#my wip folder is… dense

[especiallyhaytham]

Me: this shaytham art is gonna be so good when I post it

The shaytham art: rots half-finished in a folder and I never think about it again

[violetsarepurple-fuckyou]

WIP Game

I am so incredibly late to the party on this one! But! I was so incredibly honored to be invited!!! @eliotqueliot tagged me, and this was the first time I have EVER been tagged in something like this, so even though my response is late to a degree of insanity, please know that it literally filled me with an explosion of joy that I was thought of and included 💕

Ok, Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs. Buckle in folks, I have SO many.

I'm keeping it just to The Magicians, but if anyone would like me to repeat this process with other fandoms I am in but not primarily focused on right this moment (like Merlin or TMA, both of which I have pretty solid handfuls of fics in the works for that I will get around to eventually) feel free to ask! Also feel free to ask me literally anything about any of my fics at any time, because that would actually excite me beyond all mortal comprehension! OK! Here goes.

And just so everyone knows, a lot of my docs are just named with an autofill of part of the first sentence written there, so I'm really going to get some mileage out of the 'non-descriptive and ridiculous' part of the rule lol

The memory wipe was not

A Reluctant Coin Toss

Something Borrowed

(Eliot steals the Time Key)

5+1+3

Queliot dnd fic

Brian walks through his favorite bookstore

And Death was a Joke

Vampire Eliot series season two

Green-eyed Monster

The Cottage was empty and quiet – somewhat shockingly seeing as most of those missing in attendance were hardly social butterflies – but three first year additions (and Penny) to the Physical Kids residence was more than was customary and the whole building was just a lot less densely packed without them.

Quell Your Love Spell

Eliot Waugh's Adventures in Soothing a High-strung Super Nerd

Eliot was right

Eliot and Quentin have been… weird since Margo retrieved the Time Key.

Fen's eyes sparkle when she cries

Of Prophecies -- Princes, Parrots, Pirates, and Paupers -- and the Prepared

Sksksksksk

Fennel Seeds

Excerpt from A Flock of Lost Birds – Book One of The Adventures of Sam Cunningham series:

I think that is all of them??? All of the ones I actually have stuff written for and not in a notebook anyway lol, I have more ideas and snippets scattered across various journals. Please please please ask me questions, holy shit, I would love that! Honestly, I cannot think of anyone to tag that hasn't been already, so I'm gonna leave this here I think.

[joz-yyh]

Love Host - Ch. 7

SUMMARY: The fugitive reporter is reunited with his jeep, but things are never that easy, not for Miles Upshur. No beta. Read at your own risk.

RATING: M (blood / gore / death / violence / swearing)

PAIRING: Walmiles (WalriderxMiles)

WORD COUNT: 3,113

READ ON AO3: Here

A/N: Hey ya'll, it's been awhile. I've had this in my WIP folder for over a year, but thanks to the kind words of tumbler users @is-gw and @drwernicke, I found the motivation to finish it. Dedicating this chapter to you both! Hope it was worth the wait.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–——

The white-knuckled grip Miles wrings upon the steering wheel somehow squeezes tighter, making the leather squeak, skin pinching under the strain.

He can't help it, becoming more manic, pressing further and further into the dashboard like some crazed getaway driver, laying hard onto the gas, the speedometer pushing past 80 mph.

He glances to his right, the state map he picked up from an old fashioned gas station about 10 miles back is spread out onto the passenger's seat, hastily drawn symbols and magic marker lines indicating the specific coordinates Waylon had given him.

This was it, the final stretch. A few more strips of asphalt and he'd reach his destination whether he was ready for it or not.

Up ahead, Miles finds remnants of an old car accident, winding tread marks of burnt rubber spiraling out across the road, stray pieces of metal swept into the shoulder of a bent guard rail.

He pulls off to the side next to it, the rumble of the speed strip jostling his tire shocks, his brakes screeching to a halt because he's thinking about a million other things right now, but not about how to park outside the white line.

Thankfully, no one's around to see the embarrassing stint, the secluded mountain side looking safe and serene to the unsuspecting tourist, but an investigative journalist knew better. This was the perfect place to stage an ambush.

Miles takes a few stabilizing breaths, preparing himself before he exits the car. He stands, lingering by the driver's side door, huddling around it in case he has to jump back inside, waiting for any obvious threats to make their move.

Nothing happens, just clear skies and empty roadside.

Nerves still tingling with goosebumps, the anxious reporter leaves the safety net of Trager's four-door sedan, jogging over to the trail of wreckage, old tire impressions tumbling down into the ravine below.

He can see it, there in the woods, bright red coloring hidden behind shaved pine trees, a distinct trail leading from matted reeds into dense underbrush.

As much as Miles wants to sprint down, the human host forces himself to be cautious because the last thing he needs is to do something stupid like trip and break an ankle.

Steadily, he descends the slope, retracing the wheel’s path through the overgrown grass, ducking past branches until he's under the cover of trees, the sun blotted out, everything going a shade darker and a degree cooler.

His beloved jeep remains his beacon in the shadows, running towards it’s familiar guise, climbing over fallen tree trunks and the brown crunch of decaying leaves.

He's almost frantic in his pursuit, as if the flashy hunk of metal will disappear the moment he touches it, a cruel mirage of his mind, but his jeep is real, it's here and he can feel it.

His needs a minute to settle, to accept the reality, his body no longer fixated with surprise attacks, relaxing as he runs his hand along the jeep's frame, taking note of all the various scratches and dents that he can't remember being there before.

So much had changed in just a few short days and neither of them, man or machine were quite the same as they once were.

“Hey, remember me,” Miles says to the oversized keepsake, getting a little choked up by the reunion, “I can’t believe you're still in one piece.”

His bandaged fingers slide over the sporty door frame, following the seam of interlocking parts down to the door handle, tugging it open.

The seat’s been moved, a noticeably tighter fit as he wedges his legs inside, adjusting the position so it's more comfortable to his height.

His flashy press pass is right where he left it, dangling faithfully from his rear-view mirror, burnished by a ray of light.

The reporter smiles, bittersweet, turning over the flimsy plastic in his hand, his grip on the ID growing heavy.

The emotional brunette folds himself over the steering wheel in awkward hug, a horrific memory coming back to haunt him in true PTSD fashion.

Miles wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for O'Neil – just another civilian reporter assigned to the same mission he was, caught in the crossfire, blown away by the indiscriminate bombs of war.

It could have just as easily been Miles who died that day, years ago, during his tour in Afghanistan, but it wasn't and now he's stuck reliving the event, watching the rookie from behind the viewfinder of his camera, there and then suddenly not, taken by an explosive wave of dirt and smoke, no body to be found, nothing left of him except for his rundown jeep.

He'd seen so many lost souls, innocent lives sacrificed to feed the campaign of big oil and wealthy politicians, but this young man's violent end hit differently than the rest, a razor blade of barbed wire coiled deeply around his heart.

He hopes O'Neil is proud of the work he's done, that he's watching from somewhere, that he knows how close Miles is to crucifying the vile corporation that started it all.

There's a tug at the back of his mind, a treacherous dark sea, not quite his subconscious (he's learned to tell the difference), but the Walrider – it vies for his attention, warning him of a threat.

“What is it," Miles asks dazedly, looking up from his latticework of crossed arms, wiping at the melancholy sting in his eyes.

His symbiotic partner supplies him with snapshots, images of black combat boots and riot gear flickering across his eyes, a tactical team forming a perimeter around the woods.

The hairs in the back of his neck are standing on end, his nerves firing like pistons, his stomach dropping.

"Oh God," Miles whispers, nanites skirting his vision, "they’re here, aren’t they?"

The reporter is losing it, becoming a panicked, irrational mess.

“I knew they would be. I knew, and I still couldn’t stay away. What … what does that mean,” the host rambles, feeling his emotions break down into all the stages of grief.

“I am sorry for bringing you out here," Miles tells the machine, convinced that this was their last stand, that he had to make some poor amends for all his mistakes, "I am sorry for everything.”

The Walrider manifests itself, bony phalanges gripping its host's tear-stained cheeks, forcing the man to behold the eerie gleam of its eyes.

Captivated, Miles stares back, searching the abyss, the Walrider trying it's damnedest to convey an emotion that it’s not equipped to express.

“How many,” the host asks, his tone a terrified reservation.

The nanties bristle, swirling in urgent, jagged loops.

“Oh God," Miles breathes, the dread building, his voice doused with buckets of ice water, "too many."

With a painful sigh, he holds the machine in a similar embrace, stroking along the creature’s cheek, joining their heads together. It helps him think, clears away the hysteria.

“What should we do,” he asks after a beat, feeling so fucking pathetic for relying on his demonic counterpart for guidance, that he still not grown enough to handle this shit on his own.

Forget the self-depreciation. Focus. They need a plan, some means of escape.

Utilizing his jeep was a possible strategy, but that's assuming the engine still runs and he manages to Dukes-of-Hazzard his way out the woods and up the ravine.

A word flashes before the human's mind, the Walrider offering an idea.

'REVENGE.'

Miles understands the concept all too well, holding an intimate connection to the first act of vigilante justice they committed together, his partner offering him the same satisfaction again.

Miles doesn't need any more convincing. His blue eyes harden, borderline arrogant.

“Alright," the rebel declares, seeking the entity's affirmation, "you ready for this?"

The Walrider trills in his head, the nanites bursting from his veins with heady anticipation, muscles bulking with superhuman strength.

It's a good enough answer for Miles, his lips pulled back into a toothy grin.

“Lets show ‘em who they’re fucking with," Miles roars, eyes drowning in a sea of onyx, irises flaring into molten rings of gold.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t black out like he has in the past.

Maybe, it's because they've had more time to assimilate to their new way of life or maybe it's because Miles is more stable than he was before (unlikely as it is), but whatever the reason, the Walrider gives him complete control of their subplanted body.

Miles only has two eyes, but somehow his sight compounds into a crystal ball of surveillance monitors: helmets, rifles, tactile gear closing in around him, subtle clacks of movement showing a group of mercenaries laying in wait ahead.

If this was how the Walrider saw the world, why did it have to be so head-spinningly complicated?

Walmiles raises his hand, the nanites assembling along it, forming a giant stygian blade. With one effortless swipe, he slices through the armed forces, severed torsos thudding like timber, trees raining down upon the clearing, shaking the earth beneath his feet, crushing the dismembered bodies they once resided by.

Miles only has a moment to reflect on his homage to b-movie slasher flicks before he feels another psychic tug, their shared consciousness directing him towards another raid of enemy gunmen.

The freelance demigod in a jacket goes down the line, annihilates the hired hands one by one, bursting their insides like bloody fucking party balloons.

Another team approaches from his left, 9 o'clock.

He sends a swarm of nanites hurtling in their direction, burrowing into the mercenaries flesh like bullets, their death thralls echoing up into the placid blue sky, scaring away the birds.

He can feel the soldier's minds, read their blood: terror, confusion, helplessness and Miles pushes it all down, takes control of one of the surviving merc's trigger fingers and aims the rifle at what remains of his comrades in arms. Once the deed’s been done, the man-made killing machine pops his puppet's skull wide open, a signet bouquet of gorey brain matter, the lone merc's headless, lifeless body crumpling atop a growing pile of corpses.

It's quiet. It almost feels like it's over, but it's just the calm before the storm.

A ricochet bullet whizzes past the jeep's hood, shattering one of the headlights.

The sound distracts the murderous brunette, having narrowly dodged a bullet one or twice before, more war flashbacks coming to flood his psyche with devastating consequences.

A second shot rings out, the bullet hitting it's mark, Miles pierced through the chest by the precise aim of a sniper.

Suddenly, his confidence plummets, their synchronization interrupted because Miles is caught in an erroneous loop of relieving his own death, terrified that he'd failed his mission not once, but twice.

“Am I … are we …?”

‘Dead’ is what he wants to ask, but all he can do is look down at his hands, watch as they tremble, his vision fading at the edges, going blurry.

The Walrider takes over, becoming the dominant personality, sailing through the air in a swarm of nanite clouds, tracking the bullet's trajectory back to it's source.

The soldier attempts to shoot the dark angel down, but it becomes exceedingly apparent that he can’t, abandoning his post to run.

The Walrider catches its prey, squeezes the life out of the foolish villain that dared to injure it's precious host, crushing the vile human's neck under its claws.

Another shot, gouging Walmiles through the shoulder, from behind. Just how many snipers did Murkoff pull in for this job?

The Walrider gladly applies the same tactics to silence this menace as well, nanites beating like giant wings.

Miles recovers, insists on wrestling back control, “Stop, we need him alive.”

The Walrider remains skeptical of it's host's judgment, holding the second sniper by the collar, bringing him towards an intimidating stare of cracked, oozing flesh.

“I want you to do something for me," says the warbled voice, the Walrider and Miles speaking together as one singular being, "Tell the ones who hired you, I am coming for them. Tell them, I am going to burn their lives to the ground, that there will be nothing left after I am done because they'll all be dead.”

Miles pauses in his speech, staring into the young marksman's eyes, assessing how human they are, “You got all that?”

The soldier is too scared to speak, merely nodding his compliance.

"Good. Off you go, then,” Miles instructs, letting the man drop, shoving him towards his objective, “And be sure to leave the gun.”

The sniper stumbles, regaining his balance, still coming to terms with what the fuck just happened, running off to deliver his message.

SHHHWWOOOOOOMMM!!!

The booming speed of a jet sails overhead, poised for an airstrike.

"You gotta to be fucking kidding me with this shit,” the host snarls, annoyed that Murkoff would send in goddman fighter jet of all things just to take him out.

Mitigating damage indeed.

Miles runs, jumps as far away as he can, an explosive missile detonating a few hundred feet away, setting the woods ablaze, a shield of nanobots protecting him from the conflagration.

He lies flat onto his stomach, hands laced behind his head, waits for the danger to pass before he makes another move.

“Christ, almighty, please tell me my jeep is OK,” Miles pleads into the surrounding hollow of dirt.

He's never been the religious type, but it doesn't stop him from praying that his beloved bucket of bolts is still intact, spared from the destruction.

He sorts through the disaster of dancing flames to find it, a whorl of nanobots snuffing out a path and thank God it's still standing, left unharmed (for the most part).

He pats the vehicle free of the surrounding orange embers, laments over the burn marks bubbling the paint, but that was purely cosmetic amenity in the grand scheme of things.

“Holy shit,” Miles pants in relief, leaning against the hood, allowing himself a well deserved reprieve.

He's hobbling as he maneuvers, feeling just a bit achy and sore from his new set of matching gunshot wounds, stifled by the heat of the forest fire still rampaging on around them, sweat mixing with the blood and ash on his face.

“Now what,” he asks out into the open air, having no clue where to go from here.

The Walrider’s conscience swipes across his mind again, another suggestion that could just as easily be mistaken for his own thought process.

The machine searches his memory bank, shows him a grainy reel of a strong man lifting a barbell.

“Can you really lift something like this?”

Another old movie clip of a floating car, minus the futuristic wings.

“Have we done this before?"

If they have, he has no recollection of it, the Walrider demonstrating its strength, nanites wrapping around the automobile, transporting it back up onto the road.

As he watches the superhuman display, tires gently resting back upon the black turf of the highway, Miles almost doesn't have words, (the keyword there being almost).

"Oh, well, that was easy.”

The machine can't appreciate his excellent comedic timing, but that's OK, he can laugh at his own joke.

“Lemme just go grab my stuff," Miles tells his chivalrous paralysis demon, clambering up the hill the old fashioned way despite having the ability to “fly” above it instead.

He retrieves his duffel bags, Miles transferring them to his jeep, starting up the ignition, but of course it has one last fatal flaw: it's out of gas.

“At least it's out of the ditch,” the journalist sighs, slumping back into the driver’s seat, needing a vacation after suffering through this exhausting debacle.

It's fine. He's sure Trager's car has a dodgy siphoning hose hiding somewhere in the trunk he can use.

—---

“So, what are you thinking,” Paul Marion asks, plucking at his gums with a toothpick, having just finished his lunch, "Did we get him?”

"Hard to say,” Glick muses, leaning down to drag her fingers through the soot, grinding it between her thumb and forefinger. “Upshur certainly did some damage. It's interfering with our readings.”

“I imagine he would,” the blonde haired agent replies, watching gray smoke filter up from the charred ground, “judging by the state he left the asylum in.”

He's just glad they don't have to go rifling through the crime scene (there were other people for that), the fire now extinguished thanks to an airdrop of sand, but that meant a stark film of contamination hung over their investigation.

His female counterpart is silent, framing a scenario in her mind based on the reports. The body count, time table, and radiation readings told her it was possible Miles was dead, but her job was never that easy.

“We using the usual cover story, then,” Marion asks, leaving the toothpick to hang between his lips, shoving hands inside his pockets, taking in the great outdoors, “stupid drunk teenagers lit a campfire in the woods. Let it get out of control?”

Pauline doesn't offer an answer, an underling assisting with the clean up approaching them in light of some recent development.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the grunt agent cuts in, “a witness has come forward.”

“A witness,” she parrots with snarky red lips, her fine brows curved into speculative intrigue.

“Golly, you mean to tell me someone actually survived this mess,” Paul whistles, chuckling to himself, stepping up to his sleek-suited partner.

“One of the ground team says he has a message from Miles Upshur,” the grunt confirms.

“Oh, this keeps getting better and better,” Marion grins, radiating sarcastic anticipation, wondering what kind of juicy gossip they were about to hear.

“You'd better let me handle this,” the she-devil with a gun insists, leaving her partner in the dust.

“Not enough clearance, huh?”

“Hmm, something like that.”

“Any word on Park,” her yellow stouted partner asks, hoping to entertain himself with this nugget of info while she's gone.

“No, still in the wind,” Pauline sighs, “He’s covered up his tracks pretty well so far, but he’ll mess up. They always do.”

"Ma'am," the lowly grunt accosts, reminding Ms Glick of the lone survivor waiting to be interrogated.

"What are you gonna do with him,” Marion persists, fishing for more intel.

"Take him back to HQ for questioning,” she hisses, frustrated with Marion's pestering, “He might remember something that will give us a clue. Upshur and Park were accomplices before. Maybe one can lead us to the other.”

“Love the way you think, miss piggy,” he taunts, watching her stalk away, fists clenched.

“Don't make me shoot you in the mouth too,” Pauline scoffs.

[adelfie]

20 questions for writers

Thanks for tagging me, @babblingbookends!!! <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

31

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

396,891

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly DC right now, but I dabbled in Voltron and TMNT in the past, and I'll write in any fandom that's interesting to me 💖

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

wrong number On a hot July evening while home alone, eight-year-old Tim gets a fever. He means to ask Mrs. Mac for help — but ends up accidentally calling Alfred Pennyworth. Somehow, even in sickness, he wins all the hearts of the Wayne family in one fell swoop.

of crime lords and literature With his grades slipping, Tim worries Bruce will take Robin away. So when the Red Hood breaks into his room with the intent to kill him, Tim decides it's a good idea to ask him for help on his English homework. It works. And then it doesn't. And then Tim solves a mystery and almost dies anyway.

bloodthirsty Tim, a starving vampire pup, tries to hunt while his parents are away. Gotham's terrifying urban legend hunts him down first.

lost treasure When a cozy night out with his parents turns into a night of captivity and torture, Tim is forced to seek protection from his worst nightmare - the Red Hood.

stolen children 15-year-old Babs has never needed validation from anyone, but… Batman's latest words to her have left her spiraling. It would be a good time for a mental health break, if not for the men trying to kidnap 5-year-old Timothy Drake while she's babysitting him.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! In batches 💖

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I wrote a TMNT fic a few years back, called What Is Holding Is Also Being Held that I personally thought had a very hopeful ending, but actually gave cliffhanger vibes. I didn't mean for that to happen! 😂 But I was also in the last semester of my senior year in college and running on fumes so that's probably why it's angstier than my usual fics.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

A lot of my fics end happily so it's hard to pick! For something short and sweet, maybe wrong number or stuck on you like a sea star or kosmo's mission 😊💖 but of crime lords and literature is a longer fic with a well-deserved happy ending!! ✨

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I don't think so, no.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

It's not completely off the table, but really really far away... like I can't reach it... nor do I feel like reaching at this moment 🙈

10. Do you write crossovers?

No, hasn't compelled me yet!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! They asked for permission first and linked back to my fic 💖

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but sounds fun!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Platonic ships (friendships, family relationships) take up most of my heart, but some romantic faves: huntress and question (dc), flora and helia (winx club), buck and eddie (9-1-1), jaren and kiva (the prison healer trilogy)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

My writing folder in Scrivener is DENSE AHHHH with so many ideas and prompts, but as for fics that I post to AO3, I always finish them.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think it changes every time I write something new! ✨🙈✨ But maybe it's editing, because I read aloud my story like an audiobook to hear any mistakes or awkward parts... it's embarrassing to be caught doing this, tho😳

17: What are your writing weaknesses?

TOO MUCH EXPOSITION 😭 I love exposition and niche details! But sometimes I take too long to get to the point. "enter late, leave early" has been some of my favorite writing advice lately.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

It's always fun, and it's cool when it's done in a really seamless way!

19. First fandom you wrote for? 

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles🐢🐢🐢🐢💖

20. Favourite fic you've written?

wrong number 💖 this was a hard choice, but Tim Joins The Batfamily Early is my favorite thing ever 😂

<3

no pressure tags 😎 @eggmacguffin @wesslan @banditywrites @writerlovestropes and anyone else who wants to do this! 💖

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

hi Kat, hope you're doing well! For the writing asks, how about: 3, 11, 15? ✨

hi flo!! i'm doing okay, but school's wrecking my butt :(

come send me some writer asks!

3. Is there any trope/scene you've been wanting to write?

god there's a scene in this mafia au i'm plotting where the reader has been tasked to kill levi and plans to do it after they have sex but can't get herself to and at some point they're like holding each other at gunpoint and she can't do it because she realized she's in love with him 😭😭

11. Post something from a current wip or concept

uhhhh *digs through google drive folder* here's a little snippet 👀

“...had a feeling something was up.” “Yeah?” you challenged as you cocked the gun, pointing the barrel straight at him. “Yeah,” Levi affirmed with a scoff. “Was getting used to you leaving in the morning—but then you start dodging my calls and acting suspicious as fuck whenever I ran into you.” You hesitated in responding, annoyed that Levi was able to see right through you no matter how hard you tried to mask in front of him. You were a trained assassin. Lying and getting your target’s guard down was your specialty, yet you couldn’t seem to lie to him. “...maybe I just lost interest in seeing you.” You could tell just from his expression alone that he knew that you were lying out of your ass. “After our talk on the roof the other night?” Levi questioned with his usual deadpan expression, referring to when you had attempted to escape him after screwing with one the mafia’s funding events. “C’mon, _____, you might be a dumbass, but even you’re not that dense.” “Don’t make me shoot you out of spite,” you warned. The two of you were silent for a while, simply glaring at each other as you both waited for the other to make a move.

15. Any changes that you've noticed in your writing since you started?

i'm trying to work on dialogue-tagging! i'm quickly running out of ways to describe speech but have found a few good sources of varying ways of describing dialogue without necessarily tagging so hopefully something comes out of that as for writing in general? well, i started writing when i was 12 so a LOT has obvs changed there LMAO

[dianagj-art]

I've had these on my wip folder for a while, I was going to post them with the caption of "canon I'm begging you to let them interact more" but... rocketeer was an episode huh?

In my head these two had always been friends, Adrien can see a lot of his dear friend Nino on Carapace, but it's too dense to realize the conection. Also i have the headcanon that Adrien has losen up to Nino enough to make jokes around him and leave behind that "perfect boy" image of himself, that helps Nino see a bit of Adrien on Chat, but since Chat is way more lose he doesn't make the conection.

I'm still figuring out Chat's redisign since I'm not fully happy with the one I did. Carapace redesign was an accident, I had no references when I was sketching and I bullshited my way through with what I remember, when I serched for refs for the colors I realized my mistakes but was too lazy to fix them so I just made it work.

[letstalktea]

Tags: amab!alpha!Leighton (he/him), amab!beta!Robin (they/them), Defiant!GN!omega!Reader (you/your), a/b/o, dubious consent, teacher/student, angst, NTR(?)

Note: Written for @inkyquince “The Omega Hunt” collab. Please ignore how bad it is. This has been in my wip folder for so long and I forgot things along the way. 🥺

Word Count: 3500

They opened the cage and said to run, so you ran. While other omega ran into the forest, you bolted away from it. The forest was full of beast people, plants, and some strange beings you couldn't explain but didn't want to deal with on top of alphas. You had to escape to narrow down your problems. Moving was hard though since your system was swimming with whatever they had given you.

"Psst," you heard someone call to you through the dense night after having run for who knew how long.

You turned your head expecting to need to punch whoever it was, only to see wide eyes and the most innocent smile beaming at you.

You smiled back. "Robin?"

You couldn't believe they had found you. You hadn't seen them since the day you'd been taken away and locked up for this event, but here they were. Of course you had to jump on them and give them the biggest hug you ever had.

"How did you-"

"I… I was watching everything from just outside the starting point. I saw you when they…" They couldn't even finish the thought. Seeing you in that cage while everyone surrounded you and jeered had been terrible. They couldn't even imagine what it was like for you to be in that situation.

"I'm here to help," they finally said. "Two heads are better than one, right?"

You laughed dryly, but happily. Robin really was your best friend and always there when you needed them.

"Sure." Maybe they could help you keep your wits. "Somewhere unpopulated with decent security…" 

Oh, you had a terrible thought.

"Mind getting me get to the school?"

Robin pursed their lips as if to question your choice but wrapped an arm around your waist anyway. You slung one around their shoulder so they could support your weight as they led you away from the sounds of other omega screaming as they were inevitably caught. You could, thankfully, still walk mostly on your own despite your legs feeling like jelly so all Robin had to do was help keep you from falling down, which is something they were very good at. You two had been supporting each other longer than you could even remember. From the time you were both little and they were picked on by the other kids in the orphanage so you screamed and chased them away, to holding each other’s hands when you snuck into a scary movie as preteens, to the time you got really sick just before your first heat and they took care of you every moment they could… until you were taken away from them without mercy. You two had only one another for so long.

But right now wasn’t the same as when you’d both fooled around as kids. Right now it was serious for both of you. If you were caught before dawn, you would be thrown to the nearest alpha and turned into their personal property – a fate you could hardly imagine the worst of. As for Robin… Mayor Quinn had looked the other way in previous events, but that was for those who had mated despite not being part of the hunt. That was for those poor alpha and beta that had been lured in and seduced by some duplicitous omega’s pheromones. How could the mayor possibly punish the victim of some omega’s thoughtless actions?

The thought made you sick. As if you were the perpetrator on this night. You were too busy running for your life from people that saw you as nothing more than an object! Well, more like hobbling with the assistance of the one person you trusted right now.

Thank goodness Robin was still there with you every miserable step of the way.

Getting to the school wasn’t easy – having to take indirect routes to avoid attracting the hypersensitive senses of any alpha on the street that may have thought it strange to find a stray omega wandering around – but you did it. The gate was high and locked up, but you scaled it often enough without an issue. The only difference was that this time you had a partner in crime. Robin wasn’t skilled in this kind of thing, unlike you, so you had to give them a lift over the fence before crawling over for yourself. That would serve as the first layer of defense, as the number of people that were willing and able to hop the thing was significantly less than the amount who could possibly be chasing after you.

The second line of defense was to do a little breaking and entering. Most people wouldn’t think of breaking into school, but those people also didn’t realize how much money, random jewelry, electronics, and personal items people left in their lockers that could be pawned off for a quick buck. Getting into the school building was as easy as breathing for you at this point. After that, you and Robin could slip inside and lock up so no one else could come in. Maybe you would hide in a classroom without windows to the outside just to add an extra layer between you and the raving lunatics hunting you down.

The best part was that, once you and Robin settled down in that classroom, it was like good old times. You two could break into the canteen and raid the terrible school food, search people's lockers for snacks, maybe even find the TV and see what videos were lying around; it could be the most fucked up sleepover ever.

The throbbing between your legs was going to be a problem though. That stuff they gave you had left you a horny mess. Thank goodness Robin was a good person or else you would be worried about them putting the moves on you.

"Catch," you shouted to them as you popped open some poor sod's locker and tossed them a bag of chips they'd left in it. You were choosing to ignore the vibrator in there right next to it.

They looked at you with a frown for stealing, but they accepted the treat as you both ran to a classroom and settled in for the long night. You couldn't find any good videos for the TV, but you both managed to find a few board games to bide your time. It really was just like the good old days. Now all you needed were some flashlights to stick under your faces while you told scary stories late at night.

The buzz between you two faded quickly as you heard the only door into the classroom open up, swiveling your heads to see what was happening.

You felt the color drain from your face as you caught yourself staring straight at your rat bastard of a headmaster.

"I see we have a couple of trespassers," Leighton said as he stepped inside.

Of course he would be here when the hunt was going on. The man, despite being an alpha with seemingly some amount of status, probably creeped out too many people to be invited to the hunt himself. But did he really have so little of a life that he just had to hang out at the school after hours.

"Fuck off," you spit at him.

"Is that really the stance you want to take given the situation you are in?"

There was no point in arguing. You were sure that Leighton would get whatever he wanted eventually, by hook or by crook. He didn't need to claim you in order to own you. All he needed was to remind you that he was the person with more control over your life than almost anyone else. You would fall in line or he would gladly punish you for his own sick amusement.

On the other hand, Robin was a beta; just another average person with nothing special to their name. They were as much a victim of Leighton as you in this situation. The only difference was that they could still walk away tonight with their freedom if you played your cards right.

You dropped to your knees with your hands resting on the small of your back so your chest was pushed out. You lowered your head to face the ground hoping it would save you some kind of dignity if you didn't look him in the eyes. It certainly did not. More humiliating was how Robin's fingers dug into your arm as they shook. Clearly they were terrified and trying to wear a brave face.

"Every year," Leighton stepped closer to you both, "someone thinks they can break in here to hide. Then I get to oversee their discipline. It's the first time an omega has brought a beta with them though." 

He was too calm. It was as if he knew everything would go his way without even trying… and you hated to say he was right because you had to keep him from turning to Robin. You knew the kind of sick shit he was in to and they didn't deserve that.

However, you failed to realize that being so familiar with Leighton also meant they were familiar with you. You were a delinquent of the highest order. He'd seen you in detention many times and had dealt with all of your defiance. Robin, on the other hand, was a perfect student. They never got in trouble which meant they had never truly experienced one of Leighton's punishments. That meant they were vulnerable. And the way they clung to you? That was exploitable.

"Perhaps I should call the cops and see how they deal with your trespassing. I'm sure they would also love to return a wayward omega to the hunt."

"No!" Robin shouted and, in doing so, sealed your fate.

A chill ran up your spine as the edge of his mouth twisted upward. "I could manage your discipline myself. A beta interfering with the hunt. What shall I do?"

"No!" This time it was you that shouted. "I'll take it all. I'm the one that wanted to come here."

"But I helped," Robin argued. "The blame is mine. Please don't put itl on them."

"So both of you need discipline." That worked for him. He loved when he got two brats caught in a trap.

He shot his eyes toward you. "Come here."

You'd been through this enough times to know what he wanted. You stood up and slowly walked over to him, presenting yourself meekly so he wouldn't get angry and take it out on Robin. As you got closer though, you smelled something familiar clinging to him. It was the same smell that was always there; the reason he could make you bow to his perverted whims during detention. It wasn't as strong as others, but wafting off of him was the scent of an alpha.

Normally, you would sneer at the stench and curse him as he overpowered you and left your ass red, but today you had been primed. Smelling an alpha like him so close made you weak in the knees. You couldn't help but collapse in front of him as your underwear flooded with your juices.

"Are you okay?" Robin called to you, but it sounded so far away.

"It seems you've gone into your heat," Leighton said as he kneeled in front of you. His finger brushed against your sensitive nipple which twitched even under the fabric of your shirt. His hand gripped at your bottoms, ripping them open as you hissed.

"S-stop it," Robin protested what he was doing.

"Oh?" He looked back at the trembling beta with that same sickening smirk. "I would be glad to."

He flipped you so you were facing Robin as you laid against his chest. He grabbed your ankles to lift you legs high, exposing your fluttering, dripping hole to your best friend. "I think this would be the best punishment for you two. Since you two were trying to escape together, claim them as your omega."

….

"What?" Robin asked in disbelief.

"They're an omega in the hunt. They're meant to be claimed. By you or by someone else," he lowered his mouth toward your neck to make a point, "is up to you."

"I c-couldn't…"

"Then you can at least satisfy them. Look how desperate they are. Fuck them until the hunt is over. If not," Leighton licked at your gland, making you shiver and squirm beneath him as his teeth inches dangerously close to the spot that would rob you of your freedom, "I'm sure I can think of a different punishment for you both."

"You bastard," you mumbled through your building lust, but it wasn't very intimidating when there were hearts in your eyes as you stared at Robin's crotch.

Just under those pants was a cock all for you. Leighton didn't have to help you spread your legs. You felt so exposed under Robin's gaze, but you suddenly wanted them to see you and your leaking, wet hole.

"Please…" you begged without thinking. "Want… cock…"

Robin's face turned bright red as you stared at him, leaning against your headmaster who was forcing this on you. It was sickening.

It was even more sickening that they didn't hesitate to settle themselves between your legs and fish out their cock. They were already hard and ashamed that staring at you had done it to them.

"We'll laugh about this later," they promised you, but mostly reassured themselves. This was only so Leighton wouldn't hurt you, they swore. Even as your warmth enveloped them and you claimed their first time.

How many times had they imagined this? They had thought so many times about finally confessing to you and making your first time together special, but now they were sinking into you with an erratic rhythm under the gaze of your headmaster.

Your gasps and moans danced in the air around them, sounding so happy every time they bottomed out inside of you. After this, they would tell you the truth. They would let you know that they wanted to be more than friends, even if the steps were out of order.

Oh but you were so tight around their cock. Robin was disgusted with themselves. They had tried so hard to save you, but now they were the one buried deep inside of your sloppy, greedy hole as they listened to your obscene moans.

"I'm sorry," they chanted in time with each thrust.

They weren't sorry for doing this to you – well, they were but that's not what they meant by their apology. They were sorry for enjoying it. They were so, so sorry for getting lost in your heat as their hips snapped against yours. They were sorry for loving the way your addled mind begged and pleaded for them. They wanted to see you as the friend they loved more than anything else, but the only thing you were right now was a cock drunk omega.

Meanwhile Leighton sat there lazily watching how Robin fucked you as he wrapped his hand around your throat to hold you in place against his chest. Watching you both fuck like horny rabbits made him wish he'd remembered his standing camera so he could add this night to his collection. Although, the sight of you wrapping your legs around Robin's waist to make sure they stayed nestled deep inside of you would be burned into their mind for a while yet.

Robin pushed in one last time, filling you with so much cum that it leaked out around their cock.

"More," you whined, but they had nothing more to give. They weren't the type to be able to get hard so soon after an orgasm. It would be too much to even try. 

Leighton peered at them in disappointment as his teeth grazed against the gland on your neck and Robin felt sick.

"I can keep going," they insisted, but when they tried to move they groaned in pain. They were so sensitive that even having your walls grip onto them was too much. If they didn't move though-

"Too bad."

Robin's mouth opened to protest further, but Leighton's fangs had already sunk into your neck. Your legs convulsed as you came to the feeling of him and you being bound together by your DNA. It was instantaneous, but you suddenly felt as if he was the only reason you existed. You weren't nor had you ever been a real person; you were only born to please his cock and accept his cum.

Your alpha.

You were practically clawing at Robin to get off of you so you could sink onto your alpha's cock instead. What was some beta when compared to the delight your alpha could offer your omega body? As far as you were concerned, nothing. You belonged to only one person now and no one else could take his place; not even the best friend you'd been with your entire life. They couldn't offer you the comfort of dominating and mounting you whenever you were in need, nor could they bite you and make you theirs. Even if they could, they had already lost you in their hesitation.

Robin slipped out of your hole, cum seeping out as they did. You twisted in Leighton's lap, turning to face him as the fresh mark on the back of your neck tingled to let you know you were doing the right thing. You had to fuck him. Your instincts were telling you to accept him or else your body would never be satisfied again.

He was already hard as you lifted your hips and sunk down onto his thick cock. Your toes curled as you began to bounce in his lap without a care for Robin who was still watching you mate like a beast. Maybe you would feel guilty for not giving a shit about them once your rationality returned to you, but for now all that mattered was being stuffed full of your alpha's cock.

Leighton, for his part, seemed to be content to lie back and watch your face twist in animalistic pleasure as you rode him. Your tight walls squeezed down on him as your omega slick dripped down the length of his shaft. Unlike Robin, Leighton could actually satisfy you. Only an alpha could satisfy an omega bitch like you, after all.

Robin could only watch helplessly as you rutted against the headmaster, loudly screaming in pleasure as he stretched you open and turned your brain into mush. It was like you had forgotten all about them now that you had been shown your proper place. You were nothing more than an omega.

"Please," they muttered so quietly it was drowned out by your cries, "no more. Don't hurt them."

Leighton looked at them from over your shoulder. "I would never hurt my favorite student. Do they look like they're in pain?"

As if to exemplify his point, you slammed your waist down and felt your eyes roll back in your head as you finally came after being pent up for so long. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you shuddered and trembled in orgasmic bliss.

He gripped your hips, forcing you to keep rolling against him until you had finally done enough to make him reach the same high so he could flood you with enough cum to push all of Robin's out.

Leighton pulled out of you, letting you go pathetically limp against him as you continued to quake.

"You-" Their words got caught in their throat as they lowered their head in defeat. He had won and they couldn't save you like they had desperately wanted to. If anything, you had ended up with the worst possible fate.

 They were so lost in their misery at failing you that they didn't even notice as Leighton stood up and fixed himself to be presentable, forced you to stand by holding the back of your neck (not allowing you to fix your frayed clothing), and stepped closer to his disheartened student.

"Don't worry," he whispered in Robin's ear as if to taunt them. "I'll let you practice as much as you need until you understand how to make them come." Omega were simple creatures, after all. As long as you made them come a few times, they would like anyone. Although, Leighton would always own them 

The look of defeated helplessness that clouded over Robin's tired eyes made him drunk. The way you desperately held onto him, much to your old friend's horror, made him hard all over again. He wanted to see how much lower they could fall before they finally broke like you already had. 

He placed his large hand around the back of your neck and squeezed tightly so he could lead you around as he pleased. You obeyed him without a struggle, only concerned with satisfying your alpha.

"Come to my office Monday morning and don't be late," was what Leighton said as he began to drag you away from the classroom.

Truthfully, he hoped Robin was late. He had plans for how to punish the brat if they didn't come when he called, all of which involved you; pictures of your vulgar cock-hungry face plastered on their locker for anyone passing by to see, inviting them to his office to watch you be punished in their place, making them sit back while you enjoyed slobbering all over his cock, and so on. The list was endless.

And it didn't end at Robin either. He knew for certain that there were multiple brats and even a few teachers in need of discipline at his school. You were just the best bait to lure them all in.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Dreaming of the Sun by happyaspie

No Archive Warnings Apply || Rated G || Chapters 1/2 || Peter Parker & Tony Stark || For @polaroid15

Part 69 of the Tony Stark is a Good Mentor series

Summary: While on a mission, Peter Parker and Tony Stark separate from the rest of the team to go after some stragglers. When the unexpected happens and their suits end up damaged beyond repair they realize they are stranded in the middle of a snow storm with no way to communicate with the team, no way to track their location, and no way to stay warm.

A/N: Ah, man! This fic has been sitting in my WIPS folder for nearly two years!But after starting Polaroid15's awesome Febuwhump 2022 fic, After the Storm (Which you should totally go check out!) I was suddenly filled with the the exact amount of motivation I needed to dive into that doc and finish it up!

[Excerpt Under the Cut]

Peter swung through the mangled door that led to the outside, Tony and a small pack of inordinately formidable Hydra agents right behind him. He paused just outside of the opening and crouched low, waiting with anticipation for his next order. When none came he swooped back inside to find Tony surrounded. Iron Man was expectantly holding his own, combining hand to hand combat with the use of his repulsors. However, that wasn’t enough to prevent Peter from swooping in to assist. He shot a web towards the ceiling and snapped forward, using the momentum to take out three of the large agents himself.

“Score!” he cheered as he whipped back around, aiming his heels towards the next closest aggressor. The remainder of the agents scattered, making it difficult for Peter to keep track of how many there were. He scurried up the nearest wall to better survey the situation, first looking down the dimly lit corridor. “There’s more coming! At least two dozen!” he shouted, then looked towards the door leading to the outside. “And there’s another dozen or so getting away!”

“Natasha's collecting the intel. Rhodey and Clint have her back. Sam and I are heading that way. We’re two minutes out,” Steve’s authoritative voice crackled through the comms. “Why don’t you and Tony head after the stranglers? We’ll rendezvous at the jet upon mission completion. Check in on the thirties.”

“Aye-aye Captain!” Peter replied while Tony broke free from the chaos and came to hover in front of him.

“Hop on Junior,” Tony promptly instructed, turning around to give Peter access to his back. “I’ll knock ‘em out; you web ‘em up.”

Peter leaped onto Tony and used his legs and feet to cling to armor. Tony took off towards the opening, dipping and diving around the shots that were being fired in their direction. Peter tried to be of assistance by jamming up and yanking away as many weapons as he could, but Tony’s strategic maneuvers weren’t quite enough to prevent him from having to duck and dodge the numerous attacks as well.

As they came up on the exit, Peter turned his body around and outstretched his hands, preparing to fire his webs. “Web grenade!” he called out once he’d double tapped the triggers on his palms, sending a mass of sticky webs flying towards the opening.

“Nice work, Kid,” Tony said, flipping his face plate up just long enough to flash Peter a small smile of encouragement.

“Did you see their faces when they ran into the webs? That was amazing!” Peter laughed, then held his arms out as he whooped with delight.

For quite a while they flew through the forest, tracking down the scattered agents and taking them out one by one. At some point during the desperate search, it had started to snow. Thick white flakes were swirling around them with a feather-like swoosh before accumulating on the already densely snow-covered ground. If it weren’t for the periodic bursts of gunshots and clustered explosions, Peter would have thought the glistening ice and fluttering snowflakes pretty.

“How many more are there, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked. The sun was starting to sink lower in the sky and the already cold wind was starting to take on a biting chill. A small shiver creeped up his spine encouraging him to raise the setting of the heater in his suit.

“I’m not sure, Bud. FRIDAY detected some unusual movement over this hill, we’re going to go check that out and then head back,” Tony replied. “We should probably split up before we get there. You can go all Tarzan through the trees while I fly in front to get a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“M’kay,” Peter merely agreed, then rested his chin on Tony’s broad shoulder. Save for a handful of necessary breaks, they’d been going full throttle for hours. He sighed profoundly, resigning himself to one more round with the enemy and prepared to dismount. He surveyed his surroundings for an appropriate target. Then let a web fly. However, the reactivity cut it loose, when his spider-sense sent his entire nervous system into a frenzy, causing the hair on the back of his neck to bristle.

“Mr. Stark?” he said with the intention of letting Tony know that some sort of imminent danger was headed their way, but he wasn’t able to get that far. He needed to get them out of the path of whatever was heading their way. His sixth sense wasn’t letting up and he had no choice but to allow his instincts to take over.

Peter took a sharp breath in and leaned forward to take hold of Tony’s left arm, providing himself full control of the flight stabilizer. At the same time, he used his legs and core strength to forcefully tilt the armor, using the angle to adjust their trajectory. He could feel Tony attempting to resist the manual adjustments but didn’t let up until he’d managed to point them away from the perceived danger.

Another spike in his spider-sense had Peter looking over his shoulder. He was met with a flash of light that warmed his face and burned his eyes, followed by a bang that left his ears ringing. He tightened his hold on the armor, cognizant of the fact that his fingers were digging into the alloy and squeezed his eyes shut. Three more bombs went off, each one just a little bit closer than the one before it. The last one was practically on their heels, it’s blast throwing them forward and down against their will.

They hit the solidly frozen ground hard. The armor clanked as it bounced over the downward terrain. Peter tried to use his strength to halt them. Blindly, he reached out to grab anything that might be within reach, but all he managed to do was bang himself up. His eager fingers caught in tangles of loose branches and his arms collided with anything he couldn’t quite catch. He cried out in pain as his wrist smacked up against a rugged stone and changed tactics. He braced himself and attempted to anchor his feet into the snow, sending it spraying outward and behind them. It wasn’t enough to stop them completely, but it slowed their descent. Enough so that Tony was able to gain some control. He threw his body weight to the side and managed to slide them directly into a large snow bank.

[Continue Reading on AO3]

[selfish-cat]

McKirk Drabble

(AU where kisses leave colours on people’s skin)

“Ow, can’t you be a little gentler, Bones?” he complains loudly.

In response to his request, the hands examining his injuries methodically apply just a little more force than necessary. “Gentler? Maybe you should’ve asked the guy who punched you to be a little gentler, you infant.”

Jim squirms at the touch and retorts, “He didn't exactly give me a chance to speak, you know?”

“I think he might be onto something,” Leonard grumbles. “Dammit, Jim, hold still. I'm trying to fix your face here.”

“It must be hard to fix perfection,” Jim says lightly, kicking his legs and looking awfully pleased at his comment.

Leonard laughs, “Sure, if that's what you want to call it. It's pretty damn easy to mess up though.”

He replies, “I can’t help it if that’s what they aim for all the time.”

After another minute, he ruffles Jim’s hair and announces, “There. All done. The rest of the bruising will fade away in a few days. A little natural healing is good for the soul. Please try not to get punched for the rest of the week.”

“Well, it’s not like I walk up to Cupcake asking him to fight me,” Jim retorts. He might’ve done that once or twice, but definitely not this time.

Rolling his eyes and wondering not for the first time how he ended up with such a ridiculous man in his already ridiculous life, Leonard sighs, “I don’t know, Jim, maybe if you didn’t call him ‘Cupcake’ all the time, he’d be less inclined to do you bodily harm.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I bet he secretly loves the nickname. Hey, Bones, you forgot something.”

“What?”

Jim points at his cheek. “Where’s my get well kiss?”

“You’re such a child, Jim Kirk.” Leonard stifles a noise of exasperation and presses his lips against his forehead. “There you go. Now get going already. I’ve got a test to study for.”

Grinning, Jim hops off the makeshift medical bed (their kitchen counter) and gives Leonard a peck on the cheek before leaving the room with a patch of deep red on his forehead. It first started as a joke during their first year at Starfleet and carried on as a personal experiment of his when he noticed how long it took for those kisses to fade, despite them having met only mere months before.

At first, it used to be a faint red that would linger for a day or two, but as they grew closer, the red darkened and it took longer for the colour to fade. Jim came to understand that no matter how pissed off Leonard was at him, the colour and length of the mark never waned.

On the other hand, Jim’s kisses never last. They’re always gone by the time he leaves the room. It’s not that the feelings aren’t there; or, at least he’s pretty sure they’re there even if the colours aren’t (if he can’t get colour to stick onto Leonard, he’s pretty sure it’ll never stick on anyone). So what he lacks in duration and tone, he tries to make up for in frequency.

During his experimental phase, Jim made his way around the campus and was kissed on more occasion than he can be bothered to count (for science, of course). Some kisses lingered for hours, some for minutes, and some never even took colour.

None of them could ever compare to Leonard’s.

And when confronted with that fact, Leonard rolled his eyes in equal parts exasperation and embarrassment. “Take a hint, Jim.”

Ever since then, there’s only one kiss that colour’s Jim’s skin.

Rubbing the patch of red on his forehead, he smiles.

Bruises may take a while to fade, but Leonard’s kisses last longer.

[darkisrising]

wip snippet roundup

3-2-1 challenge Thanks @skywalkity for tagging me for this:

The theme for this weekend is Good Vibes! 😎 So we’re going to 3-2-1 style with your WIPs! What does that mean? For the number of WIPs you have, you’re going to start with sharing that number of sentences for the first one, drop by one for the next one, etc.

So FOR EXAMPLE: If I have 5 WIPs, then I’m going to share 5 sentences out of one of them, 4 sentences out of the next, 3 sentences out of the next, etc. GIVE US THOSE GOOD VIBES WITH ALL YOUR WIPs!

Only have 1 WIP? Share that 1 sentence and be proud! Tag all your writing friends to send them lots of Good Vibes!

Which is, hm, well. I have (excluding all the fic I’m pretty sure I’m abandoning) eleven wip currently. And I have way too many writing friends to tag em all, lol, sooooo.... I will modify.  Not that I really expect anyone to care enough to go into the depths of my wip folder with me... but, hey, maybe there’s something you’re hoping to get a peek at? I dunno. Anyway, the beginnings of all these are either up on my ao3 or somewhere in my #darkisrising fic tag here on tumblr. Hope this makes someone happy!

Tribute (teen wolf, Steter) Peter’s only defense, if he’s allowed to have one, is he is really, really, really fucking jetlagged. He’d been sent around the country, flying between L.A., New York, and Miami to put out fires for nearly a month, which sounds glamorous in theory but the reality is he got really used to waking up disoriented, never knowing where he’d been, where he was, and where he was going next.  Seemed like a good idea at the time (star wars, bobadinluke, mpreg)

The sun has long since set. Clouds have gathered, thick and ominous, and there is no moonlight tonight to light the ocean below. It’s all a fathomless void, an act of faith to believe the water is there at all. Conduit (teen wolf, stetopher) After their dip in the pool out back—warm water heating their skin and cool air tempering it back down again as they make out in the shallow end—Peter gives him a tour of the house which includes the wine room where they split a five hundred dollar Cabernet. They drink from the bottle until their mouths and teeth are stained with it, and every scathing thing Peter says hits Stiles at just the right frequency that he laughs until his cheeks ache.

magic peter/ werewolf stiles (teen wolf, steter) In the kitchen Laura is whispering enchantments into a new phalanx of jars, set up in regimented lines across the counter. Cora is scrambling eggs in the red pan that Laura was cooking up something with toenails the night before. Neither look up when Peter announces again: “There’s a werewolf passed out on the lawn,” though Cora shrugs.

“Yeah, they do that sometimes,” she says, like that isn’t even more cause for alarm. swamp witch luke/ cowboy din/ vampire boba  (star wars, bobadinluke) Luke and the kid come back with matching grins, some kind of mischief shared dancing like flies between them, and their baskets full of greens. Din tips his hat as they pass by to hear Luke’s answering snort and then he settles down to whittle while they two start drawing their symbols in the mud.

“I’m expecting you’ll want to go tussle with this vampire nest soon enough.”

It takes a moment for Din to realize the witch is talking to him, he’s been talking to the kid for so long now that Din has gotten lost to the scrape of his boot knife against wood.

the things that are deadly (star wars, quiobi, the vampire one)

“I love you,” he practices into the lonely quiet when he’s sure there’s no chance of being overheard. The words fall strangely around him. They are leaden, dense, and Obi-Wan can remember as a young poet how often those same words roosted on his lips, how quickly they sprang into the air and took flight at the slightest provocation: the laugh of a laundress or the cant of a sailor’s hips.

Maybe they would again someday. The ‘somedays’ were becoming more bearable to think of, when Obi-Wan’s entire world could be contained between this hotel room’s water-stained walls, and eternity charted with every thrum of Qui-Gon’s beating heart.

fated (star wars, dinluke, the soulmates one)

Pointing his blaster at a target his brain is still catching up on seeing is instinct born of years of training and a lifetime of staying one step ahead of attacks. He’s out of the refresher, his finger on the trigger, between one breath and the next.

“Oh!” his remarkably unstealthy intruder says. “You’re not wearing, um. Hi.”

Cypher (star wars, obikin, the one where anakin has a chip in his head) “Follow me,” Obi-Wan makes the mistake of saying one morning, which works out well enough as he passes through the mundanity of a long space push to their next set of coordinates, but by evening he’s forgotten all about his orders.

The cypher hasn’t.

So when Obi-Wan opens the door to his bunk for the evening he’s surprised when the cypher follows him in. The General’s quarters may be the largest of the personal quarters on the star destroyer, but that isn’t saying much. He might have his own eating table, kitchenette, and refresher, it isn’t nearly large enough not to notice when a fully grown man is suddenly standing behind him. “Oh!” Obi-Wan says, blinking as the door closes the two of them in together with a whoosh.

Meaner than my demons (star wars, bobadinluke, the bdsm one)

There aren’t any texts from mysterious men in latex masks waiting for him when Luke finally drags himself out of bed at two in the afternoon, but there is one from Leia and he has to smile at her restraint. She’d waited until noon before sending him a single question mark, which is vastly different from what she would have done even a year ago. Used to be if he was late with his morning check-in, Chewbacca and Han would be sent over to lay on the doorbell, scowling at Boba from the front porch until Luke emerged to show proof of life.

She might not be thrilled that her only brother is the live-in plaything of a man twice his age, or that Luke likes it that way, but at least she’s starting to come around to the idea that maybe Boba isn’t going to hurt him enough to send him to the hospital. Even if she does like to know whether or not he made it through the night with a call or text.

alive. he types back and then, because she really does have good reason for worrying after what all went down with his last dom he adds: late night. sorry.

He gets a thumbs up emoji, right away and he tries not to feel too bad that she’s probably been sitting by her phone,

**

...and I’ve lost my docs for the others. And I found more things I’d started, set aside, and forgot about. Man I’ve got to go through and organize these one day. These folders are a mess. 

Anyway, no pressure tags to @bronze-lorica , @purplesauris , @brightmouth , @tessiete , @sushiburritonoms

[veliseraptor]

got tagged for two fic writer memes yesterday! the one from @ameliarating first:

How many works do you have on AO3?

509.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

3,432,24. dang! that’s a lot of words

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I have written for...counting the MCU as one fandom, on AO3 I have written for 32 fandoms, including at least one work in:

MCU, The Sillmarillion, Caliban Leandros, both DC and Marvel Comics, the book Barebacked by Kit Whitfield, Doctrine of Labyrinths, Doctor Who, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Star Wars, Black Jewels, Dragon Age, Lucifer, Dexter, Temeraire, Gentleman Bastard Sequence, Supernatural, A Song of Ice and Fire, Greek Mythology, Lymond Chronicles, Merlin BBC, Code Geass, Good Omens,  Death Note, and White Collar.

this is not a comprehensive list of every fandom I’ve ever written for, because it is not including ones that live only on FFN or Livejournal.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Life In Reverse tops the list (11066), aka my 200k Loki-centric post-Thor AU fic that I wrote between 2012 and 2018 and with which I have a decidedly complex relationship at this point. I love it but also I no longer think it’s my best work but also I credit it with teaching me a fuck of a lot about writing and writing longer projects in general.

With Absolute Splendor is rapidly catching up, to my astonishment (6559), despite having been posted for less than half as long. Aka the wedding planning fic that’s really just me mucking about in my Jiang Cheng and my Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian feelings, at length.

some good mistakes (4618) was my first foray into the Untamed version of “characters who hate each other going on resentful roadtrips together, feat. Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng.” I have gone on to write others and will continue to write more.

Unraveling (3069) is a little bit of a surprise but also not - it was originally just sort of WWP stuff for my ‘what if people remembered that blunt force trauma is a really bad thing actually’ problem that pops up sometimes, re: Loki at the end of The Avengers, and then it kind of turned into a whole thing. I personally think it’s the weakest of the installments of the series it belongs to, but it is the first one and also the one that gets least into the broader family dysfunction and depression stuff that probably is less everyone’s thing (but is what came out this fic that mattered more to me, personally).

I am a little surprised to see Steve Rogers’ Halfway House for Notorious Supervillains (3068) here too! I was expecting one of the more...idk, mainstream concepts from the MCU to win out? But I also wasn’t expecting two Untamed fics to make it here, either. But I am stupid proud of this fic even if it is very extraordinarily unfinished. This is one of those unfinished fics that will nag at me unless and until I finish it, at least a little, because the concept - if I do say so myself - is so goddamn good and I think I was executing it pretty well, too.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Pretty much never. I was never very good at it and now I’d feel like I had to go back and reply to all of them and I just. I can’t do that. and when I do try to just start at the beginning I get overwhelmed very fast and start avoiding it.

Basically I decided that if it’s a decision between wrestling with myself to reply to comments versus actually doing more writing I’m going to end up landing on the latter as feeling both more doable and more productive.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

probably it’s The Worlds Forgotten, the Words Forbidden for sheer level of “so then what was the point” of it all. but like. I’ve definitely written a few extraordinarily miserable fics, and by “a few” I kind of mean “a lot.” Other nominees I’d put down might be nor autumn falter (for currently personally making me suffer most), once there was a way to get back home (for I think having the ouchiest summary), and Waiting for the Summer Rain (which remains one of my personal favorite Supernatural fics I wrote).

but like. there are 43 fics I have marked with Major Character Death warnings and every single one of those, pretty much, has a downer ending.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I have written several though not in a long time! My craziest probably remains the Morgoth/Cthulhu short I wrote that actually got sporked because someone took it seriously (???) enough to do that. But the craziest that actually has any merit, (I’d argue) is probably the Maeglin/Viserys one.

not linking to either, if you want to go find them I don’t think it’ll be that hard.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yeah, a few times on a few different things. More if you count “people who seem to like the fic but love telling you how much they hate the female characters you’re writing about in it” as ‘hate’ which I would but isn’t, you know, quite as straightforward. If I had a nickel for every time someone bitched about Jane in Life in Reverse, though...lots of nickels.

Do you write smut? if so what kind?

Sure do! But what does ‘what kind’ mean, I don’t know how to answer that question. I feel tempted to just put in my “Mike’s Hard Kinks” image edit in this space.

I guess usually I tend to write smut that at least involves a little bit of a kink? I don’t think I’d feel comfortable writing entirely kinkless smut. I think I’d feel weird about it, the same way I do when I write really nice fic, generally.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I think I did back when but I don’t remember anything about it. I feel like it was one of those mass data scraping things where my fic happened to be among those caught up in it.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! several actually, mostly into Russian and Chinese. every time it happens I’m immensely flattered that someone wants to put in that kind of work on something I wrote.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I think I’d be very, very bad at it.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Depends on when you ask me! I could probably give you a top five but then I’d remember six that I forgot to mention five minutes later. I guess if I were to think about ships that feel like they hold very special particular places in my heart... Xue Yang/Xiao Xingchen, Steve Rogers/Loki, and Min/Rand come to mind.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

oh god do you want the whole list cause honestly I could just like. screencap the entirety of my “in progress” folder with a crying emoji watermarked over it. and that’s not getting into the fics that are like...half formed babies in my consciousness but not anywhere on paper.

and also I just hate to admit that I might not finish something.

you know what? the Lucifer/Good Omens crossover I started would’ve been a lot of fun. I’m probably never going to finish it, but it would’ve been great if I had. I know other people did it too but my contribution could’ve been amazing.

I can say this very boldly with the near certainty that I’m not going to finish the fic so no one will be able to disagree.

(...also the Last Herald-Mage fix it. that was going to be a good fic too, and also will probably languish unfinished forever.)

What are your writing strengths?

I’m pretty sure dialogue is my strongest point. Dialogue and emotions, which is why I always end up just wanting to write about characters talking and having feelings at each other.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing action sequences throws me into conniptions every time I have to do it and I will take drastic actions sometimes to avoid doing it at all, which probably weakens the work as a whole.

Also, I don’t plan ahead and this means I write myself into corners kind of a lot. If I wasn’t writing long, dense fic it wouldn’t be a problem but here we are.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I tend to avoid it unless it’s in the context of, as in CQL/MDZS fic, leaving certain terminology untranslated. I’m pretty sure I almost never write full exchanges of dialogue in a different language than I’m using for the narration within a fic, and generally speaking my reaction to other people doing it is at least mildly negative.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter was technically the first fandom I wrote for, but it was a crack fic I wrote to make my friends laugh more than anything; I tend to count Wheel of Time as my first actual fandom for which I wrote my first actual fic.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

some days the answer is “all of them” and some day the answer is “I don’t like anything I’ve written in my entire life” and I never like giving this a definitive answer. yesterday I reread efforts in a common cause (the bound copy!! thanks @spockandawe) and you know what, that was a good fic and I’m proud of it, so I’m going with that one, for this meme, today.

tagging: @mostfacinorous, @jaggedcliffs, @silvysartfulness, @mikkeneko, @kasasagi-eye, @curiosity-killed, how many people am I supposed to tag for this one anyway

[sins-of-the-sea]

So. My daily-use laptop will not boot up. Cappn ran all the diagnostics he could, the hard drive seems fine. It is very likely a motherboard issue, so that means taking it to some repairs. I don't know how long that'll take, but at least I have my travel laptop so I'm not completly aching for computer access. A lot of my files are thankfully also uploaded in some kind of cloud, and there is RPthreadtracker.

Unfortunately, because this is my travel laptop, that means a LOT of other files are missing/not transferred, such as most of my icons, about all my art files, and certain notes. All my critical WIPs are in the other laptop, plus certain precious files I've kept since 2005 (including RP logs from AIM/Skype, high school/college days Devil's Eye, and so on). So here is to praying that, if the laptop can't be salvaged, then the data can at least be retrieved.

What I may do until I get the laptop back, in addition to trying to kick myself back into replies and drafts, is to work on other critical biographies and lore, especially those that are history-dense. It's about time the Twins, Rashid, Rui, and Abena get their biographies updated. Especially Abena, with whom Cappn and I just recently hit a jackpot of historical info that would define a lot of her backstory.

...God, I’m so mad. Because I’ve been just drawing these past few weeks, my icon folders were expanding, and now I can’t access them unless I scrounge for posts that already used them. Ffs.

[daydreamingic]

A Liminal Moment

Author notes: edited with grammarly, ritual and clan names are made up. Mistakes are mine, constructive criticism welcome. I'm cleaning out my WIPs/ideas folder and this was one I wanted to finish. Very vanilla for me but it was fun to write. No plans at the moment to continue, but the bones are there in case I want to revist. Set in the WoW universe.

A Liminal Moment​

"Tenkof gets to go on an overnight hunt." Ahkune, daughter of Guragom, stood firmly in the entry to her parents' small hut with her green fists on her hips. "Why am I forbidden?" Her parents sat on a soft, colorful rug across the room from the entrance of their home. They exchanged a glance, a glint of firelight from the small fire in the middle of their hut catching amusement in her mother's eyes before her father turned toward her. Her mother continued to weave a large basket with dried reeds as he spoke. "The Wor’amon is a bonding ritual between the hunter and his companion, as his companion seeks a lifemate. Only the hunter and his companion," he emphasized and gave his daughter a smile that curled around his wide tusks. "As you age, friendships change," Yatesh, her mother, interjected sternly, and set the basket down. She crossed muscled arms over her chest, taking her own firm stance across the room from her daughter. "Much of your journey will be alone as well, Ahkune. This is the first of many separate journeys for both of you." Ahkune's dark eyes narrowed. Neither of her parent’s gazes wavered when they felt the crackle of electricity in the air. With a huff, Ahkune turned on her heel and left the tent. The tension dissipated immediately. "Elements help him," Guragom chuckled, turning toward his mate, who frowned after their daughter. "I remember another young spitfire that wouldn't take no for an answer..." "I've had a vision," Yatesh said abruptly and turned to him. "He's going to leave her. Not on purpose, but she will be forever changed. It would be in her best interest to focus on her path now." "Would that have stopped you?" Guragom asked bluntly. Yatesh scowled but the harsh look softened almost immediately. "I don’t want her path changed because of the loss of their friendship. Letting them grow as close as they have may have been a mistake.” "You couldn't have pried them apart as children, Yatesh, any more than you could pry them apart now. We can't decide her path for her," Guragom said and reached over to take her hand. He rubbed her knuckles with calloused fingers. “And we can’t change the past. Ahkune is almost of age, and her journey is her own.” Yatesh blew out a sharp breath and her lower lip trembled before she bit it. “I don’t want darkness for her,” she said, voice quiet. Guragom sighed and pulled his mate into his arms, and Yatesh went, willing, their forms coming together as one silhouette. “We can only guide her,” he said, tightening the embrace. “The choices are hers.” After a long moment, Yatesh took a deep breath and pulled back, reaching for the incomplete basket to continue her weaving. ***

Ahkune crept through the dense forest that bordered her clan’s land as dusk settled. She stayed far out of sight while Kulgah of the Wolfclaw Clan guided his son to the beginning of a barely discernible path, far into the woods. The elements responded to her urgency, her need to be near Tenkof, and guided her between the trees, her bare footsteps soft. She wore a soft fur skirt and thin leather vest with no adornments, and her hair was tightly braided down the back of her head. If she’d been walking with Tenkof and his father, she’d have bones and beads and feathers tied into her hair, but Tenkof was born of a long line of hunters, and his family members were the best trackers in the clan; any mistake would lead them both to her, so she’d chosen quiet clothing and begged the elements to ensure there were no brambles to fight, no branches that hung so low she’d have to disturb them. She watched from a cliff ledge some distance away when Tenkof and his father entered a small clearing that opened to the edge of a pond. From her vantage above the clearing, she could see a stream that dropped down a distant mountainside and snaked through the forest, to the pond where Tenkof stood with his massive, gray wolf, Kosh, at his side. Kosh knew Ahkune’s scent well but hadn’t glanced her way while she followed the group. Kulgah was a large orc, bigger than Ahkune's father, and one of the strongest in their clan. Tenkof was nearly his father’s height but not as tightly muscled, shoulders not quite as wide--yet. Kulgah said something that Ahkune couldn’t make out, then gave his son a hearty slap on the back and started the long trek back through the forest, toward their clan grounds. Kulgah had worn simple leathers, but Tenkof was clad only in a loincloth and his bow and quiver. When Kulgah departed, Tenkof scouted the small clearing and used a handful of dried brush and some downed branches to start a campfire. Ahkune watched and waited for his father to disappear beyond sight. Once Kulgah could no longer be seen or heard, she glanced back at Tenkof--who was standing in the clearing, next to the crackling fire, and staring directly at the ledge where Ahkune was perched. Tenkof nodded in her direction, then pointed toward the fire and turned his back to the cliff. He settled down on the ground while Kosh prowled the clearing. Face hot with shame from being spotted, Ahkune didn’t attempt to keep quiet as she scaled the ledge and dropped to the soft, moss-covered ground below. She sprinted through the trees toward Tenkof’s clearing. Kosh met her in the forest with a wide, happy smile, tongue lolling, and loped by her side as they ran to Tenkof. “Thought you were quiet, did you?” Tenkof chuckled, not bothering to turn as Ahkune stepped into the clearing. Ahkune snorted and glared at his back, at his long, dark hair that had been tied in a braid. “On the approach, yes. It seems I was not?” “You were.” Tenkof glanced at her then, looking over his shoulder. “I’m not sure if my father noticed you. He didn’t speak of you.” Ahkune raised her brows but said nothing. The likelihood of his father not noticing her was slim, especially since Tenkof had spotted her. It didn’t matter. Kulgah had left and her parents hadn’t bothered trying to follow her. She walked to the fire and sat opposite of Tenkof, one hand gripping a fist full of soft earth. She could feel the element’s anticipation thrumming through the ground beneath her. “You understand the implications of Wor’amon, Ahkune.” Tenkof stared into the fire now, his face and posture set in firm lines. “Why did you come?” She’d been told repeatedly that there would be ceremonies and tasks both would be expected to undertake on separate paths, but she and Tenkof had been inseparable since they could walk, both born in the same season. They still played together in the forest, still swam together in the river. Ahkune often hunted and foraged with Tenkof, his father, and her father. She didn’t understand why she would be kept away from a simple bonding ritual. “Does the passing of the

solstice change us from who we were yesterday? One day, Tenkof, and now we walk our separate paths? Yesterday we swam and fished, Kosh by our sides. Why must tonight be only you and Kosh?” Tenkof turned to her and chided, “I will not be exploring your vision quests with you, Ahkune. These rites have been long established. Tradition has a meaning to our clan.” “Look me in the eyes and say it, then.” She lifted her chin in defiance, crossed her stout arms across her muscled chest. “Come now, Tenkof of the Wolfclaw Clan, look your closest friend in the eyes and tell me that tradition outweighs our bond.” “It doesn’t outweigh it, nitwit,” he said, exasperated. “You’re being purposefully obtuse.” He paused, looking at the fire again. “You don’t know what Wor’amon entails, do you?” She knew Kosh would find a mate and Tenkof would protect them, but she didn’t know any details--not that she’d admit that to Tenkof. “Of course. Why do you think I’m here?” Something peculiar happened when she answered. Tenkof’s cheeks turned reddish in the firelight. She narrowed her eyes. Curious. Tenkof stood and held out a hand for Ahkune to take. She walked to him, and he clasped her hands between his. When he spoke, he sounded more like this father than she’d ever heard, expression solemn, tone serious. It sounded like he’d memorized the words long before they crossed his lips. “Ahkune of the Wolfclaw Clan, daughter of Guragom. You insist on accompanying us on this night of Wor’amon. Answer this. Of your own determination, you have freely chosen to partake in Wor’amon?” Ahkune swallowed. For the first time, she felt like she may have been crossing a line that was drawn for a purpose. Maybe she shouldn’t have lied about understanding the ritual, but it was too late. She wouldn’t back down. “Yes, Tenkof of the Wolfclaw Clan, son of Kulgah.” “So be it,” he said, and while the reddish color darkened and spread down his neck, he shook her hand firmly, then let go. Ahkune immediately punched him in the shoulder, hard, breaking the serious atmosphere that had descended upon the little clearing. “Ahkune,” he chastised. She was strong, but not stronger than he, and instead of punching her back like he may have when they were little, he tugged at the bit of bone that adorned the piercing in her nose. “We wait for Kosh now,” he said. Questions bubbled up in her mind, but she’d already agreed and didn’t want to risk asking them for fear Tenkof would decide that she needed to leave. She would observe and simply accompany Tenkof, she decided, and she took time to examine the clearing. Tenkof’s bow and quiver leaned against a tree near him, and he wore a small leather pouch around his waist, but she saw no other supplies. Kosh settled down next to the fire. Ahkune was never good at waiting, so she offered to find a meal, and Tenkof, after looking Kosh over, agreed to hunt with her. They found a pair of rabbits in the woods, and on the return to the clearing Ahkune spotted ripe berries in a small bramble thicket tucked between trees. When they returned, Kosh was pacing, growing restless. Tenkof gutted the rabbit and left the innards for Kosh, but Kosh paid them no mind. They ate roast rabbit off the bone and finished with berries, watching the fire as it died, while Kosh whined and scented the air at the edge of the clearing. As Kosh grew discontent, Tenkof opened the pouch and pulled out a small sachet. “It is beginning,” Tenkof said. Ahkune bit her tongue and swallowed more questions as Tenkof placed the sachet in his mouth. He didn’t chew but seemed to push it into his cheek, where it bulged slightly. The air in the clearing grew rich with anticipation, a heady scent in the air that Ahkune couldn’t quite identify. “I can feel it,” she said, and her tongue felt thick, the words difficult to force out. Something hot stirred in her veins. “I wondered...” Tenkof shook his head and licked his lips, before moving to the sachet to his other cheek. He reached behind him to untie his braid and shake his hair out. The small bones and glass beads

that were woven into his hair rattled. “Of course you can feel it. I’m sure father knew you were here.” Ahkune laughed then, the sound abrupt and hearty. “If you could track me, I have no doubts that he knew.” While Ahkune would one day be a shaman, her ability to commune with the elements already heightened, she doubted she would ever be able to outsmart the greatest hunter their clan had known. “We follow Kosh now.” Tenkof stood, watching Kosh pant. The wolf prowled toward the north of the clearing, near the creek that spilled into the small pond. Tenkof gathered his bow and slung his leather quiver over his back. Ahkune stood and trailed her fingers over the small wooden totems tucked into the band of her skirt. She’d been on many hunts, but this wasn’t a hunt, and she didn’t know what to expect. The tension grew and it was oddly specific, hungry for something that wasn’t a kill. Though she was inexperienced with others, Ahkune was familiar with burgeoning cravings of the flesh that left her seeking solace in the woods to explore her body alone, but this was different. It was a primal craving that wasn’t quite hers, though she could taste it in the air and feel it begin to affect her, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip. She wasn’t the only one feeling affected, she thought and stared at Tenkof. The reddish color had spread down his shoulders, over his chest, and she followed the flush down to where his loincloth hung loosely, his feet planted apart-- Kosh howled, long and mournful, asking a question that Ahkune could not understand. From deep within the forest another howl sounded, longer but higher pitched, an answer to the question asked. Kosh’s eyes were bright, head cocked to the side, and when the howl ended, he was off, head low as he lunged into the forest, following a path that Ahkune could not see. Tenkof shouted, and they were off, sprinting after Kosh, diving into the dark forest without hesitation. There was little the familiar woods could offer that would best two young warriors from the Wolfclaw Clan. Tenkof was faster, but just barely; Ahkune followed him easily, leaping over downed logs, dodging underbrush, careening between trees. This felt more like their hunts, but with a growing need coursing through her body. Twigs snapped underfoot, sharp stones dug into the soles of her feet, but she ran through the pain. She brushed against Tenkof, almost gaining on him, and something sparked inside at the brush of her skin against his. Kosh howled again, close but still ahead of them, and Tenkof roared, a burst of speed sending him hurtling in front of Ahkune. They ran for what felt like hours or days, until her heart thundered in her chest and her blood roared in her ears. The trees began to thin, and Tenkof stopped abruptly in front of Ahkune, and she slammed into his back. “Hey,” she snapped, bracing both hands against his back to push him. Tenkof hissed, “Quiet,” and she dropped one hand immediately as she moved to his side, the other hand trailing across his back, unable to pull away completely. They stood at another clearing, breathing heavy, and Kosh circled a smaller, white wolf that snapped and snarled at him. The musk of heat and need was heavier here, and something between Ahkune’s legs ached as she watched, mouth open, as the wolves circled each other. Tenkof dropped his bow and yanked his quiver over his head. That was her only warning before Kosh lunged and Tenkof did the same. Ahkune hit the ground hard. She rolled immediately, just barely escaping being pinned, and she laughed. Tenkof’s eyes were dark as they followed her movement, and she bared her fangs at him as Kosh nipped at his mate across the clearing. The female wolf yelped, and again Tenkof dove toward Ahkune. This time she wasn’t fast enough, and the force of their impact sent them rolling across the ground. The spark where they’d touched before turned into a blaze, fire trailing where their skin met. They wrestled and Ahkune locked her legs around his waist, twisting out from under him, but Tenkof grabbed

her and pulled with all of his might. The wolves growled with spiky hackles raised. Ahkune wouldn’t let Tenkof win without a fight, so she pushed hard, and he growled, showing teeth and tusks. The fire inside her roared, spreading through her abdomen. When Tenkof managed to get one leg between hers, she didn’t try to move away and let him pin her wrists to the ground above her head. His grin was dark and triumphant around his tusks, ivory jutting over the dark green line of his curled lips. He leaned down to nip at her chin. Ahkune hissed and shifted. She tried to bear down on his leg and make contact with where the fire had pooled in her center. She managed to grind down once, pleasure spiking at the drag of his firm muscle against her most vulnerable place, leaving an ache that craved more. Ahkune opened her eyes to see Tenkof’s closing, and her knee caught him off guard when she jammed it between his legs. Across the clearing, the white wolf snarled and snapped at Kosh. Tenkof growled, his smile turned dark as Ahkune scrambled backward, out from beneath him. She laughed and leaned forward, into a crouch, brow raised in challenge. He licked his lips, and when he rushed her, it was different. There was no hint of laughter in his expression, no soft edges to his attack. Kosh lunged toward his mate at the same time, and they both landed. Tenkof grabbed Ahkune by the waist and yanked her up, slamming her against the nearest tree. Kosh’s jaws were wide around the white wolf’s neck, holding her in place as he shifted slowly into position. Tenkof pressed himself against Ahkune, and she could feel the hard lines of his body, and the press of his cock heavy against her abdomen. She’d seen him fully naked before, as they bathed or swam in the river, but this was different; he wasn’t soft, hanging between his legs, no. He was hard and jutted against her. Her eyes widened as arousal flared inside and left her flushed and panting as Tenkof pushed against her once, then stopped, face buried in her neck. The needy noise that escaped her throat surprised her as much as him. Tenkof pulled back enough to look at her, his eyes wide as she whimpered, the need coursing through her suddenly intensified low in her pelvis, hot and slick. All she could think about was how good it felt when he moved against her, and she said so. Tenkof leaned in and her lips parted automatically, her eyes drawn to his mouth. She forced herself to look up when he paused and found him watching her carefully. “Tenkof,” she breathed, “I’m going to kick you again if you don’t do something.” Tenkof growled and surged against her, and she opened her mouth when his lips crashed into hers, and spread her legs so he could shift between them, the press of his cock through the loincloth and her fur skirt even closer and harder than before. She keened, bit his bottom lip, then licked it before he took over and kissed her again. He tasted like bitter herbs, and he turned to spit the sachet on the ground before returning to her mouth. She ground helplessly against him when the hot press of his tongue against hers was too much, yet not enough. “Ahkune,” he said, voice husky with desire, and pulled back. “You’re sure?” She reached up and buried her hands in his hair, and tugged him back to her. “Yes,” she said and bit the tip of his nose. Tenkof laughed, and his chest rumbled against hers, then ducked his head to lick and bite her neck. She groaned, and he reached down to search her skirt. He found the leather tie on one side and pulled it loose, the fur loosening then falling away from her hips. Ahkune inhaled sharply at the sudden exposure of skin, and he pressed his hand between her legs. His other hand shifted up under her thin leather vest, finding the soft swell of one small breast. He pinched her nipple hard, then pushed the vest off her shoulders. “Yes,” she moaned. She fumbled with his chest as he tweaked her nipple with his free hand and rubbed over the sensitive flesh below with his other. He rubbed back and forth until her slick spread between the

folds of her skin, coating his fingers so he could explore more easily, tugging at the thin skin of her entrance. Ahkune hissed and flicked his nipples in return, and it was his turn to groan at the flare of sharp pain, pushing against her as his cock throbbed. Tenkof kissed Ahkune and pushed two fingers into her hot, wet channel, and they heard the white wolf howl as Kosh finally mounted her. Ahkune’s hands trailed down his chest, nails scratching over the tight muscles of his abdomen, catching on the band of his loincloth. The leather tie wasn’t hard to find, and much like hers all it took was a quick tug before the leather was sliding off his skin, and nothing was left between them. She palmed his length as he rocked his fingers in and out of her. She stroked him with unsteady hands, fingers sliding up and over the ridge at the head of his cock with each tug. Precome dripped from the slit at the tip of his cock, down his length, and her hand was sticky with it. He grunted and bit her neck harder, and she gasped as he pressed in with a third wide finger. “More,” she said and nipped at his shoulder. “Need more.” He twisted the nipple on her other breast and captured her in a kiss, tongue pressing into her mouth. It was deep and wet, and she kissed him back just as hard, only breaking the kiss to whine when he pulled his fingers out of her. “I’m here,” he reassured her, and lined himself up, pressing the blunt head of his cock against the soft, slick entrance where her legs spread. Ahkune rolled her hips and his cock slid back and forth, oozing precome that mixed with her wet arousal. He pushed in and she whimpered as something tight inside resisted; he pushed harder, and the fire in her loins exploded as the resistance gave way to a sting of pain. Tenkof filled her, thick and heavy, stretching her--Ahkune’s thoughts were broken and jumbled as she clung to Tenkof, digging her nails into his arms, his back. She pressed her face against his chest as he pushed as far as he could, and he groaned when he bottomed out. They stayed that way for a moment, Ahkune full but not satisfied, her face against his chest, both breathing heavily. The pain faded, leaving only the raging fire within that wanted. Tenkof pulled back and she bit her lip at the loss of sensation; but he pushed back in, hard, and Ahkune couldn’t hold back the sounds she made, loud and desperate as Tenkof began to move in earnest. The blazing pleasure grew with each rough thrust. They picked up speed as they moved in tandem, racing toward an end that neither had ever shared, Ahkune moaning, and Tenkof grunting. Each thrust grew harder, each grunt louder, until Ahkune's eyes watered from the intense pleasure that rolled over her in waves. Each subsequent wave swelled taller and crashed harder, until Ahkune hit the pinnacle and the final wave shattered over her, pleasure pulling her under as her orgasm pulsed from her center. She panted as her muscles contracted around Tenkof, and she felt him swell and thicken inside of her as his thrusts turned short, and jerky. He followed her over the edge, cock pulsing in time with shallow thrusts as he came buried inside of her. Ahkune could feel the sweat drip from his face, covering his chest and shoulders in a sheen. His cock twitched inside of her as he softened, and she sagged against him. Tenkof wrapped his arms around her and held her up, and the wolves howled together. After a few breaths, Tenkof softened enough to slip out, and Ahkune grumbled at the sudden loss of sensation. “You’ll have me again,” Tenkof whispered just behind her ear and nuzzled her neck before he reached down and slid two fingers into her again. “Already?” she chuckled, and he huffed a laugh. “No,” he pressed his lips against the line of her chin. “Without you, I would have spilled my seed on the ground, for the wolves. Kosh and I are bonded, but she’s his. She needs to know that I am an extension of her mate.” He kissed Ahkune again, tongue only darting out to lick her bottom lip, before he pulled away, carrying their shared fluid

over to the wolves. He crouched next to them, Kosh bound to his mate, and held his hand out for the female to lift her head and sniff his fingers, then lick them clean. Kosh’s ears perked up, alert, and he watched until his mate was finished. Ahkune ran her hand over the neat braid that went down the back of her head and ended above her neck, watching as her closest companion, turned lover, walked back to her. “What now?” she asked Tenkof quietly when he crossed the clearing. He sat and gestured for her, so she sat next to him and he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. They settled on the ground together, his arm keeping her at his side. His voice was a quiet rumble. “We stay with them. If they mate again, we mate again. If anything attempts to interrupt, we protect them. Tonight is for their bond, and my bond with both of them.” The white wolf whined and stared at Ahkune with soulful yellow eyes. “Our bond,” Tenkof corrected, and his arm tightened around Ahkune as the white wolf settled down and looked away. “I have always known you would be my mate, Ahkune. I didn’t expect it to happen now, but--” he shook his head. “What’s done is done.” “We coupled,” she said, and jabbed him in the side with her elbow. “We’re not mated yet.” “Tell that to the wolves,” he said, and pressed a fist to her hair and roughened it quickly. Ahkune laughed and tried to squirm away, but he shifted his hand to the side of her face, cupped her cheek with one palm, and stared. Ahkune softened at the warm expression on Tenkof’s face as he looked her over carefully, then kissed her again. He was right, of course. They may not have been mated by ceremony, but the wolves watched them with knowing eyes, and something in Ahkune’s chest had trilled in delight when Tenkof called her his mate. When his lips met hers, it felt like coming home with full packs after a long hunt, or the cold rain on dry fields after a stifling, arid summer. She kissed him back and didn’t think about the future; she simply existed in his embrace, and it felt right. “No matter what punishment awaits my disobedience, I have no regrets,” she told him, tracing the line of his wide jaw with one finger. “I will be by your side, to shoulder my half of any punishment,” Tenkof trailed kisses down her jaw. “Mate.” Their paths had been intertwined since birth, and she knew she was meant to be at his side. The trees sighed as a gentle wind blew, as if the elements agreed. Tenkof mouthed the curve of her neck and followed it down, down, down, as Ahkune tangled her fingers in his dark hair. She let herself test the word, “mate,” as he spread the folds of soft skin between her legs with his tongue. She liked the shape of the word on her lips, and she spoke it out loud. “Mate.” Tenkof groaned against her sensitive flesh, and she shuddered. “Say it again,” he demanded, looking up at her. “Mate,” she said, showing him her teeth. “My mate.” Tenkof’s eyes grew dark with want, and he nipped her thighs before crawling up and over her body, pushing her down against the ground. “Yes,” he said and covered her body with his own. “Yours.” The earth beneath Ahkune hummed quietly, content, similar to her own emotions as they touched each other. Wor’amon momentarily sated, they explored with no urgency as the wolves rested together. Ahkune was happy to be at his side like she’d always been, and didn’t worry about the eventual return to their village; as he’d said, Tenkof would be by her side, and they would carry their burdens together. Mates. ***​

[agoddamn]

Shit in my WIP folder

Buuunch of ZeroAshu stuff ranging from the get-together fic to postgame drama to tropey ABO shit

ZeroAshu missionfic feat city boy Zero vs horse

3h fic about The Nabatean Thing and faculty

3h fic about Seteth between Tailtean Plains and present day

3h fic about Seteth reacting to Rhea's secret projects and lying his ass off to Gilbert

3h Cathrhea post Snow

Old Obi-Wan going back in time because you're legally obligated to write that fic in SW fandom, and also I'm deeply unsatisfied by all the time travel fic that's soft angsty 35-year-old Obi-Wan when what I want is deranged old man dissociating his balls off

I want an excuse to write about Jedi philosophical debate bc we were robbed, ROBBED of Jedi interpreting their own religion and arguing about it with each other like real life because Anakin was too dense to imagine alternative opinions existed and just took the fuckin 900-year-old's perspective as gospel, fucking christ of COURSE he says "gotta move on" when he gets to see EVERYONE age and die

Fragment of Sun/Moon fic about Nanu digging up Guzma's history

Beowulf + old Shuwen: "did you fuck old me.doc"

Extraverse Julius and Assassin after that mana trap

BeoLi size kink porn

[creamypudding]

Second long-fic posted for this year. I’m on a roll. I’m so happy to be clearing the backlog of WIPs. How Shoegazing was my AkuRoku baby, Kintsukuroi is my Clack baby. They are completely different, but I hold them both with equal weight in my hearft. I’ll be posting chapters for this weekly. Please do leave me comments and feedback on AO3. As much as I loved writing this story, I am also extremely burnt out from it, so some kind of appreciation of my hard work would be... appreciated, heh. Do heed the AO3 tags and Author content warnings. This story gets emotionally draining at times. Title: Delivery, for a Mr. Zack Fair  Chapter: 1/14 Fandom: FFVII - Modern AU. Pairing: Zack/Cloud Rated: Teen Word Count: 10,490

Summary: Kintsukuroi - an art and philosophy that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art. *** Cloud enjoys his job as a delivery driver, that is until one day he is tasked with making a special delivery to a man who lies physically and mentally broken in hospital.This is a story about love, healing, and forgiveness of the self and others. ————————————————-

Chapter 1: Delivery, for a Mr. Zack Fair

Despite the lack of snow, and the winter sun hanging at its low apex, it was still cold. The frosty air gnawed and bit into the tip of Cloud’s nose. It blasted against and stiffened his gloved fingers, and caused shivers to wrack his body. Winter wasn’t the best time of year to ride his motorcycle, but his passion for his vehicle outweighed the seasonal discomfort. Rugged up with a scarf under his helmet, multiple shirts, a sweater under his riding jacket, and thermals beneath his leather pants, Cloud’s teeth still chattered. He looked forward to arriving at work, where he would hop into the familiar white and blue delivery van with its air conditioner, funky smell, worn leather seating, and sticky patches all over the dashboard caused by spilled coffee.

He lived about half an hour's ride from work and arrived at the two-story brick warehouse at around midday. He rode around the back of the large, empty lot, to the garage capable of housing five vans, and parked his bike near the wall. He left his helmet hanging on the handlebars and headed through the lofty loading zone, past the only vehicle still remaining (his own) and to the door, stepping into the heated office space beyond. With a relieved sigh, he pulled his gloves off and rubbed them together, regaining warmth and feeling.

Tifa, wearing her trademark business suit, gave the usual teasing greeting of, "Hello, Cloud. Sleep well?" which forced an unintelligible grumbled retort from him. He clocked in and headed to the left side of the sparsely decorated rectangular room. A long, mid-chest high cupboard stood along the wall with five color-coded plastic double-letter trays atop of it. The top tray housed his schedule for the day, and the bottom one held his payslips and things of that nature. A large whiteboard hung on the wall right above the cupboard with each employee’s details demarcated to line up with their specific letter-trays.

He grabbed the laminated folder containing his sheet of paper, listing addresses and delivery times, and stalked off to the van. He grabbed the held out travel mug as he passed Tifa.. “Thanks,” he muttered while she smiled at him with amusement. Cloud counted his blessings that Tifa was understanding of his late starts to the day and his sporadic-yet-far-too-common absences.

Cloud sank into his familiar seat, left the bright-pink folder on his lap, and cradled his mug. It warmed his icy hands. The strong coffee brew revitalised him from the arduous task of having woken up this morning and gotten himself out of bed. He skimmed over his list of jobs for the day at a casual pace, set his GPS, and headed off to get his workday underway.

His day consisted of a sizable amount of pick-ups and drop-offs. Small and large parcels and goods alike. Usually, he’d radio Gavin or Therone to see if he could get more jobs, but today he felt extra drained, so just stuck to what was on his sheet. He drove to familiar businesses and places, and some new locations. One of these was somewhat out of the way. Cloud took a left turn onto the freeway and headed out of the metropolitan area. The densely packed housing turned rural and then downright quaint; cows and horses dotted fields, small bakeries and one-pump gas stations came and went.

The road, though no less busy, lacked maintenance. Pot-holes, great and small, peppered it. He finally reached his destination: a giant greenhouse. He pulled into the large expansive gravel forecourt, and to his surprise found the car park almost completely full. People came and went, carrying gardening equipment and flowers of all sorts of shapes and colors. He pulled into a parking space, and got out, heading for the large glass structure. For being so out-of-the-way of the major population centers, it sure was bustling.

Cloud entered through a set of glazed double doors, and then another set of automated sliding doors to get into the building proper. He was instantly accosted by the perfuming fragrant scent of flowers, as well as a very comfortable warmth. Winter didn’t touch this botanist’s wet dream and it almost felt tropical. Cloud sneezed. Repeatedly.

He remembered that flowers weren’t his friends, though he could still appreciate the botanical marvel he found himself in. Flowers and plants of all shapes, sizes, species, and colors, grew absolutely everywhere. A lot sat in pots, but an equal number also grew right from out of the soiled and mulched ground. It smelled like earth and damp. Not a wholly unpleasant thing. It was just the flowers that got Cloud sniffling like crazy.

He sneezed again and a friendly voice sounded next to him, “Here. My flowers have that effect on some people.”

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