, to where a composition’s scrawl trails into blank eggshell white, unfinished. With his eagle quill pick, he coaxes the oud’s coupled strings into a tentative rhythm. “I can offer you naught but a draft, then.”

When he drifts into singing, the wash of sweet words clear his uncertainty; they build a shelter from apprehension. Comfortable for now, commanding for now, he sings of silver inside the rock and silver from the Tree. Silver of the chattering runnels and silver of the fish that glimmer therein.

Of serenity he sings, the serenity of Valinor: all he knows.

And yet, while the words tide through well-trod sentiments, Makalaure still smiles through the sequence of satisfactions.

Telperion’s light winding through unbound hair; the silken shadows caressing fair faces.

The silken shadows caress fair faces.

Melkor smiles.

An oud string snaps.

The bleak twang rattles Makalaure out of his performance. He starts and clutches at his oud like a child he would comfort. “I am sorry,” he murmurs, distracted, “I have never known these strings to give — “

“Thy voice is the fairest in Aman, son of Feanaro,” Melkor intones again, a deep twist of sound. And suddenly he is crouched before Makalaure upon the floor, having closed in with such immediacy that Makalaure takes a moment to react to Melkor’s visage — a little intake of air — now freed of darkness and distance. Melkor is handsome, and  and unnavigable as a cliff’s sheer stone face.

Slowly, Makalaure draws up his knees around his oud, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. “You humble me,” he responds. He glances away from Melkor to guide the Vala’s attention to where Melkor’s flower, wilted now, rests on his writing desk. It had blackened away quickly upon its arrival at Feanaro’s house, insult for an insult.

“More sweetly I would reward thee, second son.”

Makalaure’s fingers press against his broken string. They look at each other.

A knock at his door. Makalaure turns to it furtively. “Yes?” he calls.

“Me,” Maitimo announces through the oak.

Makalaure looks back to Melkor. 

He finds himself alone in his bedchamber. 

His shoulders slump — an exhale — a tension untying. An emptiness that would leave him questioning if he had ever been anything but alone in this place.

He feels at the snapped string in his hand, considering.

Then he swiftly moves the oud out of sight, as though a shame he would hide.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Can you recommend any blogs that share their own writing? Like snippets and the sort.

I would suggest searching tags to find who is posting the types of writing you'd like to read.

Some general fiction tags: #writing #creative writing #original fiction #original writing #fanfiction #amwriting #excerpt #WIP Some general community tags: #writeblr #writblr #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writing community Other tags to consider: Genre - #fantasy, #science fiction, #sci-fi, #mystery, #romance, etc. Genre + "amwriting" - #amwritingfantasy, #amwritingsff, etc. Type - #fanfiction, #original fiction, #short story, #poetry, etc. You can plug hashtags into the tumblr search bar to find posts using that tag. Then, just scroll through to look for posts that are sharing writing and see what appeals to you. :)

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[charmsandtealeaves]

Evans Guide To Quidditch (and seducing James Potter)

Read it on AO3 | 8K One-Shot

Summary: It had all started out innocently enough, a small wager between housemates on the outcome of the Arrows Vs Catapults game over the weekend. Lily hadn't intended to let slip she knew more about quidditch than she was letting on. Or to set up a fantasy quidditch league with James, but well... what's the harm?

Tags: jily, hogwarts, 7th year , clueless idiots, mutual pining

Excerpt:

It was almost cruel taking money from Black at this point. Yet there was something about watching his mouth pop open in incredulous surprise every time that just tickled her. At this rate she’d be able to buy herself an entire term's worth of potions ingredients out of him. Now there was an idea! She’d had her eye on a new cauldron upgrade now that they were doing N.E.W.T level potions. She had every intention of offering Sirius odds on the upcoming Cannons match, especially when she overheard him grumbling at breakfast on Monday morning at the other end of the Gryffindor dining table.  “I reckon she’s got someone feeding her information from somewhere. There’s no fucking way Lily Evans knows that much about quidditch. Three galleons. Three fucking galleons she’s won off me.” Sirius complained, stabbing angrily at his eggs, and then pointing his fork at James. “Ah yes because there’s no way her quidditch knowledge could be superior to your own aye Padfoot?” Potter chuckled. He didn’t seem the least bit miffed and she’d managed to lure him out of the similar amount of money.  “Not three fucking galleons worth superior. Once it’s a fluke, twice I’ll consider, three times she’s cheating!” Sirius grumbled indignantly. “Or she’s just that good Pads.” Potter shrugged.

Tagging as they asked to be tagged when I posted ageeeeeeees ago when I was sharing concept/snippets: @theresthesnitch, @petalstofish-deactivated2023062 @uncertainwallflower

[monstersandmaw]

Hey folks! I don't normally do WIPs as early releases, but I'm getting far enough ahead with this story now that I'm confident not too much will change between posting it on Patreon and posting it on Tumblr in its final form. 

You voted almost equally for both this story and Oats' story, so I've been working on getting this one to a point where I can share at least the first of the three chapters that are currently extant, then focus on Oats' one. I can see this one being a four-parter in total, and it's already at over 14k words... (Oats' WIP snippet can be found here, in case you missed it).

Content warning: character gets heartlessly dumped and laughed at after being cheated on and gets hit in the face, another character offers violence towards said ex Wordcount: 4519

Excerpt:

Demon threaded his gleaming, red Ducati through the maze of narrow side streets, following the inexorable pull of pain through the night like a drop of water rolling downhill.

Pickings in the city were always good for a demon that fed on human suffering — he didn't even need to form contracts with people to survive here. The lesser Prince of Hell could simply exist under his own free will. He could just… browse.

This particular human’s pain was stoking like a newly lit beacon, so he revved the bike and turned again, avoiding a buzzing delivery moped as it splashed through a puddle ahead of him, and swinging last-second around a pedestrian that stepped heedlessly into the road. He revved the bike in a sharp reprimand, ignored the vague shout they sent after him, and then sped off down the otherwise empty streets.

The human’s pain sharpened, changing abruptly from emotional to physical, and a growl to rival the purr of his Panigale rattled through him. Revving and nudging the powerful bike into a racing, red blur, he roared through the night in a rush of magic until he came to the source of the pain and cruised to a halt to observe at a distance.

...

Read the whole thing over on Patreon on early release for just $3!! Or consider becoming a $5 and getting access to an exclusive monster romance story once every month!

[vacantgodling]

Hi, I hate to be a bother but is chapter 1 of Paramour (hope I'm spelling that right) the only chapter you've shared or are there more posted? your writing is so good and I've fallen in love with the story after seeing your anniversary art. Also, do you post it anywhere outside of Tumblr? unfortunately, the color scheme of your blog and the size of the font makes it hard for my poor eyesight to read (No hate to you btw I just zoom in real close)

hello hello!! firstly you are not at ALL a bother <3 (also you're spelling it right lol) regarding my desktop blog, i bumped up the font size so i hope that's helped it be a bit more readable? i'm planning on changing up color schemes and the like at the end of this year, but i hope the size change makes it more bearable ;3;

secondly, hearing that people like my writing enough to want to seek more of it has me giggling and kicking my feet so THANK YOU for enjoying chapter 1 and the art so much--there's some details that may or may not get added in whenever i eventually make a third pass at writing this behemoth and i spent 6 hours slaving over that drawing LMAO SO i really appreciate you reading it AND telling me you enjoyed it im so EEEE

at this time, i'm not formally publishing / putting out paramour because its still very much a work-in-progress (essentially, i'm working on draft 2 right now bc i'm doing some major outline renovating, but tbh i'm thinking that when i DO feel like i'm at the point that i want to publish it, i'm kinda leaning towards a serial style like @/stjohnstarling's what manner of man... but those are details for several years from now, i'm just rambling at this point) BUT FEAR NOT!! its my main obsession at all times and i have posted a TON about it on my blog. but for your convenience, i've compiled all the 'main' writing bits that i've posted on this blog over the past several years into this ask so that way if you wanna just read the 'main' meat and potatoes that i've decided to release from the vault so to speak... then here they are.

but, if in general you want to peruse my main wip tag, i talk about paramour so much its Ridiculous lmao -> s: paramour and you can check out the overview powerpoint intro i made for it here, just to get a clearer picture of what the heckie is going on lol -> powerpoint intro

anyway though, the list of main writings, broken into a couple of sections. i will also preface, that chapter 1 doesn't make it too apparent--but there is a LOT of sex, kink, and romance involved in this story. so proceed at your own disgression dear anon since i'm not sure how you feel about that lol.

MAIN WIP WRITINGS (in chronological story order)

paramour draft 2 chapter 1: pre-wedding

paramour (title drop 👀 but this scene is gonna end up slightly different in draft 2)

midnight query (amon and erecia talk in some undetermined chapter)

the bird & the worm (flashback to amon at 12)

but i am not (a bit from chapter 9 of draft 1)

masquerade (the first time hya and amon fuck—there is smut proceed with caution. also the latter half of chapter 9 draft 1)

an invitation (excerpt from chapter 10 draft 1)

displeasure (a relationship snippet from an undetermined chapter)

nervous (just hya and amon being kinky)

ties that bind (kink interrupted by feelings from some undetermined chapter)

divine (some sappy shit from an undetermined chapter)

hiccup (excerpt from chapter 20 of draft 1)

AUS & JUST FOR FUNZIES (meaning not in the main wip)

jealousy (amon & hya slums au—where both of them grow up in central halifax)

pleasure (amon’s birthday present 2023-> this is sex/smut so proceed with caution)

a fool’s errand (role swap au—aka the au where amon is rich and hya is the butler)

laundry (role swap au)

wedding invitation (role swap au—amon being friends with myrtus makes me insane actually)

i know what you’re saying (amon & hya slums au)

[lqtraintracks]

For the Word excerpt ask: 'frog' or 'rainbow' :)

Elise. I fucking love you for giving me FROG. Lmao! This is a(n overly long) snippet from the end of Shiny Things, Slightly Damaged. It may enrich the reading to know that earlier in the story (they’re eighth years) Draco witnessed a first-year getting Harry’s signature on his chocolate frog card. Thus this is the second instance of the word frog in this story. ;) They’re at a room at the Hog’s Head for this, just to set the mood.

It’s late, and they haven’t turned on any lights, but there’s a moon. Malfoy’s skin gleams silver under its light. He’s naked. They both are. They’re sharing the bed, lying on their sides, facing each other.

Ten minutes earlier, Malfoy was riding Harry’s cock, his head thrown back, arse pounding down hard. He came on Harry’s chest, and Harry came inside him, again.

It’s still a little unreal, even though they started fucking only a month after the war ended. Harry couldn’t tell you how or why they started, only that it happened. That one day, returning Malfoy’s wand to him, he saw that stupid, arrogant look in his eye and it was either fight him or… this. To his shock, when he gripped Malfoy hard and breathed in his face, Malfoy chose this, and kissed Harry’s lips raw.

It would have been just the once. Maybe. Except that a week later Harry saw Malfoy coming out of the office of the Mind Healer next door to his own, eyes red and puffy, chin jutting out at seeing Harry there. They’d passed each other quickly, without words. But that night, Malfoy had shown up on the pavement outside Grimmauld, just wandering back and forth—before Harry opened the wards and the door to him, and pulled him roughly inside.

It’s not something that should have happened. Certainly not something that should keep happening. But it does. Because neither of them stops it. Because both of them seek it out in the other. They pretend they have no choice. It’s so much simpler that way.

“What?” Malfoy asks, studying Harry’s face.

“Mm. Nothing. Just thinking we should get back soon.”

Harry hasn’t told his Mind Healer about shagging Malfoy. He wonders if Malfoy’s told his. Not likely, Harry thinks. Which tells him plenty about the viability of what they’re doing. If they could keep it secret from each other, they probably would.

Malfoy scoots closer, his knee between Harry’s, his hand encircling Harry’s cock.

“Again?” Harry asks, a crooked smile pulling at his lips.

Malfoy looks down at the cock swelling as he strokes it, then back up at Harry. “You tell me.” Then, “If you don’t want to, I’ll just wank myself off to your chocolate frog card.”

Harry cannot, absolutely cannot, suppress a mad bubble of laughter at that.

Just as he can’t not notice that Malfoy’s getting hard again too, just from touching him.

Harry moves into his body, takes a firm grip on him as well. Malfoy gasps.

“One more,” says Harry.

And already thrusting his hips into it, Malfoy breathes, “Just one more.”

[goodluckclove]

ok ok ok Clove i need to know: who are some of the best writers here in your opinion ? who do i need to follow if i want to follow the next generation of great writers ? i need new blogs to follow

oh shit let's party.

first off i can't say that i know all the best writers here. i'm still learning! also, maybe i like things you don't. the usual disclaimer. but i'll still take the chance to rave about some of the immense brilliance of some of my colleagues on here!

first of is @ivaspinoza, who is the first person to send me her writing the very first time i asked. she writes the most beautiful, almost prophetic word pieces. not quiet prose, not entirely poetry. it's language you can really seep yourself in like a heated milk bath. she's working on a longform vampire novel in the same style which i have seen snippets of and it is truly incredible. love her dearly.

i'm actually in the middle of Song of the Heartless by @rkmoon, because he was hesitating to post it and i harassed him into sending it to me. and oh man, it's great. really solid premise and a world that feels vibrant and expansive and also shit because it's kind of dystopian and the vibes are not great. obviously as another aspec writer i love the representation. it's great to read yourself on the page and still see your struggles draped in thematic excitement. i can't say any more without spoiling it but i really want to. this could easily be a fucking great movie adaptation.

i feel insane pointing you towards @godsmostfuckedupgoblin because he doesn't really post his writing as far as i know but he's got some of the best mastery of dialogue i've seen in non-published writing and his excerpts are always so exciting and fun to read. maybe if enough people him to share more he will but until then his memes are lit as a child has once said before.

@stajorathefallen is working on a longform Lord of the Rings fic that is truly beautiful. I would rather read this finished product than the actual Lord of the Rings. I don't know if she'll find that a compliment or a war crime, but it's just nicer. It feels warm and cozy to read. I actually don't even know if it's referenced the original canon at all since I saw the movies but didn't pay attention. I was not qualified to look at this fic but I got to anyway and it's great.

@cssnder is someone else who doesn't post enough writing, but my hope is with enough confidence she'll branch more into sharing. Literally every time she drops a line everyone's like huh?? wow!! and then she whispers a thanks and disappears back into the catacombs. if you like dark academia based on tiktok you should follow her to see what those tiktoks wish they could capture.

this is obviously not everyone. these are not even all the people that sent me writing to look at. i have two separate emails that i still need to marry, some people are still in the egg-cracking stage of being a writer, and my adderal can only do so much. if you aren't one of these people just know that you are amazing and you need to post more of your work so i can point people to your page please thank you i love you.

[omar-rudeberg]

14 and 19 for the writing asks :]

14. Write and share the first sentence of a new fic. Just that.

this is !!!!!!!!!! hard !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ok here we go:

The first time Wilhelm wandered to the store for fresh milk and eggs and didn't notice a single burning stare pinned to his back as he did so, he returned to their apartment - heart beating too fast - closed the front door, leant back against it and burst into tears. Finally.

(Simon's head whipped up from the kitchen island, visible from Wilhelm's statued position in the entryway, and he gently placed the cup measure of flour down.

"Oh my- Wille. Oh my god," Simon stuttered out, moving quickly toward Wilhelm's trembling form. "What happened? What- What did they say?"

"They didn't," Wilhelm whispered, tipping his head back against the door and inhaling into his diaphram. He exhaled shakily, passing the canvas bag of groceries toward Simon's outstretched hand. Then accepted it when Simon bypassed the milk and eggs, instead cradling Wilhelm's cheek in one hand to bring their gazes into each other. Wilhelm smiled down at his boyfriend, unable to believe they'd got here, from where they'd started. (Front page news.) "They didn't," he said, still a whisper. "They didn't even see me."

Wilhelm's breath caught on a hiccough, high in his throat, and Simon rescued the groceries, gently lowering them to the floor, before gathering Wilhelm close as he falls apart. Finally.)

SORRY I CANT FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS I CANT EVEN READ

19. Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

the last excerpt was too nice so here this one's filthy so sorry maybe or maybe you're welcome? under the cut for obvious reasons

He pulls Wilhelm's hair tighter on his next thrust, getting so fucking rough with him now. But seeing how much Wilhelm needs this, isn't sorry in the slightest.

"Hands up baby," Simon grunts, "hold on to the headboard for me so I can use you good, my darling."

Wilhelm complies, instantly, and Simon immediately misses the broad hands on him that were roaming his back, pulling his hair, and cradling him close. Wilhelm's eyes flutter closed, though, as he grips the headboard, surrendering himself fully, holy, and Simon doesn't regret a thing.

curious?

[nyoomfruits]

Do you have a snippet from the Landoscar fake married au that you’ve been writing which you could share with us? I’ve been craving to read anything from you for dayyyys, the two snippets you shared (even though they were really good) haven’t been enough by far to satisfy my thirst…

This is not meant to pressure you or anything though, if you don’t have anything or don’t want to share an excerpt that’s fine tho!! I just love your writing and I’m super intrigued by it and weirdly into the mctwinks… ahh

Have a wonderful evening ellie! 💛

oh anon you are in luck because i wrote what might actually be my favorite kiss scene i've ever written yesterday and i've been dying for a reason to share it so. here you go. from the landoscar fake married au :D

“Oh for god’s sake,” Max says, sounding exasperated. “Will you just fucking kiss him.” Logan is still chanting behind him.

“Right,” Oscar says, shaking his head. Then he squares his shoulders, takes Lando’s face in both of his hands, and kisses him.

And Jesus fuck.

They’ve hugged, before. They’ve fallen asleep tangled in each other’s arms. Heck, Lando frequently places obnoxious smacking kisses on Oscar’s cheek, much to Oscar’s annoyance. They’re no strangers to intimacy.

But this.

Oscar kisses him like he’s something precious, like he’s been waiting this whole life for this one moment. Like if he lets go, if he steps away, Lando is going to shatter in a million pieces. And he might, with the way Oscar’s thumb presses into his cheek, the way his lips slide against Lando’s. Lando’s hands have found their way to Oscar’s waist, and he can feel the way Oscar’s body moves against his below the soft fabric of his coat.

When Oscar pulls away his pupils are blown wide. There’s a strand of hair that has escaped the little swoosh his hair usually falls in, and Lando has to suppress the insane urge to tuck it back in. Next to him, Logan and Max are cheering loudly and obnoxiously, but Lando barely registers any of it. All he can think about is shit.

It would be so incredibly, insanely, ridiculously inconvenient if he actually fell in love with his fake husband.

[cheriekos]

The Haunting of Wayne Manor - Unedited Excerpt (Birdflash Ghost AU)

Hello once again sharing a WIP because it’s sucking the life out of me. This snippet is from my autumn Birdflash WIP (currently titled, tentatively, The Haunting of Wayne Manor - not at all related to the haunting series I literally accidentally, subconsciously stole the title and now it’s stuck lol). It is a Ghost AU! It was meant to be a short, cute little Halloween vibe type of fic and then my brain sabotaged me and now there’s plot. So now I’m spending a lot more time on it than I anticipated. Here’s an itty bitty piece from it. Unbeta’d, very unedited, probably some spelling & grammar mistakes in here. This excerpt may not end up in the final fic and may be altered later on. Happy reading!

Birds chirping, the scratching of the branches at the window - then the laughter of a boy, right at his ear, hot breath causing goosebumps to rise.

Wally nearly jumps out of skin. He takes two shaky steps backwards, flashlight wildly chasing the figure in front of him. Between one blink and the next, he sees colors of red and gold, little accents of green - he blinks again, and the first thing his eyes land on is a scarf. When he finally breathes, lets clarity clear his vision, he realizes - he knows that scarf. Old, pilling, but still the warmest thing he owned - covered in the scent of Aunt Iris's autumn candles.

Green eyes meet blue. Wally feels the cufflinks, warm against his chest.

"It's you." Wally breathes. "Dick Grayson."

The lights blink rapidly, churning to life above them. The clock on the nightstand begins to tick, tick, tick. All at once, the room seems to come alive again - and the young man in front of him takes a deep breath. Like the one you take after having been submerged underwater for so long.

"My name," He says, in wonderment. "You know my name." 

"It wasn't easy to find," Wally says, still staring in disbelief. "You weren't easy to find."

"No, I -" He blinks, words stoping abruptly. He touches the red scarf - a move that seems more of our habit than anything else. "That doesn't seem right."

Wally feels his chest ache - this was exactly what he hoped wouldn't happen.

"I found your name in a really old article from a Metropolis newspaper," Wally says, unsure of what to do that now he had Dick here. Momentarily tangible and present, no longer wayward in the veil. "Someone really didn't want Dick Grayson's name to stick around. I tried every source in Gotham, even trying to find old records at city hall -"

"Seriously?" Dick says, incredulous. "You did that? Just to speak to me again?"

"Well - yes." Wally crosses his arms. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"We spoke once," Dick says, almost arguing. "You could've written me off as some hallucination or some weird kid pulling a prank on you -"

"And I didn't," Wally says. "I believed it when you said you were a ghost and needed your name. It took me a while, but - I did it. I'm here." 

And what now? Those were the words he didn't speak out loud. 

Dick continues to stare at him, lips slightly open as he took in Wally and his response. Wally felt a strange sense of deja vu roll over him - this wasn't the first time Dick Grayson tried to pry some knowledge out of him by staring him down. He gestures to Dick, trying to deflect some attention of himself.

"You grew," Wally remarks. "Last time I saw you, you were barely ten."

"I died when I was twenty," Dick says, absentmindedly. He blinks a few times, then looks away from Wally. "I think."

"Twenty," Wally says, quietly. Twenty. Only a year younger than Wally. Barely in college. Couldn't even legally drink yet. Some many milestones never reached, so many years lost - it makes Wally's chest ache. There's very few moments where dealing with ghosts truly hurts. Helping elderly ghosts find their way to whatever their end was, that didn't hurt so bad. Kids - that sucked. Teenagers were rare. This? This felt visceral. Looking into the face of someone who could've been Wally's classmate or friend, had they been born together in the right era. 

He swallows down his empathy for now. "Why'd I meet you as a kid, then?"

"...I'm not really sure," Dick says, softly. "I don't really remember. I just felt like - there was light in the house. And I wanted to match it."

"Light?" Wally asks.

"Yes," Dick says. "You."

"...Oh," Wally says, faintly. Don't get hung up on that, West. "Light - as in...?"

"Like..." He reaches for the scarf again, twisting the edge of it between his fingers. "Playing outside in autumn. Drinking from the hose after playing in the dirt for too long. Climbing up trees and scraping my knees while doing so."

"Like being a kid." Wally says.

"Yeah," Dick says, gaze sliding back to Wally's. "Something like that."

"And now?" Wally says, looking at Dick up and down. "You're an adult because...?"

"I suppose it's because you are. Same light - just bigger. Brighter." Dick shrugs. He taps the scarf. "Helps that I have this."

"Yeah, helps with being more - tangible." Wally says.

"Oh?" Dick says, with a quirk of the lips that felt strangely dangerous to Wally. "An expert in ghosts, now are we?"

"For your information - yes, yes I am." Wally says, puffing out his chest slightly. "I have nine years of ghost hunting and ghost aiding under my belt, thank you very much. The only person who knows better than me is - is the guy I met on the ghost hunting forums when I was twelve."

Dick gives him a dead stare. "Forums?"

"...Oh my God, you probably died in the 1950's, didn't you?"

Dick's eyes widen. "What year is it?"