#just cleaning the WIPs so that I can work on another piece

[flo-n-flon]

Little Moiraine sketch I don't plan to render because I love the new look.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You're online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: I couldn't help myself.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So... this is what it looks like today?" You aim your camera at the sky outside your window, "sorry, the screen is kinda in the way."

You let out a nervous chuckle and flip the camera to yourself. You make a silly face. You were never overly fond of your image on the screen but the vlogs help. Like a little diary, mostly for yourself. You and your seven followers on Insta.

You bat your lashes and fix the clip in your hair, "oh, I got this free. Yeah, I bought a new hair oil and they threw this in the bag." You let your thoughts run wild from your tongue. You found a journal too daunting, the blank lines leaving you just as empty. This is easier. "Anyway, I shouldn't have spent the money to begin with."

You give another splintered laugh. The one you let out when you're anxious, or scared, or happy, or even mad.  You bite your lip and catch yourself in your digitized reflection. You stop and turn your camera to your bedroom.

"Today, I'm gonna clean this mess. Me and you guys together."

You scour the room with the lens. Your laundry is piled on the floor and you have a stack of books you need to put on the shelf. It isn't the worst it's been but it's getting cluttered.

"But first, we'll have breakfast, can't start the stream on an empty stomach," you chirp and nearly drop the phone, "oops, uh..." You fix your grip and check the number in the corner. You have one viewer; on a good day, it's three, most days, it's just you talking to the void.

You go into the kitchen, just down the short hall from your bedroom, opening into your living room. You go to the counter and prop up the phone so the camera is on you again. You tap your fingers and hum.

"What should we have for breakfast?" You ask. You don't feel as crazy talking to yourself even if there's really no one watching. "Oo, French toast. Gotta use up the eggs."

You go to the fridge and pull out the eggs and the milk. You bring them back to the counter, shuffling around for a bowl, a whisk, and the cinnamon.

You mix up your ingredients and dip the bread, one piece at a time. You put on a skillet and fry up the slices, presenting a stack of three to the camera. You smile and dust some icing sugar over the top.

“Probably shouldn't have all this sugar for breakfast,” you shrug at the camera, “alright, quick break…” 

You put the stream onto the ‘back soon’ page and take your plate to the small foldout table against the wall. You're not a fan of eating on camera. You finish and rinse up before snatching your phone up again.

You return to your bedroom and put the phone on a middle shelf and flip the stream back to live. Still that one viewer…

“Anyway, I'm back,” you wave at the lens.

You hesitate, looking around as you stand straight and spin. Cleaning, right. Before you can set to work, the phone dings.

A message?

You go back to your phone and squint at the chat bubble floating up.

‘Looked delicious too.’

“It was,” you agree with a grin, “thanks.”

‘Don't mean the toast.’

The next message has you blinking. Your nape burns. They can't mean… you clear your throat and giggle.

“Well, let's get started,” you back up and clap your hands, “you know, I've been so carried away with work. This place is a pigsty.”

You sit on the floor and sort through the clothes. You toss them into the basket as you sit in silence. You stop yourself and glance at the phone.

“How about some tunes?” 

You walk on your knees to your bedside and turn on your bluetooth speaker. You go to your phone and find a playlist before pulling the stream back to full screen. As you do, you hear a noise you've never heard before.

‘BourbonBear has tipped.’ Huh? Really?

“Oh, thanks, er, BourbonBear,” you giggle around the name, “how nice. Maybe one day I can afford a proper camera for this, huh?”

You smile and go back to the dirty clothes. You quickly ball up a pair of panties and shove them in the basket. You carry on until they're all untangled.

You move on and tidy your desk, bending underneath to gather up a few loose pens. You make your way around the bedroom, putting away books, fixing the blankets on the bed, and straightening the little figurines on the shelf above the bed.

You grab the stick vacuum and suck up the dirt and proclaim your task done. It took a lot longer than you thought. It's after eleven. The one viewer is still there.

“Whew, okay, I'm gonna get myself washed up and go to the park. Maybe I'll post that later,” you give a thumbs up next to your head as you talk to the phone, “thank you.”

You end the stream and let out a sigh. Your videos aren't much and you doubt they're very interesting but it's like venting for you. Almost like having an invisible friend. You think you will take some pictures of the flowers to share.

🧸

You take your usual path through the park. The walks help you unwind your worries. You try to come after work at least a couple days during the week and both days on the weekend. You find the mindlessness of the routine to be calming.

The deeper you get into the wooded length of the path, you slow to admire the birds in the branches and the critters crawling in the brush. You take out your phone and snap a few photos of a blue jay before it wings away shyly. You smile and flip the cam, smiling as you take a goofy selfie. You can add that to your post.

The path winds ahead and you follow it in the din, listening to the river just down the incline to your left and the tweeting from the sky. You lift your face and inhale the woodsy scent. The sudden crack of a twig startles you and you spin to face the noise. There's no one there. Sometimes you forget other people are free to just walk on through.

You chuckle at yourself and continue on. The path leads out to a suburban street where you like to look at the houses. They're much more spacious and pretty than your grimy brick apartment building.

You come out from the shade of the trees and wander along the avenue. There's a mailbox painted to look like the house it stands before and a little nook for second hand children's books to be borrowed through the neighbourhood. Sometimes you picture yourself living in one of those houses though you don't think it could ever truly be.

As you crane your head, you sense a shadow in your peripheral. You're walking a bit slow. You sidle to the side to get out of the way of the other pedestrian. When no one passes, you look back. No one.

You must be imagining things. You shrug and plod along. You're already thinking of what kind of tea you'll have when you get in.

🧸

You sit down with your mug of ginger citrus tea and set to editing your post. You add a light filter to the photos as you shuffle through them on your laptop. The process is slow as the computer is nearly five years old now and chuffing on its 4GB drive. You get to the selfie you snapped, a stop.

You lean in to get a better glimpse of the background. It's fuzzy but there's a figure just over your shoulder. How could that be? You looked and there was no one there. That's so strange.

You stare as a chill courses through you. You're thankful you hadn't put your earphones in. You wouldn't have heard whoever it was and they may have even snuck up on you. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light.

You hit ‘post’ and try to shake off the foreboding. It's nothing. You're being silly. Besides, you're home and safe now. Next time, you'll be more alert.

A message pops up. You stare at the dot over the chat bubble. You tap with your thumb and bring up the DMs.

'Stream tonight?' BourbonBear asks.

You tilt your head. You already did some today. You're tired and want to lie down and enjoy your time off. You type back 'sorry, not tonight. tomorrow <3' and another notification vibrates. A comment on your latest post.

'Pretty sweater', also from BourbonBear. You heart their comment and leave a thanks below.

You flip back to the selfie. You can't really see your sweater in the picture, just the scalloped knitting of the collar. Well, you suppose it does look cute. You put your phone down and leave it on your desk. That's enough Insta for today.

🧸

You time your shopping trip for the least busy hour. It's early and the store is almost empty except for employees stacking bread on shelves or wandering listlessly around the deli. You have your phone in the basket of the cart, aimed at you as you roll it along slowly and check your list.

The stream is just as empty. It's only just started but you don't expect too many people to be up at this hour. You stop and grab a loaf of sourdough, checking the date before showing it to the lens and putting it in the cart. You smile and announce the next item.

"Strawberries... you know I was thinking I might get raspberries instead," you say, catching the eye of one of the yawning employees. You must seem like a weirdo. It's why you typically don't film in public.

As you roll around to the fruit, you notice the count change. One viewer. You choose a basket of raspberries and show those. You see a message float up; morning.

You smile and return the greeting softly and place the berries down carefully beside your phone. You need yogurt to go with the berries.

You work down the list, making some substitutes as you tick off each item. You linger in the ice cream section a bit too long and talk yourself out of a gallon of rocky road. You lean on the handle of the cart and smile down at the lens.

"Going to check out," you say, "see you all later."

All? There's still just the one. You end the stream and take your phone out of the basket.

You wheel around to checkout and line up at the only open till. You put your items up as you greet the cashier with a smile. She seems tired as she gives a dull response.

As you put the yogurt on the belt, you sense someone join the queue behind you. You glance over as a large man stands only feet away. He's tall and burly and staring at you. Maybe he heard you talking to your audience, or he would think, yourself. You continue to unload your groceries.

"Never tried those," he comments as you take out a box of strawberry Pocky.

You pause and hold them up, chuckling nervously, as you do.

"Pretty good," you answer, "I eat way too many."

You notice the man doesn't have a basket or a cart. That realisation needles under your skin. Maybe he's just getting lotto or smokes?

"You like sweet stuff."

"Too much," you squeak even though it doesn't sound like a question.

He just stares, not saying a word. You swallow tightly and pull the last few items out of the cart and get behind it to wheel it through the lane. As you do, he looms closely, adding to the sweat gathering on your lower back.

You roll along and wait for the cashier to ring through the rest of your things. She bags them up neatly in two large paper bags. You pay with your card and thank her as you lift the first into your cart. The man behind you moves forward and grabs the second, startling you.

"Got it," he says as he places it with the other, squeezing by you, crowding you.

"Oh, excuse me, sir," you stammer, "oh," you lean on the cart to roll it to the end of the lane as you make space between you and the stranger. "Thanks, er, uh... thanks."

You turn and grab the handle, jittering. He's really weirding you out. Especially as you realise he's walked right by the cashier. He's following you.

"I can help get ‘em in your car," he offers in a drawl.

"Oh, that's alright, I... bus," you cringe as you realise you've said too much.

"I could drive you. I have a truck."

"No thank you," you walk faster, the cart rattling with your pace.

"Why not?"

"I don't know you, erm, sorry--"

"You don't?" He catches up and shoves his phone in your face, your Insta profile glaring back at you, "I paid for the milk, maybe the berries..."

"What?" You stop, just by the door and turn to him. "I don't--"

"You haven't eaten, have you? I'll take you for French toast. That's your favourite."

"Um," you blink at him as your eyes tinge, "I don't..."

"You got me through a hard campaign, just wanna say thank you," he adjusts his cap and you notice the pin on it. He's a veteran. Oh, 'campaign'. 

“Just got back home," he shifts on his feet, a meek gesture for such a large man, "and... your videos helped me remember it. Helped me hold onto it in the sh-- in the stuff."

"I... wow, okay, that's... I'm glad I could do that."

"I really don't mind giving you a ride. Lots of weirdos on the bus," he insists.

"That's nice but--"

"Please," he softens his tone, "been a while since I sat down and had breakfast without worrying about the sky falling."

You shudder and grip the cart tight. You don't know how to say no. You didn't think about who was watching. You always just assumed they were bots. Then you think of the chaching noise and the amount flashing on the screen.

"BourbonBear?" You ask.

"Yeah," he cracks a crooked smile and smooths his hand over his thick beard. "Everyone calls me Syv.”

[sweetheartsaku]

(HQ) i'll do the dishes we'll carry the load

𝜗𝜚 HAIKYUU!! VARIOUS: 𝓛ANTANA.

a/n: [fem!reader] i have 3 wips in my drafts but i chose to start a whole new one 😎

— characters : atsumu, iwaizumi, sakusa, osamu

atsumu miya ; dance with you tonight - laufey

ATSUMU MIYA GET BEHIND ME to all the people who say atsumu treats all girls like trash, (LOUD BUZZER NOISE) it is such a common headcannon he's a mommy's boy?? such a common headcannon that the twins grew up with their mother?? hello?? would most definitely treat you beyond well ⁽⁽(੭ꐦ •̀Д•́ )੭*⁾⁾ !!

bites his straw omg. samu HATES it, especially when they’re sharing drinks then he finds his fresh beverages straw on its last thread. does the same with you unintentionally, making it literally impossible to drink from LMAO. its atsumu so i let it pass

has a dimple on his left cheek, matching with his twin brother whose dimple is on the right!!! he loves when you kiss and poke it. whenever he's focused, he bites his cheek, and you can see the little dimple there too.

gets you so many little trinkets and souvenirs from when he goes to away-games, always thinking of you!! sends you pictures of sunsets he sees, gets you seashell necklaces and ones with your initials except you get his and he gets yours ♡ bokuto and hinata also try help him, but the best they could pick up was a pebble the same colour as your eyes.

"you wanna kiss me soooo bad"

hajime iwaizumi ; super rich kids - frank ocean

put his hands on your head or waist when your close or about to hit something.. like you could be getting something from under the table and his hand would protect the spot where you could hit your head on 😖💞 same thing with your waist, always holding it close so you don’t bump into strangers on the road

strong believer of sidewalk rule. will switch your places EVER so gently (IWAIZUMI HAJIME THE MAN YOU ARE). loooooves slithering his hands around your waist and adooooores the pudgy stuff under your shirt. he just finds every inch of you beautiful from the bottom to the top!!! (he js like me frfr u is gorjus bae)

would carry you when your feet/heels hurt. the INSTANT he hears a slight groan of pain he will actually already be down there unbuckling the clip of the heel LMAO. props you up on his back and holds you up with so much pride.. his favourite heels to unbuckle are valentino’s and ysl. got the valentino’s for you on your 3rd year anniversary and the ysl on your 4th. maybe he’s gonna get on one knee while he’s down there too

smells like an insane amount of axe body spray unfortunately.. sorry iwa enthusiasts

kiyoomi sakusa ; coming home - beabadoobee

really loves claw clips. whether it be on you, or on himself and literally just in general. really loves when you wear the pearlier colours, especially teal and lime mixed with yellows etc... he also likes the clips on himself when he's cleaning

haircare routine goes HARD!! always having 2 lathers of shampoo, 1 layer of conditioner then another layer of leave-in conditioner, protection products and after allat he has curl serum (he does it with a scalp massager too btw)

keeping the kita shinsuke + sakusa kiyoomi crocheting agendas up rn. as a kid his family was always prioritised with work at the hospital so he'd always just sit in the corner of the waiting room with his thoughts, till one day this elderly lady who always had weekly checkups would teach him how to crochet. he made things for his family, but they never accepted/used it, so he just stopped after elementary school. but ever since he met you, he suddenly felt his hands tug towards the hooks a little harder

favourite scents are lime and herbs, but not together. likes lemon and lime sprays, window cleaner and wipes. secondly, loves herbs because it reminds him of the grandma that taught him to crochet 🥹(screaming, crying, wailing, throwing up, bashing head on wall.)

would peel your pomegranates (he hates messes)

osamu miya ; a piece of you - nathaniel constantin

found you watching those wax slime/asmr/clay cracking/mini foods/recipes on tiktok/mukbangs ONCE, and ever since then he's been a tad more dedicated to making special sweet treats for you after closing at onigiri miya ♡

this is like on the verge of ick and cute, but he likes to boop your nose with flour or your hand while you're baking. ya'll could be kneading impossibly close, and he'll sprinkle a bit of flour on you or randomly boop your nose 😭

always carries hair ties for you. in the kitchen he can’t have them on, but anywhere else he has one on him. since he basically lives in the kitchen, he’d prefer you to just stay there with him instead LMAO. the “anywhere else” in question is wherever you desire... but adores trying new cuisines with you. the hair tie helps tie your hair back while you eat btw <3

his hands smell like dishwashing liquid, even after the endless lathers of strong candy apple hand-soap, the scent of the liquid still lingers on his hand! you can smell it when you hold it on movie nights, or kiss it goodnight hehe

has a dimple on his right cheek, except his dimple is way deeper than atsumu's. you can see it when he chews

would peel your oranges

[moonlight-prose]

✧ SAFE HAVEN ✧

a/n: as of right now i am behind on kinktober, but that's okay. i'll catch up. this fic was originally based on another wip i have of shower sex with joel, but that one is a more in depth angsty one. so i decided to just write a new one. there can never be too many shower sex with joel fics right?

day eleven - shower sex | kinktober 2023

summary: "being with Joel felt like breathing. as if you’d stepped outside for the first time in eons, soaking in the fresh air that emanated from the trees. it was clear. a constant fixated piece of nature that you knew would never fade."

word count: 1.8k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, shower sex, soft joel, what it means to love someone you want to grow old with, gratuitous prose about romance, p in v sex, fingering, dirty talk, tenderness.

Jackson had been good to you. More than most places in this world; some attempting to carve a piece of you to leave behind. Little bits of your soul now scattered amongst the decay of what used to be. What you could no longer recognize in the broken streets and fallen buildings.

But Jackson was different.

You wanted to say it was because of Tommy and Maria’s warm welcome. The people’s willingness to live in peace once more after so much horror, so much grief. And while those facts still rang true, you knew the reason why you chose to settle. Why you moved into a house that was a little rickety, old in all its beauty, and remained with the one person who understood you. Who you could count on to keep you safe, keep the life you’d built steady.

The warm water of the shower had become a luxury you took advantage of as often as humanly possible. When traveling for months at a time without even a moment to get clean, this was truly something special. The small amount of shampoo you had washed down the drain, your forehead leaning against the cold tile as the hot spray of water hit your back. It loosened up the overly tight muscles—your body having been through the wear and tear of surviving.

You didn’t hear the door open, or even notice the soft thud of his boots as he left them by the door, his hands reaching for his clothes. It wasn’t until he was pulling back the shower curtain did your eyes fly open. The instinct to cover up overtaking you, until your eyes met the warmth of his brown ones. The exhaustion, clear on his face.

“Wonderin’ where you were,” he said, stepping in next to you, reaching for the homemade soap you’d picked up in town.

“Long day?”

He sighed and that was all you needed to understand how the day went. So you turned fully, took the soap from his hands, and got to work lathering it along his skin. The days may be filled with peace, but everyone still remained on edge. Still wary that their safe haven would one day be destroyed.

Joel more than anyone understood what this place meant to people. How hard they fought to keep it going, to keep themselves protected. Which meant he was out longer than necessary, working with Tommy to make sure that Jackson ran as smoothly as possible. Some nights he’d crawl into your bed, half awake and fighting sleep. Other nights you found yourself alone, only to wake up with the remaining warmth on the sheets where he’d been.

“Lean down,” you instructed, smoothing the shampoo between your fingers and dragging it through his untamed curls. The gray was more prominent than before, nearly covering most of his hair, but you found it sexier than before.

It was a sign that he was willing to keep his word when you first fell for one another. He was determined to grow old with you. To wither away in this house and make it a home. You wondered if that’s why he was so adamant on protecting this town. Risking his life any chance he could to make sure nothing happened. He wanted the certainty, the knowledge that there was somewhere to grow old.

“You take care of me,” he murmured, letting the suds run down into the drain, his hands draped over your hips.

You grinned. “Someone has to.”

There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. An invisible rope that tied you to him to sight you swore it would never snap. Which is why he simply smiled. The skin around his eyes crinkled slightly as he caught your lips in a tender kiss. Tugging you closer until your bare chest pressed to his. And for a moment you swore you could feel the rope tighten—writing the narrative of your future together. Permanently carving it out in time.

“Turn around,” he said against your cheek, hands guiding you until your back was pressed to his chest—hands now placed against the shower wall. “Gonna take care of you now darlin’.”

“You don’t have—”

The smack that echoed in the room had the slight sting of pain blooming on your ass. It silenced you immediately, your lips parting and eyes fluttering shut. Slick pooled in the soft curls around your pussy, that glutinous warmth you longed to sink into now gathering at the base of your stomach.

“I know I don’t have to.” His hands spread apart your ass, staring at the tight ring of muscles that peeked out at him like a fucking prize. Pressing his thumb against it, he grinned at the way your body jerked, head falling forward—a guttural moan bouncing off the walls. “This ain’t about have to. I want to.”

Being with Joel felt like breathing. As if you’d stepped outside for the first time in eons, soaking in the fresh air that emanated from the trees. It was clear. A constant fixated piece of nature that you knew would never fade. He was the earth beneath your feet, the cloud in your blue sky, the sole reason you were here now giving into his touch. 

A soft kiss was pressed to your shoulder, a tender show of love in contrast to the filthy way he spread you with his fingers. Finding your clit with ease. You sagged against the wall, a moan crackling through the air, and that urged him to keep going. To press two fingers into your soaking cunt, curling them until you bowed forward, a distorted version of his name leaving your mouth.

“Right there darlin’?”

You both knew he didn’t have to ask. He knew that he was pressing right where you needed him—your walls tightening around his fingers. Joel was simply enjoying this allotted time. He was going to take you apart bit by bit until you had no sense left in your bones, and you were going to take it.

Nodding frantically, you felt him drag his fingers out, plunging them back in with a speed that nearly gave you whiplash. You were sensitive after weeks of nothing. But Joel could see the need on your face. He noticed how your body was pulled tight, stiff with the day's heaviness weighing on your shoulders. You took on too much; believed that you could handle whatever the world threw at you. Which you did.

Yet you never allowed a moment to be taken care of—never gave into something you didn’t deserve. Joel supposed that’s where you shared similarities. You reflected one another, each stubborn in your own impossible way. Both too afraid to admit that sometimes…you needed someone to lean on.

“Cum on my fingers and I’ll fuck you,” he grunted against your ear, speeding up until a high pitched whine tore from your throat. “Wanna taste it honey. Miss your sweet fuckin’ taste.”

“A-Ah f-fuc—” His thumb collided with your clit, circling it quickly until you had no choice but to follow his words. Your body went rigid, mouth falling open in a stuttered cry as you broke, spilling on his fingers—your heart cracking wide just a bit more.

True to his word he dragged his fingers out and placed them at his lips, sucking your release clean off his skin until nothing remained. You were an aphrodisiac to his senses. The nectar of the gods come down to gift him with your delicious sweetness. Yet no matter how much Joel indulged…it was never enough. A hunger had started in his body, turning his once hollow heart into something ravenous. Craving one thing day after day. You.

“Joel,” you whimpered, pressing back against his throbbing cock. “Please.”

He sucked in a sharp breath at the sound of the beg falling from your lips. An echo that he wanted to sear into his mind.

“I got you darlin’.” Pumping his cock, he notched the head against your entrance, feeling your walls flutter around nothing—begging him to move just a bit further. To fill any emptiness that still lingered in your chest.

And who was he to deny you? Who was he to resist your siren-like call?

Gritting his teeth, he sunk into you with one smooth thrust, choking on his spit when you clamped down around him. Nearly shoving him off the edge before he could start. His hands found purchase on your hips, fingers digging painfully into your already tender skin, before he set a pace so brutal it nearly made your legs collapse. A low rumbling sound tore from his chest, reverberating against your back when he began to fuck you with enough strength to shove cries out of you with every thrust.

“Not gonna last honey,” he grunted, dragging you back onto his cock with every shove of his hips into your body. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy. Made for me.”

Your eyes rolled back when his cock nudged against your cervix, the sensation obliterating in all its bliss. Fingers slid against the wet walls of the shower, legs trembling as he held you up with one arm, dragging your body even closer. Until his hand was pressed against your throat, lips by your ear.

With every thrust you could hear the harsh breaths he let out. The deep growls and moans that were like another flame licking its way up your body. Digging your nails into his hips you felt yourself reach another peak, higher than the last. You wouldn’t last another five seconds and he knew it. Could tell by the way you slowly tightened around him with every stunted thrust.

“Touch yourself for me.” His fingers pressed against your throat, your hand dropping to rub quick circles over your clit. “Feel how wet you are honey.”

“Oh g-god,” you choked, back arching into his hold.

“Gonna have to clean you up after I’m done.” A garbled sound reached his ears, making him smile. “You want that? Want me to lick myself out of ya?”

Your eyes rolled back, body going taut as you exploded, a shout bouncing off the walls and ringing in his ears. Joel grunted, grinding his hips into your ass and wrapping himself around you. He spilled into your wet heat, filling you with a warmth that wracked your body with a shudder. A soft moan breaking through the daze you were in. The steam of the shower clung to your bodies, pressing the heat against your chests until it was almost too hard to breathe.

But he refused to move.

He cradled you close, head dropping to your shoulder as his cock softened in you—cum trickling down your inner thigh slowly. He kept you close because Joel had never felt more safe than he did now. You were the person he longed to see at the end of every day. The one who kissed all his wounds, healed his heart with your soft touches and joy filled laughs. You were his forever. 

His very own safe haven.

[thepoetjean-makes-stuff]

HOW TO ACTUALLY WRITE -- THE BASICS (AKA STEP 0-1)

(AKA ThePoetJean justifies their Master's degree and makes it everyone else's problem)

1) "WRITING IS REWRITING" AND WHAT THE HELL THAT MEANS -- No writing is law or set in stone upon the first draft, and whoever taught you that is a bum. Even permanent glue can be removed by nail polish remover, so why is editing your first draft no different? When writing for fun, oftentimes you can edit the post and clean up the story when things are no longer working (it's called a cutting room floor for a reason). When writing for publishing, you'll often be paired with an editor who'll send tweaks back-and-forth to you, chipping away at any structural mistakes or grammar flaws to bring out the point of your writing piece in the process. The first draft is just about getting the general vibes of the story down: like the batter for the cake recipe before you start baking it. This part is meant to be fun and messy and no one expects you to serve them go when you're just cracking your eggs open. Let yourself be messy cuz (burnt or fluffy), this is the first step to making your story, so no need to have something be all pretty and presentable the first time around! Again, a lot of writing is just rewriting cuz drafts are a thing so getting stuff down is most important. And another amazing thing -- if the story sucks, you can always change it later! You gotta trust yourself to get it done in order to get it out to the world one way or another, so go do that!

2) LEARN YOUR OWN WRITING PROCESS! -- (OH MY GOD PPL, LEARN HOW YOU TO THE THING IT'S HALF THE BATTLE!) Most of the struggles I see with newer writers is never learning how they write, and that sucks since have the joy of making things is making the thing -- so why make writing stories so arduos for yourself. Learn your own methods and use them whenever you get to writing! Learn the writerly basics like plot, structure, framing, character voice, setting, time period, etc and learn how best you can utilize them in your own stories! On a purely craft level: Learn ALL THE WRITING CRAFT and keep in mind that all writing craft is meant to be guidelines rather than hard rules. Learn many ways about how to write in general cuz no writing advice is one size fits all and being embarrassed of your process is dumb and hinders your creative growth. Trust yourself as a writer, you'll improve faster that way. Believing you can and believing it's possible is the first step to doing anything! (Plus all writing is rewriting anyhow to there's no need to feel embarrassed about something you can fix later, anyways, right?)

3) Read projects like your project in order to get a better feel of your project. Whether it be writing style references, basic literary craft examples, or just you want to break down the vibes of the stories so you can better emulate in your own -- GO AND WATCH/READ/LISTEN ETC TO WHATEVER STORIES YOU THINK WOULD MATCH THE VIBES OF YOUR OWN!! Now, this isn't a 1-to-1 copy, you're not mean to make a clone of the thing you like or take properties for the IP that you're into -- that's more along the lines of fanfiction (which can be fun and is ofc, super valid) -- BUT! To create your own stories, you need to learn where you get your ideas from, and learn how to implement, borrow, twist, etc from the story structures and properties you gather your inspo from. Other writers are your peers, not your enemies -- so treat their work and your own with the respect it deserves. No two chicken sandwiches are ever exactly the same; true artists steal from many places, so learn how to be a good thief (creatively speaking). Example from my own secret WIP novel: I'm writing a New Adult Urban fantasy novel with a dark, powerful lady protagonist that uses lots of philosophical themes, alternate history perspectives as well as using mythology as a basis for a lot of the magical roots and setting roots. Likewise, this a story about friendship and romance after major loss and trauma, and how to come back to yourself after grief, so I've been looking for stories that cover those themes in their plots, which has made the story a lot more fun to read and write outside of just being a cool concept to play with.

If you're writing a second-chance romance story, read romance stories. If you're writing a sci-fi story with lots of robots, read stories about robots. Presumably, you enjoy the same stories you're writing in concept if not in execution, so don't hesitate to seek those stories out, and break down how those stories work in order to scrap them for literary parts. You're smarter than you think you are, and breaking down stories is a lot of fun once you get the hang of it, so please consider doing this as you go into your next project, your writing will thank you for it!

OPTIONAL:

4) If the story works better as something else, swap the format and see what happens.

Have you ever read something and been like "Huh, I like this book, but with how iconography is used in the actual text, it might be better as a movie or a comic book"? So have I!

So, if you ever feel like the story you're writing isn't working so well as a novel or a play, consider turning it into a movie or a webcomic! Of course, this is all easier said than done, and every writing format comes with its own rules and limitations, but I'd give it a try if you ever want to see your project from a fresh perspective! If nothing else, you'll learn something new -- and become a better writer for it!

Til next time, beloveds~

__

PS. Take all advice with a grain of salt. I am not your parent or your principal, I'm just a lady with a writing degree and a lil free time. Take what resonates, leave what doesn't, etc. PLEASE SHARE THIS POST AROUND TO ANYONE WHO IT MIGHT HELP! THANKIES :3

KOFI: https://ko-fi.com/thepoetjean

[pricegouge]

hello hello, have an emoji! 🎁

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

hi hi and thanks!

hm, what i'm mostly working on rn is from another fandom so i won't post here, and I already posted a snippet from my next cod fic here...

so have a snippet of a mostly abandoned free use cleaning maid one shot! dub con below

You falter as you step through the door and find the assembled group of soldiers staring back at you. Blushing, you apologize profusely for the intrusion and stammer something about not realizing the room was in use. (That's because they forgot to mark it as such - again -, but it's no use mentioning that when you suspect they're doing it on purpose.)

"No trouble, pet." Captain Price's smile is warm, but his tone is far too dark to be strictly friendly. "We're nearly done now anyway. C'mon in." 

You bite back a frown, reminding yourself this job is not dissimilar to customer service insofar as your attitude can definitely affect your pay. So you thank him prettily and roll your cart in, hugging to the walls and trying to stay out of their line of sight. It's no use, of course, but worth a shot. 

It's not that you don't like your job, necessarily, and if anyone was going to be in here, you're almost glad it's them; but sometimes you just want to get your shift over with as few interactions as possible. 

Never possible with this lot, though. The sergeants are the worst, maybe. Or at least the most obnoxious. They're both too cocky, but you suppose you would be too if you looked like either of them - could fuck like either of them. MacTavish ('Call me Soap, hen') is the first to press his luck, no surprise. He keeps his eyes trained on the captain as if he's listening but his hand finds the buttons of your blouse, toys with the edge as if he has no ulterior motive. You don't correct him - can't -, but you keep on dusting as if you don't even notice. 

Unfortunately, Price pretends the same, carries on about exfil strategies you're pretty sure you could even puzzle out just having watched your share of action movies. Emboldened, MacTavish pops a button and you feel half the eyes in the room slide to you. It's not exactly a bad feeling, this, just one that's taken some getting used to.  Garrick is the next to crack, predictable. He murmurs a quiet 'C'mere, lovie,' and hooks a finger into your belt loop, maneuvering you to stand between him and his fellow sergeant. You oblige, hold your dusting rag awkwardly until Ghost (just Ghost - you were too afraid to contradict him) leans across the table to tap at the area in front of you and you get to work. It's the wrong cleaning agent for the material, but you're not about to say anything about wood right now, thank you, not with MacTavish humming appreciatively at the view of your ass he gets when you bend to do your job.

[signanothername]

Sooo... I'm back from the dead after dying from the overflow of too many positive emotions yesterday... (thanks for all the kind words 🩷)

And I'm back with another ask! Cool.

My question is not something necessarily related to the topic of the blog or anything, but rather about your artistic process?

So, personally I think many artists have those moments, or maybe specific paintings, that may just be emotionally draining. Like you're drawing a piece, and you don't like it for some reason, you try to change it, but you still don't like the painting, and you keep trying, but it's just something that's missing and you don't understand what it is and it just becomes frustrating and you start to get angry and-

Well, at least I seem to have such moments quite often (I dunno, maybe I'm just a perfectionist), and as far as I'm concerned different artists have their different ways to cope with this, so I wonder - do you have such moments sometimes and what do you usually do about it?

I'm sorry for the long ask I just can't keep things short and I'm just always curious about such things and the way different artists do stuff 😅

Hello!! Amazing to see you again! <33333 (of course!! Thank you for your kind words as well aaahh 😭❤️✨🌷)

As for your question, oooh boi, yes actually I have these moments A LOT, it’s cause i’m a perfectionist myself jdhdhdh

In fact, these kinda moments is why i sometimes give up on certain artworks or comics I make, and that’s why my wips just always seem to pile up, here are some examples of two artworks and a page of a comic I gave up on cause I just couldn’t for the life of me make them into what I wanted

And I will be lying to you if I said I have a solution for it or that I know how to deal with it

But I deal with it in two ways, I either completely delete the sketch i made and start over again

Or what I usually do is that I actually stop if i find the piece I’m working on emotionally draining, let go of the artwork and work on something else that i find fun, cause “giving up” doesn’t necessarily mean i will never get back to them, I see it as “taking a break” from the artwork till I get inspiration or motivation back to work on it again

Generally I’ve learned that in art, it’s ok to take things slow, I don’t always need to finish the artwork that I started before I start working on something else, in fact, taking things slow is how I made art much more enjoyable to me, cause it means I actually enjoy the process instead of treating it like there’s some sort of deadline above my head

To give you an example of what i mean, this artwork right here? Took me over 2 weeks to finish, not cause i couldn’t finish it quickly (in fact i can easily finish the same artwork in less than an hour) I just taught myself to take my time when making art, take things slow snd enjoy the process bit by bit, i worked on the quick sketch, closed it, then got back to it to work on cleaning it up multiple times, closed it again, then worked on coloring it and so on

And that’s also how i deal with artworks that make me frustrated, i take things slow, if i get frustrated then i simply close the artwork and work on something else till i have the motivation to work on what frustrated me again, that way i took a little break, and sometimes actually while working on something else you might get an idea on how to fix the artwork that frustrated you, but ultimately art is supposed to be fun not frustrating, so it’s ok not to finish artworks, it’s ok to abandon artworks if you don’t like them or if they emotionally drain you

That’s how i deal with it at least, but i say try to find your own path to how to deal with it, cause my way might not work for you, so i say experiment and find out :D

And nah don’t apologize i love long asks actually dychchch

[quinloki]

Celebrating 1 year and 1k followers

Thank you so very much to everyone who has decided to follow me. I appreciate your enjoyment of my work, especially since I have no set schedule and a dozen open WIPs. Here's to another year:

and I'll not forget you.

Submissions are accepted from 1-1-2024 to 1-14-2024

One-shots will be posted from the 15th til the 31st

*all dates are based off East Coast USA, but I'll accept a day in either direction <3*

(Pending Host Club AU Drabbles will be posted between the 1st and the 14th. Grief was not kind to me at the end of the year, but I want to do as many of those as I can over the next two weeks.)

Rules for submitting a request for this event!

Anon is allowed! Character ages are irrelevant.

Reader vibes are appreciated: afab or amab + pronouns is enough.

Choose a One Piece Character OR a Crew. A singular Character may result in a more intimate piece, choosing a crew may result in a more platonic vibe.

Finally, include ONE of the following phrases:

~ Sweet ~ Semi-Sweet ~ Bitter-Sweet ~ Bitter

And that's it - that's all you need. Below is an example =D

Hi Q, I'd love an amab she/her reader with Sir Crocodile, and make it Bitter please!

That's the minimum I need =3

Bonus: Select an AU \o/ If you want, and you do not have to, you can select the Universe for the backdrop of the piece. You can specify Canon, but also any of the AUs I've currently written. If you're not sure what the AU would be technically, just reference the story title.

Please just things *I* have written. I won't use someone else's AU unless I've talked to them about it before hand, and I haven't done that for this event ^_^

Final note, and while final, kind of important - if it hasn't been obvious from the start, the baseline for all these requests are going to be that SOMEONE has amnesia. Be it the reader or a character.

99% it'll be the reader, but if inspiration strikes different, I'll write different.

If inspiration takes a Dark Turn, it'll be tagged accordingly.

Starting off the year with some abrasive angst is a good way to scrub things clean and enjoy the rest of it. Or something. (I've been wanting to write an amnesia-themed series of one-shots for AGES and this is really just an excuse to help facilitate that 😇💖)

May 2024 bring you joy in such abundance as to diminish the pains of years past. And if such is not your fate, then may you have the capacity to be kind to at least one other person, and in so doing, make the world's pain a little less.

[fsbc-librarian]

WIPs Word Search

I've been tagged in two of these now - thanks @thisonesatellite & @xoxobuckybarnes - so I am going to combine the two into one (but I only have two WIPs to work from, so it'll be interesting to see if I can split the prompts down the middle or not).

Green: There’s something about planning, filming, and piecing together video clips that’s always excited Bucky, and it’s pretty much exactly what the opening video for their Glastonbury performance is - just a longer video clip. It’s pretty much fully filmed - the solo parts were mostly filmed on a soundstage in front of a green screen anyway, and all of the group shots were done in London either on location or with more green screens. There’s no talking by any of the band, so that made it easier, and it had actually been a lot of fun to film because they’d had enough explosions to rival a Hollywood blockbuster. All that’s really left now is to make sure the scenes look good, and the music matches the action.

Spoon: Breakfast is a bowl of cereal. He eyes the kettle with suspicion, but decides that’s a battle for another day. He’s not entirely sure how to use the coffee press, and there’s no room on the tiny counter for a coffee machine anyway. He drops the bowl in the sink, and is three steps away before he remembers that there’s no one else to actually wash it for him anymore. He wonders if there’s any point in filling the whole sink, small though it might be, for just one bowl and one spoon. Surely not. A couple of drops of detergent in the bowl, and a rinse with hot water later, he leaves the now-clean bowl on the tiny drying rack and heads for the bathroom.

Art: He knows Steve loves art galleries and history, and that he refuses to watch the news in case he learns of another art gallery or historical monument being destroyed. He knows Steve had asthma as a kid, that his ma was a single omega in a rough neighborhood and they couldn’t afford a television so he would sneak into the old movie theater which only played black and white films, which is why Steve knows next to nothing about pop culture except for some very niche references to movies from the 40s. 

Everything: Steve can only stare, heart thumping as he soaks it in as best he can, glad he’s comfy as all hell on his couch in their living room with the AC on even as he wishes he could be there.  He listens to the tracks, everything sounding even better than he had imagined that it could live, the performance not marred by any bad sound technician issues - though Steve had been sure it wouldn’t be.  The 107’s team were damn good, and Bucky was too much of a perfectionist to allow anything but the best, especially for something so important as this.

Sharp: Bucky cuts him off with a kiss, biting down on his lower lip with sharp teeth, soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. “I trust you,” he whispers against Steve’s mouth. 

Interesting: “It was certainly interesting to see you getting a dressing down like that,” Maria admits. “Every time I’ve seen someone try in the past, you’ve just walked away from them.”

“It was Steve,” he says, as though that explains anything. 

Eyeroll: “Cinderella lost her shoe, not her feet,” Wanda says from behind them, making Darcy jump. 

“I told you!” Bucky laughs. “I told you it was Cinderella’s shoe, but you didn’t believe me!”

Wanda rolls her eyes goodnaturedly. “Are you hungry? Logan made a stack of snacks earlier; they’re in the kitchen.” 

Well, this certainly made me realise that I use some phrasing more often than I'm overly happy with (and also using the search function on a 400+ page document in google docs on an older model laptop will almost make the laptop sieze up), but it was fun to look through my work.

No pressure tags for @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy @zenaidamacrouras1 @oh-i-swear-writes @musette22 and anyone else who wants to join in. Your words are: patch, behave, loud, genuine

[sunwarmed-ash]

Ah Fuck it, Friday

Alright I made the executive decision that Love bites, but so do I will be getting the Sinful Sunday slot this week! BUT I've also been working on alot of older wips this week. Like Silence isn't golden for example!

Here's a little sneak preview of the next chapter! It's not enough for me to make it a standalone chapter yet but I know this one has a few very dedicated and sweet fans 💚 this is for yall!!! thanks for sticking with it!

TW's: kidnapping/torture mention

Fanom: Harry Potter- Post HBP, Drarry, first person POV, heavy angst fic

Finally, FINALLY we have a lead.  Ron, Hermione, Dobby, and I burst through the doors of the Edinburgh flat without feeling the wrath of any of the spells that hurt Dobby.  “That cannot be a good sign,” I sigh irritability as the four of us split off in the small flat for any clues we can find.  There isn't much, this place has been scrubbed clean, metaphorically and literally with magic. And that’s more suspicious than if they had just left it.  There has to be something else here. Something to help us.  “This is the room I found him in,” Dobby says, pointing to a room I hadn’t initially seen. Once inside, I realize its barely a few cubic meters bigger than the bedroom I grew up in. The only difference is this one has a bathroom.  It's also the only thing in the house that still has remnants of any proof of life.  When they fled, Snape scrubbed any proof of himself from the premises. The same extension did not apply to Draco. All of his things were still here. Clothes, books, empty potion bottles, small trinkets stashed behind the bed for safe keeping. Things Draco treasured enough to keep around and Snape made sure they leave behind.   My hatred for Snape grew stronger the longer I looked over the room. It didn't take a master aurour to piece together some of the atrocities that went on in this room based solely on the state of things. If I wasn’t so desperate to preserve the scene in efforts to find Draco faster, I would have blown the room apart.  

Azkaban

Snape slinks through the prison easily and without attracting any attention. It’s a true testament to how snake-like the slytherin truly is. Moving silently and efficiency through the shadows had started as a defence against school bullies but now serves him in the real world, hiding from forces much, much stronger.  “Lucius?” The hollowed out shell of a man blinks up from his cell, his pale, empty eyes growing wide when he sees the other man’s face.  “Severus!” “Silence!” Snape bites, because his invisibility only extends so far. If Lucius screams his attendance it doesn't matter how fast he moved past the guards.  “Yes, sorry, sorry my friend, it's just- so good to see you! You don’t know what it's like here.” “I've been working on your case,” Snape maneuvers past pleasantries onto the task at hand. “Crafting alibis. It hasn't been easy.” “And my son, how, how is he?” Lucius asks, face obviously fighting to will down tears that wish to spill.  Severus doesn't blink when he lies.   “He’s dead.” “W-What?” “Slain, by Harry Potter. I tried to keep Draco hidden. But you know him, his disobedience has never been able to be reigned. He snuck out, and was executed.” “Draco- Draco is-”  Snape grabs Lucius’ hand through the bars.  “Yes, but you are not, Lucius. We don’t have time to grieve, every minute we wait, is another day closer to your execution.” “You're right, you're right,” Lucius sniffles, squeezing Snape’s hand before breaking away to wipe away his tears. “Thank you my friend, I don't know where I’d be without you.”

Edinburgh flat

I'm still not sure what pulls me in the direction of this evidence, whether it's my intuition or something magical but im both infinitely grateful and horrified to have followed this instinct to fruition.  The notebook I found was buried under a magical spell ive never seen before. Thankfully, brilliant Hermione has, and after a moment, the chest is unlocking, revealing a single book. Theres no outside descriptors, and the magic glamour on it is making it look older than it is. Another disguise to shroud its contents.  The bad feeling grows stronger as I leaf through the parchment pages.  - I’m barely through week two of Draco’s retellings of his torturous days in Snape’s care before my guts are spilling all over the floor of the flat.  “Oy! Gross Harry!” Ron scolds, which is fair, I nearly hit him with it.  “Are you alright?” Hermione asks, rushing to my side.  I drop the book and shake my head. I can't look at it any more. I know I need to. To help find Draco. But I can’t right now.  “What is that?” Ron asks and I can't make my mouth move.  He moves to pick up the book and I snap. “DON’T FUCKING TOUCH THAT!” Ron’s hands go up in reflexive surrender, “Whoa! Hell Harry! Okay!” “Harry,” Hermione asks again, her own fear and concern growing stronger, “what is it?” I close my eyes and exhale.  “It's so much worse than we thought…”

See you sunday! 😘

[darkhymns-fic]

Switching shifts (wip)

Husk rapped his knuckles on Alastor’s door, which finally made it give up on its intended purpose and fell flat on the ground with a giant thud.

“Welcome home!” Niffty popped right out from between the sofa cushions, lint and quarters clutched in both hands. “Oops, hehe. Sorry. I'm so used to the boss making an entrance.” She blinked, staring at him with interest. “Ooo, whatcha got there?”

“Chicken noodle soup,” Husk said through a mouthful. He brought the bowl to his mouth to take one last big slurp, sighing in satisfaction after. Then he tossed it to the side to have it land in the kitchen sink. “So is he up yet?”

“Nope! He’s still sleeping and muttering under his breath!” Niffty clutched more lint in her hands. “I’m gonna leave all of these underneath his pillow.”

Husk wasn’t even sure if this was a thing that Alastor would like, but he wasn’t about to protest. The room was still fairly neat, if the floors looked a little too polished from Niffty’s obsessive cleaning. But the bookshelves had also been repaired, even if the books were placed haphazardly, and the grotesque animal skulls were back serving as assortments of centerpieces over the mantle.

He saw that even Alastor’s chair had been repaired–or as well as it could be. It looked like Niffty had gotten every piece together and arranged it like a puzzle, threading it all together with stitches so that it resembled a monstrous version of an armchair, with stuffing still coming out of the leather, and the seat cushion embedded with sharp wood pieces like it was some sort of torture device.

“Oh yeah, I fixed it!” Niffty proclaimed once she saw where Husk looked. “Good as new! Just don’t ever sit on it, I had to use roach parts to glue some stuff together.”

“Geez, Niff, ya didn’t have to go all out,” he said. She must have worked on it all morning, even if it was functionally useless. “You just had to watch the guy.”

“I did! I watched him all morning!” She smiled very wide, the pupil in her eye shrinking to a miniscule dot. “I watched him sleep…I watched him dream…”

Husk waited, but Niffty just stared out into the distance, her gaze clouded with nostalgia. “Uh–”

“But that got very boring, so I did some extra cleaning! I vacuumed and dusted, got the laundry started, hand scrubbed the toilet and and only fell in it once, and am now going to go to the market to get my dear Sir’s favorite venison to put in the oven. That means I’m a keeper, right?” She breathed a little hard, then rushed over to Husk to grab at his arms and shake them. “Right?! Right?!”

“Y-yes, you are! Any guy would be lucky to have ya.” Husk never ventured just what exactly entailed Niffty’s past, but he’d known a few housewives in his living days who…got into their role a bit too much. “If you wanna go shopping now, I can take over babysitting duties. And nothing happened at all?”

“Nothing!” Niffty nodded vigorously. “He screamed a few times in his sleep, but that’s normal.”

“Ugh, I know…” He scratched his head, looking toward the half-open bedroom door. He ignored the trepidation in his chest, the soft discomfort that had gone hand in hand in his life so often. 

So before he could go back on his word, he twirled around Niffty in his arms, taking her hand delicately in his as she giggled from the motion. Some quick steps over the carpet and the various bug traps he now saw spread around, another little twirl to distract Niffty and…

The girl was now standing out in the hallway, blankly staring at Husk who grinned down at her. Realization took hold about a few seconds later.

“Aw, you danced me out of the room!” She folded her arms, pouting. “You’re too good at that.”

“When I’m good, I’m good. ‘Sides, you wanted to go shopping anyway. So hurry and get a move on.” He gave a short wave, stepping over the broken door. “We’ll fix this later, or whatever.”

“Oh yeah, I have a chore!” Niffty bounced on her tiptoes, then quickly made a mad dash down the hallway. “Chooooores!”

It was only when he couldn’t hear her excited yelling anymore that Husk let his grin fall. He gave another look around Alastor’s room, the writing table to the back wall, and the phonograph off in the corner, both somehow having escaped last night’s carnage. He didn’t see the open vintage he and Alastor had shared before, probably broken to hell, or drunk dry by whoever held his boss’ leash.

It was routine for Husk to head for the bedroom.

[bumblingbabooshka]

I'm bored so here's a WIP about Chakotay & Tuvok!

____ Tuvok was a good fighter. It was just one of those infuriating little things about him. He didn't carry himself like one, he didn't speak like one, he didn't look like one, but when you were fighting him you knew beyond any shadow of doubt that he was one.

When Chakotay had first met him and made him part of his crew he'd insisted they spar together. The Maquis needed minds - too many fists were too eager to join for what the then-captain still thought were the wrong reasons: people who wanted to kill and brawl rather than strategize and fight for anything.

Chakotay wasn't head of the Maquis. There was no head (officially, lest Starfleet or the Cardassians cut it off). He couldn't control who was let in and those who could were too desperate for more hands to turn almost any away. But he could control who became part of his crew.

He had a certain sense about people. He often got strong feelings about them the moment he laid eyes on them - it was why he'd chosen B'Elanna to work so closely with him despite some rumblings about 'Klingon unpredictability' and why he'd never regretted bringing Suder on with him despite how that man's bloodlust frightened him at times. Sometimes you needed a man like that, when you were fighting. And they were fighting. Tooth and nail. That was what liberty cost: Teeth and nails.

It was always good to have something to unleash. A knife hidden up your sleeve. Chakotay, in his time with the Maquis, had sharpened many knives.

Even when you fought for something, it was still fighting. If it was bloodless, if it was clean it'd be easily ignored.

So yes, Chakotay had had all manner of crook, criminal, soldier and sympathizer working under him and he'd only been completely fooled by two.

In certain moments, Chakotay laughed at himself, looking at his starfleet pip which signaled that he was almost in charge - for now. It meant a lot to him some days, other days it didn't mean anything at all. Just a piece of metal.

Tuvok certainly seemed to share his reluctance towards the title.

"Away team, group up. Three to a unit. Units one through four will-"

"I'm the away team head on this mission, lieutenant. Or have you forgotten?" Chakotay interrupted.

Tuvok had paused, turning to glance at the commander over his shoulder. His gaze was cold, though his tone was always polite. "Not at all. I merely observed that you seemed occupied speaking with the provisional lieutenant."

"And that's a problem?" Chakotay had asked, challenging.

Tuvok hadn’t had any trouble saying B’Elanna’s name before, when he’d been spying, scheming behind the scenes. Because of that, Chakotay didn’t believe for a second that he didn’t know what this was doing. Testing Chakotay, pressing his buttons, pointing out a perceived lack of leadership in front of so many others but away from the captain. 

No, never in front of Janeway.

"The captain typically prefers interpersonal chatter be left until after tasks are assigned." Tuvok said, tilting his head. "If it must be done at all."

Chakotay had stared at him for a moment. Hard. Anyone else would react to the silence, the expression on a senior officer's face, but Tuvok simply stared back - waiting. The pip at Chakotay's neck had felt hot in the sun and the Vulcan's words sprang back towards him; provisional lieutenant.

Of course. He was only a provisional first officer.

"I see. Well, as you can see, the captain isn't here. So we'll do things my way." Chakotay said, breaking the tense silence as he turned toward the away team. "I don't expect you all to like me, but I do expect you to follow the orders of your first officer. However provisional he may be."

He caught the Vulcan's eye. "The captain put her faith in me, and I don't betray that sort of trust."

Tuvok's eyes had narrowed very slightly, perhaps because of the shift in sunlight. Then they'd gone about the mission as was typical - mostly avoiding one another then telling Janeway that it'd all gone well.

When Chakotay had first met Tuvok, he hadn't thought he’d make a decent fighter. Vulcans were strong by nature and with practice, they could hold their own against the most venerated of klingon warriors. But Tuvok in particular...Chakotay hadn't been impressed.

"He's been pampered." The Vulcan beside him had muttered at the time and Chakotay had silently agreed.

Standing there, Tuvok had looked completely unprepared to defend himself in the midst of real battle. A sparring match? Sure. His form was technically perfect as was his impassive Vulcan mask but grace and perfection weren't often conducive to what the Maquis did.

Chakotay stood, walking into the ring.

"Alright, come at me." He'd said, crouching.

And Tuvok had.

Later, Chakotay would joke that the same man had tricked him twice.

"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" Chakotay asked, staring up at the Vulcan's impenetrable eye.

"My father," Tuvok had replied. Whether or not it was true became a mystery, along with the hundred other little things he’d told him during their time together. 

Tuvok surrounded by perfect little white lies, pristine, prizewinning orchids. That sharp eye, peering out from behind all that soft perfection.

After that first fight Chakotay had grinned though he was winded and sore. "What a coincidence. Mine taught me to fight like this," he'd said, gesturing out towards the Maquis' cause as a whole - his life in general - doing what was right even if it made him the world's enemy.

Tuvok hadn't moved. Chakotay had laughed, coughing.

"Don't blame him for my performance, though. That's all me."

"As you wish."

The two of them stopped clawing at each other's throats at some point. The pips still weighed differently each day but the responsibility was the same and soon Chakotay's word became heavier. He'd earned the ship's respect. He resented having to fight so hard for it. He cared for every member of the crew and hated what half of them stood for. It was complicated.

When Tuvok finally responded to his orders with "Yes, sir" sans that odiously thick layer of ‘lets humor the man’ resentment, it was complicated.

They started sparring. They'd never stopped, really.

"Do you know how to box, Tuvok?"

"No." Tuvok responded. In reaction to the silence his gaze crept upward, dangerously close to rolling his eyes. "...No, sir."

"It's easy, " Chakotay insisted jovially. "One fist in front of the other." 

[beepersteeper]

I Will Always Find You -- Astarion x Tav-- One Day Maybe | Part 9

Astarion and F!Tav live happily together for the remaining years she has, she refuses to be turned into a vampire because her faith says that her soul isn’t finished with its work yet. Tav dies of old age and leaves Astarion to put together the pieces of his broken heart. AN: Lord of Light lore taken and changed to fit the story's means. Not canonically accurate. TLDR story line stuff. This is an AU where Astarion ascends but isn't a power hungry bastard and Tav is able to help him continue healing. Wyll is immortal and the Duke. Karlach in my mind, if given a new engine would be able to live a lot longer than the usual tiefling. Another AN: idk if anyone wants tagged in this WIP but let me know. 

“Well, that is certainly one way to start a morning” Vira giggles curling into Astarions bare chest, holding her towel to hers from her morning bath. 

Astarion smiles and pushes her damp hair from her face. “I couldn't agree more. Even if it surely is afternoon at this point” he chuckles, taken off guard when she asks him a question.

“What does my blood taste like?” she asks with her eyes closed.

He coughs, startled, clearing his throat “I'm sorry?” he responds unsure how to answer.

“Sorry” she laughs heartily “I'm just curious, you seemed… affected by it.” she nudges his arm.

“I most certainly was.” he sighs “It was like the sweetest, strongest liquor. It- you immediately made my head spin. While I was your first this morning, you were as well mine in that way.” he shrugs at the realization. “You are so sweet and clean. Nothing had tainted your essence, and now that we’ve…” he trails off drawing circles with his finger on her arm “I have to admit I'm eager to try again and compare notes as it were, see how my” his eyebrows raise “rakish behavior has changed that.”

Vira hums accepting that response and giggles when he refers to his actions as rakish. The self-deprecating bastard he is. “I should probably head home sometime soon.” she sighs “I need to find a dress that will come close to meeting the caliber of tonight's dinner.”

“I'll walk you home.” he smiles as if that was even a doubt in her mind. “But there are a few dresses here you can look at,” he points to the wardrobe “Please, help yourself, they haven't been worn in decades and deserve to see the light of day again.”

Curious, she stands and secures the towel around her form before she walks to the wardrobe, and opens its doors. She sees Astarions finer clothes, stitched with gold threads, ones she only sees him wear when matters of state require. Next to those barely familiar clothes she sees opulent clothes that look even more expensive than his own. “Are these Tav’s?” she asks quickly and closes the closet leaning her back against the doors and holding it shut. “I couldn't. I can't!” she urges taking a step back. 

  “She would want you to, darling. You needn't be so polite and modest.” he jokes “Though none of these dresses can make you more beautiful than you already are, I think you will feel more confident if you think you fit in more.” he says opening the doors again to her “even if you would be the most impressive woman in the room if you showed up in a canvas sack.” he whispers into her neck. 

Vira blushes and squeezes her ear to her shoulder, a response from his breath on her skin. She is immediately drawn to a dark green dress. A crushed velvet floor-length gown with extravagant lace bell sleeves and an open ribbon laced closure on the back that still would allow for the skin to be seen, but tastefully. That dress even when hung from a shapeless hanger took her breath away. As if she were intimidated by the dress itself she put it back on the rack and reached for a white and gold dress, one that is impressive in its own right, but one that she thought would let her fade into the background and not draw any attention to her. She pulls it out and holds it over her frame and looks in the mirror. She shrugs and gestures that that was the one she would wear.

Astarion rolls his eyes having watched her choose one she didn't actually want to wear,  and lets out a forced sigh and pulls the green one back out and holds it in front of her body. Gently urging her to imagine herself in the dress. After she takes in the sight in the mirror he hangs both dresses on the door of the wardrobe and walks to the tall backed chair by the door. “If I get a vote I think the green one is perfect for you.” he shrugs, crossing his ankle over his knee. “But like I said, a canvas sack.”  he smiles, putting his hands in the air feigning uncertainty.

“It's beautiful.” she says passively looking at the dress, and at him through the mirror carrying on the conversation.

“It is.” he agrees.

“But it would draw too much attention.” she sucks her teeth, moving her head side to side trying to imagine herself in the dress. “Tonight isn't about me.”

“‘Too much’ is a lot of a word my love.” he shakes his head and chuckles mostly to himself “I don't think you understand just how much attention our little band will have on us just as we are. Myself, Wyll, and Karlach, who by the way is a 6-foot-tall tiefling with one horn and a glowing chest, have never been particularly conspicuous. And that was before we all got our titles of heroes, lord and duke. I mean this is the nicest possible way, anything you choose to wear won't bring more undue attention than we will get regardless.”

She processes what he just said. Understanding that he's right, he and Wyll draw attention to themselves almost anytime they are out on the town. Astarion can go unnoticed a lot of times if he dresses casually, but Wyll, the devil Duke of Baldur’s Gate, cannot go unnoticed. She doesn't know Karlach but from the description Astarion gave, she doesn't seem like she could go unnoticed either. “Fine.” she begrudgingly sighs “The green one it is.” she drapes it gently over her arm, “I do need to go home to get ready though.” she smirks.

He smiles softly and stands and grabs her day clothes to hand to her “Then let's get you home.” He pulls a black and gray suit embroidered with silver applique of pheasants on the breast of the jacket.

She groans to herself and thinks out loud “One day we won't have to go back and forth between two houses.”

He hums “Hm?” shifting his eyes to her, smirking realizing that she isn’t talking to him. He continues to find the rest of his evening outfit. Adding it all to a garment bag and reaching for her dress to add as well. The duo get dressed “Are you ready darling?” She rolls her eyes and nods. “Let me find Wyll to finalize the plan for the night, I’ll meet you in the foyer?” He kisses her on the cheek and leaves the room to ask Wyll to meet them at the bookstore. 

“You're getting ready at the bookstore?” he asks honestly, a little shocked.

Astarion shrugs and nods “All of her… everything is there. And I'm walking her home anyway, there's no use making that walk several times. I looked good getting ready in the woods, I'm confident I can get ready in a bookstore.” he laughs leaning on the door frame and folding his arms across his chest. “Is Karlach able to make it?”

Wyll’s face beams “Yeah, she'll be here within the hour. Complete with a new, cooler engine. We’ll meet you there.”

Astarion nods and waves as he walks to the front of the palace, meeting Vira offering his arm that isn't holding the garment bag. Smiling like he does every time he feels her hands hold onto his arm. They walk quickly to the bookstore and move their way through the oddly loud and crowded room. They share a look before looking for Eyman who is behind the counter frantically packaging books for customers. Without hesitating they find a place in the store to help with the sudden rush. Astarion tosses the garment bag in the curtained room before helping groups of people find what texts they are looking for. Vira takes over for Eyman checking out customers. Letting Eyman step back and just focus on packing the customers' purchases. The three work together quickly to clear out the store. 

“Spirits save me.” Eyman sighs and leans his arms on the counter. “You two couldn't have come at a better time.”

“What brought them all here?” Vira asks while straightening out books that were removed from shelves and left wherever the customers felt like.

“A new Volo book?” Eyman responds with a question. Thoroughly confused. “I honestly didn't get a chance to read the summary. But apparently, all of Baldur's Gate did.” he laughs.

Astrion picks up one of the few remaining books and reads the title. “The Heroes of Baldur's Gate: where are they now.” he groans a stifled laugh “Gods above Volo.” he replaces the book on the shelf rolling his eyes. 

“I wonder where that handsome rogue is.” Eyman laughs hard resting his head on his hand “I hear he's fallen a bit from grace, idling his time away in a little bookstore.” he jests.

“I’m not so sure those are accurate accounts, sir.” Astarion jokes back. “I hear it's not as much a fall from grace as it is a public service.” he catches the cashier's log that was thrown at him. They playfully bicker back and forth while Vira just waits for them to be “quite done.” The men shake each other's hand signaling that they are, in fact, quite done.

“You're lucky I like you so much Little Star.” Eyman jokingly warns wagging a finger at him sitting in the chair behind the counter.

Astarion rolls his eyes and smiles all the way to his eyes as he shakes his head “I am.” 

He and Vira find their way up to her room to begin getting ready. Astarion pulls out both of their evening clothes and lays them on the bed before he begins getting himself dressed. He shimmies the tight slacks up his frame before buttoning the gray shirt over his chest tucking the shirt into his pants and adjusting the fabric after fastening the buttons on his trousers before setting himself on the bed next to his jacket. His eyes open wide as Vira slips herself into the soft green dress pulling her hair to the side and looking over her shoulder “Would you mind tying me up?”

“Well if you're going to ask so nicely.” he answers with a husky sigh “But your father is just downstairs my love.” he jokes holding the fabric between his fingers and threading the dress the same way that he did so many years ago.

“Astarion!” she hisses “You’re so bad.” she shoots him a smirking side-eye.

“I'm not the one asking such leading questions.” he laughs at his joke earning a soft swat to his thigh. He finishes his task and tucks the excess fabric into the dress. He moves her hair from her shoulder to lay flat down her back. He leans around her to grab her brush and starts detangling her hair “What are you doing with this?” he asks, twirling the ends around his slender fingers. “I could braid it for you, it would be a shame to let the details back here go unseen.”

“That sounds like that's what I'm doing with it then. I was just going to leave it as is.” she shrugs, not being one for petty vanity. 

 He pulls out the desk chair for her to sit in as he brushes her hair all to one side, choosing some pieces to frame her face before he braids a thin braid to look like a headband across the top of her head and blending that into a loose dutch braid that falls over her shoulder and past her breast. He ties the end into a knot to keep it together through the night. When he finished he pushed it over her shoulder and pulled some strands to add volume to the braid. 

“How'd you learn to do that?” she asks, sliding her hand over the delicate braid.

“Idle hands are a devil's workshop, darling” he shrugs, admiring his handiwork. “I had a lot of years to find ways to keep my hands busy.” he wiggles his fingers in front of himself.s.

She nods gently as she stands to leave to finish getting ready with makeup and jewelry. She walks past him and bushes a hand across his chest as she leaves. Astarion grabs his jacket and shoes after throwing his clothes into the garment bag and heads downstairs to wait for her to be ready. He smooths a small amount of pomade in his hair making sure that each strand is where he wants it to be. Astarion and Eyman talk idly about the night ahead for a while before Vira comes down the stairs fully made up and ready, but obviously irritated, muttering to herself while she is pulling on her last high heel. “Star, I'm not dainty enough for this.” holding the hem of her dress to make the stairs easier to traverse. “I also couldn't decide on any jewelry. So I'm just going without.” she huffs.

“Daughter.” Eyman audibly gasps a surprise. “My beautiful Vira.” he walks over to her to admire his daughter. “I think I have something that would suit this just right” he tuts and digs into a box under the counter.

Caught off guard, Vira watches her father rifle through the delicate box. Astarion pushes his arms through the sleeves of his embroidered jacket, not yet fastening any of the buttons, and puts his hands into his pants pockets, intrigued by what Eyman is scheming. 

 Eyman pulls a necklace from the box and holds it delicately in his hands. Looking lovingly from the jewelry to Vira and back. He moves to Vira who has now caught onto what her father was doing. He stands behind her and gently puts the gold chain around her neck, a shining square emerald falling tastefully above her cleavage. 

“Daddy? Really?” her eyes light up and shimmer with tears threatening to ruin her makeup. Astarion intervenes with a handkerchief from his pocket. 

“Yes, dear. I think there would be no better time than today.” he smiles and wipes away his tears with the back of his hand. He looks to Astarion and explains “This was Vira’s mother’s. Our little Vira’s had her eye on it for as long as I can remember. I've just been waiting for the right time for her to have it. And I don't know much about fashion in high society, but I think that dress she's got on needs to have this.”

She wraps her arms tightly around her father thanking him profusely before running to the nearest mirror to look at the necklace on her form. She sighs, happily touching the emerald with her fingers. “Mom wore this on their wedding day.” she touts to Astarion who is looking at her from the side.

“The only day I could get her to dress like she didn't belong to the sea.” Eyman laughs reminiscing with her.

“You always said she did.” she turns her eyes to him who just nods.

“She never thought it was worth getting all dressed up. Such a practical workhorse.” he chuckles smirking at Astarion “Remind you of anyone else Little Star?”

“Sir, I have to spend the whole evening with her, I am not about to agree with you.” he chuffs, dodging a swat to the arm from Vira. “Even if you may be right.” he adds, not successfully dodging the second one. 

“I've never had a reason to get this dressed up.'' She tries in vain to defend herself. She stepped in front of Astarion and started buttoning the sides of his jacket together as she continued to talk “It's only been recently that I've had anyone to take me out to fancy dinners.” she finished his buttons and buttoned the tight top buttons of his shirt to annoy him and add pressure to his neck “even though I’m sure he’s passed up on dozens of dinner parties since I've known him because he hates them as much as I do.” she laughs when his hand pushes hers away to fix the shirt buttons.

“If you want fancy dinners we can do fancy dinners, darling. I'd bet you would tap out before me.” he smirks and flicks the tip of her braid causing it to brush her nose. Right when she was going to respond the door to the bookstore opened and Wyll and Karlach walked in.

@zoeloveslotr @silverfangmarks @prudent-nerd

[thylacines-toybox]

i love love love love the chimera character in your icon!! did you make them? if you did, do youve detail pics and/or wip pictures? i really want to make / modify a sensory plush for myself so i love the addition of things like the teether tail and would love to see all the little beastie's features and learn more about them if youre ok with sharing!! and in general, do you ever post WIPs or tips abt sewing?? thanks for your time and sharing your amazing work with us!

First off, yes I do have a few bits and pieces of sewing advice in my plushie advice tag! There could always be more, though…

I’m glad you enjoy my chimera, I love him too! He was such fun to make and come up with all the babyish details for, and I’m very proud of him.

I don’t really have wip pics of the chimera (since I was kind of in The Zone making him) but I can take you on a, uh, short tour of his features, that sounds fun!

The baby boy himself… lots of pictures and words under the cut!

Here are the first doodles of him as I came up with his design! I was trying to make a cute lion/lamb (the meanings of the two parts of my irl name!) which is basically a chimera already, and the combination of primary colours, rainbows, and a cloud-like wool mane made the weather theme just happen.

Obviously I just had to sew this! He already looked just like a colourful baby toy.

Here is his lovely little face. I took style inspiration from a lion toy I had already, and to keep him accurate to a baby-toy style, I used embroidery stitches to make his face rather than any “choking hazards” like plastic eyes. I’ve not really used embroidery before so it was pretty hard to do neatly!

He’s also got ribbon loops for whiskers (or are they sun rays?) and you can also see a bit of star-textured minky fabric on his face and ears. Fun textures are important!

His mane is made with a super soft and fluffy fur fabric. Maybe not strictly “baby safe” since it can slightly shed fibres, but it’s very nice, and I’m not exactly a real baby lol. His horns have a nice ridged texture, you’ll see what those were made from in a moment…

Oh, I also added a banana scent chip from Build-a-Bear into his little head, because I love that smell. He’s a multi-sensory plush alright.

His front paws have some noises in them! In the red one is a squeaker, and the blue one is a rattle. You can buy these especially for putting in toys, but the rattle I used in him was actually just a little plastic capsule with a few beads inside like pictured!

All four paws have a bumpy rubbery texture on them. Rather appropriately, they are made from actual baby socks! I found a multipack of different colours that matched my planned colours perfectly by sheer luck.

The ridged horn material came from the top of the red sock!

Here is the tummy, also made with a star textured fabric. It has a cylindrical chime inside which makes a lovely musical jingling sound when he’s tipped around.

While bean filling probably isn’t baby safe either, I did put a beanbag in his bottom because I like a bit of weight and it helps him sit nice.

The wings have matching dimple textured minky on one side and smooth minky on the other. I feel like dimple minky is a must if you want to make a babyish toy!

Inside the wings are some pieces of (clean) cereal packet to give them a light crinkle sound. You can buy crinkly material especially for this too, which can be a lot noisier! He’s actually very quiet as crinkly toys go, but I’m okay with this.

He’s got some little raindrop patches made from dotty cotton, with more embroidered edges which I recall having a lot of difficulty with… looks good though! As well as textures, you gotta include some fun visual patterns in a baby toy too.

And finally, the tail! A thick rainbow ribbon holding a cloud shaped teether - another lucky find in a baby shop! It came attached to a squeaky sun and crinkly rainbow, currently held by another toy.

Originally I’d simply stitched the end of the ribbon in place around the teether, but then I got some plastic snaps (for making bandanas with!) and found they gave it a much nicer finish.

And that’s about it! Hope you enjoyed getting to know the little chimera and his features!

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

WIP Wthursday

meant to post yesterday and then forgot bc of who i am as a person so, whoops. anyway, current state of affairs

embroidery:

absolutely 0 progress on the Hermit since i last posted it in like mid september. whoops. i WILL finish this thing by veilguard i swear but for some reason it's just grueling every step of the way. meanwhile, i'm banging out this mini version of The Tower in like 4 days. I want to post the pattern/thread colors I made for my big design, but i feel guilty selling a pattern for a piece where i hand-dyed at least 5 of the colors involved. So I'm making a second version with only commercially available colors as an alternative (and a slightly less saturated background), and I'll include both color guides as options.

haven't made any new digital designs/patterns since the last one of the qunari dialogue symbol. considering making a new one for another piece of art to copy out, but currently unclear on how to get the proportions for the frame accurately copied into photoshop because I want to try an oval frame instead of circular so... yeah. we'll see.

writing:

went digging through my old WIPs folder and found a k!meme prompt fic for Lavellan getting hit by a truth spell that I'd basically almost finished and then just... completely forgot about I guess? it's a silly premise and under 15k so it must have just poofed from my brain when I moved and lost track of all my then-projects.

           Just the memory sends a flush down the back of her neck, her heartbeat skipping inside her chest like a stone over water. She can almost feel it, even here, her legs aching after a days of travel. The warmth of his body against hers in the cold air of the mountains. The unexpected passion of their kiss, the pressure of his lips crushing against her own, driving all other thoughts from her mind.             The way just beforehand he’d still hesitated, almost tearing himself away.             That’s the real problem, she thinks to herself, as she tries to ignore the wet slapping noise the drenched fabric of her robes makes with every step. She just can’t reconcile the intensity of his words with the way he keeps drawing himself back again. Every time she considers making another move, she can’t help but think that maybe it will be what convinces him she’s not worth the trouble after all.             Ar lath ma, he’d told her, despite it all.             She has no idea how to respond to something like that.

the first two and final chapters are entirely finished, while 3/4 are more disjointed segments that need some fleshing out. but i'll probably just go ahead and post the first bit soon because why not. maybe that'll push me to clean it up faster. i'll also be honest. half of this fic is like... the prompt premise, and the other half is just. me wishing i was out backpacking. i wrote it the summer of lockdowns when i went from working outside 5 days a week to bedroom WFH prison, and its funny rereading now like. oh yeah so i was going fully insane about not being the one camping myself, huh.

Anyway. otherwise I also started another new short thing for my still currently nameless No-Longer-Lavellan from reunion, but it's only a couple hundred words and some vague notes so far. Not sure if I'll turn it into something more polished or leave it as general musings. I wish I could draw better because I have way more concrete visions for visual art for that whole scenario but, alas.

[firenati0n]

year in review: favorite lines! :) <3

hello hello! I was tagged by the lovely @anincompletelist in this adorable tag game where we share our top favorite segments from our published fics and/or wips! :)

I only have one published fic LOL so here are some of my favorite pieces from that and three out of four wips right now (four is buck wild to me considering i had zero like ten days ajflakjfds).

i saved some of my real faves for y'all to read in worm fic (i didn't want to spoil my favorite paragraph at the end LOL). I have linked the fic as well as the tags with wip snips :)

from our world, mine and his alone (the midnight train to go)

Deep breath in. “By the way. Digging the cardigan, Henry. Very…” He rifled through his extensive vocab for literally any appropriate adjective. Refined? Boring. Professional? Practical, but also boring.   “Very…?” Henry raised an eyebrow, long fingers wrapped around a cup of tea. Earl Grey, Henry had said a while ago, but Alex couldn't be sure. He had been terribly distracted by said fingers, wondering where else those fingers could— What Alex’s distracted, useless worms in his left temporal lobe decided to supply him with as a response was: “Slutty-English-Literature-professor core.” Alex was going to jump off the train. He was going to change his name. He was going to get a lobotomy, as a treat.  “Excuse me?!” Henry sputtered into his tea, turning red alarmingly quickly. His sexy-librarian cardigan was collateral damage, tea splattered down the front. 

from the full spectrum of human emotion (WIP, The Proposal (2009 movie) AU, eta 2024):

And selfishly, he’s pretty fucking scared for his career trajectory if it doesn’t work out. He can’t start over, he can’t. His resume can’t take it, and neither can his ego.  He can already hear Oscar clicking his tongue and shaking his head, practically taste the disappointment in Ellen’s pitied gaze and outstretched hand. He absolutely cannot give them the silver bullet that goes clean through his erratic heart and wrenches him back home. He loves Austin, breathes it, and yet…and yet. He just can’t return, not when he’s so close. He still has so much to prove, so much to hold up to the sky and say I’m here, I can take it, I did it, I’m good enough. It almost swallows him whole—his overwhelming love for his family, his nostalgia for the Texas sun. But it’s just not enough to—

from queerano de bergerac (WIP, Cyrano / The Half of It (2020 movie) AU, eta 2024):

“Amber, everyone thinks you’re pretty, it is an objective fact. Irrefutable, even.” “Aw, Henry! That’s so nice of you to say, thank you.” She flashes him a genuine smile. She’s sweet, Henry is loath to admit.  “You’re welcome. But. This letter…we need to workshop it a bit. Make it more personal? More about who Alex is as a person, and not who we see him as. What’s below the surface? What are his hidden depths that you are willing to explore? How do you show you’re in love, not just tell?” Amber raises an eyebrow. “Okay. How do I do that?” She sniffs. “I thought I was being so obvious when I asked if he had lunch plans.” “...You asked him if he had lunch plans during our…one lunch period at school?” “Okay, fine! I’m not the best with fancy words like you, Mr. Future English Literature Major.”

from untitled continuation of worm fic (WIP, eta 2024):

If Alex could land Henry's phone number (a bit forcefully, if he remembered Henry's tone correctly) using sheer fucking charisma, he could nail a date with the guy. Easy peasy.  Except. Except for the fact that Alex's brain seemed to rapidly degrade in every conceivable way when faced with Henry's fairytale hair and anime-worthy blue eyes. Henry's presence was lethal for every ounce of Alex's grey matter. With every blink of his doe eyes, Henry obliterated another one of Alex's (already fucking limited!) brain worms. They would writhe in agony, unable to shake the vicelike grip of Henry's charisma, doomed to a slow and sensual death. Alex was so fucked, and not in the fun, safe, and lubed way. 

+

no pressure tagging @ninzied @inexplicablymine @anincompletelist @myheartalivewrites @suseagull04 @priincebutt @sparklepocalypse @kiwiana-writes @onward--upward @nocoastposts @user-anakin @wordsofhoneydew @littlemisskittentoes @happiness-of-the-pursuit @matherines @lizzie-bennetdarcy @celeritas2997 @sherryvalli @gayrootvegetable @ssmtskw @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @14carrotghoul @orchidscript @rmd-writes @dustratcentral @eusuntgratie @magicandarchery @leaves-of-laurelin @songliili @cricketnationrise @msmarvelouswinchester @leojfitz @dragonflylady77 @cha-melodius and open tag for anyone else wishing to share! have fun :)

xoxo roops