#liss writes fanfiction

[tubborucho]

HEY GUYS GUESS WHAT

Yes! This is a new Frubbo fic. But it’s crack and from Cucurucho’s POV.

Thanks @mikaikaika for the idea. It was so funny, I couldn’t ignore it.

[stray-kaz]

A Book and A Nap : a Roronoa Zoro x f!reader blurb

Summary: You and Zoro have some peace in the middle of the maelstrom.

A/N: Thank you, @writingmysanity for lending me your idea! :)

The ship's wine cellar was a cool reprieve from the heat of the world abovedeck, and it was where you and Zoro retreated to when the hoopla became too much. The hammock swung gently with you both resting in it, Zoro's head and shoulders in your lap as you half sat, half lay behind him, book in hand.

His crown pressed against your stomach and as you read out loud to him, you slowly combed your fingers through his hair, occasionally scratching gently at his scalp. He sleepily grunted every time you did that.

A soft golden glow spilled through the window and poured over you like honey, soaking you in light and warmth. Your eyelids grew heavy as you read and you fought to keep them up, doing your best to concentrate on the words.

Your hand stilled in Zoro's hair and you glanced down to see his chest rising and falling evenly and his eyes closed, dark lashes like streaks against his skin. You could barely even hear him breathing. You stopped your reading and started to close the book, when his tired voice interrupted you.

"Why'd you stop?" he mumbled, pressing his head a little harder into your stomach; he didn't bother with opening his eyes.

You stroked his hair again, lightly.

"I thought you fell asleep" you said, stroking the tip of one finger down past the bridge of his nose.

He smiled faintly and shook his head.

"Nah, flower. Keep going."

You leaned back a bit further and did as you were bidden, though you were yawning before you reached the end of the third page. When you paused then, there was no response, no interruption to ask you to continue.

You smiled as your eyes slid shut and the book closed against your chest.

You fell asleep like that, one hand in Zoro's hair and the other on his shoulder, always connected to him.

Tagging: @elizabeth-karenina

[ghuleh-recs]

Soft dom phantom became a thing for me when he decided to just pop his head into one of my fics one day and I have never looked back! He's so perfect for it! 🖤🖤

Yesss I love it!!! Some further headcanons for you because you inspire me 🖤

Okay I’m (still) vibing with the concept that they call him Phantom because of a scar or birthmark situation. You would think he’d be shy and self conscious, but instead he’s self assured and quietly confident. Life in the pit was brutal for someone like him and the suffering just made him that much stronger. He’s smart and resourceful and when the chance to be summoned presented itself he took full advantage, working his fingers to the bone making himself the perfect candidate.

He actually ends up being a better technical guitar player than Aether and it takes the others a hot minute to notice. But once they do, it’s very much a “oh no he’s hot” situation. Rain, Mountain and the ghoulettes absolutely have a competency kink and immediately take to him���spending long nights after rehearsals talking music theory and showing off to each other during impromptu jam sessions.

Swiss instantaneously has a crush and is not shy about it at all, sidling up to Phantom whenever he has the chance and laying it on THICK. Phantom doesn’t quite know what to make of him—he’s not really used to that kind of attention and can’t tell if Swiss is making fun of him. He takes it in stride, sometimes blushing, and gently teases Swiss back, never quite taking the bait (much to Swiss’ disappointment). Swiss ain’t no quitter, though. He’ll get him eventually. He always does.

Dewdrop is another story. He begins to feel threatened by Phantom’s presence. He’s taking Aether’s departure harder than the others. Probably because it’s not the first time he’s been through it. He’s still mourning Ifrit to this day and has conflicting feelings about replacing the former fire ghoul. His mentor. His friend.

As Phantom becomes more and more comfortable on stage and in his body, fingers flying, playing OVER the fretboard (why is that so hot), seductively rolling his hips to the music and getting bolder with his audience interactions, Dew can’t help but feel like some of his thunder is being stolen. HE is the lead guitarist. Why would Papa recruit a ghoul that talented if not to eventually replace him?

Aether was always there to support Dew and never stole the spotlight unless it was a rehearsed bit. Dew hadn’t realized how comforting his presence was at the rituals until he was gone. He is completely unused to sharing the spotlight and his insecurities are turning him into a total brat. He’s aloof, ignoring Phantom at meal times and in passing on the tour bus. He scoffs rudely whenever Phantom tries to interact with him. It only fuels his irritation when Phantom remains seemingly unbothered. Something’s gotta give and it’s all going to come to a head sooner rather than later.

Phantom on the other hand is totally caught off guard by Dew’s behavior and has a heart-to-heart with Mountain one day seeing as he is the resident Dew-wrangler now that Aether has left. Mountain reluctantly tells him about Dew’s history. How he had his element excruciatingly reassigned and was given little to no time to deal with the change. How he threw himself into his new role without a thought or care for his own well-being.

This of course resonates with Phantom whose own past suffering mirrors Dew’s. He tries to give Dew his space. And he watches. He waits.

It doesn't take long for Dew to notice Phantom avoiding him and if there’s one thing he doesn’t like it’s being ignored. It culminates at a ritual because of course it does. In the middle of “Kiss the Go-Goat” of all things. They’re both on fire tonight, milking the crowd for all it’s worth. Phantom is in a particularly playful mood jumping from the platforms (and nearly giving poor Rain a heart attack in the process). They typically work around each other, only interacting with Rain or Papa.

Dew is crossing the stage, hoping to sneak a quick drag from Swiss’ vape when he nearly crashes into Phantom. Adrenaline rushing through his veins, he holds his ground, unsure of what to expect from the other ghoul. To Dew's complete surprise, Phantom looks him dead in the eye and drops to his knees, forcing an interaction. Dew feels his cheeks grow hot beneath his mask and loses his place in the song for a split second before recovering. He desperately hopes Papa didn’t notice. Phantom definitely noticed. As he rises to his feet, Dew can see him wink when the stage lights momentarily shine through his goggles. Dew stutters out an exhale, doing his best to shake it off and marches over to Swiss as planned. And if he’s sporting a half chub at least he can hide it behind his guitar and no one has to know.

The act of submission has Dew feeling wrong-footed and a fluttering feeling takes root in his stomach for the rest of the ritual. Why would he do that? Dew is ultra competitive by nature and cannot for the life of him understand why his supposed rival would willingly yield to him in such a public setting. He doesn’t appreciate the mind games and decides to confront Phantom at the after show party.

To be continued because I have a day job and this reeeally got away from me. 🙃🙃🙃 But also feel free to expand on this in any way at all 🖤

Part 2!

[cilil]

𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Flight

Characters: Dark!Manwë/Erulissë Synopsis: Erulissë attempts to escape the Elder King's clutches. Warnings: Dark!Manwë, birds of prey, hunting, blood

The soft patter of her bare feet echoes between the Pelóri mountains, a small noise like a pebble skipping on water, but amplified by the silence around her. The snow makes her shiver from the cold and sharp rocks dig into soft skin, yet she keeps running as fast as she can, the skirt of her rose-coloured dress fluttering in the wind. 

Erulissë hears no sound of beating wings, only feels the wind picking up and sees the shadow of a great eagle. Her hunter pursues her with calm precision while she panics and attempts to flee, though deep down she knows she will never outrun him. 

It's over before she knows it. One second the shadow vanishes from her sight, the next she's pushed to the ground by the large bird's weight and cries out in pain when deadly talons slice through the fabric of her dress and the skin underneath with ease. Blood drips onto the snow below her, like a bed of red flowers beginning to bloom around her form – small, helpless and at his mercy. 

"Found you," Manwë chuckles lightly as if it was merely a fun little game for him to chase her, and his weight on top of her shifts as he assumes his accustomed form. 

"Let me go!" Erulissë demands; despite her current predicament she cannot bring herself to beg or refer to him as her lord and king. 

Manwë leans down to nuzzle her hair and neck with surprising gentleness, his larger form completely covering hers. Erulissë would never admit it, but her shivering fána welcomes his body heat.  

"What a silly idea, to run from your path of redemption that Father so graciously offers you," he scolds. 

"I don't want it!" 

"Hush, my little rose. You will appreciate it in time." 

Manwë pulls her into his embrace and stands back up, wings wrapping around her to keep her securely surrounded by his stronger form. Even though his feathers are warm and soft, Erulissë feels like she has been put in chains. 

"You will return to his light under my guidance and then you will thank me for taking care of you." 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @floraroselaughter @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot

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[pennedbylisse]

INK 'N' PETALS | THE RAVEN

Solana's reserved a musty room at a local motel and waits as she was originally instructed. The room is pungent of cigarettes. Both the bed sheets and the carpet are plagued by irregularly-shaped stains she dares not attempt to identify. Even so, it's not the room's critical state of hygiene that has her pacing back and forth, nibbling her fingernails.

Mentally, she's reciting some sort of prayer - not that she's ever been instructed as to how to do a proper one. It's more pleading than prayer, than reverence, she'd say. Begging for everything to go as planned, to go smoothly; no hurdles, no set-backs, no losses. All at no cost, of course, like a favor from the heavens. They are known for their grace, are they not?

A little too easily, and quickly, her prayers are answered with a sequence of taps on the door.

Her pacing stops. She draws in a breath and waits out for another tap, to verify she'd not imagined it.

Peering through the peep-hole on the room door, a raven head of curls comes into view, bent to gaze at the ground. The knocker has a pale arm propped against the solid door.

Solana unhooks the chain from the door, twists the lock and the knob, swinging it open to meet Yoongi.

Her gaze rakes his complexion - no wounds - then skitters down to the duffel bag in his clutch, stuffed beyond its limit.

Hurriedly, Yoongi transfers its weight into her hold.

She staggers because of its weight, employ the efforts of her other hand at hoisting it up.

Yoongi's dark eyes steadily bore into hers, as if it's the last good look he'll get of her. As though he's snapping a mental picture in the hopes of preserving what will easily be lost in a matter of minutes.

In a swift motion, he brushes his warm lips with her forehead, and gently squeezes her cheek with his hand.

She barely mutters a hurried greeting, or inquiry as to what's in the duffel bag, when he beats her to it.

"No time for questions, Ana." His cheeks are flushed the way a runner's are after jogging a number of miles, nostrils flaring. Every other second, he glances over his shoulder, chest heaving. "You just have to trust me."

"Blindly," she affirms with a nod.

Stammering for a breath, he proceeds, "Alright, there's a train that leaves at 7 AM. Minstowe East station. Ticket is in the bag. You hop on. You avoid contact with strangers. You keep running." He pauses, gaze dancing between hers, allows the instructions sink in.

"Whatever you do," he continues, "you don't look back. Hear me?" He licks the sweat collecting at the bow of his upper lip.

Solana nods.

Anxiously, he shits his weight off the doorframe, onto his sore legs that threaten to buckle beneath him, then leans back onto the frame. He presses his forehead against hers one last time. "Ana, this is it. A chance at a new life. Promise me you won't look back."

Solana stalls, slow to acclimate, unable to conjure even half as much determine courage as him.

She rolls her bottom lip inward into a fine line.

Around Yoongi, for the years she'd known him, she'd never been strong. Rather, she'd always crumble, bear herself vulnerable, because at some point early in their journey she'd learned he was worthy of her trust. He'd never done, or would ever do, anything to hurt her.

Tears collect on her lash-line.

"What about you? What will happen to you, Yoongs?"

"Don't worry. There's at least seven lives left in here." He gently claps her cheek. "Promise?" Lifts his weight off the frame, decidedly this time, like ripping a band-aid and committing to tolerating the discomfort; or pulling a decayed tooth by slamming a door with a string attached to its handle.

Apprehensively, she responds "I promise," knowing that's the only thing he's waiting for to disappear. Part of her wants to object, just so he'd stay.

Yoongi's frame dwindles in size as he jogs across the vacant parking lot, into the mist of dawn.

Before he's completely out of sight, she calls one last time "Hey, Yoongs?"

He slows but doesn't turn. Can't bear to look back at her. Doesn't want the last view of her to be that of tears.

"Thank you..."

Conversation dwindles into a tranquil cadence; the kind that rises out from the comfort of each others' quiet presence; the kind that wraps about two figures as they partake in their individual projects while in each others' constant company - one writing away on their laptop, the other reading the last 50 pages of a book.

“I missed you, Yoongs,” she hums and nuzzles her nose into his neck for added comfort. Even with being able to hold him flush against her, and feeling his chest rise with a rhythmic breath, Solana finds it hard to believe. Through the dim night, she blinks at the sight of him, the silhouette of his relaxed face, as though it is a mirage that could vanish with a gush of wind. “I thought I’d never see you again. Had mentally prepared myself to live that version of reality.”

The latter presses his lips into her temple, extinguishing any doubt about his presence. "Can't get rid of me that easily, Sol."

She smiles at the certainty in that statement. As reliable as a law. Yoongi would always be there. Always. Like a moon to its planet, or a planet to its sun, unified in orbit, though at times imperceivable.

“I did something bad,” her voice trembles unsteady, thinking back to their parting, the things she'd wanted to confess to him back then but felt robbed by the urgency of the conditions they'd found themselves in. Her grip tightens around the fabric of his tee shirt, clings to it like a lifeline on the side of a hill.

Solana knows that nothing she could confess would drive Yoongi to abandoning her. Her hold on him is desperate, though. A fearful child clinging to its comfort plush to wait out the deceiving night.

“I know,” he hums, “we all do at some point.” He wraps a sturdy hand around her head laying her cheek over his chest, presses his cheek over her crown and holds her safe. “It’s what you do from there on that matters.”

“Was running the right thing?”

“Sometimes it is,” he responds. “You are safe, that’s all what matters. You did the right thing fleeing. Sometimes fear can surprise you. It can be powerful like that. Protective.”

Her soft voice comes out as a mumble over his creased shirt, “I don’t want to live the rest of my life on the run. So scared - I’m so fucking scared of what will happen when it catches up to me-”

“-it won’t,” his tone is firm, voice stable, unlike hers. She clings to it like the gospel truth. Lets it wash her clean of her sins. Steps into a new life with firm believe in those two words. “You won’t have to keep running. You don’t have to.”

“What do you mean?” She tenses, grip over his shirt loosening. Starts to withdraw, considering the dreadful possibility flying through her mind that this could be a trap; that the one who knew all of her intimacies could betray her.

Solana he rises to her elbows, untethered hair billowing over his chest like thick stage curtains.

“It’s over,” he adds. “War is won.”

He cups her chin, the whispers soft, “Stop. Running.” Draws his thumb along the sharp lines of her jaw. Risks getting sliced open. She's worth the shed of a tear or drop of blood, he thinks. No one else he'd take a bullet for.

It's frightening, the overwhelming sense of protection that has flourished through the years. He doesn't fight it though.

There is a blotchy raven tattoo on the dorsal side of his pasty hand. Solana often would call it "the melted raven who flew too close to the sun" given its appearance.

“It’s what I came to tell you.”

"How about you? Will you stop running, too?"

"Honey, I’m a track star."

Solana erupts into a guffaw, head thrashing.

Laughter contagious like the flu, Yoongi finds himself caught in a fit of chuckles, cheeks burning sore, abdomen flexing without relent. It has been so long since he has felt that sort of happy - the kind you preemptively feel sorry about losing. The kind you feel you don’t deserve. The kind that makes you suspicious that life is only dangling it in front of you to snap it out of your grasp as soon as you start getting your hopes up. The kind that feels too good to be true, your hands quaking as you hold it, fearful you might drop it.

Her slap to his chest begs a genuine response.

They sit in silence, wherein he is pensive, nibbling on his lower lip while gazing up through the condensed glass ceiling. The moonglow halos him angelically.

She could watch him forever, the way you'd watch a relative peacefully sleep, so adoringly caught up you neglect the passage of time. The way its unspeakably comforting to watch the ones you love rest in safety.

He takes an inhale, conclusive, mind settled on the words he has chosen. Then holds it in apprehension. In fear that echoes that pre-emptive sadness that shades everything a shade of blue in its wake. Happiness is so close, it grazes his fingertips, and yet he knows on some deep, primal level that a graze is all he’ll ever be allotted. Fears it so much that it is practically a fact.

Still, he takes the leap. A graze being worth it enough. He musters the courage to voice, “I don’t know. Do you think this sob town, with its organic juice shops and yoga centers, is ready to accept me?"

To which she responds by linking her arms around his torso and bringing both their bodies collapsing over the sheets sprawled over the floor. “I’ll convert you into my flower boy. We will have to do something about that persistent brooding face of yours, though.” Her hand travels up to cup his cheek in the dark. "Can’t have you scaring away potential customers.”

Yoongi responds, "So far your only customer is Lico, and I’d say she likes me - or my lap, at least."

They fall asleep in each others' arms.

Yoongi's taken up an affinity towards clementines ever since Ana brought home a net of them with the intent of propagating.

The bearing of fruit would take two-to-three years, at minimum, if the propagate were to survive through to fruition, so Ana had explained. Yoongi isn't really the patient-type. He's been living in survival mode much too long, living in the tomorrow instead of the now. Hasn't known anything else, because when you are born into a burning home, you expect to see the rest of the world up in flames, or something like that.

It's a warm Saturday morning. Yoongi and Ana weave through a market strip, the former, clutching two nets of clementines in his left grip.

An effervescing chuckle responds to the sight of him - his stoic figure, clad in shades of black, neck craned amidst the pop-up stalls, turning over items on the display tables, carefully reading the ingredients on the back of items. Ana recognizes she's successfully converted him into a farmer's market boy. A flower boy, with his rose-like thorns. Her flower boy, as she'd originally promised.

Despite holding the item in proximity, he squints his eyes into half-moons, always plagued by poor vision. He has a recipe in mind he wants to cook tonight.

Ana's light touch grazes the surface of different farming books stacked over a display table.

She's got one split to the table of contents, skimming the ink with pensively pinched brows when a hand encircles her cheek, clasps her mouth with suction.

Her heart rate quickens, pounding against her sternum.

And despite standing there paralyzed by fear, her hands start sweating, ready to take any measure that would ensure survival. A swing behind her head, perhaps? A quick swivel and a knee to the groin? A bite to the delicate flesh pressed to her lips?

When her eyes flutter down to gauge just how much space and freedom she has to proceed with the third option, blotchy black ink in the lose figure of a raven taking flight comes into view.

Instantly, her tense shoulders relax, and she sinks back against Yoongi's torso. Feeling inexplicable relieved.

Peaking over her shoulder at his furrowed countenance, she attempts to voice her questions with incoherent mumbles. Her flighty eyes round and gauging the ripple of thoughts on his gradient of micro-expressions.

His hand relaxes and slides from your mouth to rest on your shoulder. He lifts his other hand to press a pale finger to his lips.

Ana quips a brow but obliges, nonetheless. The fear in Yoongi's ebony eyes is jarringly palpable. She dares not underestimate it.

Again, her heart rate quickens, ears and cheeks flushing hot this time. Even with the erratic rhythm of her heart circulating, a dizzy spell befalls her.

Yoongi's strong hold anchors her weight but, in the process of cradling her unsteady body, the net of clementines tears against the jagged edge of the table.

A flurry of orange unfolds, spilling abundantly over the ground, all thumping and loud and indefinitely rolling in tangential directions. Beckoning attention. Impossible to ignore.

"Fuck," Yoongi breathes against her temple, dotted in summer sweat.

He links his calloused hand with hers and takes flight, in a nature entirely practiced and his own.

Ana doesn't stall to ask what, or who, exactly they are running from. She'd started suspecting as soon as she met the familiar hue of fear on his face, the focused squint of his eyes, the flare of his nostrils in response to adrenaline.

They are prey on the run from the same predator that has chased them to the edges of the forest.

If either of them get caught this time, chances are there won't be any hope reuniting from thereon. The effects would be grave and permanent. That's all she needs to know to match her strides with Yoongi's.

So much for a safe haven.

₊˚♬ Slow Dancing in a Burning Room - John Mayer

Mist hovers the street and in the faint orange of early morning it's as if the heavens have collapsed. A rendition of a fragmented sky collecting at her feet.

In an attempt to preserve heat and subdue a shiver, Solana hugs the hoodie Jeongguk had lent her, after having stripped her of her own appropriately-sized garments and scattered them across his bedroom floor the night prior.

She leaps off the elevated side-walk, onto the faded pavement markings of a pedestrian crossing.

Hopping onto the opposing side-walk, she cranes her head, squints her eyes to peer through the fogged windows of her store.

No lights are on. Stagnant shadows are cast over the front desk and the few flower arrangements she'd managed to set out last night before Jeongguk greedily claimed her attention.

A crisp whistle tears through the silent streets, its echo rising over her head.

She hops to face the street, back turned to her dormant shop.

The tattoo parlor across also sleeps, its neon sign shut off. She lifts her gaze to the windows of the floor above the parlor. A figure leans over the windosill, smiling, toothy, dimpled at the corners, eyes twinkling like those morning stars that refuse to be put out by the radiance of the sun.

Blushing, Solana's nervous gaze rakes his slept-in look - tussled curls, wrinkle tee. Even here, a street away, she can still feel the warmth of his skin on hers.

He motions with his hands for her to step into her store. Doesn't allow himself to hop in for a shower until he's sure she's inside, safe.

Despite her arrival, indicated by the jingle of a bell above the swinging door, the store continues to sleep undisturbed. No one comes running to greet her. She quickly assumes Yoongi's still asleep; that he'd stayed up far later than he'd realized working on his prose only to miss his rise alarm - if he'd even remembered to set one.

His absence, however, is far less questionable than that of a familiar furry tail wrapping around ankles.

Solana coos "Lico?" a number of times, starting at a whisper, rising to a song-like tune.

"Hun?" She bends to seek the tri-colored creature in the spaces beneath furniture. Opens and closes door worried she might have locked him somewhere yesterday without noticing.

Her pulse starts to quicken, thumbing muffled in her ears, such that she doesn't hear the storefront door open.

Having scoured the upstairs kitchen and found no trace of the kitty, her feet clap down the stairs.

"I can't find Lico, Yoongs." She braces her unsteady weight by clasping the railing of the stairs and looks towards the entrance. Fixes her gaze at the back of Yoongi's raven head, wishing for him to turn with Lico in his hold.

With hunched shoulders and a square build, Yoongi works on the number of locks of the door, turning them with a symphony of clicks. Any other day, she would have instantly read him as a red flag, as someone who is hiding something, but today, she can only frantically cry for the stray kitty she'd developed an affinity for.

Yoongi doesn't have to turn to imagine the way horror has stretched her face, widened her eyes, drooped her lips into a frown. He's seen fear in her too many times in their shared life to not have the scarring image seared into memory.

Something in his chest squeezes tightly. A sharp pain piercing him, leaving him staggering for a steady breath. He'd promised to never see that look again; to never have her subjected to fearsome conditions again.

More and more, it seems like every effort at keeping her safe is met with exceeding danger. He can't keep up. The promises falling hollow.

In a voice barely above a whisper, he informs her Lico was involved in a hit-and-run right outside the shop. Tells her he just returned from the animal hospital. "There's not much they could do..."

"What?" Solana's steps thud heavy in approach, behind him. Her quaking hand anchors itself to the sleeve of his shirt. He continues to face the door. Hasn't moved a step since he arrived. Can't bear to look at her.

"You were supposed to be watching him," her voice quivers, on the precipe of shattering. She needs him to tell her it's a cruel joke. She needs him to turn around and have the kitty sleeping soundly in his hold how it so often does.

"I was," he admits. Clears his throat, a heavy lump materializing there, making words hard to form. "I was watching him-"

"-then, what happened?" She angrily tugs at his sleeve, forcing him to turn and face her. Her destroyed gaze demands an explanation, some sort of justification, though none could suffice. Not even from the lips of Yoongi, who she blindly trusts with her life.

An angry red clouds his right eye, so angry that his eyelid is swollen shut. Crusted blood stripes his brow above the assault.

Instictively, Solana stumbles back, mouth handing slack and vacant of words. She rakes her look across him, scans the rest of his body for signs of injury. An abrasion on his lower lip.

Knuckles of his hands a similar shade as his eye, only the flesh is worn and eroded down.

Slowly, she draws near, lifting a hand to gently cup his cheek. "Wh-who did this to you?" Some part of her already knows the answer to that, still, she wants to hear it from his lips. The same lips that would assure her everything would be alright at the end of the day. The lips that always knew the right response.

"I shouldn't have ever come, Ana." Yoongi shatters into a fragile boy she'd never met. Tears stream down his cheeks, mingling with blood, sweat, dirt. In the ten years of calling Yoongi a friend - family - she'd never once seen him shed a single tear, and she'd seen him do horrible things just as many times as she'd seen horrible things being done to him.

"They know."

She pulls him into the tightest embrace her trembling hands can secure, cradles his head over her chest despite his stature.

Her voice barely above a whisper against his temple, "They know?"

Ana's cried so much this night that her cheeks now feel tight and crusted with her tears, frozen into a painful frown. Her hands are clasped over Yoongi's chest, tight, as if he might disappear otherwise. His heart drums lightly but consistently beneath her palm.

"I'm sorry, Sol," his voice cracks, though it's been hours since he arrived and delivered the news. Hours of trying to sit in the grief over the hardwood floor and numb himself to it long enough to regain composure. "I'm sorry for what happened to Lico..." Tears wet the inner sides of her forearms, his cheeks nustled against them. "I'm sorry I guided them here and now it's all ruined."

Ana nuzzles her nose into the crown of his raven head. Inhales his scent. Mumbles into his hair, "You're not ok, Yoongs." It shatters her voice the way it shatters her heart that she failed to protect either of them.

"Please," she begs, "come with me. Let's leave, just us two, like always. We'll change our names, our appearances. We'll keep on the run until we find another safe place to land. You're not safe. I can't lose you, too."

"Ana, I'm so tired...so tired of running..."

They sit in silence. Streaks of warm sunlight pour in through the drawn blinds of the store; Ana had shut them shortly after his arrival, just as she'd twisted the sign to display "Closed." Later today, she'd send out apologies instead of her regular newsletter; offer compensation for the inconvenience in the form of discounts and BOGO offers.

The curtains aren't long enough to touch the ground, so a slight sliver above the ground offers them vantage through the glass of the front door. Shoes march across the side-walk, some march up to the store door and halt before turning away with muffled conversation.

Though it's broad daylight, they haven't been able to turn away from the door. Danger obeys no laws, and would surely neglect the "Closed" sign to collect its debt.

If it had arrived to assault Yoongi last night, what's to say it wouldn't show up whenever, unannounced. It knows their location now. There's no hiding.

"I hate that history's repeating itself," Yoongi remarks in a drained tone, just barely above a whisper, "but you have to leave, Solana. I tried so hard against it. I really did."

"Why won't you come with me?" Her hands grip the collar of his shirt. "It's not a matter of 'can't' because you can. You simply won't. Why?"

"I'll stay and lure them off your trail. It's best this way." "What if they hurt you?"

He doesn't respond. He can't imagine anything hurting more than now.

"You know that Jeon kid," he says, neglecting the subject is only a number of years younger, not an entire decade. He persists to call him that from his youthful appearance. Kid looks like he's never grieved a day in his life. "I think it's time you come clean with him. You've started a life here, ana. Started to cultivate some sense of happiness. You deserve that. Don't give it up."

Ana shakes her head and though Yoongi's not facing her, he can feel her body shake with objection. With fear.

"He doesn't know what I did," her tone's solid, no longer quaking now. Slices firmly through the silence. "Doesn't know me, not the real me, the ugly me I try so hard to shove down, to bury."

Yoongi folds forward, warmth departing from your chest. Swivels in his seat to face her.

She averts his knowing gaze, eyes growing glossy in the faint light.

"I'm scared he won't want me when he finds out." Her lips tremble. "Scared whatever that's growing between us is so fragile that it could end in an instant, with a single confession." Shutting her eyes to tame her emotions, a string of glass-like tears descends her cheek.

Yoongi cups Solana's cheek and wipes the stray tear with his thumb. "It's impossible to not want you."

⊹❤️‍🔥₊ what are your thoughts on solana x yoongi dynamic? you likey? (i am kind of obsessed with them, tbh)

⊹❤️‍🔥₊ i swear this is supposed to be a fic where jeongguk's endgame (yoongi has other plans, apparently)

⊹❤️‍🔥₊ this post will be expanding indefinitely as I concoct scenes involving solana x yoongi so make sure to check back frequently and save the post for future reference :)

⊹❤️‍🔥₊ this is also cross-posted up on my ao3 profile. to access, click here

[ramblingoak]

If you haven’t gotten these yet, how about:

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

and/or

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

Liss! Thank you for sending these 💙

🍓 How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I probably read fanfiction for a few years when I was teenager before I decided to start writing myself. I always liked writing for school so writing for my favorite characters just seemed like the next logical step lol.

🥤 Recommend an author or fanfic you love.

Ok this is a tough one because there are so many 😭. I'll choose Come Unleashed by @visiosatanae because I find myself rereading that one a lot (it's very very hot).

And I'll cheat and also say Earthly Delights by @megachaoticstupid because I loved her Secondo very much.

Fanfic Writer Truth and Dare Ask Game

[thewrongshop]

I am casting the spell of making progress on your wips. Tell me of naming & being named!

(from this wip ask game!)

oh god oh god i'm under attack!!! spare me!!! of naming & being named is just kind of a sweet post-canon fic on the evolution of Caleb and Essek's relationship with a specific focus on names/endearments because Caleb calling Essek 'dear' in tm9 reunited uhhhh pretty much one hit ko'd me, and because I specifically have feelings about Caleb using German endearments :)) the fact that i never got to hear him say schatz in canon is devastating so I have to make up for it in incredibly sappy fanfiction!

“Herr Thelyss,” Caleb says with a raise of his eyebrows. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Essek cannot, on pain of death, tell him the truth, which is that he teleported unannounced for the simple reason that Caleb always responds the same way when he does: with a smile and a Zemnian honorific that twists at Essek’s heart in a most cruel way. Even after all his years speaking Common, Caleb reverts to Zemnian in moments of surprise or tension, and the unguarded accent of the Herr always slips into the following words, warming the fricative at the beginning of Thelyss into a soft t: teh-liss. Essek finds it unbearably charming. He covets the sound of his name as only Caleb speaks it, in a way that is so intense as to be enormously embarrassing. And since their friendship has progressed to the point that Essek feels he can teleport into Caleb’s home without warning but not to the point where he can ask for what he wants, he has no choice but to take it, again and again, in the pockets of time where he can find it.

(i'm so weak for when people write caleb calling essek 'herr thelyss' but i always find that switching languages mid-phrase causes accents to carry over, at least for me, so my most self-indulgent hc is that Essek's name gets accented when it's used with german/zemnian endearments and yes he does love it and yes this is humiliating for him <3 )

[melinaajamie]

"I care about you, too"

“When will you finally stop playing God?!”

“Oh, hello John.”

He couldn't believe it. John couldn't believe it. Of course Sherlock had to play the aloof hero and place himself in danger instead of just telling him or Lestrade for bloody once what he was doing so they could help him.

“Don't you have anything else to – oh, why do I even ask anymore?”

“Anything else to say? It was the gardener like I said. You can arrest him, Lestrade. You should find enough evidence in the garden shed, I doubt he was clever enough to hide it any better. And could they stop wrapping this blanket around me, we already had that!”

John was at his wit's end, probably just like Lestrade who was standing next to him. They were both standing in front of Sherlock who had absolutely stupidly solved a case on his own again and was now sitting in the back of an ambulance car. John found himself being relegated to their very first case again as he saw how the emergency doctor kept putting a blanket around Sherlock, and how he kept pushing it from his shoulders.

“The garden shed, alright... thank you. Maybe next time you'll decide to let us in on your plans.” Lestrade looked ready to throw a punch at Sherlock for keeping doing these absolutely ridiculous things he was doing but turned around instead to order his men what to do. Which left John to be pissed at Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes ran over John who had crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You're angry. Why?”

John raised an eyebrow.. “Why I am angry? Are you serious?”

“Well, yes. The case is solved, the murderer caught. No one got hurt, and I'm only adding that because that's, for some reason, so incredibly important to you... well, no one got seriously injured at least.”

“You almost got killed! He would have shot you if Lestrade and I wouldn't have made it in time!”

“But I didn't. Why does it bother you so much, John, seriously? You were on time, we saved the day, everyone's happy.” Sherlock got up, throwing the blanket into the ambulance car mindlessly, and slipped his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Dinner?” He didn't wait for John but started walking away.

“How can you think about dinner now? Sherlock!” John hurried after him, trying to catch up to the bloody idiot with the ridiculously long legs. “Sherlock, we were worried about you. Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, your brother, me, because we didn't know what you were up to!” He stopped the oh so great only Consulting Detective in the entire world in his tracks to make him look at him.

Sherlock tilted his head, his brows furrowed. “I do that every time. Why do you still worry? Why do you worry at all, I know perfectly well what I'm doing.”

John groaned. “It's called caring, Sherlock. We never know what you're up to. And it could go wrong one day.” His hands were still gripping Sherlock's shoulders tightly, and John had no intention of letting go anytime soon. He had been so afraid. Well, he always was when Sherlock just ran off without telling anyone about his plans but it had been particularly distressing this time. John also knew perfectly well why. Not that he would say it because Sherlock would most probably not get it anyways.

“Caring.” The word rolled off his tongue as if he was trying them out even though they'd been through this at least a million times by now. “I care about you, too, John.”

The statement almost knocked John of his feet. He couldn't do anything but blink at his friend for a solid minute. He must look like Sherlock when John had told him that he was his best friend. “What?”

“I care about you, too, John,” Sherlock repeated his previous words rolling his eyes. “But that doesn't keep me from solving these crimes. Why is it so important to you anyway? It's not like you'd cared bef-”

Sometimes, straight forward was the only direction someone could take even though it meant breaking right through a wall. In one swift motion John pulled Sherlock towards him and crashed his lips against his. John heard him gasp in surprise, not a sound he would have thought to ever hear from him (not that he thought anything could ever truly surprise Sherlock Holmes). Maybe Sherlock would get it that way he thought for a moment before he suddenly felt him shake beneath his hands and his legs giving in.

John backed away from Sherlock and managed to catch him just in time before he could break down completely. Maybe he was in shock more than any of them had previously thought, maybe John had completely overwhelmed him, maybe he had-

It was his turn to gasp in surprise when all of sudden he felt Sherlock grab his head and pull him in for another kiss. His lips moved against John's slowly but passionately and it didn't seem like he was about to stop anytime soon judging by how tight his grip was. Not that John minded, oh. Not at all. His eyes flattered shut as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and pressed his body against his own. Warmth radiated through his body from where they touched.

Never before had he voiced or made his changed feelings for Sherlock clear in any way. Bloody hell, he had barely admitted them to himself out of fear what it would mean for their relationship. They had never talked about the matter, not even when people had assumed they were a couple so John had absolutely no idea what Sherlock was thinking about it (ignoring that it was generally difficult to even follow his train of thought, let alone figure out what exactly was going on in his head).

But, for the first time, John felt like he had a pretty good idea of what was going on beneath the dark and messy curls of the bloody idiot whose lips tasted like black coffee and smoke and home.

When Sherlock finally loosened his grip a bit, John gently pulled back. Sherlock sighed and leaned back in slightly but John kept him at distance which caused Sherlock to slowly open his eyes.

“You've been smoking,” John exclaimed, somewhat reproachfully but with a stupid smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You've been caring,” Sherlock replied in the same tone, and John gave a laugh. One day, that bloody idiot would be the death of him.

“Yes, of course. I care about you, Sherlock Holmes. A lot actually. But no matter how often I tell you, you don't seem to get it. You can be awfully oblivious sometimes.”

Sherlock grinned before he leaned down and whispered into John's ear, “I know. But it's fine as long as I have you, John Watson.”

(Picture from Pinterest, the writing is mine)

[allurese]

Here are the rules for my page!

I will write about the following topics:

nsfw, of-age characters, bondage and breath play, consensual non-consensual (trigger warnings will be put for cnc and bdsm topics of any kind)

past trauma, sensitive topics (abuse, s.a., addiction, etc) that does not come from a character in the fanfiction (for example, abuse can be used in a backstory of a character, but the character themself does not do it)

I will NOT write about the following topics:

minor + adult (either shipped/nsfw), non-consensual acts of any kind, incest

homophobia, antisemitism, racism, pedophilia, zoophilia (including hybrids), stockholm syndrome coming from the reader/character in the fanfiction, other disturbing fetishes

I do not claim any of the art I use in my fanfictions or other posts, all credit goes to the rightful owner(s). That being said, please do not steal my work and credit it as your own. Please make sure you credit me (liss-aa on tumblr) if you decide to post any of my works to another platform.

Please proceed with risk on my page if you are under 16

[tubborucho]

Hey guys! Look what I did. Nobody had any idea I would, yup

taglist: @pastelvangelion @smallz-o @salineroses @onolikesyou @dynamicworms @cindersnows @deadfishisyeq @snyland @missstrawberry @frubbotoxicyuri @haloberry @mobcharacter255 @thecardboardbutterfly @avianchorus

dm me if you want in or out of taglist

[stray-kaz]

Buoyant : a Roronoa Zoro x f!reader oneshot

Summary: Zoro finds himself unexpectedly falling for the young single mother Nami rescued, along with her little girl.

The gentle rise and fall of the rolling sea stirred you to wake, inching over onto your side to search for your daughter. Your eyes, once sealed shut by sleep, flew open when you didn't feel her beside you, the once warm depression where her body had lain now cool and empty.

"Amada?"

You scrambled out of the bed and threw on clothes, hastily buttoning and shoving your already socked feet into your boots. You didn't think that any of the crew members of the ship would let anything happen to her, but your heart remained lodged high in your throat until your boots met the deck and you glimpsed an unforgettable sight.

Roronoa Zoro gripped a wooden sword, the second of the pair being grasped fiercely by a much smaller hand, jewel bright eyes fixed on the swordsman's face.

Your daughter's long dark hair was pulled back from her face in an untidy ponytail, undoubtedly the work of Zoro himself, fingers perfect wrapped around the hilt of a sword but clumsy with a little girl's hair. Especially a little girl who was looking up at him like he lassoed the sun just for her.

You sat down on one of the wooden stairs to watch, not saying a word or making a sound. You drew your knees up to rest your chin on them, staring intently as Zoro put your five year old through her paces, teaching her slowly how to step and parry and weave.

"Cute, huh?"

You glanced up at the sound of the familiar voice to see Nami standing above you.

"I didn't know he could be like this" you admitted quietly.

She snorted and dropped down next to you on the stairs.

"You'd be surprised."

"Did she ask him to show her?" you asked, curious.

Nami shook her head.

"No. Luffy dared her to see if she could take his sword without him noticing. He noticed."

You sucked in your breath, your gaze snapping back across the empty deck to your daughter, your heart walking around outside your body. Nami put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Don't worry" she said softly. "All he did was tell her that his was too sharp, too dangerous for her to play with, but if she wanted to learn, he could teach her."

Nami rolled her eyes as she continued.

"Zoro knows it was Luffy's idea, not Amada's. He'll look after her."

More footsteps and a plate of pastries was extended beneath your nose.

"Tangerine tart?" Sanji inquired casually. "Breakfast and a show, darling?"

You looked up at him and took one.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

He sat down a few steps behind you and it wasn't long before Usopp and Luffy joined him, drawn by the smell of fresh baking.

"How long do you think it'll be before he realises he has an audience?" Usopp murmured.

Not long, apparently. Before you could answer, Zoro turned and looked right at you, his unfathomable dark eyes fixed on yours. You didn't notice you were holding your breath until Amada tossed down her wooden sword and threw herself across the deck to you, cutting through the tension with a giddy laugh.

"Mama!" she crowed in your ear, making you wince. "Roro is teaching me how to sword fight!"

You held her tightly, meeting his eyes again over her head.

"Is he now?" you murmured, and kissed her cheek. "Are you listening carefully to everything he tells you?"

Amada nodded enthusiastically and bounced up to snatch a tart from the plate Sanji was holding out to her. You stood up and Zoro strode across the ship's deck towards you. You were standing in his way, but he just sidestepped you neatly and jogged up the steps, reaching down to ruffle Amada's ponytail as he went.

Something hot and bright burned in your chest and you followed him, still painfully aware of the collective gazes of Luffy and his crew all watching after you.

Zoro spun before you could get within touching distance of him, and you remembered Nami telling you how protective he was of his back. He raised his eyebrows at you.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked.

You arched an eyebrow back and held up the tart you still hadn't bitten into.

"You hungry after playing swords with my kid?" you retorted.

He shook his head, but you were standing close enough to see his pupils expand as you bit through the pastry to the filling, sweetness filling your mouth.

"I was not playing" he snapped.

"You cannot pretend you were not just playing with my daughter and ruffling her hair. There were witness, Roronoa."

Zoro snorted, fighting the shiver that rippled the length of his spine at the sound of his given name spilling over your lips.

"They are unreliable witnesses. You realise they're all basically certifiable?"

You swallowed and his gaze tracked the line of your throat.

"But I'm not" you said stubbornly.

Zoro sighed.

"I think salt's gotten in your eyes" he muttered flatly.

Your other eyebrow lifted.

"I think you've gotten in my eyes."

You watched his eyes widen a little before he tried to hide his surprise and play off cool, but the edge of his smile shattered the illusion and you bit back a shy grin before he shrugged his shoulders and turned his back on you.

You had just taken another bite when Nami snuck up next to you and elbowed you in the ribs. You yelped and eyed her.

"You like him!" she sang, smirking.

You felt heat rise in your cheeks and glanced away, chewing furiously. Usopp tore past you both and caught up to Zoro just before he disappeared in the direction of his room. He jabbed his elbow into his side, grinning profusely.

"You like her!" he crooned.

Zoro pinned him with a dark stare and shook his head.

"No. I don't" he said sternly. "You're all losing your damn minds. Not that you had much there to begin with."

He shoved away from Usopp, but he didn't get far before a streak of dark hair and patchwork clothes shot after him and launched onto his back. Zoro grunted, then hitched Amada higher to grip his shoulders properly so she wouldn't fall. She giggled and kissed him hard on the cheek before laying her head on his shoulder as he carried her deeper into the ship, ignoring Usopp's broad grin.

He was not going soft. He did not like you.

The shoulders of the sea heaved and rocked under the Going Merry and black rain and salt lashed the window mere feet from your bed. A particularly hard jolt sent you gasping upright, clawing at the sheet. A glance to your right told you Amada was still sleeping soundly; a week's worth of lessons with Zoro left her exhausted by the close of each day and a hurricane wouldn't rouse her.

You slowly slipped from the bed and padded quietly across the floor, catching your balance against the wall and the door frame as the ocean continued to protest your presence above it.

Only a few lamps burned in the ship's halls, so you worked your way into the depths mostly in darkness, the shadows flickering all around you.

You barely recognised where you were headed, your half asleep mind refusing to cooperate, but the moment you laid eyes on Zoro's tightly closed door, you understood. He was a steady structure in the face of a storm, and a nightmare.

You didn't knock, just turned the handle and slipped inside, reclosing the door at your back. As your eyes adjusted to the gloom, you saw Zoro flat on his back in the middle of his bed, one arm down by his side and the other flung up covering his eyes. He was semi dressed as he slept, a light cotton shirt open to just above his navel. A white sheet covered the rest of him.

You shuffled over to the side of the bed and eased onto the mattress, biting your lip as it compressed a little under your weight. But Zoro didn't move, so you continued, crawling over him before slowly, so slowly, settling your body over his, your head tilted on his chest so you saw as one eye cracked open.

You expected him to shove you aside, to throw you out, but instead he just closed that eye and shifted his arms to wrap around you, locking you comfortably against him. You turned your head to press you ear flat against his chest, the steady thud of his heart acting as a lullaby.

It wasn't long before the storm and your nightmare disappeared into the recesses of your memory and you fell asleep.

The heat of the morning sun woke you and you shook your head to clear it of the early brain fog, quickly realising you were not in your own bed and you were laying snugly on top of someone else. You opened your eyes properly and blinked at Zoro, who was already awake and watching you, waiting for you to regain consciousness.

"Hello, sleepyhead" he murmured, his voice throaty from sleep. "Nightmare?"

You nodded and tried to pull away, sit up, but he just rested his hand on the back of your head and stroked your hair, your eyes struggling to remain open with his touch.

"Don't like storms" you mumbled, rubbing at your eyes.

Zoro huffed a laugh and gave you an amused half smile.

"Really? And you live on a ship?"

You shrugged and nestled closer to him until the top of your head rested just underneath his chin.

"Nami rescued us" you reminded him. "I am grateful for that every day. A few storms are easy payment for feeling safe."

As if in response to your words, his free arm tightened around you again and he swallowed hard.

"Do you?" he asked quietly. "Feel safe here?"

You pushed up, shuffling to sit over his hips, and this time, he didn't stop you, just stared up at you, your hair falling forward to curtain your face. He reached to push it away, gathered it together in his fist, a makeshift ponytail.

"Yes, I feel safe here" you answered him softly. "I don't fear for Amada every day anymore. I know she has Luffy to protect her. She has you."

A faint flush bled into his cheeks and he blinked slowly, his eyelids suddenly heavy, but he didn't try to look away.

"I have you?"

The question was unsure on your tongue, bittersweet. But in spite of all his protestations to the contrary, Zoro hadn't even felt the crumbling earth beneath his feet before he fell for you. He did like you.

Zoro didn't give you a verbal answer. He just wrapped a hand around your nape and tugged you down, rising up to meet you halfway, his fingers branding your skin and his lips warm from sleep as they pressed against yours.

Your eyes fluttered closed and one of your hands found his jaw, holding it as if it were made of glass.

Zoro pulled back after several seconds and whispered into your skin.

"I'll chase away your nightmares any time, flower."

Tagging: @writingmysanity @elizabeth-karenina

[akyuuposting]

The Next Fanfic! Kindling of Aberrant Embers

Hi I’m sorry I had a fanfic blog, posted like two things, then vanished to the mists for years. The good news is, if you want more of what i’ve got, the wait is over! Hopefully it was worth it.

Shoutouts to The World, Upside Down by Ashely aka UnmovingGreatLibrary aka rabbiteclair aka #1 Secret Sealing Club Fangirl which inspired me to write Alice x Rin. This fic does not include any reading or spoilers from that chapter, only if at the start the explanation of the incident Rin mentions sounds a little odd, it’s because I re-wrote it after the first draft to absolutely, positively make sure it was only referencing the idea of that fic and to make sure there was no potential for spoilers.

And if you’re interested, her blog is here and you can find The World, Upside Down here. Highly recommended if the warning doesn’t scare you off. 

There are also a small element near the end that might not make sense if you’ve not read LiSS, or maybe not. I’m not sure, I’m not very clever.

If you are still interested, please check it out here, at my brand, shiny new (ok not new i made it and forgot to use it ever) Ao3 account here: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30340395/chapters/74791275

A explanation on the nature underneath.

The genesis of this fanfiction is born of necessity: I ship Alice x Rin now thanks to The World, Upside Down, I wanted to include it in a writing project of mine, but I understand it is utterly foreign to like, pretty much everyone. So the purpose of this is to hopefully invest you, the reader, into this ship as well. It is meant to be a building block for later works, but I attempted to make it work as a standalone as well, and hope it will be a enjoyable read either way.

As for that project, for some time now, I’ve had a ReiMari story idea in mind, after writing Liaison in Silent Snow. Now that I’m able to write again, I’ve wished to re-tackle it, but with more gayness, so uh here’s a fic meant just to set up a ship to be included in that fic, with more stuff like that to come. I’m sorry, I know that’s a bit arrogant of me.

This is also perhaps the most unambiguously happy and upbeat of fanfics until it all climaxes though, so please be aware. LiSS was not a once-off, there will be more angst, there will be more forbidden love, forbidden friendships, the pressures of society and our roles within it, and maybe at the end there will be a hard earned happy ending.

I promise you though if you’re patient with me there will be at least one really big, really gay laser. 

A post will soon follow as to my future fanfiction plans, so you know what to expect from me and that I will not be vanishing into the mists for a trillion years once more.

[f0xfordcomma]

Sorry to spam your ask box this lovely Friday but I totally forgot it's FFWF! Can you tell me a little bit about what motivates you to write? Is it a message you want to get across, or a particular theme you want to explore, just the sweetness of your favorite fictional people, or anything else? Feel free to self-promote a fic you wrote that you think accomplished your motivations well :)

oh heyyyyyyyy again!

(another apology for taking five-ever to get to answering all my asks)

Probably the thing that motivates me most to write is just my general love of writing and storytelling?

Like I can talk for HOURS about how important I think storytelling is to the human condition (Though, my computer scientist husband always looks at me puzzled when I do so, and I just tell him that /he/ is the weird one, not me, and continue waxing poetic about how storytelling is THE THING that sets human beings apart from other animals. It's a whole thing, ask me to get on my soapbox and boy oh boy will I) ....and how it is just something that we have always always seemed to do. And it is something that /I/ have always always seemed to do.

I've been writing little stories for as long as I can remember and it has always felt like the place where I can most eloquently express myself/ explore things I'm dealing with/ thinking through etc. I have notebooks full of story starts from when I was in middle school that explored the things I was dealing with then (insecurity??? family stuff??? crushes?? on boys??? also on girls???? but shusshhhh little sheltered church kid Melissa wasn't ready to acknowledge THAT can of worms)

I studied writing in college and the catharsis of taking a thing out of your head and putting it on paper and then having your peers look at that paper and GET THE THING??? Is SUCH an incredible feeling. My main concentration in college was actually creative non-fiction (I was the editor of our yearbook and also the cnf section editor for the english dept lit mag so I spent A LOT of time with journalistic prose). I think that's actually why I'm so drawn to fanfiction--I get to do research and establish the facts (or the canon) and then take those facts and present them like poetry??? How freaking cool is that?? (In other words, I am ~the biggest nerd~) Also cnf is totally self-indulgent, and we already know that that's what makes good fic good!

I also didn't discover fanfiction until last year during the atla renaissance. I had lost my (life-sucking) office job where I was using my writing every day and feeling totally UNINSPIRED to write more when I got home... then I was working as a nanny and loving it but also itching to get my finger tippy-typing again so... one thing led to another and here I am! And honestly? Loving it.

I do have aspirations to maybe publish things in the ~real world~ with my ~real name~ someday (I'd LOVE to write and illustrate children's books for a living 😍) but for now, having an outlet to explore and tell stories and share them with a community of people who GET THE THING is so so incredible. I write to think, but I keep writing to share those thoughts. I think that that part of the process, for me, is what keeps me going. Storytelling is how community has always been established, storytelling is still how I think we can best establish community. <3

(I'm so sorry this kind of turned into Liss's life story corner 🤷 I tell ya! I wrote creative non-fiction because I am ~conceited af~)

Thank you so much for the ask!! <3 <3 <3

[pennedbylisse]

BETWEEN COMFORT & CHAOS | 001

wc: 2k

tense & pov: present, third person

tracklist:

002 | 003 | 004 | AO3

Inconveniences.

Small, quaint, little blips in a routine. 

Like tiny, little lint balls lining the inside of a shirt - a shirt that had been practically flawless prior to the misfortunes of laundry day; discomforting, irritating, but miniscule enough to dismiss. To learn to tolerate. 

Inconveniences. 

Small, quaint, little blips in a rushed run-down of a formerly organic routine. 

The first of which, a missed alarm - correction, it would have been ‘missed’  if so it had run in the first place. Rin, however, had forgotten to turn the dial on her bedside clock the night prior. 

It rang around 9 AM, instead; a rise time for off days. 

Today is Monday. The opposite of an off day.

Rin stumbles out of the cushioned embrace of her bed, entangled at the ankles by a knot in the sheets, which she doesn't became aware of until the solid wood of the floor slaps her chin.

The unanticipated impact leaves her breathless for a number of seconds, before she releases a long and painful groan. Her ribs contract at the slightest twist, in response to what Rin can only imagine is a developing bruise, as she starts up and towards the adjoining bathroom.

She scrambles for her cellphone amidst the sheets that billow around her like a dress, or a cloud.

When she lifts the screen to her line of sight, she squints through the dimness to find its display of a low battery warning. There's another painful blow to her cheek, only this time it's not from the dense, solid wood, rather the weight of realizing she'd forgotten to plug it in the night prior.

Unfortunately, this is not the first occurrence. She makes a habit of sleeping the night with her phone at the foot of her bed, unplugged. At first, only ever intends to scroll her socials mindlessly for increments of half-hours until midnight falls; means to lay it on its charging port by then, but more often than not, drifts into slumber before that point. In the morning, it's always the same; she reprimands herself, promises to never do it again.

The next night, unsurprisingly to everyone but her, she does it again. Jennie, her teenage sister, jokes that her forgetfulness will one day be her demise; says something along the lines of "She'll forget the date and place of her funeral."

With about 20% residual battery (estimating up, for the sake of optimism), her screen illuminates. A sort of squawk leaves her parted lips as she reads the time. A squawk like that of a goose with its tail feathers catching light.

She’s up, now, legs squared determinedly. Yet, she trips clumsily over sleep-drugged feet while they wrestle with the persistent tug of the sheets who plead Stay, just this once. 

Trampling over miscellaneous objects scattered around her bedroom floor, she reminds herself of the urgency with which she must clean her room, but it's only one of many tasks on her immediate to-do.

Right now is not the time.

Her tail’s on fire. Heart’s pumping erratically. Adrenaline saturating her system. Heat flushing her cheeks and nape. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” 

The second inconvenience of the day is a diluted cup of coffee, served not in her usual thermos, but in the first vase she could salvage out of the pile seated at her sink.

The amber liquid’s aroma falls flat and drowned over her palette; a cloud of candied cotton dampened by humidity on what should have been a sunny festival day.

Groceries, her mental to-do list elongates. Don't forget coffee for tomorrow. Don't' forget coffee, a voice in her mind recites obsessively.

Running groceries today tops all other items on her list in terms of priority. It's more urgent than the cleanliness of her bedroom. She cannot survive another morning living off crackers and a few pinches of coffee grounds. But even more urgent, she must catch her bus and make it to work before her boss hears word of her tardiness. 

Rin shuts her eyes, her grip strangles the ceramic handle of the mug as she forces the gulp down, despite the objection of her palette. 

She heaves a sigh upon succeeding, and brings the pads of her thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of her nose, in a bid to discourage a growing migraine. 

Inconveniences. How even the ones you train yourself to dismiss grow unbearable under the right measure of pressure. They keep adding, amounting; a string being pulled, stretched, tensed until it snaps clean. Retracts and slaps you on the cheek. Leaves a red mark, blotchy with blood. 

She makes up her mind. Determinedly decides that today is not her day, could not be, will not be. There is no redeeming it, for the more she recites it in her head, the further it continues to manifest itself. Until she's too deeply caught in the whirlpool to convince herself otherwise.

Days like such make her wonder how many inconveniences, exactly, it would take to conclusively alter the course of one’s fate? 

The notion isn’t foreign to Rin. She’d read testimonies before, about people who’d been lead away from a tragic fate by some minor and random inconvenience – a blip, or glitch, or something that absolutely shouldn’t have happened, that wouldn’t otherwise have happened, on any given day. Say, the person whose car breaks down on the commute to work, who later discovers through a news report that a shooter unleashed havoc at their work-place, claiming the lives of a dozen victims. A dozen. Could have – would have – been a dozen-and-one if by some stroke of luck, or misfortune, their car had not broken down. 

In light of those rare, almost ordained cases, Rin attempts to see light in even the worst possible conditions. Today, though, her optimism is gasping for breath, attempting to match pace with her dashing body. She left it in the heaps of blankets at the foot of her bed. 

Silver linings fall dull and mute. 

Everything seems to serve as an obstacle in her blazing path.

The keys get lost. Shoe laces become undone. Chatty neighbor happens to step foot out of the house at the same time as Rin; there goes ten priceless minutes of Rin nodding incessantly and feigning a polite smile all the while trying to end the conversation that should have never begun. 

Left shoe still undone, her legs slice through the chill morning fog, as she sprints down her neighborhood street. Leaving the rosy-cheeked, grey-haired lady chatting to herself. (She doesn't notice until Rin's five doors down; never really talks to others to hear their perspectives, but rather feel self-important from the influence of their audience)

Rin's worn satchel is pinned under her arm. A young golden sun tints her cheeks with some life, as it streaks in between buildings. 

A green bus slows near a couple of gathered people. A half-a-second before it comes to a complete halt, it pries its gates open with an elongated creak. 

Rin’s still sprinting a few blocks down. Her chest is galloping, short of air; it burns in that oxygen-deprived way. The fine muscles of her calf, do to. As if they are wearing away under the erosion of acid.

Her pace slows from fatigue and resignation. Starts imagining what's the worst that could happen if she were to half-ass a last minute call-out from work. Stands like an awkwardly placed tree amidst the street, swaying, bag sliding down her frame, shoelaces sprawled over the concrete like roots burying her there.

The breath she gathers to lift her voice and plead for a bit of patience is knocked out of her lungs before the words form at her lips. Her palms slaps against the cold concrete on either side of her already bruised chin, her cheek suspended by mere inches. 

The culprit lies on the ground, by her feet, groaning and clutching his knee. 

Rin’s lips whisper a forlorn “Noo!” as her eyes watch the bus pick-up and drive-away. Tears pool on her lash line, either from the frost biting her face or in response to the overwhelming frustration that comes with the shattered expectations of what should have been a ‘normal day.’ 

Normal days are never extravagant, until you are deprived of them. Until you are reminded they are not something inherently owed to you, and that much like all things, they too can be deprived.

Chord snapped, patience drawn thinly, Rin sits up, heated and ready to pounce. Her sharp eyes lock onto the wrecker. She’s made up her mind. She’s ready to name him the culprit of all the inconveniences of today. 

When she glances over at the soon-to-be-subject of all of her projected frustrations, that’s when she feels it. The sharp, stinging slap of the metaphorical rubber band against her cheek. 

Her throat chokes with the threat of a sob. Just when she thought the day could not possibly get worse, it does. 

The biggest inconvenience yet. 

The bane of her existence. 

A subject she’d sought refuge in never, ever, seeing again. 

There’s a distinct luminescence haloing his crouched figure. Could be the early morning sun, beaming over the neighborhood. Could be a concussion. Regardless, it's dizzying. Has this optical illusion effect of making the subject in her field of vision double, like when she'd wear 3D glasses to the cinema.

Rin blinks incessantly. She can’t bring herself to trust her sight. Can’t believe she body-slammed into him of all people. In the seven years she’s spent living in the neighborhood, not once had she brushed shoulders with him. 

The last time she'd seen him had been at their high school graduation ceremony - which must have been nearly six years ago, now.

Weighing the abstract concept of time in her shaken mind, she finds it hard to palate how much time has lapsed, and how little he appears to have changed. Like a stand-still capture on a polaroid square, he's just the same.

He scrunches-up his nose in disturbance, and turns over his hand to the palmar side, eyes peeling over his newly acquired abrasion. As the seconds lapse, the adrenaline in his system wanes, and the sting of scraped flesh starts settling in. 

He winces and diverts his attention from it, gathering that looking at it only will make it hurt worse. 

Dark brown eyes meet Rin as he finally acknowledges the collision. The reality that he’d somehow inconvenienced someone even further than the day had started to inconvenience him. 

The halo persists through Rin’s desperate blinking. Futility lies in her attempts to clear her field of vision, as she rubs the dorsal sides of her hands over her eyes in a bid to remove what she believes is only a pesky little speck of dust, a lash, or even a tear. 

Inquisition curves his healthy brows but the curiosity quickly dims, becoming replaced with a sour frown. A distasteful grimace. Reality and recognition strike him. But worse than the reel of memories snapped onto the film player of his mind, is the Earth spinning vertigo that comes on as his eyes trace over the aura emanating off her. Brighter than the sun. 

Loud-bright. Like a mallet smashed against a bronze bell within his head. Like he’s suddenly developed synesthesia and every glimpse of light is painfully loud. 

Rin dances her gaze around, reading the disinterested people who brush hurriedly past. They appear awfully dull in demeanor and appearance in relation to him. Absent of any halo, they are akin to gray bodies blurred into the background scene of the lens of a camera. 

Slowly, and fearful, Rin draws her gaze back to him. Traces over the halo. 

That’s when her mother’s voice rings across her head, like an ominous tolling bell, indicative of an end. An armageddon. Her armageddon. When I met your father, it was like I could see for the first time.

Rin wouldn’t call this newfound sight, rather sudden-onset blindness. She feels like her optic nerves are being torn by the fibers. Imagines this distortion is was what cats see on a daily basis. Understands why they constantly want to strangle and mangle anything within their vicinity. 

She wants to strangle him. Toys with the idea the more she looks at him. The more the lights dizzy her. 

Somehow, she places the fault in his hands. She's still run by a childish instinct, to want to kick his shins and run away from his stupidly handsome frown. He had always felt like too much to handle, to understand, to wrap her tiny adolescent mind around. Now, older, and hopefully wiser, Rin still defaults to running away from complexity. Likes to coax life with a broad brush, shoving worries under her bed like monsters to run from, behind closet doors, into the margins of tomorrow. 

She figures that if she continuously runs, the problems will never catch up to her. But, she’s only selectively ignorant to the snowball effect. Hopes it amasses enough to crush her at once and allow her no room for reflection on how things could have – should have -- been. 

His lips almost mouth Don't run. Fear-stricken. Please, don’t run. 

Instead, he voices (cracking voice): “I think I’m having a stroke.” Then braces his clumsy weight against the nearest wall. His breathing quickens, mirroring the alarming panic blaring within Rin.

“What are the chances that we are both having a stroke at the same time?” 

He lifts his worried gaze, a bead of sweat forming on his temple, complexion awfully pale. Rin thinks he might just hurl. “What are the chances that you are my soulmate?” 

It’s funny, because Rin didn’t see this coming – Rin didn’t see much of today coming, but certainly not what happens next. 

Rin is the one that hurls. Chunky acid made its way up the column of her throat without as much as a warning. The contents – whatever it was she managed to down while standing in the fridge light last night. 

All over his lavish shoes.

[allisondraste]

Fic Writer Interview

fic writer interview

Tagged by @third-rail-vip (thank you xx), and I’m so late to this I think that everyone else who I can think of to tag off the top of my head has probably already done it, not to mention the fact that it’s been so long since I did a tag meme, that I don’t even know who’d be cool with tagging right now (SO IF YOU ARE... please let me know for the future, as I am slowly returning to art and writing. :D)

If you’ve not done this yet, and would like to do it, then consider yourself tagged by yours truly.

Name:  Allison. 

Fandoms:  Dragon Age and Fallout 4 are the ones I’m most active in!

Where you post:  I post all of my fics, regardless of fandom, on my AO3.  I post most of my content on Tumblr, to this blog; however, I have a FO4 side blog @minuteminx where I do most of my Fallout blogging. Oh, and I’m also very active on twitter as allisondraste, and I post my art on instagram (also as allisondraste)

Most Popular One-shot:  Per kudos on AO3, my most popular one shot is actually the first one I wrote when I came back to fandom back in 2017.  It’s Let It Be This One, which is a pre-landsmeet Alistair/f!Warden fic.  It’s not my personal fave, but it seems to have resonated with some folks. 

Most Popular Multichap:  Temperance.  I’m still in awe that y’all kept up with me for almost fifty chapers about Nate Howe and a non!HoF Cousland.  Amazed.  Tysm. 

Favourite story you’ve written so far:  It’s absolutely still Temperance.  That fic was such an effort of love, and writing about Liss and Nate’s relationship with eachother, and the world around them really helped me through some tough times, personally.  It’s a story about unconventional intimacy and features a lot of really powerful platonic relationships that I also enjoyed exploring.  Deep friendship is largely underrated in fanfiction, and it’s one of my favorite things to write. 

Fic you were nervous to post:  Ehhhh I don’t really have any left up that I was nervous to post.  I purged my AO3 of the one smutty fic I had written, and not because I was embarrased about it, but because I no longer felt it was appropriate for the characters involved. I was pretty nervous to start writing Fallout fic though, and the first one I published, A Say About It, featuring a pre-relationship Preston and female Sole Survivor, did cause some anxiety. 

How do you choose your titles:  I don’t.  The titles choose me. XD I’m kidding.  For shorter works and chapter titles, I’m notorious for picking some pertinent line from the body of the text itself to make a title.  For longer works, I tend to stew and gnash my teeth to find something that catches the essence of the story.  The title of Temperance was decided upon with the help of some friends in a brainstorming sesh.  I’m currently working on a Fallout 4 fic that I’m waffling about on regarding the title, but it’s also been a team effort to come up with ideas. 

Do you outline: Oh yes.  I can’t be trusted to write a coherent story, and I especially can’t be trusted to *finish* one without an outline to keep me at least on track.  My outlines are flexible, however, and I often add/remove things as I move along. 

Complete:  Temperance, and all of my published works on AO3 (with the exception of the Natevember prompt series that I started and then never finished because November was a hell month. 

In progress:  Unnamed Preston x Sole Survivor fic which I have not begun publishing yet because I have three chapters written, but none of them are the first chapter.  Go figure.

Prompts?:  I’m always open for prompts, though I cannot promise that I’ll get to them. I’ll occasionally share prompt lists and stuff on both of my blogs when I feel like I have time. 

Upcoming work you’re most excited about:  Absolutely the Unamed Preston x Sole Survivor long fic.  I’m not going to say more than that lest I spoil, but I think preston is a very important character, especially with regard to his depression and how he copes with it and I’m just really excited to write about him. 

Thanks for reading :) 

[birlcholtz]

20 for the writing asks!

20: Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

OOO thanks lin!! okay so. generally i write pretty straightforward stuff, so i don’t *intentionally* include symbolism a lot but i’m sure it creeps in, BUT i just realized that in and then what all the water imagery comes *only* after jack’s mentally compared bitty’s hair to the ocean. like they’re pretty clearly connected in the fic so i obviously knew what i was doing at the time but a lot of the time this is exactly what happens, i write something and then come back way later like oh wait that was cool--

as far as character development goes i’m super psyched about where nicky’s going in an aftg fic i’m writing, liar, liar! i love bastardization arcs and what i’m working on with him is a bastardization arc in the precise sense of ‘i always had this capability, i’m just letting it out now’

fun fact: and then what and liar liar pretty much cover the gamut of my writing, except for the stuff that’s 99% humor (everything i’ve written for aftg that isn’t in the liar liar series falls into that category). a lot of what i write for check please is super fluffy, funny stuff that ends well, with a couple hurt/comfort and unresolved pining things thrown in there for good measure, but they don’t get *intense* because that’s not really what i look for when i write check please fic. that comes up more in other fandoms and in my original writing

also, for hidden references, my novel rainfall is chock full of meme references, just disguised because it is second-world fantasy and they don’t have tumblr. seriously there are SO MANY

more about relationship development (this is...... super vague rainfall spoilers i guess but it’s not like i make a secret of it being sapphic), i had a LOT of fun writing aurie and liss because they spend so much time kind of fumbling towards a relationship while also not *really* knowing what they’re doing

there’s some ambiguity that is fun to write and SO frustrating to experience, but they’re absolutely gone for each other and just figuring out what to do about it. i like writing that a lot, it’s a nice change from the sort of arc that i do write a lot for fanfiction of friends -> crush -> dating like walking up steps on a staircase. aurie and liss’s relationship is a lot more exploratory and it’s going to take them more time to figure out how to label it!

send me writer asks!