#more writing to come soon hopefully!

[c-nstellati-ns]

ACHI I SWEAR I'M GOING TO SQUEEZE YOU (lovingly) AND RAGDOLL YOU (into a bed full of soft pillows and plushies)

hi pookie i missed you

YEOUCHHH YEOUCHHH ! i missed u too! i keep saying it but classes have been so busy haha, i am working to try and give myself time to write again :-) i can’t promise i’ll be too active but i will try my best! i do want to at least get weekly little blurbs out for the masses lol

[youremyonepiece]

sweet idiot

pt. II of soft terror, but can be read as a stand-alone!

zoro x f!reader (she/her pronouns used), alternating pov

you know that zoro doesn't have feelings for you, not in the way you do for him. there's no way... right?

warnings: mention and description of a nightmare, mostly fluff! (please lmk if there are any i should add!)

word count: 2.6k

you have a feeling that zoro doesn’t know how easy it is to read him.

never in your wildest dreams did you ever imagine you would meet pirates that were so kind, but that's exactly how you'd describe the straw hats. they didn't expect things from you, didn't make you prove your worth to them or earn your place amongst them. no-- instead, they welcomed you with open arms and protected you fiercely, simply because you were their friend. because you were one of them.

and somehow, you found the gruff swordsman to be the kindest of them all.

how could you not? without him, you wouldn’t even be a straw hat. somehow, he had seen you, had chose to save you, had trusted you without even knowing you. no matter how stoic he may try to seem, you know the truth. you know just how kind he can be.

not that you would ever admit it out loud to him. it’s undeniable you’ve been feeling more and more comfortable with him as your tenure with the straw hats grows, and it’s also undeniable that you’re more comfortable around him than you are around anyone else (a fact that nami and robin love to tease you about), but...

but you know he doesn’t feel the same way. you can see it in how tense he grows when you move closer to him, his pointed stare anywhere but at you. the way he never seems to feel comfortable around you. so you satisfy yourself with quick brushes and quiet company, knowing that you’ll never get to do more than gently tease the swordsman, careful to never push too far but grateful for even this.

you're running.

it's dark-- you can't see anything around you, not even yourself.

but you're running from something, this you know.

and you know that it'll all be over if it catches you.

you can feel it gaining on you, getting closer and closer--

something wraps itself around your wrist and jerks you backwards.

into danger.

a scream erupts from your lips-- this is it, it's all over, you're going to--

you awake with a start, coated in a sheen of sweat as your breaths escape heavily from you.

a nightmare. it was just a nightmare. it wasn't real. it isn’t real.

you're safe.

you're safe.

you're safe.

(but what if you're not?)

you feel your breaths increase in pace, panic rising within your chest as you struggle to distinguish dreams from reality. you might be safe, might know for a fact that nothing can touch you here, not when you’re surrounded by the safety of the sunny in the midst of your crew, but you didn't feel safe. and that's all that matters, isn't it?

in your half asleep state, still not quite fully in grasp of reality, there's only one place you want to go.

only one place you wanna be.

(only one person you wanna be with.

after all, you're craving safety, and there's only one person who always makes you feel safe.)

you're on your feet before you realize where they're taking you, but you don't stop once you do. you pad soundlessly through the women’s sleeping quarters, careful not to disturb your snoozing shipmates. it's not long before you're standing silently in the middle of the men's sleeping quarters, eyes already seeking out that comforting shade of green that follows you into your more wishful dreams.

you know where he is, which bed he's in, and you feel your heartbeat slowing down almost immediately when you finally fix your gaze on zoro’s sleeping face.

maybe the effect that the swordsman has on you should embarrass you, but it doesn't. never before had you met someone so steady, even in the heat of battle. even as he struck absolute terror into the hearts of his enemies, you felt at ease just by being in his presence.

even now, as you stare at his sleeping face in the dim moonlight. here, it's much easier to catch your breath. to believe you're safe.

of course, around zoro, you always are.

you quietly step closer until you're directly in front of zoro’s bed before sitting down, back against the wall and head resting sideways against the barrel next to you. it isn't long until your eyelids begin to droop, heavy as you watch zoro’s chest rise and fall slowly with his slumbering breaths.

this time, thankfully, your sleep is dreamless.

zoro knows he should probably move.

probably leave before you begin to stir, before you see him staring at you.

but his feet are frozen in place.

what were you doing here?

what were you doing in sanji’s bed?

why?

(why not his?)

your eyebrows knit together as a soft groan escapes from you, breaking the spell that held him captive. he spins on his heels and is out the door before your eyes can open, thoughts raging in his head and pounding in his ears.

sanji?

really?

you could do so much better.

(like maybe a certain crewmate with three swords.)

“so," usopp begins conspiratorially, causing you to look up from your breakfast at him, "sanji, huh?”

immediately, your face flushes a bright red, and zoro wants to punch something. this is not what he wants to hear during breakfast, not when it’s all he’s thought about in the few hours since he found you in sanji’s bed. if he has to listen to you talk about how dreamy you find the damn chef... zoro quickens his pace shoving spoonfuls of rice porridge into his mouth.

sanji seems to notice your embarrassment as well and is quick to smack usopp on the back of his head.

“don’t tease her,” he snaps, fixing usopp with a glare.

“what's he teasing her about?" franky wonders aloud.

usopp chuckles, completely unfazed by sanji's warning. "oh, nothing. just that someone was in sanji's bed when i woke up this morning.”

your blush deepens, and zoro's grip on his spoon tightens (it's a miracle the utensil hasn't been bent out of shape yet). "i didn't--” you start, but sanji cuts you off.

"oh, give it a rest. i moved her there when i woke up today morning. she was sleeping on the floor of our room,” he says, eyes trained on the sizzling pan in front of him. he sounds irked, as though he didn’t want to admit you hadn’t been there of your own volition. zoro, on the other hand, is suddenly a lot more interested in the conversation.

you shoot sanji’s back a grateful smile, causing a current of annoyance to run through the swordsman. “i was wondering how i ended up there,” you say, still blushing but not quite as brightly.

“okay, sure,” usopp cuts in, undeterred, “but what were you doing in the men’s quarters in the first place?” he waggles his eyebrows teasingly at you as your cheeks flame up again.

zoro catches your eyes as they flit towards him, seemingly without meaning to since you quickly look back at usopp. “i just couldn’t sleep.”

“you couldn’t sleep, so you went... to the men’s quarters?” nami asks, but her voice makes it clear she knows something zoro doesn’t. he frowns and looks back at you to find you glaring at the orange haired navigator.

you glance quickly at zoro again, causing his heartbeat to thunder loudly in his ears. why did you keep looking at him? did you... come to the men’s quarters for--

“that’s enough teasing her,” sanji says, placing the pan of eggs on a trivet in the middle of the table. “i’m happy you feel at ease in my presence, mon amour,” he says to you with a suave smile, but his quick glare at zoro before he takes the seat next to you doesn’t go unnoticed by the swordsman. you laugh at his words with a teasing comment, causing sanji to joke about you crushing his dreams, and just like that the conversation has moved on. but zoro’s still stuck on the exchange, at your furtive glances at him.

what is going on? why is the chef annoyed with him this time? is... is he right?

did you come to the men’s quarters for him?

zoro tries to push the conversation out of his mind-- it’s no big deal, he’s probably overthinking it, you probably just wanted to be around more people-- but he’s entirely unsuccessful.

could he be right?

appetite gone, zoro pushes his bowl towards luffy before getting up from the table and excusing himself from the room.

maybe a couple hundred sets of his workouts would help get his mind off things.

your eyes worriedly follow zoro as he walks out of the dining room. did he realize that you had actually gone to the men’s quarters to see him? is he upset with you for pushing the boundaries? what are the boundaries, anyway?

you think you’re the only one who notices him leave, but usopp and nami break into laughter almost immediately upon the door swinging shut and robin wears a cryptic smile as she takes a sip of her tea. sanji sighs dramatically next to you, leaning backwards to sling his arm around your chair.

“he sure is dense,” he comments, and you freeze at his words. what? did everyone know about your crush on the swordsman? you look around at your crewmates faces at the table and realize with dull horror that only luffy and chopper seem to be confused.

“sure is!” usopp says between chuckles. “i thought for sure he’d realize this time!”

“what do you mean?” luffy asks before you can-- you’re too busy stuffing the panic back down your throat. maybe you’re wrong. maybe they’re talking about something else, not your feelings-- but no, luffy’s question only seems to make everyone but chopper and you laugh harder.

“don’t you think zoro seemed a bit annoyed just then?” sanji asks luffy with a smirk.

annoyed? at you? has zoro realized you like him? you feel yourself grow red all over, embarrassed beyond belief as you push away from the table. no use sticking around, not when zoro might be upset with you for dragging him into drama. not when you might need to apologize for potentially ruining one of the best friendships you’ve ever had.

nami giggles as she watches you follow after zoro, face red and eyebrows worried. “we know that zoro has no clue about how he feels about her,” she says with a grin, “but do you think she knows?”

“‘feels about her?’” chopper echos, confused.

“he likes her, chopper,” usopp supplies through laughter.

luffy frowns. “doesn’t everyone like her?”

“not like that,” sanji says with a smile, but doesn’t elaborate. “and no, nami, i don’t think she does.”

“they make a good couple,” robin comments with a smile, making usopp howl with laughter.

you find zoro, predictably, in the crow’s nest. he’s working out with his weights facing away from the door, but you see his back muscles tense when you step inside.

not that you’re looking at his back. or his muscles.

(okay, maybe you are.)

“um,” you start, closing the door behind you and leaning against it. “can we... can we talk?”

zoro freezes at your voice-- though you hanging out around him when he’s working out is common, you speaking during then is not-- but is quick to thoughtlessly drop his weights and turn around to you with a frown at your question. “are you okay?”

“yeah! yeah, i am. but, um,” you fidget as you wince, struggling to meet his eyes, “are you okay?”

“why wouldn’t i be okay?” he asks, clearly confused.

you stare at him, trying to gauge how much he knows. did you overthink it? it doesn’t seem like he’s annoyed at you...

“why couldn’t you sleep?” he asks when you don’t answer.

you’re happy for the diversion-- you definitely did overthink it, he seems normal, not at all annoyed-- and shrug nonchalantly. “nightmare.”

he turns back around away from you, leaning down to pick the weight back up. “and the shitty chef helped you?”

you blink. is that... resentment in his voice?

“what?”

“you seemed pretty cozy in his bed.” yeah, he definitely seems upset, but you’re confused-- it doesn’t seem like he’s upset with you. if you didn’t know better, you’d think he’s jealous.

“sanji wasn’t lying-- i fell asleep on the floor. i guess he moved me when he woke up to do his kitchen prep.”

zoro pauses, then sighs and drops the weight again. he turns back around, rubbing his hand across his face. “yeah. yeah, i know. sorry.”

did he just apologize?

... for what?

but he continues before you can ask, fixing his gaze on you. “you never answered usopp. what were you doing there in the first place?”

you avert your eyes, shy about what you’re about to admit. “um. because i wanted to feel safe.”

zoro just looks more confused, eyes still steady on you. “and you feel safe in the men’s quarters?”

“no, i... i feel safe around you,” you say, finally looking back at zoro.

he looks stunned, frozen in place, eyes wide and lips slightly apart.

(you don’t notice it yet, but the tips of his ears are turning red.)

you take his shock as a sign you should continue and look down at your hands wrung in front of you. “i’m sorry. i know you don’t feel the same-- i wasn’t trying to make a big deal out of it. i’ll--”

“what do you mean? why are you sorry?” you look back at zoro but quickly look away-- you’re too embarrassed to maintain eye contact with him.

“um. because everyone was talking about it? i know you don’t like being in the center of attention with things like this,” you shrug.

he frowns. “so then they should apologize. why are you apologizing?”

you’re at a loss for words. what he’s saying makes sense, but... “aren’t you annoyed with me? isn’t that why you left?”

he doesn’t answer, making you look back at his face. you’re immediately taken aback-- his entire face has turned an endearing shade of red and he’s looking off to the side, rubbing the back of his neck. “not exactly. i was... i...” he trails off before clearing his throat and looking back at you with a frown. “i’m not annoyed with you. i don’t think i can be.”

you can tell from the way his eyes slightly widen that he hadn’t meant to say that last part, but your stomach grows warm when you hear it.

maybe... maybe zoro isn’t quite as easy to read as you initially thought.

or maybe you’re just not that good at it.

“so... we’re okay, then?” you ask, voice soft.

“yeah. yeah, i think so.” his ears and cheeks grow red again, but he maintains eye contact this time. “um. next time, you can just tell me.”

“next time?”

“next time you have a nightmare. you can wake me up. i won’t be upset.” his blush has traveled all the way down his neck now, spreading to his collarbone.

“are you sure? i-- i thought you didn’t like being woken up.”

you have never seen zoro’s cheeks be so red. “i don’t. but... i don’t mind when it’s you. it’s better than seeing you in his bed, anyway.”

you feel your own cheeks grow warm. “oh. um. sure. i mean, yes-- i’ll... i’ll wake you up next time. thank you.”

zoro nods before picking his weight back up for the second time, this time remaining facing your way but no longer looking at you. his face, though, is still red, a clear sign he’s still very much aware of you and your presence.

you feel like you’re in a daze. did... did that just happen?

he basically admitted that he's jealous of sanji, right? why is he jealous?

did he... maybe...?

yeah, you think, you’re definitely bad at reading zoro.

[llondonfog]

"You are ill."

The voice announces this observation with no small amount of surprise, as if it had forgotten that such weakness was a common cornerstone of the human experience.

To be fair, the voice belonged to something— or rather, someone— who had never been human to begin with, so perhaps it could be forgiven this tiny slip of knowledge. After all, when was the last time it had spent longer than a few days in the presence of a human it did not immediately despise?

Silver cracks his aching eyes open, a task that seems to consume more energy than he has to spare, and blinks in the dull way of someone trapped in the throes of a vicious head cold towards the demon hovering petulantly in the corner of the room. The demon, he realizes belatedly, who ought not to have appeared without a summon.

He probably should have paid more attention to that little detail, but whatever dazed line of questioning might have risen to his lips slips away before he can consider it further as Lilia approaches him with a strange frown marring his usual mischievous features, those ruby eyes aglow with something other than removed amusement.

". . . sorry," is all that he can croak out in return, momentarily befuddled by the way that a dark talon flicks at the sweaty bangs against his forehead— it is to be expected, Silver supposes. When was the last opportunity that Lilia had ever been around a human so unguarded and vulnerable, much less at the bedside of the helpless thirteen year old boy who had the misfortune of accidentally igniting a centuries-old and forgotten bond? It is not as if the demon could deliberately harm him, the pact that Silver had unknowingly entered preventing as much, but there's no telling what a creature of such untold power and steeped in the bloodshed and suffering of humanity might do to blur the line under the guise of curiosity.

Still, he cannot find it within himself to murmur the words of protection that Sebek's mother had taught them as the talon turns into multiple, and the clinical examination of his hair turns into an odd, awkward stroke.

"It has been three days since your last summon," and Silver's dull eyes widen at the nearly sulky tone of the demon, mouth slightly agape as he blinks up at Lilia's pursed features. "I was not worried!" the demon is quick to turn the petting ( . . . petting? petting!) into a sharp tug of Silver's bangs as if in reminder of his true nature. "I was only seeking to ensure that you had not perished as my feeble ward, the queen would never allow me to live down such a development after it has become known that a mere child was able to summon me. The court is already wicked with glee, you have no idea the damage you have wrought to my name, you blessed little—"

It is almost soothing, listening to the mellifluous flow of Lilia's tirade against the inner workings of demon politicking, and Silver finds himself swaying in and out of reality as the hand on his head remains there whether its owner realizes it fully or not, the cool touch blissful against his heated skin. If he allows himself to sink into his most favorite of daydreams, he can pretend that he's in his old, cozy bed, arms wrapped around a beloved stuffed toy, with the heavy comfort of his father's arm around his shoulder while he reads to Silver from a book of dog-eared fairy tales, his favorite one in particular about a misunderstood dragon who couldn't quite cure himself of fiery sneezes that would frighten away any hopes of friendship and the—

"Boy," and from the tense expression on Lilia's too-close face, the demon must have been calling for his attention several times. Silver's thoughts slosh like liquid in between his ears as he attempts to focus upon the demon, but it is rather hard to do so when the space behind one's eyes feels as if it's filling up with cotton. "Is he in this house? Is there anyone to watch over you? That know-it-all little friend of yours, does he know of your plight?"

While Silver isn't sure if Sebek would preen or resent being called a know-it-all, there's simply no way that he would call for the other boy's help, not at the risk of placing his entire family sick as the holidays fast approach. And as for the other mention . . . he shakes his head slowly, trapped in the blood-red expanse of Lilia's gaze. " . . . told me not to come downstairs," he rasps, wincing at the scrape of air against his tender throat. ". . . he's hosting a party, didn't— didn't want me around the guests."

At this point, Lilia makes a rather impressive and what Silver fully expects to be a rude gesture towards his closed bedroom door, and he can only hope against hope that one of the guests downstairs didn't suddenly find a frog in their soup. But surely that would be such a frivolous waste of the demon's power? Surely Lilia has better, more grandiose things to do with his eternal time than cast petty magic against those who would neglect Silver, or budge him insistently over in his bed until there was room enough for the demon to perch, as if he planned on staying—

"I'm staying," Lilia announces, turning his nose up at the glass of water and bottle of fever reducer at the bedside table as if they had done him a great personal wrong. "I will not have you bested by some simple mortal illness, it would be an insult to the power you wield necessary to summon me. Until our . . . contract is complete, until you find whatever it is that your heart desires, I will not allow you to wriggle out from me so easily. Is that understood, child? I will do everything in my abilities to ensure your continued survival, you might be interested to know that I still retain the knowledge I gleamed from an early medical scholar who was investigating such interesting premises in the arena of mixing lard, wax, eggs, and—"

It was, Silver reflects as the small bed creaks and groans in protest from the surprising new addition and the covers are brought to his chin with an unexpected gentleness, one of the better starts to the holiday break than he could have ever anticipated.

Sebek was never going to believe him.

[sugarpasteltmnt]

You write unhinged Leo so well, and I really like how you write him. I was wondering if you had tips on unhinged characters 😂, or do you just get inspro from existing characters 👀

aksdakjsdh thank you so much ;w;

And honestly???? I’m not totally sure how to give tips— but I love, love, love unhinged characters in media, so I’ll use them as examples

(long rant below lol)

I’ve always been a big fan of silly, ‘crazy’ characters in animated movies and cartoons. I grew up on Batman the Animated Series and the original Teen Titans, which were full of silly, fun tragic characters.

Don’t get me wrong, i love a good edge-lord— but as a tot i thought the colorful, theatrical, insane bad guys were more fun to watch than the big scary serious ones (ESPECIALLY if they had a good villain song. A+ good shit)

(From left to right: Ratigan from Great Mouse Detective, Joker from Batman the Animated Series, Mumbo Jumbo from Teen Titans, Martin from Secret of Nimh 2, Bill Cypher from Gravity Falls, and Spinel from the Steven Universe movie)

And not just bad guys!! There are a ton of unhinged good/neutral characters that i absolutely adore.

(From left to right: King Bumi from ATLA, Clara from Welcome to Demon School Iruma-kun, and, of course, our silly 2018 turtle boys)

((There are many more characters in both categories, but I’ll slide these examples in here for now))

My personal brand of “Unhinged” or “Crazy” characters definitely leans on comedy. That’s what i enjoy seeing and reading! I personally like it because it can help keep a story fresh and interesting. There’s an element of surprise and unpredictability with what a character might do, and i love that!!

I also really enjoy a touch of feral behavior in my unhinged characters. The lack of clarity and the danger that imposes can be a very fun tool to use, no matter the character’s moral compass. (I’m feral for feral behavior lol)

And impulses. Whether a character has a few screws loose or is generally a goober, they like to act on impulses. This often goes hand-in-hand with comedy, and that’s something I enjoy!! We get a lot of moments like that in Rise, and that was one of my favorite parts of that TMNT iteration.

But as far as writing goes, it’s been tricky for me. All of the characters I grew up or love have been visual— trying to find a good balance for reading has been a puzzle I’ve been figuring out as I go.

I read a lot manga (lol nerd) and comics, and I love how thoughts/dialog are depicted. Especially the really dramatic or impactful moments. (I’d add examples but I’m already at the Tumblr image limit LAME)

As strange as it sounds, I try to capture that “impactful visual” style in my writing. If I had ANY advice on writing unhinged characters, pay attention to pacing—

Short. Fast. A calculating thought. Perhaps a run on sentence that lacks punctuation to represent the rushing and disorganized thought process. A question? An answer with little thought. Is this moment amusing; describe how. Is it upsetting; describe how. Are the thoughts starting to scatter? M aybe s o…

Big moment statement.

Action or plan of next big move. Flow should never seem too uniform. Even in normal writing. Don’t be afraid of accentuating— but don’t overdo it. Remember, unhinged characters are impulsive. Have fun with that.

Just as a quick and dirty summary— when it comes to unhinged characters, I like to use comedy, feral behavior, and acting on impulses. I also like to keep it as visually appealing as possible for characters to give the eyes a little treat after reading walls of text. I like to use fun text formatting to help with the fun too (But don’t overdo it! Don’t make it feel like a chore to read) (<- says the girl who goes into way too much details sometimes lmao whoops)

But ultimately— have FUN!!! Unhinged characters are fun, so make sure you have fun writing/drawing/creating them!!

[mechazushi]

Hey guys? Quick Question.

Has there been any images of a Teenage Kafka? I feel like there is, but I can't remember if they were in the main series or in B-Side or something.

Not really important, so answer at your leisure.

[chasing-clovers]

all i’m saying is the offseason fanfiction better go crazy

[rashoumon-homo]

Taglist Roll Call

This is just a list of everyone currently on the taglist (also works as a way for me to make sure the tagging works properly for new people who join).

Your settings will always be private-- this list is just to keep track of you all :)

If you want to join, leave, update settings, or submit a change of username, here's the form for that!

And without further ado, here's my lovely taglist:

@little-miss-chaoss @kimisbunny @crowscadence @weirdoisweird @waterkittywriting @fyodorssimp1 @sakui1 @flxtter523 @gtfoqueen

[sendpseuds]

manifesting, like, 300 words to finish this damn spirit halloween fic or it's going in the vault until next year

[words-with-wren]

@chrumblr-whumblr day three: Carrying

Fandom: Endeavour. Four and a half years and I am BACK I missed these boys even though they break my heart <3 kinda bad but all of these are. Barely any editing OR even proof reading I'm ready 20 minutes late and posting from my phone woopsies

Word count: 2,170

__

It was raining. Morse hunched in his coat, squinting bitterly up at the water coming through the trees. The sun hadn’t even started lighting up the area, and the whole morning had an air of misery about it. 

“Morning, Matey.” Strange’s greeting was altogether far too cheerful for the early hour of the morning and Morse turned his glare onto the other man. Dimly, he found himself for the first time a little envious of the uniform Strange sported--the hat and coat looked altogether far more suited for the weather than Morse’s own clothing. 

Morse just nodded in response, risking a hand from the safety of his pocket to wipe wet hair out of his face. 

“You really think we’re going to find something in this?” Jakes joined the two of them, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, looking positively damp. He was holding a torch in his other hand, the light illuminating the falling rain in a narrow beam. Morse found some small vindication that the sargent looked about as miserable as he felt. 

His vindication disappeared a moment later when Jakes flashed the light of the torch directly into his eyes for a split second. Morse squinted abruptly, blinking at the momentary blindness. He decided he wasn’t in the mood for a fight and assumed that was an accident.

“If there is anything, we should start looking soon,” Morse muttered. He hunched his shoulders, trying to find some comfort in his soaking coat and staring at a single point while waiting for his eyes to readjust. “The rain’ll wash it away soon.”

“If it hasn’t already,” Jakes muttered. He put the unlit cigarette between his teeth. It sagged disappointingly, wet through. Deserved. 

“The doctor said it’d be a knife, ‘bout so large.” Strange held up his hands as he was speaking, indicating a length about five centimetres long. Morse nodded, turning his attention to the woods. 

The chances were low that the murder weapon was still in the woods where the body had been found, but DeBryn had said there had been some kind of struggle, and likely not all of the blood found splattered across the scene was the victim’s. 

It was possible the weapon was still lying somewhere in the woods. Morse was of the opinion that their efforts could be better spent chasing other leads, but orders were orders and now here he was, standing soaked in the rain. 

“Right then,” Jakes said, taking charge of the situation. A few other uniformed officers mingled around and it didn’t take long for a search to be organised, starting from where the body had been found that morning and steadily branching further out. 

Morse found himself trudging through the wet forest, mud on the ground sticking uncomfortably at his boots, sweeping his torchlight over the muddy ground. At least he’d thought to pick up some wellys before heading out--his feet were about the only part of him not soaked through. 

He scanned the ground as he went, hoping something would come up soon so they could all go and get warm and follow more useful branches of inquiry. The route he was following started drifting steadily downhill, and Morse had to withdraw his hand from his pocket to keep his balance, grabbing onto tree branches and trunks as he went, torch held tight in his other hand. 

The mud was slippery and he almost lost his balance more than once, grabbing onto a tree to catch himself. His hair was back in his eyes and he wiped it out of his face again with frustration. 

They wouldn’t even be able to get anything useful out of any evidence they found--a murder weapon would be one thing, but after this rain there was no way they’d be able to get any prints off it. This was all a useless waste of time. 

Something flashed in the light his torch cast and he paused, one hand resting on a nearby tree trunk. He aimed the beam of the torch towards whatever it was, making out something sliver dangling from the branch of a tree. He stepped forward and suddenly a sharp pain bust through his foot. 

He was on the ground before he realised what had happened, face pressed uncomfortably into cold mud. Pain flashed through his foot and he gasped, pushing himself up onto one hand. 

Great, now he was wet and muddy. Not to mention his foot was throbbing in a concerning way. He shifted to sit but had to gasp out in pain, vision flashing white as he moved his foot. 

He managed to catch himself before he fell back into the mud, but the world twisted and spun around him dizzyingly. HIs torch lay on the ground nearby, a beam of light illuminating the mud in an almost golden hue, sparkling dots of rain flashing through the light. 

A root was jutting out of the mud just beside his feet and he glared at it--clearly the culprit that he’d missed in the wet and mud. 

He managed to awkwardly shift into a sitting position and retrieve his torch, eyes watering with pain every time he moved his leg. Supporting himself with one hand, he glared at his foot as though that would make it stop hurting. 

He wasn’t going to be able to walk on that he realised a moment later. With a groan, he started digging in his pockets with one hand, finally withdrawing the whistle Jakes had given him before they left the station. 

He blew sharply on it, automatically blasting out three short bursts, three long, and another three short. Someone would be near enough to hear and come to his aid. While he waited, he turned his torchlight onto the silver thing, still caught in a tree. It looked like some kind of locket, sparkling in his torchlight, and he hoped that whatever picture was in it hadn’t been ruined by the rain. That could be an important clue. 

“Morse?” Strange’s voice called from the trees a few paces away, and Morse could make out the flash of his torchlight. 

“Over here,” he called. “Twisted my ankle.” His voice carried a note of bitterness as he spoke, trying not to think too hard about how this was going to take a few days to come right again. 

Strange appeared through the trees a moment later, still looking positively dry. Morse, sitting propped up against a tree, his leg stretched in front of him, covered in mud and rain, glared up at him.

“You alright, matey?” Strange asked. Morse scowled. 

“I will be. Just give me a hand up.” Strange moved towards him but Morse spoke again. “Wait, before you do.” He flashed his torch at the locket again. “I found that.” 

“Of course you did,” Strange said good naturedly. He followed Morse’s torch beam and carefully tugged the locket off the branch it was stuck on. Tucking it safely into a pocket for later inspection, he turned his attention to Morse, in the process flashing the torchlight into his eyes. 

He squinted, holding a hand up and Strange apologetically dropped the light. 

“Sorry Matey,” he said, clicking the torch off and slipping it into another pocket. That unform coat really did have a number of pockets. 

“You’re as bad as Jakes,” Morse grumbled. But it was noticeably lighter now, and the torches were beginning to not be needed. Morse kept his on regardless--he didn’t want Strange tripping on an invisible root and joining him on the ground. 

“Up you get then,” Strange said, holding out a hand. Morse grabbed it with his free one, but the moment he tried to pull himself up, he jostled his leg and let out a scream of pain. He sagged back, eyes squeezed shut against the flash and steady throbbing coming from his ankle. 

“I’m okay,” he said, waving away Strange’s anxious hovering. “Just let me catch my breath.” 

“I don’t think you can walk on that,” Strange said. Morse just groaned in response. At least his boot was doing a better job at keeping his ankle tight than his usual shoes. Though taking it off was going to be a nightmare. 

That was a later problem, now he had to figure out how to stand up so they could get out of this miserable forest and somewhere dry. 

“Everything alright?” Jakes appeared through the bushes, the morning light strong enough to illuminate his pale face. Morse didn’t have the energy to glare up at him, his foot was hurting too much and his irritation at being seen in such a state by the sargent a secondary matter right now. “No time to be sitting down on the job, Morse.” 

“He’s twisted his ankle,” Strange explained. Morse just nodded. 

“Touch luck,” Jakes said. “Best be getting you to Casualty then.” 

“I would if I could stand,” Morse muttered. He shut his eyes as another wave of pain flushed through his foot. 

“I’ll carry you back,” Strange offered. Morse opened his eyes again, his pride battling for a moment with the pain emanating from his foot. 

“Morse is a skinny blighter but I dunno if you can carry him yourself,” Jakes said, staring down at Morse with a critical eye. Then he flicked off his own torch and tucked it away--it was more than light enough to see by now--and moved to Morse’s side.

Before Morse could really process what was happening, he found himself wedged in between Jakes and Strange, one on either side of him. Both of them tucked an arm under him and their other behind his back and Morse found himself lifted between the two of them. He instinctively threw an arm over each of their necks to stop himself topping forward. 

“Easy goes now,” Jakes muttered. Morse gritted his teeth as their movements jostled his foot, determined not to show any more pain. 

It didn’t take long to get back to where the cars had packed on the edge of the forest. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, and Morse felt bone wearily exhausted. He was lowered to the ground and somehow managed to remain standing, leaning almost all of his weight on Strange and holding his foot up. Jakes ducked forward to open one of the cars.

“You finish up here,” he said to Strange. “I’ll get him to Casualty. And then home.” 

Both of them fixed Morse with a long stare at that, but Morse just nodded. He was too exhausted to protest, and right now he wanted nothing more than to sleep off the pain. 

They managed to manoeuvre him into the back seat of the car, where he could stretch his leg out over the seats and Morse only briefly blacked out for a second. 

“Oh, here,” Strange said, fishing out the locket he had tucked away safely. “I’ll see you back at the nick,” he added to Jakes. Jakes nodded from the driver’s seat, a lit cigarette alright between his lips now he was out of the rain. 

Jakes didn’t say anything as he pulled away from the forest, moving quickly along the road. Morse bit down a groan of pain as the movement of the car jostled his foot, but it faded to a bearable dull throbbing soon enough. 

(He kept catching Jakes glancing in the rear mirror. There wasn’t anyone behind them, so he didn’t know why almost every time he looked up he made eye contact through the small glass.) 

“What’s the locket?” Jakes asked, finally breaking the silence. Morse couldn’t help be a little grateful for the distraction. 

He pulled it out, examining it closely. It had initials on it--F.C. The letters seem familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place it yet. Carefully, he pried it open. 

The image inside was of the victim--a young man named Joseph Ethans. 

“It’s got Ethans in it,” Morse reported. He caught Jakes’ eye in the mirror again. “Doesn’t seem like something he’d own though.” 

“A girlfriend’s?” Jakes asked. Morse frowned, biting down a hiss of pain as Jakes took a corner a little too sharply. 

“F.C.,” he mused. Jakes made a questioning noise. “The initials on the locket.” 

“That’s the girlfriend’s name, right?” Jakes said. “Felicity Clarke.” 

“What’s her locket doing out in the woods then?” Morse asked, closing it again and tucking it safely into a pocket. 

“Maybe he was going to give it to her?” 

“I think we may need to question her a little more closely,” Morse said quietly. “DeBryn did say the killing wounds were weaker than one would expect from a grown man.” 

“You think the girlfriend offed him?” Jakes asked. 

“Maybe--aah!” He said the last as Jakes skipped a curb. 

“Sorry,” Jakes said. “Almost there.” 

“We’d better be,” Morse muttered. He shut his eyes, feeling strangely satisfied despite the throbbing ankle. Maybe the morning hadn’t been a complete waste of time after all. 

The rain outside finally made way for a weak winter’s sun. 

[wasabi-gumdrop]

Sabi i come to you humbled and humiliated to ask for one thing..PLEASE GIVE US ONE CHAPTER OF NEON GLORY FOR CHRISTMAS

neon glory chapter 12 in the works 🥹🫶🏼

[liquidstar]

april fools is over so now im going to be slash srs instead of slash j. im going to post a little excerpt from one of the oc writing practices ive been doing :) again im not super experienced for a variety of reasons but im doing my best here.

but im going to try and put my self conciousness to the side (thats probably an important part of the practice too, right?) since this isnt final version either way, i can just say im sharing a WIP! so for now it will go the way of most of my other oc stuff..... under the cut

the only context you need is that this would be the opening scene for the story. if i post others i'll have to give more context bc most of them are taken from the middle of something. anyway here goes:

-----

“I love you

I've loved you since the beginning

From when you were only stardust

To when you will rejoin the stars

When everyone will be together again

Understand, you don’t simply live in the universe

You are part of it, taking on a form uniquely alive

You are the universe giving love back to itself

I love you so much”

“Wait!!!”

A lone girl jolts awake, crying a plea into the empty air. Tears stream down her cheeks, as she calls for someone she doesn't know. Her heart aches with a nameless yearning that fades with the memory of her dream. Still, against her will, the emotions linger. A profound sense of love consumes her, an agonizing, grieving love, meant for her. She sighs and wipes away her tears. It was an absurd dream, a ridiculous notion.

As her conscious mind clears, she takes in her surroundings; a forest drowned in the pale blue light of dawn. Her sleeping bag, now encased in dew, was laid on the cold grass. She sits for a while, gazing at the faint sliver of the rising sun’s glow with an indistinct expression, and eventually stands up.

The lone girl begins her daily routine by braiding her hair. With a wave of her hand, she freezes dew on a rock, creating herself a mirror. Her fingers carefully weave her brown locks into a braid, now adorned with a snowflake clip and a scarlet ribbon. She throws on a long blue half-skirt over her shorts, matching her shirt. She forces on a pair of black boots and cuffs on her arm. Lastly, she grabs a moon-themed spear, and she's ready for the day.

Before setting off, she made sure to pack all her belongings, including her numerous hand-drawn maps and a compass. However, she also stops to look into the bag deeper, foolishly expecting to find something new. Instead, she only sighs, "Still no food."

She puts on the backpack and trudges forward anyway, ignoring the hunger pains as best she can. She hums to keep herself distracted.

As she walks, the trees tower above her, shrouding the horizon and taunting her. Birds occasionally fly into view, but seem to disappear in an instant. She wonders if her eyes are playing tricks on her.

The lone girl scribbles on her maps, trying to record a labyrinth of identical tree trunks and twisted paths. This proves useless, as this elliptical forest has her going in circles. Exasperated, she fidgets with her compass, only to see the needle is frantically twitching around. She presses it gently to her forehead and quietly complains, “Don't tell me you're broken…”

Her train of thought was cut short by the sudden sound of running water, so loud she can’t fathom how she’s only now begun to hear it. She decided to put off one problem for another. Following the sound through some shrubs, she quickly finds the source.

Her spear at the ready, she approaches the stream. Scanning its depths for signs of fish, she walks cautiously. Her posture was awkward, her expression was uncertain, betraying her lack of experience. She held her spear to her chest with both arms as she encroached the water’s edge.

She inhales in preparation, removes her skirt and boots, and enters the water with slow, careful steps. The very surface of the stream begins to freeze as it makes contact with her skin. Tiny, thin crystals of ice form as she steps further in. Breathing deeper, as she tries to control the frost, she makes her way to the center of the stream. She stands waiting for fish.

Rather than throwing her spear to hunt, like the intended purpose, she stabs at the water. She’s not good at this, however, and only ends up scaring other potential prey away. She makes several attempts at this but is unsuccessful each time. Refusing to quit, her repeated strikes become more desperate and uncoordinated with each failure. Her growing frustration only makes the water freeze deeper, eventually solidifying around her legs. She yelps, now in a panic, and begins to frantically stab at the ice to free herself.

A mess.

Escaping this ordeal, the lone girl abandons any further attempt at fishing. It probably isn't her calling anyway. She trudges on, lost, wet, cold, and hungry.

She looks at her compass again, her face reflecting in its glass. “You're broken,” she tiredly states, as she feels her eyes begin to well with tears.

“No! No no no! Don't cry! Don't cry Polaris,” The lone girl, Polaris, reassures herself, “Last time you cried you froze your eyelids shut, and that really hurt,” She whines aloud.

Polaris takes a deep breath, slaps her cheeks, and swallows her tears. She elects to follow the river, her only hope of escape, pursuing the promise of a village just beyond this enigmatic forest. She daydreams of a warm meal in a cozy restaurant, and maybe a cold desert too. A glimmer of determination returns to her stride, as she continues her hum from before.

[abrushwithdeath]

((I'm gonna try to be around a little bit today, so let me know if you want me to send memes your way!!!

This goes for people I'm already writing with AND anyone I haven't had a chance to write with yet, by the way <3))

[prettyflyshyguy]

What are you gonna do, monster boy?

Amazing what I can achieve when I put a song on repeat. Smashed this one out as something fun, refreshing and stress free. Still working on the big final chapter of the C Virus AU, but I'm recovering my confidence as a writer by letting myself work on some sillier things. Good practice too.

This is a mini story based on this phenomenal post and an overly complicated idea I had from it.

Enjoy the garbage here, or on AO3.

“You look nice.” Leon smiled wryly.

Chris rolled his eyes as he pushed the elevator doors back for Leon, who was wasting all the time in the world as he made his way down the corridor. The sharp cut business attire didn’t suit him as much as it barely fit him. A necessary evil, Leon had assured him. It’ll go down better.

To aid in Rebecca’s continued research, and for ease of access to monitoring the effects of the trial viral inhibitors she’d prescribed him, Leon was temporarily assigned to assisting in BSAA operations. The guise was of course that his knowledge post-Lanshiang was critical in containing and mitigating the impact of smaller scale and localised outbreaks of the C-Virus. A half truth, no one seemed to question it so far and a number of months had already passed. The global crisis raged on, the work never ended, his temporary partnership was easily justified to nosy journalists and more discerning governmental bodies.

Chris perpetually winged to him the whole elevator ride about how much he found the bureaucratic nature of these meetings tiresome. Paper pushers, out-of-touch management. Stakeholders who never set foot on ground zero yet felt qualified to call the shots. 

“If it weren't for people like that, we wouldn't be here.” Leon retorted, “You saying you’d want to be out of a job?”

He smiled as he watched Chris fiddle for the umpteenth time with his collar and tie.

“If people like that weren't around, there’d be no BOW based warfare. I’ll be glad the day I’m made redundant.” Chris huffed as he loosened his tie slightly.

Leon conceded that the man had a point.

The meeting was routine. The BSAA was called in to clean up a minor incident, it was successful, and so various representatives and stakeholders for the client would be meeting with the BSAA to discuss the outcome and debrief. Chris had insisted on arriving early, saying that this meeting was critical given the circumstance of the client, and it needed to go smoothly. 

Although it wasn’t mentioned, Leon could tell he appreciated the emotional support.

-

Chris was, for all intents and purposes, an exemplary operator within the BSAA. Most notable about him was his considerable empathy, fierce determination to do what's right, and how much he believed they had the power to change the world for the better. Quality traits, Leon respected him highly for them all, however, the latter might be considered a tad naive. Chris was an exemplary operator, trapped in a room, surrounded by stakeholders and board members. Politicians, in the figurative sense, and arguably the worst kind. Leon’s eyes darted around the seated figures, noting the sheen of luxurious silk clothes, tailored suits and wrist watches that were never used for any practical purpose. If you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it. 

There were a handful of friendlies on the south end of the oval table where Leon and Chris sat opposite. Leon knew them all as subordinates within the teams Chris oversaw, all good men and women, people you could trust. They had kindness in their eyes despite the worn and torn faces they wore, they shared the optimism of their Captain. They existed in stark contrast to the other two thirds of the table where the client cartel sat in horseshoe formation, their backs positioned to the entrance to the room, psychologically forming a barrier between the BSAA staff and the exit. 

“-pride ourselves in swiftly responding to an incident, and I am very pleased with the outcome and the performance of my team.”

Leon watched Chris fidget slightly in his seat as he spoke. He was clearly uncomfortable, but he was handling it well. Still, Chris was out of his depth. 

Politicians were hard enough to hold a work related conversation with. They were always playing games. A simple discussion became a contract with fine print, never in your favor or your benefit. More was always demanded of you, because good was never good enough for them. He wondered who had more power anyway, in these strange times. Was it the politicians he was used to handling, or the people sitting a few meters away from him. 

“-the use of B.O.W units by the BSAA?”

Leon’s attention violently snapped back to the woman seated at the head of the table. She shuffled through a document folder, licking a finger to flick through the pages effortlessly. Peering down through a set of reading glasses with a fine gold chain draped around her neck, a frown crinkled the skin on her forehead. She looked to be at least fifty years of age, with the telltale signs that she’d had work done to maintain a youthful presentation. Despite mankind mastering the molding of biology, they were still unable to tame the passage of time. The cracks in her mask formed when she frowned, and her voice gave away her years. Her dark eyes shifted upwards, piercing out from behind a sunken brow.

“I-Wh-Excuse me?” Chris stammered, shocked at whatever she had just implied.

Leon looked around the room hoping to find some context. The BSAA members appeared just as confused and shocked as he was. 

“Mr. Redfield, as the lead operator of this…” the woman paused, a chill beginning to settle on the room, “... Successful operation…”

Chris stiffened in his chair. Leon squinted from across the table and could barely make out the tiny printed details on her visitors identification badge.

Ms. Harker, CTO, Valhanian Pharmaceuticals. 

This is bad, he thought.

“... Do you condone the use of Bio-Organic-Weapons by the BSAA?” 

Harker’s speech had a sharp whistle to it that pierced the air of the room and the stunned silence of the attendees. This was a regular Tuesday lunch for Leon, for Chris this may as well be judgment day at the pearly gates. 

Don’t.

As if willing it so hard might psychically influence Chris into responding the right way.

Chris, don’t.

“What the hell are you trying to say?”

Fuck.

He couldn’t fault Chris for being defensive, but god, if there ever was a worse time for it.

“It’s a simple question, Mr Redfield.”

Chris rolled back his shoulders and leaned into his chair, hands clasped tightly on the tabletop, trying to calm himself as he regulated the tone of his response.  

“Of course we don’t condone the use of B.O.W’s, the BSAA was formed specifically to combat their use and propagation.” he responded calmly and confidently. 

“Thank you Mr Redfield, you’ve alleviated my concerns regarding your intelligence.”

Leon flinched at the insult. Glancing at Chris, he could see his friend's quick fuse burning at an alarming rate. 

“However your conviction is something I fear I must question.” 

Chris swallowed. The colour had drained ever so slightly from his face.

“I only think it’s right that the BSAA is transparent with regards to how it operates. We came to you on the good faith you would have the professionalism to help us clean up a horrific accident…” she gently placed the manilla folder back on the desk in front of her, and started to lay out items from inside it in an organised fashion.

“... and what are we without safety protocols and rigidity? Our products keep people alive and healthy all over the world, as I’m sure you’re all well aware.”

The venom in her tone caused a shiver to roll across Leon’s skin. 

“So to sit here in front of myself and my associates, and represent the BSAA, I find this conviction quite concerning with regards to what I’m going to show you.”

With a twist of her wrist she selected and slid a photograph down the length of the table, as if to twist the knife deeper.

“Care to explain this to me, Mr Redfield?”

Chris gently reached for the photograph, his hand trembled ever so slightly. The sight of Chris of all people, this nervous unsettled Leon like nothing else, despite everything he’d been through and seen before. Somehow a room full of big-pharma sharks was scarier than a giant monster covered in teeth and claws. He felt his heart beat a little faster as Chris eyed the photograph.

“I’m sorry, what exactly am I looking at?”

Good, good. Leon thought. Don’t give it to them easy. 

“What you are looking at, Mr Redfield, is an image pulled from our security system. It’s the clearest shot our team recovered, as either the camera’s were tampered with, or their blind spots were carefully utilised by this….” she paused, tapping the table with an acrylic nail as she pondered what word would be most appropriate.

“... individual.”

She paused to let the phrase sink in before continuing.

“It failed to hide entirely from us however, and in that image you can clearly see it is wearing a uniform that matches those of your team, yet it is not a human.”

Fuck. He’d been so careful, so cautious.

Something had felt off about the job from the minute Leon set boots on the ground outside the factory. Chris had assured him that it’d be smooth, he’d done it a hundred times before, there shouldn’t be any issues. It was a C-Virus outbreak for sure, but not the normal kind. Valhanian was working on vaccines and preventative medication, blockers for the immune system that could quickly and effectively obliterate the virus or prevent it from even gaining a hold on the system. The most common form was the standard strains that had a very similar effect on humans as the T-Virus did, which they were led to believe was the main focus of the factory - manufacturing and R&D for the ‘zombie’ strains. 

What they found waiting for them was most certainly not the standard C-Virus infected humans. 

Chris had brushed it off at the time, claiming that with how volatile the virus was, he wasn’t surprised that something had gone wrong and there were chrysalid variants in the facility.

Nothing’s without risk, something must have gone wrong, it’s not like we haven’t handled this sort of thing before.

Leon knew that there was no way in hell that a company with that much money in the game of vaccines would fuck around and find out - risking everything in the process. But it wasn’t worth arguing with Chris, he insisted that it wasn’t his job to worry about the science team’s side of things and that ‘Rebecca will figure it out.’ 

Chris was ever the optimist on his good days. Leon had seen too much to trust any corporation that invested in the field of medicine. You don’t get fission without fusion, and anyone who claimed that advancements in bio-organic warfare had no links to advancements in medicine, was a fool or a liar. Most likely both. 

Naturally, something went wrong on the job, sure he’d had a little ‘mutation’ incident, but Rebecca’s drugs worked a treat, they just took a while to fully kick in. 

.

“I don’t know what this is or what you’re trying to do, we don’t employ B.O.W’s as part of our operations, whatever you’re trying to claim with this is unfounded.” Chris responded in anger.

No no no you dumbass, don’t give it to them Chris!

“Mr. Redfield, I'm just being thorough.” Harker’s voice took the tone of a teacher reprimanding a student, “You’re no stranger to the industry, and I’m sure you understand we are very conscious and concerned about protecting our business. Incidents like this are of a high concern to us as the entire reason we brought the BSAA in to assist us was to stop a B.O.W incident.”

Chris glanced briefly at the BSAA staff seated around him, and Leon. Fear and panic reflected in his eyes, a silent cry for help. Leon could tell that Chris knew who was in the photograph and could only lie about it for so long before the game was given away.

Leon cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the sharks.

“Ms Harker I can assure you that Chris is just as shocked as you are, and that the BSAA operates at the highest level of-”

“Thank you for your assurance, Mr Kennedy,” Harker interrupted, her full attention snapping to Leon “but I believe you are not a member of the BSAA is that correct?”

There was a predatory look to her gaze. Leon’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yes, I’m temporarily assigned to assist them in operations regarding the C-Virus as I have first hand experience with it that has proven invaluable in us combatting further outbreaks.”

“I don’t doubt that Mr. Kennedy. I’m aware of your reputation and high standing. Our country has a lot to thank you for.” 

He shivered again. There was no genuinity to her tone.

“I just wish to express my concerns, as I feel we deserve an explanation to the security footage.”

Leon dug his fingers into his thigh, scrunching the fabric of his chinos, hands hidden under the table. Showing any public sign of fear or nerves would be his downfall.

“Trust is critical to any operation, but you all know this of course. How can we trust the BSAA after seeing this? How can you even trust yourselves?” 

Seeing a hint of a smile form at the edges of her mouth, Leon’s temper began to rise.

Chris began to speak, only to be cut off by Harker’s shrill tone.

“Have you considered that there may be individuals lying dormantly infected, unbeknownst to the world, the BSAA, even themselves?

Leon bit down on his tongue. 

“Perhaps there’s an infected individual sitting in this room with us right now.”

Chris went white and gripped the photograph tighter, holding himself back from instinctively looking away from Harker, he could see the bait now but it was too late.

“Perhaps it's someone not within the BSAA.” she trailed off softly as she shifted her sights from Chris to Leon. 

He felt the eyes of every member of the meeting shift to look at him in horror. 

[madin-writes]

At first, Leo thinks it’s an earthquake.

It starts with a tremble, so light that he doesn’t even notice what’s happening until it builds and builds and it’s impossible not to notice anymore. The soil vibrates with a great shudder and Leo is almost thrown off his feet. For a heart-sinking moment, he is reminded of Gaea, of a monstrous creature waking up from a centuries-long slumber deep underground.

But it’s not an earthquake. By all definitions of the word, Leo knows that no matter how severe the magnitude of an earthquake is, it would never cause the ground to cave in on itself like it’s doing now, a wide cavern splitting open directly under his feet.

That’s when he realizes: Nico di Angelo is raising hell.

[holidaywishes]

I just quit my job today!

[wayward-dreamer]

A Little New Year Update!

Hey everyone!

Hope you all had a great Christmas and/or holiday season, and brought in 2025 in your own respective ways. I just want to take this opportunity to thank everyone who's shown this blog and this writer some love over the past year. I'm super grateful for each one of you and send you all my deepest gratitude for any words of encouragement, any comments/reblogs that were filled with your appreciation and hope that the year ahead treats you all kindly.

I want to take this time to also fill you in on what you will hopefully see from me this year.

I don't want to make a huge commitment to something and not deliver only to disappoint you all, so aside from the occasional one shot I don't have much planned. That said, I do want to push myself and finally deliver on the one thing that's most important to me and what I hope will be good news, and that's The Hardest Lessons, the last part of the Life's Lessons Saga.

It's honestly about time that I close that chapter of my fanfic writer life, because it deserves it's proper end and for me to put my fear aside. It's been a daunting thing to think about, it's end. It was the first thing I ever wrote for Tumblr, and even if it wasn't the first piece of fanfiction I wrote it was certainly the most favourite. Still is. So with that, I think 2025 is the year that I finally need to bring it to what I hope is a satisfying conclusion. I still need to tweak some things, so I won't start posting it until it's all done, but that's basically where we're at with that series.

Aside from that, you'll of course see more Dean or Jensen one shots, some more Soldier Boy because I can't resist. There's some pics of us that I may just write more parts to, so let's see. And with Jensen's new show coming soon, let's see if that character inspires me, too. I also want to explore my other fandoms a little more this year, like Stranger Things as it's about to come to an end. I might even dip my toe back into the mcu because I miss it (plus there seems to be a revival in Bucky fics thanks to Thunderbolts coming soon I think lol).

I also uncovered a Joel Miller (The Last Of Us) one shot I never posted so if anyone's interested lmk!

This may well be my busiest year in a while as I continue to build my screenwriting career, so that's why I don't want to make a big commitment to a new series. However, should I find time and if I've organised myself properly this year like I plan to, then who knows? It could happen!

Thank you all for your continued support of me and this blog. I've always appreciated it more than I can put into words, and I'm excited to see what this year brings!

Much love,

Rosh ❤️