#nem drabbles

[nemaliwrites]

prompt: fever breaking

“Only you, Wright,” says Miles, “could fall off of a burning bridge and walk away with nothing more than a fever.”

Wright mumbles, eyes half-open. Whatever medication they have him on must be strong. 

Stepping forward, Miles presses the back of his hand against Wright’s forehead. Warm, but not hot. He’s getting better, then. 

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, Miles lets his hand trail down to Wright’s cheek. This is ridiculous, he tells himself.

But when he moves to remove his hand, Wright reaches out, fast as lightning, to grab his wrist.

“Stay,” he mumbles, and Miles does. 

[brainicusrotticus]

continuation of vace’s first medical appointment—

sol: okay. and your augment, please?

vace: well-endowed.

sol, regretting everything: …what the fuck does that mean.

vace: *leans back, smirks, subtly increases the manspread*

vace: …i think we’d both prefer i show you.

sol: …

sol: so, in about *checks watch* four minutes, i’m going to be squeezing your balls and asking you to cough. are you sure you want to lose this much dignity ahead of time?

vace: …what?

sol: great. i’ll step out of the room while you get changed. *sets the holofolder down in plain sight and leaves*

—and then, a few hours later, while sol is checking the announcement board—

tang: …why did anemone come into my lab to ask me all about penile fractures today?

sol: oh, vace tried to put the moves on me by claiming he’s above average. so i made sure to include in his chart that he’s at an increased risk for penile fractures.

tang: …the difference would be completely negligible, if one exists at all.

sol: yeah, i know that.

[hansolsticio]

ᝰ.ᐟ mark lee — insônia.

— namorado ! mark lee × leitora — gênero: smut. — conteúdo/avisos: idol ! mark, markie workaholic, mark lee é um homem teimoso, dry humping, sexo explícito, penetração vaginal, linguagem imprópria. — word count: 1732. — nota da autora: "vou escrever um drabble bem curtinho" pensei eu, mas tava doida pra escrever com o markinho. me empolguei.

"Eu te juro que vão ser só uns quinze minutinhos, amor. Juro de mindinho se você quiser.", o canadense implorou pelo que parecia ser a milésima vez na noite.

"Você não vai, Mark Lee. Deita aí e vai dormir, que amanhã é outro dia.", você disse despreocupada, nem se importando em abrir os olhos. Seus dedos seguravam firmemente o pulso do homem.

"E qual a diferença de eu dormir trinta minutos a mais ou a menos?", Mark conseguia ser uma pessoa muito teimosa.

"Você não tinha falado que eram quinze minutos?", você abriu um olho só, olhando pro rosto do homem deitado na sua frente. E ele te deu um sorriso sem graça.

"Mas eu preciso terminar de escrever essa música, gatinha. Por favor...", o rostinho se contorcia em um bico dengoso. Quem o visse, não diria que aquele era um homem crescido.

"Amanhã você escreve.", pontuou secamente, já era acostumada com a manha de Mark Lee.

"E se eu esquecer a ideia que eu acabei de ter?", insistiu mais uma vez. Você não aguentava mais, já estavam nesse debate faziam uns bons minutos.

"Mark Lee, se eu tiver que aguentar o Hyuck chorando na minha orelha mais uma vez, porque você está sem energia nos ensaios, eu juro que mato vocês dois. Vai dormir.", você o repreendeu, já estava meio estressada.

Haechan sabia que a falta de energia do amigo não era culpa sua, mas também sabia que você era a única pessoa capaz de colocar o canadense na linha toda vez que ele entrava nesse ciclo de 'workaholic'.

"Tá bom então. Você não me deixa fazer nada!", seu namorado bufou. Vendo você ignorar as reclamações e fechar os olhos novamente.

𐙚 ————————— . ♡

Foram exatos vinte minutos de puro teste ao seu autocontrole. Mark virava e revirava na cama como um peixe fora d'água. Você jurava que iria surtar se ouvisse mais um suspiro exasperado sair da boca do homem.

"Você ainda tá acordada?", perguntou vacilante.

"Sim, graças a você.", você pensava que Mark tinha muita sorte em ser o amor da sua vida, era a única explicação para toda a sua paciência.

"Eu não consigo dormir. Tô sem sono.", suspirou mais uma vez. "Se ao menos você me deixasse ir lá no estúdio bem rapidinho, eu-", o homem interrompeu a si mesmo, assim que te viu levantar abruptamente. Você levantou o edredom com impaciência, passando a perna por cima do corpo do homem, sentou-se no quadril de Mark. "O que foi?", o semblante confuso quase te fez rir.

"Vou te colocar 'pra dormir.", você respondeu como se fosse óbvio. O homem ficou estático, como se nunca houvesse tocado seu corpo na vida.

Percebendo a pane no sistema, você puxou os braços de Mark e os colocou em volta da sua cintura, dessa vez ele não hesitou e usou as mãos bonitas para te segurar com firmeza. Já as suas mãos foram ágeis ao se livrar da camiseta que você estava usando — camiseta essa que pertencia ao seu namorado, aliás. Teu sorriso veio automaticamente, assim que percebeu os olhinhos dele vidrados nos seus seios.

Você não perdeu tempo, abaixou-se rapidamente para conseguir beijar o homem embaixo de você. Se empenhou em fazer do jeitinho que Mark gostava. Beijando lentinho, lambendo e mordendo a boquinha bonita, só para ouvir seu namorado suspirar. Chegou até a sugar a língua molhadinha, sabendo que era o suficiente para fazer o canadense gemer. Mark não se surpreendeu com o fato de já estar pulsando dentro do short fininho que usava, poxa, ele já estava há tanto tempo sem sentir seu carinho — o comeback próximo estava fazendo a rotina dele ficar cheia demais, mal tinha tempo de te ver.

Ele separou os ladinhos da sua bunda, abrindo espaço suficiente para encaixar o volume bem perto da sua entradinha. Sem pudor algum, usou as mãos para mover seu corpo em cima do pau quentinho, franzindo as sobrancelhas enquanto soltava gemidinhos dentro da sua boca. Você se afastou para olhar seu namorado, os olhos quase se fechando e a boca abertinha, estava com tantas saudades de ver o rostinho cheio de tesão.

Vendo ele tão bonitinho, sua vontade era fazê-lo gozar dentro do short — que já grudava na glande meladinha. Mas você também sentia falta do carinho que só Mark sabia dar. Fez força para se levantar, lutando contra o aperto vigoroso do seu namorado, que não queria deixar você se afastar.

"N-não! Por favor...", a voz estava rouca, os olhos agora abertinhos pareciam te implorar para não se levantar.

"Quero sentar no seu pau, Markie.", forçou uma voz manhosa, esfregando a pontinha do nariz no pescoço cheiroso. Sentiu as mãos do seu namorado te soltando quase que automaticamente, o que te fez rir soprado.

Se levantou o suficiente para conseguir abaixar um pouco o short do canadense — que ergueu o quadril para te ajudar no processo —, nem se preocupando em tirá-lo por completo. Afastou sua calcinha para o lado e estimulou seu pontinho algumas vezes, tentando ficar ainda mais molhada para o seu namorado. Desceu dois dedinhos para sua entradinha, enfiando o suficiente para recolher parte do líquido transparente. Colocou esses mesmos dedos na boca de Mark, que aceitou sem reclamar, engolindo tudinho de olhos fechados.

Segurando-o pela base, pincelou a glande molhadinha no seu buraquinho. Mark te olhava hipnotizado, como se tivesse perdido a habilidade de se mexer. Finalmente sentou devagar, pulsando e apertando seu namorado no processo. O homem apertava as palmas, contendo a vontade de estocar os quadris para cima.

"Porra, tá tão quentinha, amor.", o homem diz cerrando o maxilar. As mãos não se contiveram, apertando sua cintura com afinco.

Rebolou lentinho, apoiando as mãos nas coxas macias atrás de você. Impulsionou os quadris para frente e para trás, ficando tonta com a sensação do pau do seu namorado se esfregando dentro da sua entradinha. A necessidade de sentir mais prazer tomava conta do seu corpo, levantou e abaixou os quadris algumas vezes, experimentando a sensação. Antes que fosse capaz de perceber, você já sentava com urgência, usando Mark como se ele fosse seu brinquedinho pessoal (e talvez ele fosse mesmo). A cabeça jogada para trás, os olhos cerrados e os gemidos dengosos que você soltava, faziam Mark querer te quebrar ainda mais.

"Minha garota tava com saudades de mim, é?", apertou mais sua cintura, te ajudando a subir e descer no pau dele. "Tá sentando tão desesperada, amorzinho. Quer que eu encha esse buraquinho de porra, não quer?", o jeitinho pervertido que seu namorado assumia toda vez que vocês transavam era, definitivamente, uma das suas coisas favoritas em Mark.

Seu corpo caiu para frente, os braços fracos se apoiando na cama, ao lado da cabeça de Mark. O homem só precisou olhar para o seu rostinho desnorteado, para perceber que você não estava no seu normal, estava sensível demais. Deu um sorriso safado ao sentir seu corpo tremendo de tesão, enquanto você se esforçava ao máximo para rebolar no colo dele.

"Fode, Markie... Me fode.", disse quase soluçando. O calor parecia consumir seu corpo, você achava que iria desmaiar em algum momento. Ele sabia qual era o seu problema, assim como sabia exatamente o que fazer para resolver. O homem te envolveu num abraço apertado e se virou para inverter as posições de vocês, sem sair de dentro de ti. Agora você estava deitada na cama com ele no meio das suas pernas.

"Eu amo quando você fica assim, gatinha.", usou o polegar para esfregar seu clitóris inchadinho, sem tirar os olhos da sua carinha necessitada. "Pede pro 'Markie' foder essa bucetinha de novo, pede.", estocou de leve, sentindo você apertá-lo, incapaz de falar alguma coisa. "Pede.", deu um tapinha no seu pontinho, vendo seu corpo arquear.

"Eu quero gozar, Markie... Por favor.", o tom de voz transbordava desejo, você precisava tanto disso. Os olhinhos marejados sendo a cartada final pro seu namorado.

Mark usou os braços para suspender o seu quadril, te deixando na altura perfeita pro pau dele. Não demorou muito para que os barulhinhos molhados tomassem conta do quarto, seu namorado estocava sem dó. Uma vez ou outra se enterrava bem fundo, rebolando a cinturinha habilidosa só para sentir você o apertando.

"Tão molhada, caralho. Tá me sujando todo, gatinha.", e não era mentira, Mark sentia o líquido quentinho escorrendo pelas bolas dele.

A sua cabeça estava uma bagunça, você sentia a glande esfregar um lugarzinho gostoso dentro de você em cada estocada. Sentia sua entradinha pulsar sem parar. Seu corpo molinho balançava junto com as estocadas, agora era Mark quem te usava como se fosse uma bonequinha. Seus olhos apertados não foram capazes de enxergar a expressão sapeca que havia tomado conta do rosto do seu namorado, a mesma que ele fazia sempre que iria aprontar alguma coisa.

O homem fez um carinho singelo na parte mais baixa da sua barriga, como quem não quer nada, somente para afundar a mão ali cinco segundos depois. Fazendo a sensação das estocadas se tornar mil vezes pior, era quase insuportável. Você se contorcia, apertando os lençóis sem controle algum, enquanto gemia uma série de palavrões misturados com o nome de Mark. Sua expressão muito mais desorientada do que antes, fazia seu namorado querer te encher de porra.

"Goza, putinha. Me mela todo, vai.", você não conseguiu segurar mais. Sua visão escureceu, a sensação tão gostosa te fez perder a voz, sentia seus músculos tensionando sem parar. Seu namorado não ficou atrás, a sensação da sua entradinha sugando ele para dentro deixou ele tonto, apertava sua cintura com força, estocando bruto enquanto sentia o pau te encher.

Mark saiu de dentro de você, se deitando em cima do seu corpo, os dois com a respiração descompassada. Compartilharam um beijo carinhoso, assim que recuperaram o fôlego.

"Você tá ovulando.", seu namorado te diz num abraço apertado.

"E essa é a primeira coisa que você me diz?", pergunta incrédula, ouvindo a gargalhada gostosa do homem.

"Sim...?", a risada não cessa, amando ver sua carinha de descrença.

"E você diz isso com base em...?", você questiona a "sabedoria" do seu namorado.

"Me baseando em todas as vezes que te comi.", responde em tom de esperteza.

"Mark Lee!", estapeia as costas do homem, que não faz nada a não ser se aninhar mais ao seu corpo.

"Fica quietinha, amor. Vai dormir que amanhã é outro dia.", ele sussurra com a voz sonolenta.

[amethvysts]

DULCE, TAN DULCE — B. POLIDORI.

𖥻 sumário: sua primeira vez com seu namorado, blas. 𖥻 avisos: conteúdo +18! não foi revisado (nunca reviso pq we die like real men here)

💭 nota da autora: baseado em dois pedidos que recebi sobre o blas, escrevi isso aqui. inspirado no rei do sexo, gustavo cerati, o título é de canción animal hihi tá curtinho, mas até que não achei tão ruim. de certa forma, é meu primeiro drabble de smut, então, adoraria ouvir a opinião de vocês! espero que gostem! ♡

"Você tem que respirar, bebita," o lembrete do seu namorado vem acompanhado de uma risadinha, abafada pela pele da sua bochecha, por fazer questão de murmurar contra a sua pele. A trilha de beijinhos molhados é esquecida quando você se arrepia da cabeça aos pés, soltando a respiração que nem percebeu segurar junto de um gemido um tanto extasiado. "A gente mal começou e você já tá assim?". 

A provocação é respondida quando você, propositalmente, aperta o pau dele dentro de você, fazendo com que Blas quase engasgue com as próprias palavras, deixando um gemido atordoado escapar do fundo da garganta. O encara com uma sobrancelha arqueada, como se o desafiasse a dizer qualquer outra gracinha. 

É quando ele se afunda completamente dentro de você, te tocando fundo, mas tão fundo, que você é atingida pela certeza que o sentirá até o dia seguinte. As mãos seguram as suas coxas, empurrando-as contra o seu peito e o ângulo te ajuda a sentir cada centímetro dele. É viciante, entorpecedor, e você se pergunta porque levaram tanto tempo para fazer isso; não que fosse capaz de pensar a fundo sobre a questão, pelo menos, não quando o sente sair de dentro de você só para meter até o final de novo, se enterrando. Os suspiros e gemidos saem como uma sinfonia, acompanhando o ritmo lento das estocadas de Blas.

As mãos te apertam, te trazem para perto e te deixam colada as coxas dele, e os barulhos da sua buceta parecem deixar o ato ainda mais gostoso. Sente o peito esquentar e você precisa batalhar contra a própria vontade de fechar os olhos de prazer, só porque não quer perder a chance de continuar observando as feições de seu namorado, que parece cada vez mais entregue aos seus movimentos e a sensação de ser engolido por você, tão quente e necessitada. Os longos dedos caminham pela pele da sua coxa, caminhando pela pele úmida, subindo pela sua barriga e acariciando um de seus peitos, só por um tempinho, até ele segurar seu queixo. 

O tronco de Blas se inclina mais uma vez sobre o seu, os lábios pairando sobre os teus e as arfadas quentes de ar que escapam da boca dele te fazem choramingar, as sobrancelhas franzindo com força enquanto o encara por entre os cílios.

"Tão gostosa, nena," ele elogia, gemendo contra sua boca, ainda sem a beijar. Entre suspiros, os quadris dele se chocam contra os seus e, olhando para baixo, você percebe que as coxas dele estão ficando vermelhas pelo atrito. Blas percebe o seu olhar, e por mais que sinta falta de te ter o encarando com tanta admiração, sente a necessidade de implicar, "Tá vendo como você tá me engolindo?"

O jeito que a palavra sai dos lábios dele é imunda, e te tem gemendo que nem uma idiota por baixo dele. A visão, combinada com a sensação dele te fodendo, e os sons tão sujos que vocês criam juntos é o suficiente para te ter se contorcendo e ofegando. E também é todo o combustível que o Blas precisa para te deixar pior. O próprio prazer fica no passado quando ele vê os seus olhinhos revirando, e a única coisa que ele consegue pensar é que precisa te fazer gozar no pau dele. Torna-se uma necessidade te arruinar daquele jeito, ver seu corpo tremendo e as costas arqueando por causa dele.

Não que ele seja de ferro, porque toda vez que sua mão, esperta, puxa os fios cacheados ou quando você se contrai em volta dele, Blas tem que afastar o rosto do seu, só para respirar um pouco. Os dentes mordem o lábio inferior, a testa se franze e os olhos castanhos reviram, e os gemidos reverberam pelo quarto, tão carentes quanto os seus. E é em uma dessas em que seu namorado deixa a correntinha de prata que usa bater contra o seu queixo, conduzido pelo compasso das estocadas. 

Mais pela irritação de ter o acessório esbarrando em seu rosto toda hora, você se distrai ao capturá-lo entre seus dentes, segurando-o em sua boca e encobrindo os seus gemidos chorosos. Atento a todas as suas reações, mesmo que aparente estar envolvido no próprio prazer, Blas abaixa os olhos, curioso para descobrir porque você parou de soltar seus sonzinhos tão deliciosos. Surpreso, mas muito contente pela descoberta, o seu namorado não consegue esconder o quanto a visão o encheu de tesão. Ele ri, um tanto incrédulo, e te faz sorrir, também, ainda segurando a correntinha entre os dentes; e você pode jurar que consegue sentir o pau dele contraindo dentro de você. O sorriso de safada entrega que você sabe exatamente o que está fazendo com ele. E Blas não pensa duas vezes antes de colocar a mão na sua bochecha, te provocando com um tapinha de leve.

"O que que eu faço com você, hein?"

[ms0milk]

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sparks x fly | bkg x winged!reader

recent graduate and new rookie agency owner, Dynamight, is anxious to get into the field and bloody new gear, but a moving-day collision with some shitty winged civilian turns into his own feathery nightmare when she shows up at an established agency– as their new chart-topping rookie no less. fist fights, shoujo manga, bathroom surgery, hawks as your terrible boss, hyperhidrosis, wings are kind of a hassle, fire escapes, hearing aids, drunken rescues, feather care, a hero ball, and secrets kept under oath of death. (rivals > lovers)

cw varies by chapter, in general: violence/injuries, inevitable smut, kats has mellowed out some but isn't a peach, reader has dapple brown wings but is otherwise not described in detail. i love personality hire x grouch w too much in common

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sanemi's tsuguko no more, your hashira promotion is just over the horizon! one more untimely death and you'll have the job security you've longed for. nightmares, injuries and lost time, a lost life safe at home, unrequited love– soon it'll all be worth it. your mentor doesn't share your optimism however, and you find him near at all hours of the day. no more or less moody than usual but overbearing and always on the precipice of saying something.

cw nsfw, mdni. part three of my sanemi/tsuguko series, ie the smut™. long-waited confessions, starving love. reader w vagina, teasing, banter, penetration, oral (reader receiving), clingy nems.

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writing is a famously lucrative career field, it's why you're only $30 short for the oil change that cost $35. the quiet mechanic shrugs at your short change and tells you not to worry– not that you hear him. not when he shakes his hair out of its messy bun and wipes at the grease on his cheek with the back of a big fist. you find yourself at the car shop a lot suddenly, never stopping once to think why a mechanic would be so blood-spattered.

cw nsfw, mdni. down bad reader, deer in headlights choso. car sex, reader w vagina, penetration, fingering, oral (giving/receiving), moisture on all conceivable surfaces. i just think choso is weak for strong-willed women.

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[lizardtakesflight]

The "Humans are Space Orcs" trope has always scratched a real good itch in my brain. I have something I want to write for it, but I'm really shit at coming up with a plot, so I keep just doing little drabbles like this:

"You know, I don’t like that they call you that.”

Thirtytwo’s ears perked up and swiveled towards Alex, who had been sitting in the corner of the room and watching nem type away at their console. The Terran had seemed content to spend this work cycle just monitoring Thirtytwo in neir duties, and if ne hadn’t been used to this by now, it probably would have been more than a little anxiety-inducing to be stared at by a predator species for so long. With those eerie, front-facing eyes, it was always pretty clear where he was staring. 

Alex had been silent until now, just moments after Thirtytwo ended a call with one of the overseers.

“That they call me what?” 

The Terran scowled, and Thirtytwo had repress the urge to shrink down against neir seat at the show of disapproval. “Drudge.”

Thirtytwo’s spines raised slightly in confusion, and ne turned in neir chair to fully face Alex. “That is… what I am, though.”

Alex huffed through his nose. “Yeah, but that’s not– you’re an individual, not just some faceless member of…” He seemed uncomfortable with stating the rest aloud. “You know.”

“The serving caste.” It didn’t bother Thirtytwo at all to be referred to by such; it was just a descriptive of what ne had been born to do. It wasn’t quite clear to nem why this subject seemed to agitate Alex so much any time it came up.

“Yeah, that.” The words sounded flat and unhappy through Thirtytwo’s translator. “They won’t even let you have a real name.”

Now ne was really confused. “My designation is Vega-Bluelight-Drudge-32nd-Born-of-24th-Generation.”

“That’s not a name, that’s just saying what you are!"

Alex’s agitation was beginning to affect neir mood as well, triggering an extremely strong flight urge, and ne couldn’t help snapping back at him.  “You aren’t making any sense! They’re the same thing!”

“Okay, okay, sorry. Look." He scrubbed a hand through the short, yellowish fur on the top of his head. "My name is Alex, right?”

Thirtytwo's ears flicked. "Alexander Marcus Sullivan Sol.” That had been on the crew briefing that was sent out before Alex had come on board for the first time. Pronouncing it was a little bit difficult, because neir translator didn't pick up those sounds as translatable words. It always seemed odd to Thirtytwo that the Terran's name was just… gibberish.

“Right. Now, do all those words say what I am?”

Thirtytwo’s spines were beginning to soften out of their defense posture. “Sol means… you’re from the Sol system…”

“And the rest?”

“I don’t know.” They seemed to be nonsense words, but ne didn’t want to offend Alex by saying so. “They don’t translate.”

“Where I come from, names aren’t just… a label, so you can be sorted or ordered around. Names are a way to differentiate you from everyone else. They’re a word or combination of words that very specifically mean you.”

"So they're… descriptive words." 

"Sort of. They can be. Most Terrans are named by their parents, or whomever raised them. Sometimes it's a traditional family name, or maybe the name of someone else they want to honor. Or sometimes, they pick it hoping that the kid will grow up to have the qualities of their name."

"So… what does your name mean?"

Alex paused for a moment, then shook his head. "Actually, hold on a minute." He picked up the datapad he'd brought in with him earlier and started tapping away. Probably accessing one of those databases only the higher castes had access to. "Alex is short for Alexander, meaning 'defender of men'," he read aloud.

"So… a warrior? That sounds like a caste assignment."

Alex shrugged. "That's just a coincidence. My dad was an agricultural laborer, Mom ran the transport for the company Dad worked for, and Tati stayed home and watched the kids. I was the only one that took military service, the others chose to work with Dad."

"And Marcus?"

"Eh…" Alex scrolled on his pad, was quiet a moment, then shifted a little in his seat. "It relates to an ancient god of war."

Thirtytwo gave him an unimpressed look. "You're not proving your point, here."

[trickingbell]

--Because she has to tell someone the truth, so they know, so they won't let her get away with it.

Sketchie arts made for Alatar's drabble Here which...aughauck..owie owie it's really nice. Hitting nem with a barrage of hammers that have my tears on them. shE SHOULD NOT BE IN THEEEERE!!!!!!!

[aphrogeneias]

milestone celebration — nem edition ❤️‍🔥

there's a lot of you here, a lot more than what i would have expected, to be honest, and it fills me with love to know that you guys have stuck around, and because of that, though i'm not big on celebrating these kinds of things, i want to give back to you somehow!

this weekend (06/07-09) i'm going to be writing some rockstar!eddie x assistant!reader blurbs and drabbles, the bread and butter of this blog, my otp. requests will be open until friday, as always my ask box is open for all of your ideas! <3

thank you for being here, thank you for reading and commenting and sharing and listening

from your least favorite writer, luz.

[jenniejjun]

viro um personagem de livro na minha formatura.

·!¦[· a nct x percy jackson crossover

tipo de leitura: drabble

notas da autora:

eu sabia que minha obsessão com percy jackson voltando ia resultar em alguma maluquice, dita maluquice começando aqui. eu sou apaixonada nessa saga desde que tenho treze anos, o revival desse fandom com a série me deixou nostálgica :(

pode-se dizer que vou usar isso de teste pra ver se vocês gostam desse tipo de história, mas não vou negar que já tenho toda a masterlist (cliquem ali!) pronta pra uma possível mini saga de contos envolvendo esse universo.

espero que gostem, de verdade!

Olha, você não queria ser um meio-sangue não. Ser um meio-sangue é perigoso e, na maioria das vezes, te mata de jeitos bem... Bem ruins. Poxa, ser prole de um Deus era legal e tal mas de que adiantava se nos próximos cinco segundos da sua vida, você descobre que tem uma perrenca de monstros querendo sua cabecinha numa bandeja de prata? Sua cabecinha era bonita demais para aquilo, cara.

Sem contar ter que ir pra um lugar isolado que você nunca viu na vida, tudo bem que ele te treinaria pra não ser esmagada feito barata pelo novo mundo que descobrira, e passar a morar lá. Era uma receita perfeita pra assassinato, você via filmes. Mas você também lia livros, de monte, e sabia que essa era a típica jornada do herói. Que que tinha de errado em querer um pouquinho de aventura, pô? Às vezes, escutar a vozinha suicida da sua cabeça que te dizia pra pegar uma espada e sair lutando por aí fazia bem.

Isso era o que você dizia para si mesma.

No fundinho, a real mesmo é que 'cê tinha se cagado no momento que aquela fúria feiona e com asas voou na tua direção querendo espalhar seu cérebro no chão. Sem mencionar a parte em que você quase desfaleceu quando ela conseguiu rasgar seu vestido de formatura. Teve nem coragem de xingar ela, só chorou pra ser tirada dali logo.

E, ah, nem era tão ruim assim, vai. Tinha muito mato, com umas cabanas legais que você aprendeu serem de cada Deus grego. Assim que você fosse reivindicada, iria para uma delas. Também aprendeu sobre as missões, o Oráculo diria quando deveria ir (pelo que entendeu, seu futuro iria ficar nas mãos daquele cadáver e você tinha que ficar bem com isso. Você não ficou muito não). Torceu pro seu pai ou mãe não ser nenhum Deus heroico, nem nada. Um Deus do sono tava bom.

Qualquer coisa que não te jogassem pros leões, de novo.

Também tinha uns meninos e meninas muito gatinhos, coisa que sua antiga escola tinha em falta, e flerte não faltava. Principalmente, a galera de Afrodite. Eita, como flertavam, né. Você meio que não retribuiu muito, não tinha sido reivindicada ainda né. Vai que vinha algum castigo divino e possíveis incestos não eram muito sua praia, preferia deixar isso com os ingleses.

De uma maneira geral, era bem legal. De verdade, sem meme. Você dizia isso todo dia pro espelho, encarando seus hematomas das inúmeras caídas. Não era caindo que se aprendia? Não precisava ser pessimista, mesmo que houvesse um senso comum que poucos semideuses (é outro termo pra meio-sangue, você ainda tá se acostumando) viviam além dos vinte e cinco anos. Pois é.

Você tinha tempo pra surtar com isso ainda, por isso, tá empurrado na sua lista de coisas nas quais não entendeu mas provavelmente alguém vai te explicar.

Até porque, você tem poucos dias no acampamento. O que é que podia dar errado? Bom, talvez você devesse adicionar 'começar a acreditar em superstições' a lista das coisas que você precisava fazer pra não atrair azar porque deu tudo errado. Tudo graças aquela maldita reivindicação.

Pelo menos, agora sua vida era como nos livros, né?

[nemaliwrites]

some hecate Thoughts on waxwitch hehe

The boy-shade comes every day.

He’s gone by night, which is the only reason you allow it — or else you would have blasted him out of the Crossroads with nothing more than a crook of your finger, no matter who his father. 

You should, anyway. He’s nothing but a distraction. A hindrance. A danger, even; the green glow of Melinoë’s arm proves that, a lesson she’ll never forget. It’s one thing to have those wings on his back. Another entirely to use them. 

But there’s something you see in his eyes: hunger. Desperation to prove himself. All good things. Necessary things, the same that your ward carries with her in every step she takes. 

It is those who failed and still rise whose next attack is the strongest. You know that better than anyone —and when you’re finished with Melinoë, the Titan Chronos will learn that, too. 

For you, too, have fallen. Wax wings, the Scythe of Time, it’s all the same. Falling is falling. 

So you watch and you wait. If he hurts her, you think, you’ll rip those wings off his back yourself, magick be damned. But when he looks at her, it’s with respect. Head bowed, eyes averted. No blood left in his body, and yet he blushes all the same. 

It isn’t a distraction she uses him as, you see, but motivation. She pushes herself further at the cauldron — though careful not to overextend, not anymore. Spends every free moment she has in the training ground. 

It’s the sound you hear, though, that makes you pause. Around the boy-shade, the princess laughs. She sounds like her mother, like her father, like everyone whose company she should have grown up in had she not the misfortune to be stuck with you. 

She cannot defeat Time with a smile on her face. There is no place in a war for laughter. You should set her straight. Remind her of your task. Her task. 

But…

Laughter so seldom has a place here in the Crossroads. It is a safe haven — but it is not a home. No room here for happiness or love. Only anger. Only grief. Just more weapons to wield like these torches of yours. 

One red eye, one green. An unfinished portrait. A green arm. It’s all the same. Falling is falling. 

In the end, you stay your hand. After all, you were young once, too. 

[brainicusrotticus]

the crucial event that tied doc!sol and vace together:

they set off for the subaqueous swamp. sol drives the transport vehicle, and brings a bag for storing samples. he practically forced a second bag on vace, but that’s alright because vace forced sol to carry a plaspistol, in addition to bringing his own plasrifle, stun gloves, and a hunting knife.

they get to the swamp, and go about doing their thing. vace gets a bit twitchy a few times, but sol gives him the stern “don’t shoot at shit unless we’re about to die” look, and it’s enough to settle him down.

they’re there for hours. sol darting from plant to plant, vace just following and keeping an eye out.

it gets within about two hours of sundown, which means they’re going to need to leave soon. there’s also a heavy looking storm moving in, so sol is trying to get some last readings from another new species of plant that seems to have solid healing properties.

vace seems on edge. he’s usually been quietly pacing about, always looking out for shit. but sol takes a quick breather from this plant, and realizes vace is standing very nearby, and very still.

something feels off, but vace can’t tell what it is. and that’s not good.

sol takes him seriously, because that’s what vace is there for. he unholsters his plaspistol (for show, because it’s not like he actually know how to use the thing), goes for a sample of this last plant, and then they’ll get moving back to the transport.

first rule of vertumna: it’s never just a plant.

this plant turns out to be the hook for a creature fairly reminiscent of a snapbladder. and the second sol touches it, the trap springs.

it gets a decent clamp on sol. across his left shoulder and chest. it’s clearly not sized for human prey, but it’s bite is strong enough. it’ll bruise, and its teeth break the skin, but it’s not all that worrying.

it lets go when vace fires some non-lethal shots into it, and scurried away. vace goes to check on the doc, who assures him that it’s all fine.

but they haven’t been unnoticed. all day, noctilucent has been keeping tabs on them. waiting for a good opportunity to strike. and what better opening than worried distraction?

but he’s mean. he aims for the hard hits.

he drops a tree on them.

vace manages to swing the doc out of the way, and takes the full force of a falling tree on himself. not that solane being present would’ve changed that, then they’d just both take the full force of a falling tree. and it would end much worse for one of them.

it’ll leave some bruises on him. might’ve even left a few small cracks in the bones. but this is vace. he’ll be fine.

there’s only one major problem.

his legs are pinned under it. and he’s strong, but not super strong, and it’s hard to get proper leverage when you’re face down on the ground. sol is managed to catch his breath after being thrown to the ground (really just failing to catch himself), and is about to get up and go to vace…

but noctilucent emerges from the bushes. still dripping, like he’d crawled right out of the swamp water.

(he did)

sol hasn’t met noct before, but he knows about gardeners from sym

particularly that there are a number of gardeners who want the whole colony gone. and who think “dead” is good enough.

and in this particular scenario? he doesn’t really get the feeling this is going to be a friendly chat. he wonders if noct was the one responsible for the looming stormclouds.

noct knows how to threat assess. also, he’s been watching them all day. he knows that one of these individuals knows how to use a gun, and the other is a goddamn nerd. so vace presently being stuck under a tree? means that problem can be dealt with immediately.

so noct goes to him.

and stomps on vace’s head with those ugly ass hooves of his.

but, it’s vace. he’s built different. it’ll leave a bump, and left a little split in the skin that bleeds a bit, but it’s probably not even enough for a concussion.

(sol definitely has that brief moment of “i just witnessed a murder” before he remembered vace’s augment)

but noct keeps going. he gets another 3-4 in before sol throws himself on vace, literally wrapping around noctilucent’s leg like an octopus. screaming for him to stop.

and noct backs up a step. mostly because he’s surprised by the sheer audacity sol is showing.

and sol covers vace’s body with his own.

he doesn’t know how to fight. his plaspistol isn’t in reach, he can’t see vace’s plasrifle, the only thing he has is the knowledge that gardeners don’t die when their body is killed. he isn’t a soldier.

but he has to be.

vace is out of it. he seems to be wavering on consciousness, but his legs are still stuck and he definitely has at least a concussion now.

sol is the only one who can help them right now.

he’s shaking and sobbing, pressed overtop of vace. he can see something like amusement in noct’s eyes, and it pushes him that much further.

noct leans down. he wants to meet this human eye to eye, to mock sol for this before he kills them both. he’s absolutely focused on the full-faced misery of sol.

it’s classic, really. a common trick used by magicians in old holovids.

misdirection.

noct doesn’t see sol work vace’s knife free of the belt. he isn’t as guarded with sol. this human has only ventured beyond the colony a handful of times, and has never shown any prowess for combat.

sol isn’t a threat.

and as the doctor, lightning quick, wraps a hand around the back of noctilucent’s neck and slices so deep he leaves a cut across his own palm, he wonders if noct will remember this. feel some primal unease the next time he sees solane. or if, like his recent memories, all sense of threat melts away with his body.

the sprinkling rain is starting to grow heavier. sol uses a thick branch to leverage the tree off of vace, and wishes desperately that he had the time to fully exam the damage.

but he doesn’t. utopia will probably realize something is wrong soon—probably sent a message to the transport when stratos picked up on the storm moving in, and is waiting for a response that indicates they’re heading back to the colony.

when it doesn’t come, she’ll report them as missing. normal protocol is a search and rescue party.

but the storm would make for hostile conditions. if it raises the water too much, there are parts of the road that’ll flood, and they might not even be able to get a squad to the swamp. unless the storm blows over in minutes (which is possible, if not likely), it’ll be nightfall or later by the time anyone can make it.

and nighttime isn’t a good time for a rescue squad. it just puts more people at risk. in most cases, they’d wait until day. rhett wouldn’t get any sleep over the worry and guilt, but he’d make the choice anyway.

except, maybe, for sol.

he’s a doctor. the only one who knows what to do besides instance. he has more old-school knowledge than instance, and a xenobotanist background. he’s valuable, and he hates knowing that. that someone might consider it worthwhile to risk other lives to save his own.

but others can be trained. medbeds can handle just about any problem, as long as they stay functional. rhett knows that, as much as he knows sol wouldn’t want others to risk themselves unnecessarily for him.

the doctor honestly doesn’t know what choice rhett will make, and doesn’t envy him having to make it.

(he’ll buy something nice for the security chief, if he gets out of this.)

(when. it has to be when.)

vace is conscious enough to move, a little. support his own weight, hopefully. but that’s about it.

sol gets him up, supports his weight on one side. vace has about eight inches and ninety pounds on sol, which is a fucking problem.

sol puts on his best rhett voice, and barks orders at vace. “time to push it, soldier! if you don’t, we’re both dead!”

he can’t honestly tell if it helped. he knows vace can’t do much. he knows he was mostly saying it for himself.

because if sol can’t manage this, they’re both dead.

they might get lucky. rhett might send a squad after all. nem might defy orders to come after them herself. dys might come for sol’s sake, with her or own his own. he might even get word to sym.

but sol can’t act like help is coming. can’t let himself do anything less than as much as he fucking can.

the sun has set by the time he gets them back to the transport, drenched and muddy and shaking. he barely manages to open the sliding door with one hand, and then has to lay vace on the floor from outside, get in, and drag him the rest of the way. he pulls wads of fabric from between his own teeth, put there to keep his teeth from cracking when he clenched it shut.

he can barely get the scraps out, with how tightly wound the muscles are. that’ll hurt in the morning.

(he’ll just add it to the list.)

he locks them inside the transport, and takes a chance to examine vace. he’s semi-conscious, definitely has a concussion. he can talk, a little, and vaguely understand context.

(he swears, mostly. given the context, yeah. sounds about right.)

the bleeding has stopped. there are some cracks in his skull, but nothing that feels imminently dangerous. already bruises and a hell of a black eye, and sol is pretty sure there’s a fracture along his left orbital bone. but those are all things a medbed can handle just fine. as long as he makes it to one.

sol straps vace into one of the bench seats, and gets the transport started. as expected, there’s several messages from utopia, and one from rhett. the storm interferes too much with comms for much to get through, but sol does what he can. a distress signal, canceled after three seconds. three seconds of silence, and then the signal sent again, canceled after three seconds. deliberate enough for them to know it’s a message.

he starts the transport home.

about ten minutes of slow travel down the road, it’s flooded. sol isn’t going to risk it, not after what he just went through. he parks them.

he unbuckles vace so he can lay the soldier down on the seats, and try to get some sleep. sol takes the floor, and sleeps in fits.

eventually, he jolts awake to the sound of a quiet drizzle.

he straps vace back in. he’s relieved to hear the mumbled complaints about ruining his sleep.

the floods come fast in the swamp, but they leave that way, too.

it takes another hour and a half, but eventually he sees the lights of the colony.

utopia and rhett are already at the outer post, pacing and watching the road. they see the approaching transport before the lookouts do, but not before dys and nem.

both of whom are sequestered right next to the security chief, and looking rather dour.

sol can see how much self restraint it takes to wait for the transport to roll in, and not just run to it.

as soon as it’s parked, someone starts trying to yank the door open.

(it’s locked and dead bolted, because sol wasn’t taking any chances.)

he unlocks it, and rhett yanks it open before sol can. all the doctor manages to say is vace’s name, before he’s being unbuckled and carried out in rhett’s arms.

held like a princess, limp and soaked in a way that makes his clothes and hair cling to him, vace looks like the kid he is. barely sixteen, too young to be dealing with this shit.

(they both are. hell, all of them are.)

sol doesn’t need help to move. he knows he looks like shit, but his adrenaline has been running so high for so long that he sprints ahead to prepare a medbed.

instance is waiting, but she knows someone who needs work when she sees it. she’ll be the one who cleans and cares for sol’s own wounds later, in the quiet silence of an active medbed. tang will uncurl from the corner where she’d been watching owlishly, to play the part of nursing assistant.

vace will be under for three days. it’ll heal all the worrying injuries, but sol knows the soldier can’t stand to spend forever in a medbed, even if he doesn’t remember it.

(and he doesn’t remember the medbed. but he does remember a surprising amount of that day. remembers the dissonance of hearing sol sobbing while also feeling deft fingers work his knife loose. knows noct died, and he couldn’t have been the one to do it. gets flashes of the slog back, of sol carrying him when he could only feel frustration at his weak, sluggish legs slipping in the mud.)

they’re different, after that. sol never acts like vace owes him anything, and starts taking self-defense lessons. neither one of them actually suggested it. they just made eye contact across the cafeteria one morning a week after the event, and walked to the garrison together to start.

vace trusts sol to do what’s necessary, and to know what that is. it’s hard not to, when you know the empathetic, xeno-loving doctor willingly killed a gardener. his trust grows from there.

and sol trusts vace to have subtlety, and sympathy. he never says more about that day than what sol himself admits, even after he tells sol he remembers it. he seems to pick up on the days when it’s really bothering the doctor, and finds a way to hover nearby. whether it makes sol feel safe, or reminds him that he saved someone, vace doesn’t know.

seeing the most trusted kids from each ship suddenly get along has a deep impact on not just their peers, but the adults too.

(lum hates it. he never managed to scare them, but he could usually get them to cooperate. now they do nothing less than exactly what they think is right, and the few times he’s tried to control them, they both just fixed him with a stare that said he was a problem they could solve the moment they decided to.)

it’s the start of a new era for stratos-helios relations.

the violent soldier who toughened the kind doctor, and let himself be soothed in return.

(nothing changed in them. not really.)

(they just learned how to balance.)

(and everyone else followed suit.)

[l-e-morgan-author]

Draft cover for the on-newsletter-signup free stories which I haven't finished editing yet. (So you can't have them yet; I'll finish editing them to my satisfaction before I open up my email newsletter.)

Further ramble below; it got kind of long. First about what these stories are about, then more rambling about my current works-in-progress and specifically aspects of Patience, Changing that I'm enjoying. Might recycle some of this for the next newsletter tbh.

A quick and not-edited summary of each story:

Ever Changing, Ever Near - Hadassah is different to everyone else, but despite that finds great joy in the changing seasons.

A Fragile Solace - Hadassah and Nem are friends. Despite what happens after, she treasures the friendship that they have.

Both stories were entered to (different) local competitions and were highly commended. I can't give an estimated story length because at least A Fragile Solace requires a bunch of editing that may lengthen it. Since I no longer have a word count requirement because I'm not planning on submitting them to any other competitions, I can go ham on them.

In case you don't know who Hadassah is, Hadassah is from the 2022(? maybe '23) Inklings challenge, which I wrote about 8k of. I was Team Lewis, portal fantasy. A very rough summary is that Hadassah is an autistic girl in a neurotypical world, one of the peasants of that world and chosen to be sent through a portal. Nobody knows what lies beyond. For Hadassah, what lies beyond is found family such as she hasn't experienced her entire life.

I found getting into her head unreasonably hard at the time, which is why I wanted to write stories about her, and why I haven't finished drafting her story. With more understanding of autistic people and also myself than I had then, I expect that when I get back to that properly I'll find it a lot easier to write.

I also intend to edit The Patience of Hope to be another newsletter freebie - the edited version, I mean. I intend to leave the first draft up on my website indefinitely, even if an edited version is published as part of something else (such as A Quiet Patience, though with the number of novellas I've got planned, that might be quite long...). But that's for a little way down the road, not yet.

As for a general update on writing generally, I've written a little bit more of Hands Made for Gentleness, but not much. That will require a lot of working with it once the first draft is done, but I've written up a rough outline of the rest of the main story beats, and I have a clearer idea where I'm going. I'm ideally going to finish drafting Patience, Changing before I really get back to that, which is about 20k away (yay!). I'm thoroughly into the third act, figuring out I need to know my characters better so the third act will require a good deal of rewriting, even though the bones are good. I'm pleased with the balance of characters, and at times even though I'm going "Hmm this needs work", I can switch that off and just work on it. I've been writing drabbles every day for this month, and currently I'm one (1) day behind. The drabbles have been helpful, providing scene ideas I can flesh out into full scenes, so they might be a bit janky in context, but I can edit that later.

I've really enjoyed two characters I didn't intend to include in this manuscript: Hannah (Patience's aunt) and Connie (who Patience meets in hospital). Hannah is a symbol of the seriousness of anorexia, and I am not looking forward to writing her death. At present the scene I'm writing is set on the 19th of November, 2018, and Hannah dies on the 16th of December, 2018. She's already written the letter to Patience, as well as the anonymous letter Patience doesn't realise is from her and which needs rewriting. But she has to die and it will tear my heart out to write her, though I've got to read at least a good chunk of A Grief Observed (C. S. Lewis) before I write about that. At present her death is set for the third last chapter, but I expect to rearrange things - events that I thought would work for two chapters turned out I'll need to significantly rewrite to get to even one chapter, so I'll probably use those events to close the second act rather than close the second act and open the third act as well, and therefore rearrange things to give enough space for Hannah's death. If I go over my planned word count in these chapters that's fine; whatever works. I just don't want to go under.

Having the 3k aim has been really good, because some of the time it's forced me to write 'filler' that I reread and am convinced I'll keep in, and sometimes it's kept me to only that long which is good practise too.

Oh, and also! The other character I've enjoyed. Connie. Connie's in hospital following a suicide attempt, but the psych ward's full up and she's not considered at high risk so she's in a general paeds ward, which is where she meets Patience. She isn't particularly forthcoming about why she's in, and Patience respects that. She suspects but is only told right at the end:

“You make me brave,” she said to Patience, just before she was transferred. “I came in here with a suicide attempt and you have made me discover I want to live. Live! When living has been a slow death all this time. You make me want to live. I wasn’t going to make it and I was okay with that. Now I’m going to fight, because of you.”

They keep in touch afterwards, and probably when I edit The Patience of Hope I'll include a scene with Connie in it. Because just as Hannah has to die, Connie has to live. I love the way both of these characters add to Patience's journey, but without trivialising her own very real issues. That's definitely something I'll have to do an edit pass to make sure I'm not doing, because yes, in the grand scheme of things Patience's hangups are very small but to her they're huge. Which is why I held off on writing this story for a good five years, and I'm terribly glad I did, because this story is far better than it would have been years ago.

Anyway. I'm rambling. All this to say that while I'm struggling a bit with writing it, Patience is still going swimmingly. I anticipate finishing the draft either by end of this month (stretch goal) or next month (realistic goal). Then I can dive back into Hands Made for Gentleness and maybe plotting The Time Travelling Midwife and/or Hadassah's story on the side.

I'm also having a fantastic time with Patience and Nathan's interactions at thirteen/fourteen:

“You’ll get through it,” he said. “In Christ, Patience. In Christ.” She smiled at him. He was very dear to her, standing there awkwardly and smiling his dear awkward smile back.

[the-chronicles-of-a-bookworm]

playing truth or dare with your boyfriend was fun. suna was always considerate enough to let you off with only slightly hard dares and didn't ask very embarrassing questions. only slightly embarrassing questions. slightly.

"okay, now your turn, rinnie. truth... or dare."

"truth."

"but rinnie you always pick truth." you whined. you had a very good dare in mind and it definitely did not include him painting your nails.

"but babee i don't want to paint your nails."

first of all, suna would do whatever you asked him to. second of all, he never picked dares, ever, in truth or dare.

"ok, who's your favorite singer or artist?"

not the best question, but suna never listened to music in front of you.

"artist? ummm uh... artist? why would you wanna know anyways? suna mumbled.

"answer the question, rin. why so nervous?"

now you definitely need to know who he listens to.

suna mumbled something that sounded like 'eyelashes'

"eyelashes? what do you mean eyelashes? who's eyelashes? is it like a band?"

"not eyelashes, dumbass." he said before mumbling something that definitely sounded like 'eyelashes'.

"you keep saying eyelash. speak up rinnie. i listen to 'the Backyardigans songs sometimes." you tried encouraging him.

"billie eilish." suna deadpanned

"what?"

"billie. eilish"

"billie eilish? you?"

"okay you can stop now. and yes, billie eilish."

"wait. wait. wait. wait." you said

"i'm waiting."

"wait. wait. wai-"

"can you stop now?" suna asked, shushing you with his finger.

"now that I think about it, you seem like a person who listens to 'all the good girls go to hell'" you said, staring at your boyfriend with a face of pure concentration and analysis.

"isn't 'you should see me in a crown' better?" suna asked.

"excuse me? excuse moi? verzeihung? me falni? e kala mai iaʻu?"

"okay, okay. done? i'm just saying, 'you should see me in a crown' has more of a beat to it. you know?" suna said

"no. nope. never. nada. non. nem." you continued.

as much as you loved knowing your boyfriend loved the same artists as you, you couldn't believe he thought 'you should see me in a crown' is better.

"happier than ever, or all the good girls go to hell." you asked.

"happier than ever."

"really? really really? oh my gosh rinnie me too!"

"yeah. the transition is so cool. but all the good girls go to hell sucks."

"no it doesn't"

"yes it does"

"no it doesn't"

"yes it does"

"no it doesn't."

"yes it does."

"fine then," you said, "either you listen to all the good girls go to hell, or you can paint my nails."

"fine, then. I'll gladly paint your nails"

heavily inspired by me listening to me billie eilish playlist and reading suna fanfics and then suddenly getting a burst of inspo to do this. my first drabble of 2023 is a suna rinataro one. woo hoo!

[thetentaclecommander]

20 questions for fic writers

Sures, I'll bite @the-bar-sinister!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 49 on my TheTentacleCommander main 2 on SerpentineAndWet 1 on SoftTentacledJazz (which I will get back to!) and 1 on Waymaiden Jelecia (shelved for now) so in total: 53

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?  471,114 in total spanning all accounts the huge bulk being under TTC.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Resident Evil. I'm very much a ride or die writer when it comes to fandom longevity lol

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Electronic Brawling (the Nem/Reader fic I wrote over a weekend, 322) Tentacles Are -Not- Toys (Until They Are) (the Nem/Jill I wrote over a weekend, 288) To Teach a (b)oy (the femdom Jill/Nem fic I wrote cause I wanted to just be as kinky as possible about it, 138) Need. Excite. Take. (a morning warm up I did for a Tyrantfucker chat, 130) Teaching the Devil (my 'serious' drabble that turned into a longfic/1st part of a myth arc around Nem/Jill and all the whatifs that could happen, 105) *yes, I'm aware the smut is what sells lol*

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes! I love receiving them and answer, especially in depth ones.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Ah, ha haha this one's tough. My main ship (Nemesis/Jill) is in my hands intentionally angsty so many do end on that note. If I had to chose it'd be a tie between After The Fall - Where Nemesis *really* struggles between caring for her and wanting to hurt the absolute fuck out of her. Necromancy - It's hard surreal/dreamy on purpose (also a fic staple of mine) that ends with Nemesis having done all he has to make Jill 'happy' is so deeply unhappy with himself in the end - but still continues to perpetuate the lotus eater world he's crafted for them.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?  Where the wild things... - a really hard surreal dream fic of where Nemmy's head was at halfway through the 3rd arc. He has such an idealized, near childlike hope which is big for a generally angry and resentful creature. He clearly wants the world with Jill, where the chase benefits them both but a lot of the edges - like her own traumas - are shaved off. It's telling his dream was inspired by a children's book about dealing with anger, fear and finding/seeking comfort. But it's happy in the sense he gets that comfort he wanted so badly throughout his creation, and that when he awakens, it's with him now determined to reunite with her and their offspring. (con't after the cut)

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not really? When I was on ff.net I got snippy comments (I was a young babby then) but looking back it was just what we'd call today fanpol wanking to wank. These days I assume ppl are aware what I'm about so if I were to garner hate, I'd just laugh and write Nemmy fucking Jill even harder in unfortunate places. I can always go darker, kids.

9. Do you write smut? *stares at the camera deeply* Yesss? All the smut? They tend to range from soft heartwarming lovemaking, to conflicted should we be doing this, to rapey horrors, just weird monstery shit and then the kink. Just kinky shit all over the place. Very character study leaning.

10. Do you write crossovers?  Nah. I already have a lot in my head just handling one franchise!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?  Not to my knowledge but with the way I write it's gunna be a pretty fun time in pulling off imitating my voice as I sound high on my own fumes about a decidedly rare pair no one seems to wanna admit liking rofl That and all the formatting hell

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?  Yea! In Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?  Nah, I'm too much of a prima donna to share billing /jk I just don't like collabing unless it's for an rp but I'm also never say never about such things!

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? *stares even harder at the camera* I...I'm the longest running one trick pony about having a parasitized Tyrant try to not murder with prejudice the most well trained person on the RE cast I make no secret about this :3 Also let me note my other most liked ships I have written on: Weskertine, Creva, and the Ada and Carlos tour. Valenfield ig (I do truly like em but they aren't as exciting to write for in comparison but I indeed do write them sometimes). Note these are for canons, I have loads more favs but they are ocs.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I have like 15+ wips in my drafts. I don't wanna pick one cause it's just painful to look at them begging to be finished. The ones on my account I have every intent to finish. Mostly because they are related to the AU and it wouldn't make sense if I didn't finish them.

16. What are your writing strengths? The sex lol (and being weird with it). I've been told my imagery and word play in general is stellar.  

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I feel my dialogue could be better and it's where I struggle (unless it's my muses Nem, Jill, Trent and Zeus as they are the ones I've written for the most in fic/rps) so I always try to improve on that always.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Don't wanna. I tried, hated not knowing if the language was correct (looking at you, Carlos) so just did ye old << >> to imply he's not speaking English.

19. First fandom you wrote for?  Resident Evil. I am nothing if not persistent. (like my first fic was like in 2005-6? I think?)

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?  Again another tie but it's a 3 way *eyebrow wiggle*! A Slumber Recalled, A Devil Held - this was my 'can I do something soft but pained at the same time' fic. It's a revisit of the time they finally after 20+ chapters did the do, and it's from her pov instead. A lot of re contextualizing and 'wow both of these people have baggage and are doing this not out of love but to feel heard and it *hurts*'. Proved to myself that I can write something hard hitting without a single cry of physical pain. St. Valentine - where what was to be a simple Valentine's Day fic became a fun sacrilegious love poem from a very not at all obsessive Tyrant and then had an added chapter of the reverse side of Jill sounding mentally not all there almost fragmented in her feelings towards what this was between them. So much enjoyable word play was had. Necromancy - discussed above but has my brand of word play, leaning on the fourth wall/formatting/surreal and increasing uncomfortable.

------- All my writer mutes, have at! @damadisangue @naerwenia @coiled-dragon @s-dei @lmshady @azulas-daddy-kink @depraveddove @unchartedperils @sweet7simple @goth-automaton @dekujin @katophoenix (If I missed one of ya or you do write also join in :D)

[xnerbby]

DIVULGANDO MINHAS FANFICS;

⛧. DRABBLES :

¹. YOU WEREN'T MINE TO LOSE ,

SINOPSE: Agosto era seu último mês ali e ele durou como o vinho na taça da minha mãe, num piscar de olhos.

Você me assegurava, sempre que eu perguntava se manteria contato quando voltasse para a escola, que sim. Foram promessas falsas, jogadas ao vento como se aquilo não tivesse me machucado quando nenhuma das mensagens que você prometeu me mandar não chegaram ao meu celular.

Eu te perdi quando você entrou naquele carro, mas você não era minha para perdê-la.

🔗: LEIA

². I'LL KEEP SINGING THIS LIE IF YOU KEEP BELIEVING IT ,

SINOPSE: Então, Ryujin, mesmo que não vá ler isso aqui, ainda quero que saiba que os ‘eu te amo’ não são a verdade, mas eu vou continuar cantando essa mentira se você continuar acreditando nela.

🔗: LEIA

³. TENTEI TELEFONAR, ME RETORNA QUANDO DER, VIU? ,

SINOPSE: "Ei, aqui é a Xiaoting. Não sei quem vai escutar esse recado, mas se for a Yujin; preciso conversar com você gatinha, até tentei telefonar, me retorna quando der, viu? Beijos, já estou com saudade!".

🔗: LEIA

⁴. EU, VOCÊ, O MAR E ELA ,

SINOPSE: Você era a razão pela qual eu estava parado ali, com o sol torrando meu couro cabeludo e as roupas totalmente encharcadas. Você era o motivo do meu sorriso bobo, dos meus olhos apaixonados, do coração tão acelerado que podia senti-lo por todo meu corpo.

🔗: LEIA

⁵. FLORES DE GELO NÃO MORREM ,

SINOPSE: O frio que lhe tocou na palma a assustou, mas não a afastou. O azul escuro a chamou atenção e hipnotizou, os cabelos brancos como a neve a encantou e a maneira como ela floria à medida que o frio chegava a fascinou.

Eunseo era como um lírio, a escuridão era sua casa e o frio congelante a fazia brotar, a geada era sua companhia e o astro rei era sua destruição.

🔗: LEIA

⁶. AGORA EU VEJO A VERDADE... NÃO É VOCÊ, SOU EU ,

SINOPSE: Por muito tempo me perguntei o que aconteceu, o que tinha de errado em você, se seu amor por mim foi real ou não, por que você quis ir embora depois de tudo que eu fiz por você.

Engraçado. Uma risada amarga saiu por entre meus lábios e senti o whiskey passar doce pela minha língua, descendo calmo pela garganta.

🔗: LEIA.

⁷. ME ARRASTANDO DE VOLTA PARA VOCÊ ,

SINOPSE: Observo suas costas nuas e os fios castanhos, e já sinto saudade. Saudade do que nunca tivemos e nem chegaremos perto de ter. Aquele final era diferente e você nunca ficaria com o secundário, você nunca chegou a sentir uma coisa a mais por ele, e o filme nunca foi um romance.

🔗: LEIA.

⁸. DIVINE SIN ,

SINOPSE: Depois de muitas noites em claro consumida por sentimentos que a sufocavam, caiu em si que não havia chance nenhuma de achar um Deus e seu paraíso com o próprio Demônio em sua cama. Não havia pecado maior que aquele que cometia todas as noites.

🔗: LEIA.

⁹. HEARTBREAKER ,

SINOPSE: A luz verde do letreiro do bar por todo o rosto do mais velho, sua boca rosada entrando em contraste, seus olhos com uma melancolia dolorosa de se enxergar. Não queria aquele beijo de despedida.

一 Algum dia chegarei a te ver de novo? – Perguntou, tão baixo, com aquela esperança ainda acesa em si. Não o aquecia como antes e era um mal sinal.

🔗: LEIA.