#no one commented last chapter on AO3 and it's giving me a complex

[allylikethecat]

Chapters: 11/? Fandom: The 1975 (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy, Matthew Healy/Taylor Swift, Matthew Healy&Taylor Swift, Karlie Kloss/Taylor Swift Characters: Taylor Swift, Matthew Healy, Selena Gomez, Jack Antonoff, Karlie Kloss Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Eating Disorders Summary:

“As I was saying, after the incident at your concert last night,” Tree restarted and Matty opened his mouth as if to question what the incident was, but was silenced by a glare from Jamie. “We need to move the speculation away from Taylor’s relationship with Karlie, and what many are claiming was a heated kiss shared between them, and onto her relationship with a new male suitor. Which is you.”

“Me?!” Matty exclaimed, bursting out laughing, it seemed his role in the cluster fuck had finally clicked. “You want Taylor Fucking Swift to pretend to date me, to save her image, because she got caught kissing her girlfriend at one of our gigs?” He ran his fingers through his hair, laughing even harder. “Are you guys aware that I am a raging alcoholic with a slight drug problem? I don’t think being linked to me will help rehabilitate anyones image.”

[fantasy-relax]

Someone commented in ao3 in part 14/chapter 13 aka where Cassandra's second heat happened and I got overboard soo here you go.

"As ace physical intimacy is very important to me, omegaverse is my favorite not for the smut (I love it for that reason too ngl) but for the different aspects you can play with it.

Here i put the sub gender and instincts as second primal consciences that follow certain standards of though that can be shaped as the human grows up.

Instincts are remnant from the older times that stayed even as human sapience evolved, they are for survival but to survive you need to live in community, you need support and trust so instincts want a pack that helps them and a mate that cares for them personally.

Not instinct/sub gender is better than other, they all have a role and duties that maintain the pack safe and strong.

Omegas are not naturally submissive and could easily kill even if they don't have the natural strength of Alpha, they are they last defense so they don't fuck around.They are territorial, jealous and can be very aggressive but as the ones to give birth they stay away from danger to protect their unborn child and as children are small and light is on them to teach how to kill/fend off bigger threats untill the child grows and present.

Alphas are bigger and stronger built to endurance harsh circumstances because they are the ones that provide raw material and deal with danger, the first line of defense. But they seek for a reason to do it, someone that makes everything they do worth it. They want someone to care for, to be soft and gentle, give love and receive it too.

Betas are the Middle point that walk the line between Alpha and Omega, the one to keep the head cold when the animalistic behavior has control, is not the remain is the helping hand, hunt when the alpha cant,teach the children what the omega cant, they help to keep the stability of the pack.

Cassandra is a dangerous omega but she is one.

Alpha is sweet but still is one.

Instinctively they balance each other, now the problem is the complex human mind that is influenced by their experience, surroundings and upbringing"

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Status: In Progress

Last Updated: July 30th, 2024

Disclaimers: Female!Reader

A/N: This is a Soulmate!AU with a spin. Instead of having a single soulmark, a quarter of the population have multiple. Tinkerbell and Rooster are two of those people. I love Soulmate AUs, and well, the Top Gun Brain-Rot is still ever present, so here we go. This one is going to be a bit different for me, as I'm going to be trying out flipping perspectives within the chapters between Rooster and Tinkerbell (Reader's Nickname throughout the fic).

Themes: Angst, Smut, Soulmate!AU, Bradley is a bit of a dick, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Unrequited Love (Slight, One-Sided)

Summary: You're ecstatic when you find out you have five soul indicators at midnight on the day of your twenty-first birthday, right before you start Officer Candidate School for the Navy in Rhode Island. OCS is so complex you can’t devote time to searching for your soulmate. On graduating from Officer Candidate School, Naval Aviation Command School, and Aviation Maintenance School at the top of your class, you are given the primary selection of detachment and travel worldwide as an Aviation Maintenance Duty Officer. The excitement you felt on your twenty-first birthday has changed over the past seven years, and you’re impatient to see who your soul is. After years of constant movement, it’s a relief to learn you have been assigned to run maintenance on a squadron’s planes out of Naval Air Station North Island. San Diego is sunny and gorgeous, an absolute dream after being stuck on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean for the past six months. The Dagger Squad is a newly-permanent squadron based out of NAS North Island. Each member welcomed you to Miramar as a part of their maintenance crew with warmth and friendliness. Except for one pilot, callsign: Rooster. He’s the most unpleasant pilot you’ve ever met. He’s full of himself, cocky, arrogant, rude, and condescending. If only he didn’t feel so familiar. If only you didn’t feel so drawn to him. 

Bradley Bradshaw is sure he’s never going to find his soulmate. He’d been in mourning on his twenty-first birthday, still grieving the loss of his mother, followed by the loss of the only father he’d ever known, his Uncle Mav. It isn’t until Bradley is across the country at Officer Candidate School that he realizes he never received his soul indicators. Years later, and thousands of miles away, recovering from a plane crash, Bradley, now known as Rooster, jolts awake to the half-remembered scent of citrus and glistening hair in a thick braid. Without any other indicators, Rooster gives up. After all, who’d want a soul disfigured by something they loved? That’s when Bradley gives up. He sinks into the reputation of the piano-playing, mustachioed casanova and gives up on his dreams of finding a love like his parents had found in each other. And he’s content with his life until he runs into the feisty, loud AMDO officer newly assigned to NASNI. Something about her feels like everything Bradley’s been searching for, at least, if she weren’t completely committed to Bagman already. You can call him what you want, but Rooster doesn’t steal another man’s girl.

You Are My Soulmate on AO3

You Are My Soulmate on Wattpad

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - Tinkerbell

Chapter 2 - Rooster

Chapter 3 - Rooster

Chapter 3 - Tinkerbell

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Tinkerbell

Chapter 5 - Rooster

Chapter 6 - Tinkerbell

Chapter 6 - Rooster

Chapter 7 - Tinkerbell

Chapter 7 - Rooster

Chapter 8 - Tinkerbell

Taglist is Open!

Want to be added to the Taglist for this fic? Leave a comment on this masterlist or drop me a message in my inbox!

PLEASE INCLUDE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO. I DO NOT ACCEPT TAG-LIST REQUESTS FROM BLANK OR AGELESS BLOGS. THIS IS AS MUCH FOR MY SAFETY AND LEGALITY ON THE INTERNET AS WELL AS YOURS.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[violetsaffron5]

In Another Life (4)

Chapter 3 • series masterlist • chapter 5

4 | Commitment Issues

Pairing: Gojo x f!Reader and Geto x f!Reader

An argument with Satoru leads you to the front steps of a place you swore you'd never return

Words: 4.3k

cw: angst, arguing, canon typical violence, descriptions of panic attack/anxiety

Taglist • Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

It’s quiet on the way back to your shared apartment.

You’ve been wondering if Satoru saw what you did, though it’s fairly obvious he saw something, he hasn’t expressly said it.

After returning to the venue to mingle with your guests, Satoru kept his hand tight on your waist the rest of the night preventing you from leaving his side again.

He’s quiet, which is incredibly unlike himself. Happy or frustrated, it’s never mattered to him, he’s always had something to say about everything.

Which is just another reason to believe he witnessed your infidelity.

The walk and elevator ride from the basement garage to your penthouse is equally, eerily quiet until Satoru unlocks the door, motioning for you to enter, and closes it behind him.

“I thought you were done seeing him behind my back,” Satoru states as the door clicks closed.

The look you give him is a mix of shock and confusion, because you know you had never told a soul about seeing Suguru shortly after he defected. Your stomach curls in on itself with the look of disgust Satoru is staring at you with, icy blue eyes with a fire burning behind them.

It’s not a look you’ve ever been on the receiving end of. Despite his power and abilities, it’s easy to see why with one glace from Satoru, his enemies go running. It’s truly frightening, having his anger directed towards you.

“You know, I was really hoping you were going to come clean to me, going to see Suguru a few weeks ago,” Your eyes widen at his announcement because the only person who could have possibly said something to Satoru is fucking Ijichi, “Instead, I catch you fucking him at our engagement party.”

Somehow, the tension in the air has gotten even thicker. It’s hard to breathe, let alone think. There’s not much to say, other than the truth, even though hurts, “I just needed to see him again. Just to be sure about all of this, about us,” your voice is weak, shaky, “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

 Satoru lets out an unamused laugh mixed with a scoff, “We’ve been together for years, and you’re still not sure?”

“I-I don’t know…” It’s barely a whisper as you run your hands through your hair and tug lightly at the roots in frustration, “it’s just- it’s complicated, okay?”

The feelings you’ve been harboring are complex and trying to sort them out on your own hasn’t been easy. You’ve been telling yourself you’re fine, you don’t need Suguru as long as you have Satoru. That you’re one-hundred percent totally happy with the man who’s standing in front of you.

But that’s clearly not the case when you used a note as an excuse to see him one last time before you married his best friend. Feelings that, with just a few words hastily scribbled onto a piece of paper, sent you running back to Suguru.

“Three years.” Satoru states harshly, “And clearly I’m the only one committed to this relationship since you’re off whoring yourself out to your ex!”

Your heart cracks at his comment, tears welling in the corner of your eyes, “Can we please just talk about this calmly and not say things we don’t mean.”

“You cheated on me at our engagement party, and you expect me to be calm?”

“Satoru, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say or do to make this better, I just… please. I want to work this out.”

His face is void of all emotion when you take a few hesitant steps toward him. His cursed energy prickles your skin when you reach your hand out to grab his, if you can touch him, hold him, maybe that will make things better.

Except you’re unable to, his infinity is up, protecting him and not letting you past it.

You open and close your mouth several times, trying to find the right words. Trying to tell Satoru this was a mistake, that you want to be with him and how sorry you are for the pain you’ve caused, but nothing comes out.

Instead, the tears that have been welling in the corner of your eyes finally break free, streaming down your face. You want to talk this over until everything is better until things were the way they always have been between you, but you know, all you can do is give it time and hope he doesn’t hate you for your mistakes.

“Three years,” Satoru states again, voice clipped but no longer raised, “That’s how much time I’ve wasted with you. Three years, and I’m still the only one committed to this relationship.”

Your brows are pinched as you scoff at his audacity, “How can you think I’m not committed?”

“You fucked another man at our engagement party! That’s pretty clear if you fucking ask me.”

Before you’re able to reply, Satoru is gone in the blink of an eye, warping out of the apartment to wherever he decided to go, likely the school, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Too many of them.

Running your hands over your face, you wipe away the tears streaming down your face and sniffle a few times before sulking off to your bathroom to get ready for bed, waning to just sleep the pain away.

Everyone always says you’ll feel better after sleeping, that things will be brighter in the morning. You’re not convinced that’s going to be the case this time.

In the bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror for several minutes, the bright lights from the vanity shining into your sad, puffy eyes.

You don’t look like a cheater, but you don’t look like yourself either.

Your cheeks are flushed, skin splotchy from crying; eyes half-lidded in despair. You look as miserable as you feel.

There’s a heavy pain sitting deep within your chest, so heavy it feels like your body could crumple to the floor at any moment, and you’d be okay with it.

And you couldn’t blame Satoru if he wanted to curse you either.

He didn’t deserve what you did to him, he didn’t deserve what you’re putting him through or to be treated this way.

For as many excuses as you would like to make about why you cheated, the fact of the matter is you’ve never been able to control yourself around him. As soon as he touches you, it’s over, melting into him like it’s where you’ve always belonged.

The definition of high school sweethearts through and through, until he defected and left you.

Satoru was there to pick up the pieces, to mend you and put you back together, and you were there for him too. Two shattered hearts were brought together by shared pain and anguish.

You’re not sure when it happened- when your admiration turned into fondness; the feelings having snuck up on you.

The guilt, the first time you kissed, the first time he held you in his arms in a way that was more than platonic. It was an adjustment for both of you.

But Satoru has never understood you the way Suguru did. Never quite got your jokes the same way Suguru would. Never thought your achievements were near as impressive as Suguru did.

Still, you looked past it. Maybe your love for Satoru was a replacement for Suguru, projecting onto him but you were never going to be as happy.

And that’s never been fair to Satoru.

What you did was absolutely not fair to him either.

Satoru’s been gone for almost two weeks and you’ve yet to hear from him or even see him. You’ve gone into the school a few times, trying to bring yourself to work but each time you spotted Satoru’s students, and he wasn’t in tow, your heart would sink over and over again.

So instead, you’ve opted to take personal leave and lay in bed, day in and day out. Curled into a ball until you fall asleep, waking up to a wet pillow case realizing tears slipped out during your dreams.

You’ve tried calling him a few times, but each time you’re met with his voicemail box immediately. It makes your chest hurt like your heart is going to rip out of your chest and shatter into a million pieces right on the floor.

This letter has messed with your head more than you initially thought it would. Made you seek out your ex, reopen old wounds and cheat on the man who’d done nothing but love you in the worst time of your life.

There’s been a thought scratching at the back of your mind about your life, and who you love.

How you love Satoru and right or wrong, how you still hold a love for Suguru as well.

Staring at your ceiling, eyes glazed over as you look at the swirling patterns above you know you need to do something. Nothing is going to get solved this way, if you just keep laying in bed.

Taking a deep breath, you wipe the tears from your face. A decision needs to be made.

If you don’t make one, you’ll continue to hurt not only yourself but those you love as well.

And you don’t want to be in the same position twenty years from now trying to send yourself a letter in the past, wondering if you had made the right decision.

You’re standing in front of the same grandiose temple you found yourself in front of a few weeks ago. Thinking, once you had left last time, you’d never make your way back here again.

This time, you’re more nervous than before. Certainly less confident in the status of your current relationship, with twisted and confused feelings regarding the two men who have been incredibly important during different stages of your life.

The double doors creak as you enter the temple, and once again the same busty woman comes out of nowhere, glaring at you as her heels click on the marble with haste. You briefly wonder if she does anything aside from spying on you and patrolling the entrance.

She raises an eyebrow at your attire before rolling her eyes, stopping a few feet in front of you.

Today, you opted to wear your uniform, hoping it would help provide some comfort in coming back to see Suguru. Hoping it will act as a guiding light in this unknown time.

“Geto said you’d be coming.”

You’re scratching your eyebrow, giving a nervous chuckle that even after all this time apart, he knows you well enough to know you’d come searching for him again.

Rather than pushing past her this time, you let her lead you down the halls of the temple until she knocks on one of the doors.

You can hear Suguru give a mumbled “come in” before she opens the door, entering before you.

The room is empty, aside from Suguru, with traditional art on the wall and again, candles lit in various portions of the room. He’s sitting in a chair in the corner of the room with a bookshelf next to him and a small table in front. Suguru’s reading a book when he looks up, greeting you with his signature, calming smile.

“You can go, Manami,” He states without looking in her direction, to her dismay, you’re sure.

Suguru is in similar attire as you saw him last time; a gold-colored Kaseya over black Yukata robes with white socks on his feet.

Manami pauses for a moment, looking between the two of you before turning her nose up, walking out of the room, and closing the door behind her.

You’re sure she’s probably going to listen in on your conversation from the other side, you’d certainly be tempted to.

“To be honest,” Suguru states, standing from his chair and putting his book away on the bookshelf next to him, “I thought you’d be coming to see me sooner than this.”

“Maybe you don’t remember me as well as you think you do.”

He smirks, “Maybe you’ve picked up a thing or two from Satoru. How is he, by the way?”

“Fine.” You’re trying to answer as nonchalantly as possible, though you’re not sure how well you succeeded based on the knowing smile he gives you, “I’m not here to talk about him.”

“Oh! What are you here to discuss then?”

His voice is amused as he sits back in his chair, leaning on the table in front of him with his palm resting on his chin, waiting for you to continue.

“I just-” You take a deep breath in before clicking your tongue, “I need to see what you do. I need to understand, so I can let you go.”

He chuckles at your vibrato, looking you over carefully, “Very well. If that’s what you think you need, who am I to stop you?” He sighs before standing, placing his book back on the shelf, “I was getting ready to head to a mission myself. You can come along.”

Suguru glides across the room, placing one hand on your waist to hold you close, the other on your chin, forcing you to look up at his Cheshire grin and sharp canines, “You’re gonna need to change. Showing up in your uniform would be very bad for both of us.”

You swallow thickly, nodding your head and giving him an unsure smile, “I didn’t bring anything else to wear.”

“That’s not going to be a problem.”

Suguru calls Manami back in the room and asks her to pick out an outfit for you. She nods and says she’ll find something quickly, huffing when she turns around, catching your eye.

While waiting for Manami to return, take the time to look around the room you’re in, looking over the books and trying to see if you’re able to figure out which one Suguru was likely reading. He watches, quiet, letting you look through any drawers and papers you find - it’s pretty sparse, nothing of any real interest.

It doesn’t take Manami long to come back, a bag in hand opting to hand it to Suguru, rather than you before leaving once again.

Suguru leads you down the hall to another room, a basic bedroom with a large bed in the center, a couch and tv off to one corner, and a small walk-in closet with a bathroom attached. He directs you towards the restroom to change while he goes into the closet.

With Suguru’s seemingly everyday attire being traditional robes, you had anticipated something similar, not the sleek little black dress you pull out of the bag that pinches at your waist perfectly.

As uppity and annoying as Manami may seem, she sure does know how to pick out an outfit, with cute heels to match.

When you emerge from the bathroom you find Suguru standing in front of a full-length mirror with the fabric of a tie loose around his neck as he finishes buttoning up his dress shirt.

He smiles at you from the mirror, eyes trailing up and down the length of your body before stepping away to greet you.

You stiffen slightly when he puts his arm around your waist before relaxing into his touch more than you mean to, “You look beautiful.”

Suguru gazes at you with half-lidded eyes, watching the way your cheeks heat at his compliment.

He looks delicious with his ebony hair falling past his shoulders, a white button-up shirt, and black slacks - similar to what he wore when he showed up at your engagement party. You look away, clearing your throat because you shouldn’t be having these thoughts about him, not at a time like this, not ever.

You shouldn’t have let this go as far as it did either. But the only thing you can try to do is move forward. Make a decision and move on with your life either way.

Suguru takes you to a small cocktail lounge, to your surprise. To be honest, you were expecting more of a dingy warehouse or disgusting basement where he handles his so-called business, not some place so out in the open.

The space is beautiful with dim lighting and the quiet murmurs of patrons already sitting with friends, family, and lovers engrossed in conversation. 

He hasn’t moved his hand from your waist from the moment he placed it there, thumb rubbing small circles on your hip as he keeps you close to him, murmuring in your ear, “Can’t have you wandering off. Who knows who might recognize you.”

“I-Who would recognize me here?”

You’ve certainly never been to this lounge. You didn’t even know it existed until now, but quickly realize there are a few people who glance in your direction as Suguru walks you to the bar, ordering your favorite drink. Some of them seem to be glaring at you or looking at you with disdain, you just look back at them with furrowed brows before turning your attention to Suguru.

It’s easier to make small talk with him as you wait for your drink than think about the implications of coming out in the open with Suguru. If someone who does know you sees you here with him, the higher-ups would instantly brand you as a traitor, and you’re not so sure if Satoru would bother coming to your aid right now.

Satoru has a lot of enemies, you know they’re out there, but you don’t know who they are. Not like he does. And just because you don’t know anyone in this room, it doesn’t mean they don’t know you.

The thought makes your stomach twist as the bartender hands you your drink. You watched him make it the entire time, more nervous than ever that something unwarranted may find its way into the glass.

Not that you really think Suguru would let that happen.

Suguru takes you to a booth, near the back of the lounge. You watch as the patrons in the bar laugh, chit-chat, and smile with the others they came with. There aren’t as many people here as you would expect on a weekend. The bar isn’t filled and most of the tables are empty, with seemingly only one person on staff.

“Don’t be nervous,” Suguru says, grabbing your hand as you lay your glass back on the table.

You look at him with furrowed brows as he plays with the tips of your fingers. It takes you a moment to realize your hand is shaking and goosebumps have prickled themselves all over your skin.

“I just- it feels weird. Being out in public with you. This isn’t what I expected.” You whisper, watching the way his large hand glides over your fingers and up your arm before wrapping it around your shoulder.

“I know.” He places a gentle kiss on your temple and a soft smile graces your lips before a pudgy, sweaty man in a suit takes a seat across from you and Suguru. The suit is at least two sizes too small based on the button in the center of his belly threatening to burst.

The man fumbles around his chest pocket before pulling out a handkerchief, dabbing it on his forehead.

“You’re late,” Suguru states simply, glaring at the man with sharp eyes as you watch him take a seat with a disgruntled look.

“This wasn’t exactly the easiest shit-hole to find,” he spits pulling a cigar out of a tiny case, lighting it, and puffing on it several times, “couldn’t have picked a place with a little more class?”

Suguru chuckles, “Oh, you don’t like it? I thought a cozier environment would suit us better. Or did you want to go to a club so all the patrons could hear about our plans?”

The man blows the smoke from his cigar towards Suguru in annoyance causing you to crinkle your nose and wave your hand in front of your face as you cough slightly. Suguru pulls you in closer to him, the scent of his cologne helping ease the irritation from the smoke.

“I didn’t want to meet in public at all, Geto.”

Suguru hums, “Let's head out back then. The smoke is bothersome anyway.”

Internally you’re talking Suguru so you can be far away from this sleazy man blowing smoke in your face, but you also recognize that Suguru likely has ulterior motives, which makes your stomach churn again.

Suguru takes you by the hand, and your heart flutters as he hooks your arm into his, leading you out the back door to the alleyway of the bar.

This is more of the aesthetic you were expecting. Dark, dingy, and dirty, small cramped space as Suguru says, “You haven’t paid in some time.”

“I don’t trust you,” the man replies, continuing to puff on his cigar, “none of the changes you’ve promised have happened yet.”

“Change in the Jujutus World takes time,” Your ears perk at his comment. You know he has flawed ideals but the fact that he’s still been working towards this insane goal right under everyone’s noses is incredibly unsettling, “Can’t rush perfection, after all.”

“Well, it needs to be rushed. I’ve spent a lot of money on you and your little following.”

You’re nervous, sick to your stomach from their conversation, upset with yourself that you’re here. A willing participant because you couldn’t bring yourself to leave Suguru alone, to let your past lie in the past.

Squeezing your eyes closed and taking a deep breath, you try to settle your nerves and remind yourself that you asked for this. Because you just needed to see how he is, how he’s changed, for better or worse. You just need to know.

Because if you know, if you see him in action and hear his plans you’ll be able to let him go.

You have to, right? He’s a criminal, considered the worst curse user. It’s only logical.

“Were you able to find the sorcerer I requested? The one with the black rope?” Suguru asks calmly.

The twisted feeling in your stomach is getting worse as you look around, listening to their conversation. It’s oddly quiet. No hustle and bustle from the road down the ally, no sound other than the two men talking.

The area surrounding you is tinged and distorted as well. You were so consumed with following Suguru and what his plan was that you didn’t even realize a veil was put up around the bar.

“I did. Somewhere in Africa, maybe Kenya, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’ll only work for the right price and under the right conditions.”

“That really shouldn’t be a problem,” Suguru smirks, “Don’t worry about paying, you’re no longer of use to me.”

You’re not sure when he got it ready but Suguru now holds a small black sphere, grinning as he releases a giant centipede from the confines of the orb. It slithers across the floor, charging towards the man who screams as he backs away, trying to run out of the ally to the sidewalk.

You know he won’t make it. Even if he manages to get away from this curse somehow, Suguru would find him, no matter what.

Suguru came here tonight prepared to kill the man, whether he gave the information Suguru was looking for or not. It didn’t really matter to him and the realization brings an acidic burn to the base of your throat.

The curse easily catches up to him, coiling its body around the man, squeezing tight.

The muffled screams of the man can be heard as you look away, tears streaming down your cheeks, breath hitching with each crunch of bone as it strangles him. The sound of bones breaking and popping isn’t uncommon in your line of work, but it’s incredibly horrifying when it’s a seemingly innocent man.

It takes everything in you not to scream and run away yourself. Or try to fight Suguru, though you know there’d be no chance of winning.

You’re jittery and anxious and it feels like your world is about to collapse in on itself because now you’ve seen Suguru in action - now you know what he’s fully capable of.

Of course, you knew. You had been told repeatedly of the crimes he committed but part of you still needed to see it in order to believe it.

And what frightens you the most isn’t that he just committed this heinous crime in front of you without a second thought.

It’s that you’re still not afraid of him. That you can’t bring yourself to run, to call Satoru and tell him where you are, what you’ve witnessed, and beg for forgiveness for your part in this.

Your eyes are squeezed closed, fists closed in tight little balls when you feel gentle fingers below your chin turn your head.

Opening your eyes, Suguru stands with gentle eyes and a kind smile and you wonder how he can be so calm about all of this.

You’re supposed to protect those who can’t protect themselves, but you didn’t even try to stop him. You just looked away.

Tears are streaming down your face in quick succession, you’re panicking, hyperventilating, and unable to catch your breath, “y-you just k-killed him. For no reason!”

“He played his part. I didn’t need him anymore.”

“Who was he?”

Suguru eyes you for a moment, clenching his jaw, “Someone who won’t be missed. A weakling, a monkey who had resources and money. Told him if he helped, we’d make a place for him in the new world.”

“So you just killed him?”

“Yes.”

You shake your head, at a loss for words. Even if you knew what you wanted to say, you’re not sure anything would come out. You want to scream and cry and run away but at the same time, you also don’t want to leave.

“You’ve seen enough,” Suguru wipes away a few tears with his thumb. Your eyes are red and puffy and you sniffle several times, “It’s time we get you back home.”

@s-witch-bitch @watyousayin @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @ritsatoru @faewithsnakes @lex-dear @hvziers @babybae-shisui @saiewithakatana @yihona-san06 @shartnart1 @lilith412426 @ambersea7 @ikilledsparky2 @creolequeen11210 @ichigojamjam @simpfully-heartbroken @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @shan-nein @witchbybirth @myabae @lilacsinjuly @mshope16

[musette22]

hey minnie,

How do you find quality stucky fics in this vast ocean of pornography these days??? These last few years, I swear I barely get to read a decent stucky fic. I don't mind smut but come on, one can only read much too much filth until all filth looks the same. every once in a while you find something worthwhile to read but most of the time it feels like it's 1:50

Hi there! First of all, I think I understand what you're asking, but I'm also just a bit confused, because the way you've phrased it makes it sound like smut fics (or pornography, as you put it) can't also be quality fics, and that just doesn't sound right to me.

Well-written smut, with good characterization, is incredible, in my opinion. Granted (although there's absolutely nothing wrong with it), I'm also less into smut that is purely smut, in which the characters feel like they could be interchangeable with anyone, but I've always found it easy enough to avoid those types of fics. But I love me some filth from time to time, and I write quite a bit of it myself, so you might not be asking the right person...

Moreover, in my opinion, what constitutes quality fanfiction is extremely subjective. There are many older fics that have thousands of kudos and oodles of comments, which I personally didn't rate very highly. Conversely, there are some fics out there that I consider absolute gems, but which haven't gotten much love or attention at all. So without knowing more about what type of fic you do enjoy, I can't really help you.

But if I consider your question in a more general way, I would say that for me, when it comes to finding quality fic these days (and I'm assuming you mean "new" fic, not older stuff), following the writers whose work you enjoy is a huge part of it. Not all of them will have a Tumblr, but I'd say most of them do, and if you find them and give them a follow (and/or subscribe to their work on AO3), you'll never have to miss another fic they post. There are definitely quite a few incredible Stucky writers still very much active in the fandom right now, so make sure you look them up and hit follow.

I personally haven't experienced a shortage of great new Stucky fic yet (in fact, I still struggle to keep up with newly posted work a lot of the time), nor do I feel like the majority of what's posted these days is pure smut, but then I do exist within what you might call a "fandom bubble" (i.e. a space I curated for myself, filled with people (whose taste) I trust, and whose recommendations often lead me to expand that bubble to include more talented and awesome people, including writers).

Also, I personally strongly believe that what you experience as a shortage of "decent" fics (by which I assume you mean well-written, longer works with lots of plot and complex charactization, as opposed to just light on the smut) is also very much connected to a very unfortunate development that's been occurring in fandom over the last few years, possibly due to the influence of Instagram and Twitter, and that is the SIGNIFICANT decrease in engagement from readers such as yourself. Of course, the Stucky fandom has become smaller since EG and that naturally entails fewer readers (and writers) etc., that's just how it is. But it's not so much about the hits & follows as it is about the amount of (positive) feedback, comments and love authors receive on their works, which has decreased disproportionately even to that natural decline. There are still so many wonderful people who do leave comments and love on their favourite fics, but it seems like those people are in the minority these days.

I speak from personal experience when I say that writers will write much more and share that writing much more freely if they feel like their efforts are appreciated and their enthusiasm is (noticeably) shared by others. If authors feel like they're just shouting into the void, they'll be much less inclined to continue writing, ESPECIALLY long, complex, multi-chapter fics that take a lot of time and effort to produce.

So basically, for a large part, the power is in your hands here, anon. If you can, please leave long, detailed comments on the works of your favourite authors. Make art or moodboards or playlists based on fics. Share their work by reblogging it, gushing about it to others in the fandom, send them asks or DMs about their work and let them know how much you appreciate them. It'll work like a charm, I promise you!

[whatacaitastrophe]

Is It Over Now - Chapter 12

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot" - Brand New

Chapter Warnings: Mystra

Spotify Playlist: Here

Chapter Notes: this is the last chapter of "Is It Over Now!" thank you so much to everyone who has read this fic and liked it, reblogged it, left comments etc. the next installment, "Everything Has Changed" is already on AO3, and i'll start uploading chapters here soon <3

also!! i have a discord server!! it was made to coincide with the twitch channel, but i need more friends to talk about bg3 with so pls come hang. link is above!

Chapter 12: Call Me A Safe Bet, I'm Betting I'm Not

“Astarion, we’re supposed to be packing.” Fallon giggles.

Astarion is also supposed to be in the kitchen, taking stock of what food they have left and how much of it is worth taking with them. Instead, he’s in their bedroom with his arms wrapped around Fallon’s waist from behind, peppering kisses across her neck and shoulders. “We’ve done enough packing for today, I think it’s time we take a well-deserved break.” 

“We just started!” Fallon argues, but she also does nothing to stop Astarion’s hands from slipping beneath the hem of her shirt. 

“We started yesterday.” His fingertips dance lightly over the skin above her trousers underneath her shirt. 

Fallon looks at the clock on the wall and giggles again. “You cheeky fucker, just because we started at half-ten in the evening and it’s now one in the morning does not count as starting to pack yesterday. It’s been two and a half hours!”

“Fallon, darling, I’m starting to think you don’t want to have sex with me. It’s going to give me a complex.” Astarion chuckles and he brushes her hair to the side to nip at the nape of her neck. 

She snorts with laughter when he says that. “Yes, because Ao forbid I try to actually make sure we’re prepared to leave for Velrea in four days,” she says drily, leaning into his touch and tilting her head further to the side to give him better access. “Nevermind that we’ve not gone a single day without having sex since the Winter Solstice.”

Astarion pauses for a moment, and Fallon does not need to look at him to know that her partner is digging through his memory to try and prove Fallon wrong. The dramatic huff following the silence is also telling: he knows she’s right. Not that this deters him at all. Instead the vampire changes tactics. “Well, when I live with the most beautiful woman in all of Faerun, how can I be blamed for wanting her constantly? I mean, what would you do if you were in my position?” His fingers deftly slip beneath the very top of her trousers, skimming over her hips. 

A shiver rolls across Fallon’s body, and she almost, almost, gives in. It’s been two months since the Winter Solstice, and Fallon and Astarion have been insatiable ever since. It’s like finally admitting how much they love each other woke up something inside of the them, and with it came a new level of virility that Lae’zel claimed makes them “impossible to be around for longer than an hour.” Truthfully, Fallon would love nothing more than to stop folding clothes and let Astarion take her right there on top of the freshly laundered pile but they have a deadline to meet. If they want to reach Velrea before the Spring Equinox, they absolutely must leave in four days’ time. 

“If I were in your position, I’d take a cold bath then go back to the kitchen.” She giggles. It is only then that Fallon turns around to face Astarion, and she plants a soft kiss on his lips, then pats his cheek when he pouts. “I promise to make it up to you, my love. I’ll even show you what I bought at Figaro’s when I went shopping with Shadowheart a couple days ago. It’s lacy and pretty, positively sinful and completely impractical for traveling.” Fallon teases him, biting her lip and batting her eyelashes. 

“Wicked woman. Absolutely wicked.” Astarion smirks, kissing her once more. “I’m holding you to that.” 

“I expect nothing less. Now go.” Fallon gently pushes him away from her, playfully smacking his backside as he leaves the room. 

The last time the two of them traveled together it was about as unplanned as it could get, considering they’d both been kidnapped and forced to make due with whatever happened to be on their person at first. Now that they have the time to plan and prepare, Fallon wants to do so. Even with it only being the two of them this time, Fallon easily resumed the leadership role she naturally took on during their adventures from the nautiloid to Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion was happy to let her. He’d even admitted to Fallon that was initially part of why he wanted her to come with him in the first place. “You’re better at making tough decisions than I am. Better at taking the emotions out of it, if you will.” He’d explained. 

Fallon could only hope that she is still able to think that logically in the event they are faced with danger. Things are different now, and there is far more at stake; namely, how far she would be willing to go to keep Astarion safe and to help him get what he wants. Fallon would never say she didn’t love Gale, but she certainly did not love Gale in the way she loves Astarion now. The way she feels about the vampire is soul-deep and all-encompassing. If anything ever happened to Astarion, she would scorch the entire world to save him. 

How is it possible that the two of them had so many clothes? It’s not like they were constantly leaving the suite. Astarion couldn’t unless it was dark outside, and Fallon’s sleep schedule was slightly closer to his these days because of it. When they did leave, it was only to go downstairs to the tavern, or occasionally to Wyll’s. Lae’zel and Shadowheart had returned to Creche K’liir, promising to visit more often, same with Karlach and Halsin back to The Grove. On top of that, when Astarion and Fallon were at home they were naked more than half the time because of their inability to keep their hands off of each other. 

Thank the gods they were clothed this evening, however, because the easy silence that filled the suite was interrupted by the sound of somebody opening a portal in the sitting room. “What the–”

“I seek an audience with Fallon of Baldur’s Gate.” An ominous female voice echoes through the suite, and Fallon freezes. She knows that voice. It’s a voice she’s only ever heard once before, but once was enough for her to know enough. Fallon grabs her sword on her way out of the bedroom, despite knowing that it will likely do little should the owner of the voice pick a fight. Astarion apparently had the same idea, for when they meet in the hallway, Astarion is holding a dagger. Quickly, Astarion kisses Fallon and whispers, “I love you,” before taking a step in front of her protectively as they enter the sitting room. 

At the sight of Mystra, Goddess of Magic, Fallon’s heart rate increases exponentially. She’s even more beautiful than Gale’s memories of her depicted, and on that alone, Fallon understands why Gale walked directly into her trap time and time again. Why in the nine hells is Mystra in her home? She quickly scans the sitting room for Gale, but the demi-god is not present. Fallon looks Mystra in the eyes and swallows as she desperately tries to keep her cool. 

“I can’t say I know what the protocol is when a goddess comes to visit. Am I to bow? Offer you tea? Drop to my knees and pray? Then again, you’re not my goddess, so I suppose I don’t need to do any of those things.” Fallon says cooly, and her grip tightens on her sword.

“Put your weapons away, I did not come here to harm you.” Mystra demands. 

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Astarion snarls back at her, dagger raised. 

“You will not threaten me, vampire.” Mystra snaps.

“You’re the one who entered my home without an invitation, not the other way around,” He snaps back. “What do you want with Fallon?”

Mystra does not recoil when Astarion refuses to back down, but her presence seems to become less…overbearing, somehow. “I came to congratulate her.” 

Astarion and Fallon look at each other in confusion. “Congratulate me for what?”

“For ruining Gale of Waterdeep’s life.” 

Fallon’s blood goes cold, and her grip on her sword loosens. “What have you done to Gale?”

Mystra lets out a cold laugh. “Oh, it’s not a question of what I’ve done, Fallon of Baldur’s Gate, but a question of what Gale of Waterdeep has done. For you, because of you, however you wish to interpret it.”

Even Astarion is lowering his weapons now, and he takes a step back to hold Fallon’s free hand. Whatever Mystra is about to reveal, it’s definitely not good, and Gale is definitely not okay. “What did he do?” Astarion asks.

Mystra smirks. “Gale of Waterdeep has decided that he no longer wishes to become a god. He claims that if being a god means spending eternity without you in it, then he doesn’t want it.”

Oh no. Fallon’s heart drops into her stomach as she slowly puts the pieces together in her mind. She remembers what Gale said of his bargain with Mystra in order to achieve godhood, and what the stakes were. What the cost would be if he denied Mystra. Astarion must remember, too, because his grip on her hand tightens. 

“I told Gale of Waterdeep the consequences of his choice would be the same now as they were when I first offered him a chance to ascend to godhood. He chose you still. I simply needed to meet the woman who turned my chosen against me so thoroughly face-to-face, and to bring her a gift.” 

Whatever this gift is, Fallon is already certain it’s not much of a gift at all. Not for her, not for Astarion, and most certainly not for Gale. 

Mystra snaps her fingers, and Gale Dekarios is suddenly on the ground at Fallon and Astarion’s feet. He looks up at her weakly, and when he reaches for her, his entire body is shaking. Fallon’s sword hits the ground with a clang and lets go of Astarion’s hand, dropping to her knees in front of Gale.

“What have you done to him, you wretched bitch?!” Fallon screams at Mystra. Fallon reaches for Gale’s body and Astarion is almost immediately at her side, helping her pull Gale closer to them both, wrapping their bodies around Gale to protect him from Mystra. If that’s even possible at this point, as it seems the damage is already done.

“I have not done anything Gale of Waterdeep has not asked for,” Mystra says coldly. “He knew the consequences of defying me, turning his back on me, and chose you anyway, so I bring him to you, Fallon of Baldur’s Gate. For he is your problem now, in all his imperfect, entirely and ordinarily human disgrace.” 

Mystra says nothing else before stepping back through her portal, and Fallon and Astarion watch in shock as it closes. It is only once Mystra is gone that either of them realize Gale is inconsolable. 

“She– she took my magic. Fallon– it’s gone. I can’t feel The Weave anymore. Oh gods. It’s gone!” Fallon pulls as much of Gale into her lap as she can and holds him there as the man she once loved so fiercely completely breaks down. Even after everything Gale has done, he didn’t deserve this punishment. Taking away his access to The Weave was already cruel, but dropping him on his ex-lover’s doorstep? That was especially malicious. 

“It’s gone.” Gale continues to repeat, and Fallon just looks at Astarion desperately. For once, she does not know what to do. 

“Well,” Astarion sighs, and reaches for Fallon’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “I guess I’d better make sure we’ve got enough food for three, then.”

There’s no hesitancy in his voice and Fallon nods in agreement: Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep, mortal, non-magical, and human, is coming with them to Velrea, whether he likes it or not.

Masterlist

[dovithedarklord]

Age of Monsters - Chapter Ten

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

The small team is presented with a new kind of problem, and Leona investigates Riley's strange behavior.

Hello!

I don't have a specific Trigger Warning for today's chapter! But again, I'll probably have some in the next one! :D

Have fun!

I.M.L. - Infected mammalian lifeform. I.H.L. - An infected humanoid lifeform.

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Ten

..........................................

Under my eyelids, the whole body of the soldier lying on his hospital bed becomes a map interwoven with a complex network of blood vessels, and I search for injuries, so that when I reach to the broken ribs and bruised internal organs, I can help the tissues heal with a very nice little push of my energy. Ever since our little team got back, I've been working on patching up the surviving soldiers, while Riley disappeared along with MacTavish, who already looked a thousand times better, to alert their other two companions, because they had to hear the crap we went through, after which our little team returned crippled, beaten and reduced in numbers. Riley didn't have to say a word for me to begin acting on my benevolent role and escorting their wounded mortal comrades to the infirmary. Of course, I don't do this out of the goodness of my heart, but mostly because I suspect that Price would certainly not be happy if I would let these poor bastards meet their maker, just because I don't feel like straining my pretty little body with so many tasks in one night. Another more pressing reason is that while I fix the physical integrity of these guys, I still have time to reflect on what happened.

And the more I run through the whole series of events in my head, which destroyed the entire bombproof plan in the blink of an eye, the more I'm sure that it wasn't the virus that got to a magical evolutionary peak and helped to give birth to a completely new kind of humanoid mutant. Even if the development of the pathogen had been accelerated, it wouldn't take just a year and a half to go from a brainless idiot to a beast carrying out organized attacks and capable of planning tricks. And this explanation just stirs up more questions in my skull, because even though I worked in the field and studied the behavior of these assholes for years, I can't think of anything that could have caused this. Provided that someone didn't interfere with the order of nature intentionally. But who would be so idiotic to pronounce the death sentence on humanity with this? And although I know that people can be mean, evil, and most of all stupid, but not to this extent. No one can be this suicidal, because the fear of death and terror is a much greater motivational force to not delve into such dangerous games. Of course, if the chance of something happening is not zero, that will never be a factor that can be ruled out.

When the last broken bone has mended together and all the damaged organs have regenerated, I just silently step back from the man resting on the bed, who looks up at me and mutters a quite "thank you", but my brain is too far gone for that. Without any further comment, I head towards the door of the infirmary, so that I can finally go to the place where I can release the many hypotheses swirling in my head and discuss with those who, along with me, have experienced what kind of new hell can be unleashed on the world.  Because the fact that these bastards behave intelligently and are able to corner S-Class Hunters is more than worrisome. We've been lucky so far because these monsters have also learned that if they don't stray too close to the colonies, they can get away without the Hunters making mittens out of their flayed skin. Of course, this is also a fragile balance, where random attacks still could happen starting from the yellow zone, but it’s a system that has been operating for fifty years, and is mainly held together by the Holy Spirit. And although Hunters are always born, and there are a few idiots every year who join liquidation units as soldiers, still, the number of our defense and that of mutants is not even, to say the least. Moreover, in light of the new developments concerning humans, we have theorized that within a few years, we will be more and more outnumbered by the infected lifeforms. But this… this puts this very friendly prediction into a new perspective.

My hasty steps thump loudly in the empty silence of the base, and I find it surprising that the commotion caused by our arrival didn't attract more attention from the busy little soldiers living here. Although I suspect that at this moment, the most advantageous thing to do is to remain quiet, since creating fear with insufficient information would be the stupidest thing we could do right now. Even if, with the available data, the subsequent events won’t be much better. And the sinister foreboding, fighting with sharp claws in my mind, keeps telling me that this little trifle is the result of some huge blunder, the consequence of which we will nobly bear now. And I secretly hope that Laswell and her omnipresent hand will make sure that the thousands of questions arising in me will be answered. Although I know that this is mostly a futile dream, because that is exactly why she sent us there, only to return with even more unclear circumstances and question marks.

I make my way to Price's office in the heart of the base as quickly as I have never done before, and I suspect that restlessness and the desire for knowledge make my steps so damn springy after the stress and adventures of the last few hours. And I could even muse about the fact, that it's quite irrational of me to be so interested in the new risk threatening the colonies, and I could even argue that in order to keep my peace, as a simple Healer, it's not my concern to worry about this. But rationality has always been stronger in me, and it alerts me that there is no corner of the world where I can escape to, if what we've experienced today develops into a worldwide problem. And this has the potential of becoming one. In any case, my renewed selfless soul wouldn't let its new little squad down. No matter how much the latest incidents promise new complications in addition to my life which is already full of excitement.

As soon as the door to Price's den appears in front of me at the end of the familiar corridor, I see the restless movement of several shadows in the light filtering under the doorstep, and it's clear from the muffled muttering, that they are just as excited by the thrills we encountered during the mission as I am. And as I get closer, I catch the worried grumble of the captain, as he surely tries to get more information from the two Hunters with enthusiastic questioning, and despite the fact that I can't see through the walls, I can still imagine the serious expression on the man's face. That's why I don't hesitate any longer, but after a soft knock as a courtesy, without waiting for an answer, I reveal the entrance to the office, only to be met almost immediately by five pairs of rather grim eyes, that settle on my approaching figure at the same time. And after I survey the people gathered in the dim room, my gaze almost instinctively finds MacTavish, who is resting in his chair next to the table, now wearing civilian clothes instead of his earlier tattered ones. There is now a significantly more human color to his face, even though his features are now dominated by an unusual sullenness, which softens just a shade when he turns his attention to me. The edge of his stubble-framed mouth moves upwards into a faint curve, and it almost physically hurts to see the gloom that settles over his entire being. And I can assess it quite well that this is for the failed campaign and our diminished team.

"Woods!" Price addresses me, when he snaps out of the surprise caused by my arrival, and as he scans over me quickly, a small smile appears on his face. "I'm glad you're in one piece." He adds, and the fact doesn't escape my attention that, regardless of his delight, he lingers on my rather battered person for a few long seconds, and it feels good for the hidden little corner of my soul as I catch the sparks of concern glimmering in those sky blue eyes. I almost find this paternal worry to be sweet, but now is not the time for this in the least, no matter how much my brain wants to go off on disgustingly sentimental tangents.

"Yeah, I almost ended up in several." I note rather darkly, and I also cruise over to the table with just a few quick steps, and driven by the bubbling tension under my skin, I don't even notice that for some reason I automatically arrive at Riley's side, who just silently turns his head towards at me as I appear next to him. Our gaze only meets for a fleeting moment, but that's enough for me to observe that in some magical way, he lacks the distance that has been a constant guest in those chocolate eyes. And this would even make my morbid little heart skip a beat with the honor, if his pious behavior didn't arouse suspicion in me, in light of how enthusiastically I disregarded his orders earlier.

"Ghost and Soap gave a broad outline of what happened." Laswell also joins the conversation, who seems to have been so interested in the outcome of the excitement she brought here that she stayed here to wait for the news. And from the line of her thinly pressed lips, it's clear that she the story she got was far off from what she wanted to hear. And the evil little voices in my brain warn me to watch every reaction of the woman carefully, because if my assumption is correct and this whole mess is the work of humans, then our informant was either honestly unsuspecting, or she's hiding it damn well that she was aware of the hornet's nest she was sending us into. And although I would like to believe that she was barking up the wrong tree as much as we did, it crosses my mind once again that what cannot be completely ruled out is still a potential possibility.

"We've had our fair share of excitement." I draw my mouth into a rather cynical smile, and I don't try to hide the sarcastic edge in my voice, because it wouldn't make any sense. I suspect that my mood is shared by Riley and his Scottish friend, whose dark eyebrows seem unable to separate from each other, because they hold the gloomy expression with unbroken enthusiasm that, according to my intuition, has been on his face since he regained consciousness. "Fortunately, you won't miss out on the experience either." I announce pointedly, and as I reach for the camera resting on my vest, suddenly all eyes are focuses on the gadget with intense curiosity, which my skillful fingers peel from the cavalcade of the many pockets with ease. And when the device is finally off of me, my free hand automatically searches for my communicator from my side pocket to prepare for the early morning movie screening. They're in for a real treat.

"How much did you manage to record?" Price turns to me again, and when the wry smile sitting on my lips softens into a single motionless line, he unspokenly understands the sheer ominous graveness emanating from my expression. And since he can guess that my sourness is not for our impromptu late-night slumber party, I know from the deep, troubled wrinkles appearing on his forehead that he understands how horrible the recording can be, which I have collected in such an artistic manner.

"Just enough." I state succinctly, and I don't even need to add more to the introduction of the documented material, because it perfectly sums up my feelings. Pulling out the connector on the side of the communicator, I insert it into the input of the camera, and everyone watches tensely as I conjure up the video with a few button presses, the existence of which may have been forgotten by everyone until I entered, but fortunately, my memory spins sharper than ever from the stress that still lingers in me.

And when the barren road marking the edge of the combat zone appears, looming with blue light, I place the gadget in the middle of the table and flick on the frozen image of the hologram to begin the presentation of the bedtime story. The first few minutes pass with almost disturbing uneventfulness, as our small team confidently moves forward towards the heart of the city that houses only rotting remains. But my attention doesn't waver, and my frustrated brain, demanding answers, focuses more intently than ever before, circling every square millimeter of the footage that is presented to me. Because now that it's finally not preoccupied with the rescuing of my fellow Scotsman, and not the horror of the mission turned into chaos dominates my mind, I have the free brainpower to wonder how long they could have been watching us. They outwitted the expertly hidden traps with such vileness and attacked our group in such close coordination, that it’s almost impossible that this was all just a random phenomenon committed out of an impulse. No. These bastards have been monitoring us from the very beginning.

The video cuts to our parting at the observation point, and even though I suddenly see only the uniforms of the two Hunters and all the equipment lined up on them, it still flashes in my mind with what high hopes and confidence MacTavish reassured me that this whole operation couldn't end badly.  How sad that after I continue to stroll to the overpass and take my place, we can admire up close how fast everything went awry. The room watches with tense concentration as the events take place in quick succession, and I still can't find anything wrong with the way the little soldiers skillfully set the traps intended for surprise with nimble movements. But, when the noise of the sound alarm slowly filters through the video with a muffled screech, the first unmistakable wrinkles of confusion and astonishment soon appear on everyone. Because the human-like creatures emerge, and even though they are much smaller than how I saw them through my binoculars due to the distance, I still manage to follow them perfectly as they throw themselves into the line of sensors first with jerky movements and then with frantic haste. That's when the first startled voice breaks out from Garrick, who watches with growing bewilderment as the mouth of the nest slowly begins to pour out hordes of mutants like an unstoppable flood. The pale moving flashes of the hologram are reflected in his dark eyes with a ghostly light, and this only emphasizes the disbelief that is held there even more.

And since I know that the best is yet to come, I direct my focus to the corner of the footage, because the star of the evening will make its impressive entrance within minutes, and I'm not willing to miss a single second of it. For an uncertain moment, it seems as if the smudge on the roof of the ruined building is just a speck of dust floating in the air, but I know that it is that dirtbag. Even I acknowledge this deformed lowlife, because it sneaks out of the ruins with such masterful invisibility that I still only notice its appearance a few fleeting seconds earlier than I did hours ago. And the possibility arises in my mind that maybe it could have avoided the position of the soldiers operating on the ground from another underpass, because there wasn't only one subway stop like that in a city. If these scumbags inhabited the entire subway network, they could have emerged from anywhere that hadn't yet degraded into a crumbling pile of garbage. And this means that we had no chance to surround them from the beginning, because they could have thrown themselves at us from literally anywhere.

Although the video doesn't fully reflect the reality, the mutant and its rider offer at least an unnatural sight as they did in real life, as they stop at the edge of the building and with noble simplicity direct their little buddies who are lying in wait towards MacTavish's team. And now that I have time to analyze the whole interaction more soberly, I notice how the I.H.L.s standing by on the ground look up to their leader with devoted attention, and they move as a team when, they carry out the silent order with almost blind obedience, as if they had been secretly practicing this for some time in their dirty little home. Which still doesn't sound much less unlikely.

"What the hell is going on?" The confused question breaks out from Garrick, and one of his fingers is points at the humanoid monster climbing down on the building, who starts its calm little walk towards the battlefield with such grace and pride, as if it had just gone on a peaceful evening sightseeing. I perfectly understand the Hunter's surprise, because even for the second time I can't find an explanation for the whole surreal event. And this only awakens impatient frustration in my mind, because instead of observing new details, I only find more incomprehensible puzzles.

"What is that?" Laswell fixes her bright eyes on me, and as I divert my searching gaze from the recording for a moment, I carefully study the expression hiding on her face. The troubled fine wrinkles that run between her eyebrows emerging from under her hair look sincere, and the concerned sparks that appear in her eyes don't seem to be the result of contrived acting. Although I have no illusions that this woman can play with her facial expressions as effectively as she can retrieve anything that comes out of our little mouth when needed, but I'm also well-versed in studying others to know when someone is trying to trick me. And now she urges me to answer with the genuine astonishment of the first shock. Based on this, she was kept in the dark at least as effectively as we were. In other words, there is still a corner of this world where the influence of the woman, unfortunately, doesn't reach, and this leads directly to the not-insignificant fact that if there is a human hand in this, then it will belong to one of the highly prestigious members of the higher authority.

"An I.H.L." I finally give the curt answer, and despite the fact that I don't indulge in further explanations, she still understands how terrible news this means for us. Because she snaps her head back to the unfathomable chaos unfolding on the recording with such speed that it makes even me dizzy.

The tension is palpable in the silence that slowly fills every corner of the office, and nothing else echoes from the white walls than my panting and pounding footsteps, which are filtered through the video, as I wander the deserted streets in search of MacTavish. And although the camera shakes wildly as it tosses and turns in the middle of my rush, it's still possible to follow my path perfectly to the location of the Hunter with the mohawk. And when I finally arrive, from the wall of the building that serves as my hiding place, only a part of the view that greeted me upon my arrival can be seen, but it's enough for me to catch on my periphery, how the Scotsman's fists are clenched with painful force in his lap, as a blood-soaked hand appears in the tumult of many feasting monsters. There's no doubt that he blames himself for his team's unfortunate end, and I'd love to give him a little of my selfishness to ease the paralyzing pain and disappointment in his eyes. Because even though I know that he isn't an innocent sheep either, he doesn't deserve to fall into despair like this because he couldn't avoid the slap that this unfortunate situation gave him.

The time comes for my dramatic entrance, and the sight of the mangled bodies of dead mutants on the ground still fills me with morbid joy. But I don't have to wait long, because soon a completely new excitement occupies my attention, because the mutant-riding scum appears again in the alley, preparing to attack. Riley's body imperceptibly tenses up from the sight, and I only take a furtive glance at him. Every cell of him radiates pure rage, and I haven't been able to catch this reaction yet, even though I've tried quite enthusiastically to rile him up previously. His fingers, which are still covered in blood-soaked gloves, are squeezed around the thick table top, and when the large piece of furniture creaks from the fury directed at it, for a moment it feels as if he would want to tear the furnishing apart with his bare hands. And I have a suspicion, that although the helpless anger felt due to the injury of his comrade and the failure of the mission may also contribute to his sore mood, my keen little senses tell me that something else is going on here. Because it's only when he catches my searching gaze, that he manages to steer himself back into his usual cold indifference with great difficulty. My eyes just narrow cautiously as, unusually for him, instead of any kind of unfriendly remark he turns his attention back to the video, where he has now also made his brilliant appearance and sets off on the way back, hauling MacTavish on his shoulders. And from this strange reaction, I quite understandably come to the conclusion, that something is very fucking wrong with him.

As soon as the recorded material ends, the footage shown on the hologram freezes again, leaving behind nothing but confusion, anger, and sinister silence. It's no wonder, because countless things happened in this video that no one could have foreseen, not even in their wildest dreams. The mission, which started as a simple nest extermination, concluded in such an ugly massacre that ended with the death of a dozen soldiers, after which we returned home with their few survived, but tormented companions, without answers. And this will be a hard pill to swallow for everyone. Including me.

"What the hell was that?" Garrick finally speaks after digesting what he has seen for few tense moments, and his voice is filled with the same anxious temper that slowly appears in definite outlines on the faces of his captain and Laswell as well. And his look says that he wants to ask a thousand more questions, but after the information he received, which is shocking, to say the least, he can only formulate this one sentence, because suddenly he isn’t capable of doing more.

"I don't know, but it sure wasn't normal." I state immediately, and at this point, my brain feverishly begins to organize the data so that I can present all my grim observations and assumptions to the small team that have formed in me so far. And there are quite a few of them. "They carried out an organized attack. They bypassed the traps and followed orders. And that bastard used a specific strategy and a weapon." I summarize the essence briefly, emphasizing each word, and although I could list a whole bunch of other smart observations, it wouldn't change the fact that this damned monster surprised us all with something completely new.

"But how?" Garrick asks his next anxious question, and his mouth is pressed into an angry line that rarely surfaces on the man's face. A thick vein appears on his neck as his entire being begins to radiate wild waves of irritation, and it seems as if he's considering to reach through the footage and grab that infected piece of trash to end its little fun with his own two hands.

"I have no idea." I finally answer, and with a tired sigh I straighten up, browsing through all the knowledge I've acquired over the years to put together everything that started this whole sinister train of thought in me. "The virus also attacks the structures of the brain that enable a person to see cause-and-effect relationships and consequences, logical thinking ceases completely. The instinctual level remains, because this is beneficial to the virus. It drives the host to spread it and survive. An infected person is unable to follow orders because they cannot interpret verbal or advanced non-verbal communication codes." I explain, and the vast amount of research data that I have been lucky enough to come across over the years flashes before my mind's eye, based on which the leader of the small mutant team is such an incomprehensible and no less dangerous enigma, the solution to which must be found as soon as possible, if we want to enjoy our approximately peaceful life in the future. Because I'm sure that if there is one such individual, there are more, and it's only a matter of time before they decide to play soldier and attack the first colony that gets in their way.

"But they still followed I.H.L.'s." MacTavish breaks his silence for the first time, and the annoyed lines on his forehead deepen as he articulates his observation, and they continue to hold their position on the Hunter's face with almost inexorable stubbornness.

"That's exactly the problem." I confirm the essence perfectly captured by the man, because this is exactly what further complicates the already tangled events. "That I.H.L. showed intelligent behavior that contradicts everything we know so far. It took the I.M.L.s ten years to gather into hordes, and it took the infected humans only a year and a half to get further?" I formulate the problem that has been maturing in the depths of my brain since I first had the opportunity to look back a little and understand what I witnessed. And my suggestion seems to set off a spark of suspicion in the other members of the small group as well, because the anger on their faces softens and a completely new kind of gloom takes its place when they understand what I want to imply.

"It doesn't seem very likely." The captain agrees, directing his eyes back to me, and with this, he puts into words the uncertainity that is slowly but surely digging its sharp little claws into everyone's head. And I know that even without my little scientific lecture, they've seen enough mutants to realize that there's very little chance that there's just Mother Nature's graceful hand in this whole fucking upheaval.

"Because it's not."  I affirm their unspoken doubt, and with that, the dilemma is also put on the table, which has been settling on my consciousness like an oppressive ghost for some time, to further feed the frustration raging inside me. "The virus is still the same as it was fifty years ago. It has undergone a slight mutation, but the infection itself is the same. The same way of spreading, the same course, the same effect." I list the facts, pointing my index finger meaningfully at the still motionless recording emerging from the communicator. "This is not the work of nature here." I give the final push to my long-winded argument, thereby also cementing the friendly thought in them that this excitement is probably the gift to those who shove them from one dangerous action to another as their lapdogs.

"Are you sure? " Price asks, his deep voice ringing with a seriousness that leaves no room for any jokes or uncertainty. He also knows exactly that if this is true, then we are embarking on a complicated game that won't only be difficult to untangle, but also downright life-threatening, and not only because new kinds of monsters are lurking on us. Once someone starts pulling out the skeletons, there is a fear that the whole closet will topple over. If we go down this road, we may come across information that makes mutants not the only threat.

"Quite." I state firmly, and I keep the man's gaze unflinchingly, sending the message with every inch of me that I couldn't take my rather dangerous little accusations more seriously than this. And I know that they have enough experience with higher management to agree with me, as they have experienced firsthand what radical methods they are willing to resort to if the need calls for it.

"Woods is right. I've never seen anythin' like the bastard who tried to kill me." MacTavish joins in, thereby confirming the I.H.L.'s unusual nature. And I'm sure that in the couple of years he spent in the profession, he was lucky enough to meet enough monsters to know that our new little friend, who almost stabbed him to death, is a far cry from his usual playmates.

"We don't have enough information to know anything for sure." Price notes cautiously, and despite the tense edge appearing in his tone, he remains perfectly stern, as a true leader does. Although I know that he would rather break the neck of whoever is responsible for this whole fucking mess. "But it's certain that we got involved in the shit that someone else stirred." He adds, and smooths one of his large palms meaningfully on the top of his table, almost illustrating the pile of crap we stumbled upon. And I don’t doubt that everyone agrees with this observation, even if it's only indicated by a silent nod. Because it's more than shady that they send a private unit to an operation with such great urgency, which was selected precisely so that the small problem could be eliminated under the radar and with the greatest possible discretion. A government-run unit would also have been able to exterminate a nest, but since then there would have to be official reports, where the fact of our new mutant-rider friend would have appeared, and then the story would have been over.  And Shepherd didn't run this circle by chance. He's hiding something. And I'm really good at recognizing that, because I, myself, have done that for years myself.

"If this is the work of humans, then there is a trace left somewhere." Laswell joins in, who up until now had been shrouded in gloomy silence digesting the barrage of very steep assumptions and accusations that unfolded during the conversation. But it seems that now she too has found her determination again, and is springing into action with corresponding vehemence. "I'll look into it and let you know as soon as I find something. We have to get to the bottom of this." She states in a tone that excludes all doubts, and almost immediately gets to work as she reaches towards the camera to disconnect it from the communicator with a simple movement and puts it in the pocket of her vest. "Until then, stay alert. Nothing can get out of this." She issues her instructions for the last time, and then, when she receives a nod of agreement from Price, she rushes towards the door of the office and storms away with the same fervor with which she entered the base before our whole disastrous adventure. And I hope that this momentum will help her find something useful, because I have an intuition that we cannot sit on this topic for long, because it will soon escalate into such bloody consequences that could easily cost millions of lives. And although I didn't advance to sainthood either, my pretty ass is also included in these millions, and I specifically fear for my own safety.

"I think this much excitement will be enough for today."  A tired sigh leaves the captain's mouth, and he only strokes his bearded chin with his fingers, trying to pull himself together after the information-saturated discussion. For the first time, he seems really exhausted, and it occurs to me that he may have been awake all night waiting for us to return. "Go rest. Kate definitely won't be back for a while." He directs his words to our trio, who have just returned from the mission, and although I can feel the fatigue eating into my limbs, my brain is still as alert as if I had poured a bucket of coffee down my throat.

And as I look at MacTavish, I realize that I have to agree with the captain, because even if my still actively working brain is not interested in sleep, the Scotsman, despite my professional regeneration, would need to finally position himself horizontally. But what surprises me more is when Riley moves next to me with unexpected suddenness, and without any further comment, he strolls out of the office, as if he would have some desperately important business to attend to somewhere else. Although I could believe that the only reason he leaves this abruptly is because he is burning with the desire to check his surviving little soldiers, but since the beginning of the whole meeting he has been behaving so unusually that his hurries disappearance just deepens my suspicions even more. And I can't get rid of the thought that something is definitely not right with him.

But I can't dwell on this any further, because I feel a warm palm on me, whose strong fingers gently squeeze my shoulder, directing my attention from the doorstep back to the interior of the room. A sincere smile spreads across MacTavish's face, and even though the light eyes are still filled with sadness, they look at me with such warmth that even my rough little heart immediately begins to pay attention.

"Thank you for comin' for me." The man says, and his heavily accented voice is mixed with genuine thankfulness, and I have no doubt that he means it, because gratitude flows from his every fiber, which makes my dark little soul sensitive for no reason. I don't want to share with him what motivation the image of his bloody death in my head and later the sight of his mangled body gave me, because I'm afraid that I would reveal too much about how close he and his small team came to my heart. My pride still doesn't allow me to be emotional, but it's still nice to see him alive and together. Mainly because I'd hate it if my two-person cheerleading squad was down to one.

"Don't forget about your gratitude when it comes to my training." I utter with a rather cheeky undertone, and I let that faint, but no less superior, small smile appear on my face, to finally divert my attention from the memories of the Hunter's injuries, because I can almost feel the wet touch of the warm blood under my fingers even now. And I was never moved by either blood or violence, but the fact that something terrible happened to someone I'd rather see alive is a completely different matter.

"I can't promise anythin'! " He grins as his big hand slips off my shoulder, and it seems that life has returned to him for a minute because of my teasing, since the troubled wrinkles on his forehead are reduced a little, and with this, he regains his healthy glow. And this suits him much better than the mournful misery that dominated his expression not long ago, because it also awakened compassion and pity in a disgusting way in me.

"You were good." Garrick chimes in, who finally seems to have recovered from his stunned silence, and an appreciative light flashes in his dark eyes, which only further feeds the idiotic warmth inside me, for which, despite all my objections and denials, I could kill to continue to feel. Therefore, to gather myself, I straighten up and stretch my tired limbs, like a cat that has woken up from its pleasant afternoon siesta. And I suddenly feel the desperate need to take a shower, because even if I won't be able to sleep because of the hundreds of thoughts raging in my head, my aching muscles still deserve the caress of hot water.

"I know." I reply lightly and without any modesty, but it occurs to me again that if the masked Hunter doesn't jump in so kindly to help, then I wouldn't be able to think about my relaxing bath right now. And this suddenly reawakens my restlessness caused by his behavior, and I don't even understand why I should be so interested in the fact that he acts even more rigidly than usual. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that, due to my observations that turned into a hobby, it became a habit to analyze him, and every new tidbit he shows appears to me as another puzzle waiting to be solved. And this is just a bone for my overworked brain to chew on. And at this point, I decide that maybe it's time to step down before I can weave this fucking cavalcade any longer. "That's why I'm leaving now. That's enough for one evening." I declare, and now I don't even try to hide the exhaustion in my voice, which is pulling at every fiber of my body like heavy weights. This gives me enough momentum, and guided by this, I set off with one last wave to my other three little friends, already standing under the warm stream of water in my imagination.

"Get some rest." Price calls out after me, and as I turn back and meet his gaze for a moment, I find the unspoken message in his eyes, which conveys to me that I should take advantage of the rest now, because I won't have the opportunity for this luxury, if Laswell returns with the intel. And I can fully agree with this intuition, so without any further comments I say goodbye to the small group with a curt nod, and then go on my way down the deserted corridor bathed in neon light.

And as I get farther and farther away from the captain's office with my sluggish steps, and the empty silence of the base engulfs me, my thoughts return to the events of the evening. And interestingly enough, now my nerves are not obsessing over the new mutant threat, but rather Riley appears in my brain once more, as he towers above me in the dark street, staring down at me with his wild eyes glowing in red. And I can still feel the uncontrollable power emanating from him, which awakened the tingling sensation in my stomach, that appears in some inexplicable way near him. I can't pinpoint what it is, but it keeps drawing my attention back to the man, as if his whole being would be a magnet that my mind can't resist. I could justify this by saying that the relationship between the two of us is far from peachy, and that is why I dedicate so much time to studying him, but a small voice in the hidden recesses of my subconscious tells me that there is more to it than that. And even if I bend and break, I can't articulate what this motivation is that pushes me towards him, apart from my pettiness and my morbid curiosity.

My boots echo with a muffled pounding on the walls of the lifeless base, and by now those who came to help our returning defeated group after our arrival have also disappeared. And I'm a little sorry that I can now make my way to my room alone, because that way there is nothing to distract me from my train of thought, which is quite irritatingly focuses on the masked Hunter. And as the road leading to my little room appears in front of me, I stop dead in my tracks for a second. Because to the left of me stretches the corridor, at the end of which Riley's door is located, with a dull light filtering under the threshold, which makes it clear that even though he was running away so enthusiastically earlier, he still couldn't rest. So I was right to guess that he didn't rush off in such a hurry because he was worried about his men, which begs the question of what could make the always stoic man act with such unusual urgency. Because normally, he would have long since started an enthusiastic discussion with Price or thrown himself into work, but now he was gone with a haste that is rarely seen. And when the rather recent memory of his fingers closing with terrible force around the top of Price's large desk flashes through my mind, my legs almost automatically change direction and carry me forward toward the man's door, even though I know it's probably an even dumber idea than playing a one-person rescue squad. Still, the desire to calm my uncertainty is stronger than the warning voices in my skull, and the doubt inside me gives me the impetus to gallop through the dark walls with unbroken determination.

And when I arrive at the door, without thinking, one of my hands goes up knocks softly. Unmoving silence greets me for a fleeting moment, and it occurs to me that I may have misjudged the situation, and perhaps the man really left earlier because of some urgent plan he couldn't postpone. But then the sound of heavy footsteps hits my sharp little ears, and a second later the entrance to the apartment opens before me. And I raise my eyebrows in confusion as I catch a glimpse of the pair of glowing crimson eyes fixed on me, and the man's previous strange behavior immediately makes sense. Because the fact flashes in my mind that since my arrival I've been lucky enough to recharge all of his little friends, except for him, thanks to which I can now enjoy every threatening wave of hot energy flowing from him. Although I know that S-class Hunters, and perhaps he even more so, are able to reserve their small stores for a long time, especially if they don't use their ability often, but this is a game that cannot be dragged on indefinitely. Tonight's party seems to have pushed him over the edge, in a direction that has the potential to turn him into a raging lunatic. And a fierce spark of rage awakens in me when I understand that he would rather drive himself to madness than let my evil little hands help him. Why else would he have dragged this shit until now?

"What are you doin’ here?" The legitimate question comes from him, and his deep voice sounds more hoarse than usual, as if he would have to force himself to pronounce this simple sentence calmly and humanely enough. And it's undoubtedly true, because he hasn't regenerated for two and a half months, and even professionals like him suffer from it. No matter how strong he is, it doesn't matter if he is capable of taking down an entire colony with his two hands, he cannot escape the curse of his kind, which sooner or later drives every Hunter close to a Healer. He is no exception to this, even if it hurts both of us to admit it.

"You look like shit." I remark simply, and although I’m able to suppress the anger that is growing in me, I cannot push the mockery out of my voice, which infuses my words like poison. I'd like to think we've gotten over this animosity, but I'm not naive, I know I'm not the favorite person of this tough guy, but he can't be so stupid as to put his little comrades' safety in jeopardy. And although I understand why he tries so vehemently to push me away, because I suspect that despite my saint-like behavior so far, he still very much remembers how our little relationship started, but now even I admit that in this situation we both need to get rid of our pride.

"Go back to your room." He cuts the conversation short, or at least tries to settle the matter quickly, but unfortunately he still can't deter me with his grumpiness, because he hasn't achieved any lasting change in my charming personality with this attitude so far either. For the second time tonight, it seems, the time has come when I must remind him that, although I have been somewhat tamed by the grace shown by his team, my self-esteem and determination are still stronger than his intimidating aura, which he tries to project at me with every cell of his being.

"I always forget how much better you think you are." I reply to him and, tilting my head to the side, I hold the stare of his vivid red eyes, which shine with such unnatural sharpness in the dull light escaping through the opening of the door, as if he weren't from this world, but rather some kind of demon released from hell. And I reluctantly have to admit to myself that instead of fear, a completely different kind of tingling wells up under my skin from his flaming gaze. "But maybe you could let go of your pride now. Unless, by the morning, you want someone else to be blamed for the reduced team besides the mutants." I suggest cynically, highlighting the simple but unpleasantly probable fact with deliberate cruelty, that his stubbornness doesn't protect anyone, especially not the members of the base's tight-knit family. With this whole tug-of-war, he risks snapping the last string of his sanity and slaughtering those whom he tried to protect until now with his own hands.

And it seems that my little comment hits its target, because even though I don't break off our stare-down duel even for a minute, I can see in my periphery how his fingers clench irritatedly around the door, and when the wood creaks under his hand with a low scream, then I take a brave but simple step closer, and he follows my movements with narrowed eyes. Even though I can't see him fully, I can still feel the burning heat of the angry force emanating from him, but that doesn't distract me from my goal. Because although I hide this deeply even from my rational self, it's not just my doubts about my safety that urge me to lend a helping hand. But also that unknown pull that draws my attention to him, as the light of a lamp lures the unsuspecting moth.

"It's amazing how tough you are. But you’re only screwing yourself over. And the others." I note, pressing the last few words significantly, highlighting the fact that not only his pride is at stake here, but also the lives of those he will crush when the blinds come down in front of his brain after he runs out of the energy. "Let me help you." I  plead with him, and the nasty edge that has been residing in my voice softens, trying to make it known that, for once, I only want to support him without any ulterior motives or malice. Which would be my job anyway, but in light of the fact that he saved my life, maybe I even owe him that much.

It seems that I might have succeeded in making him come around, because after a nerve-wracking second of silent hesitation, he steps back and opens the entrance to his room wider in front of me, offering me the way in. And I, without any wait, venture into the realm of his modest home, ignoring the smoldering gaze that follows me unceasingly, the heat of which almost burns my back, as I slowly invade the lonely silence of his quarters. And although I try with every fiber of my being to impose a nonchalant calm on myself, it's impossible to forget how the whole room is filled with the fiery temper that rolls off of him in steady wawes. Therefore, in order to reinforce my confident indifference, I scan through every little corner of the room with my curious eyes. It's only a fraction bigger than my humble abode, yet despite the neat order, it radiates a homeliness that makes me want to question whether the Hunter I know for his unfriendliness and coldness even lives here. And although the furniture is quite simple, I still discover one or two personal relics and some pictures taken with an old camera. In most of them, he is posing with his friends, but there is one photo that stands out from the rest, and even though I can only make out the blurred figures of a few people from this distance, I still capture an older woman, whose face, adorned with a warm smile, almost radiates something quite intimate, which only the close family members can show to each other. And I have to forcefully divert my searching gaze from there, because I know that I'm poking my nose into a corner of the man's life that I have nothing to do with in the slightest. Not even if the curiosity awakened in me eagerly demands to know who the relative he holds in such high esteem could be.

However, I can't survey the surroundings any longer, because I hear the thumping of his heavy boots as he approaches me, after the door closes with a soft click, and as he walks past me and heads towards the bed resting at the end of the room, I follow his path intently. He's still wearing his uniform stained with dark blood, but he's already gotten rid of the tactical gear, and for some reason, without the many supports and straps, the restrained aggression that dominates his body becomes even more noticeable, as he throws himself into the soft comfort of his bed with measured movements. And as soon as he has settled down, he focuses his expectant stare on me, which, despite the fact that his insides are probably torn apart by irritated impatience and pain, is still filled with indifference. And his ability to protect his image and self-respect, even when he certainly feels as good as washed out shit, is worthy of recognition.

And I don't waste my time, but amble closer cautiously so that I can join the man sprawled out on the bed with deceptive relaxation. He follows my every move with keen attention as I crouch down next to him, as if he would suspect that at any moment I will attempt something evil against him after allowing me into the intimate recesses of his quarters. And although the idea of getting into someone's personal space and later using the knowledge gained in this way against them is not completely foreign to me, this is not what drives me now. The dark bedding rustles and crumples under me as I turn towards him and hold out one of my pretty little hands so that we can finally get down to what the ugly little voice in my subconscious brought me here for. His crimson eyes settle on my hand with suspicion, as if it alone could commit unimaginable horrors. Which in itself is a flawless truth, but it's also true for him, and I'm guessing that his hands have seen a lot more violence than mine, and unfortunately, because of that, none of us are innocent enough for this charade.

"I'm going to need skin contact, Riley." I inform him with my tone spiced with a drop of sarcasm, because I doubt that he is not aware that he will have to allow my ugly little hands to touch him in order to recharge him. Even if I can understand how this fact fills him with resentment, unfortunately now he will be forced to let me get close so that I can do my job.

He casts one last unfriendly look at me, then quickly frees himself from one of his gloves, and a strong hand appears from under the textile decorated with a skeleton pattern, with dark veins stretching under the unnaturally pale skin, through which the traces of the many scars left from the past run with faint lines, only silently testifying to the excitements in which he undoubtedly took a part in. He reluctantly offers me his hand, and my fingers firmly wrap around his large palm almost immediately, and I'm surprised for a moment by the burning heat emanating from it, which slowly creeps along my skin following his touch. And this small interaction is enough for me to gauge how close he has strayed to his limits even without the help of my ability, and it gives me enough motivation to close my eyes and begin the regeneration, before I can dwell on how surprisingly pleasant his long fingers tightening around mine feel.

When my energy carefully stretches out towards him, I get lightheaded for a minute from the demanding, aggressive pull, with which the power raging in the man clings to me almost instantly, like a starving wild animal that has finally found a tasty morsel. And I have to concentrate more than I would normally to not give in to this violent pull, because an SSS-class big boy is able to suck all the energy out of me in a careless moment, before I even have a chance to recover from the attack. The complicated system of blood vessels running through the Hunter's body is revealed in my mind's eye, and only a few areas peppered with dark spots show that he didn't get through the night without minor injuries and bruises. Although he is undoubtedly a human killing machine in terms of his abilities, today's events caught him by surprise, and I can guess that he got these passing bruises when he was trying to protect his men from the monsters that was attacking them. And with that, the mission filled with pointless death appears in mind for the hundredth time since our arrival, which I don't think I'll be able to get past any time soon. It would be foolish to forget this whole parade, because it delighted me with new experiences, the fruits of which we will soon reap if we don't get more information. But the little conversation I had with Riley before rescuing our Scottish friend comes to my mind, perhaps with even more enthusiasm. Although he now sits next to me with an almost eerie immobility, and lets my cunning little gift soften the furious flames of the power that simmers in him in slow waves, I can't get over the fact that he hasn't yet punished me for my disobedience. I don't feel any particular desire to remind him of my reckless opposition, but I'm still curious to see how he will retaliate for my little rebellion.

I break out of my concentration for a moment, and I raise my searching gaze to his face again, only to meet his closed eyes emerging from under the mask. And I take advantage of this stolen moment to observe his features as closely as I haven't had the chance to before. In the yellow light of the lamp on the bedside table, his eyelashes look golden, and they cast shadows on the skin covered with blurred dark paint as they flutter when the cooling waves of my energy wash through his body. The sharp line of his nose can be seen under the black fabric, and as I peer down and recognize the shape of his lips parting in relief, I feel the burning tremble that has appeared with disturbing frequency around him lately. But I can't tear myself away from him, because my eyes slide on his chin, then on his textile-covered neck, and when his Adam's apple moves, when he swallows after a barely audible sigh, my mouth dries up with maddening speed. I feel like it's time to finally occupy my mind which drifted on a dangerous path, before the warmth in the pit of my stomach has time to get cheeky. Because I don't understand at all what is happening to me, and it annoys me more than anything that I feel the control of my brain slipping out of my hands.

"You won’t punish me?" The question that occupies my mind breaks out of me, because although I'm not afraid that he will snap my neck because of this, I can rightly assume that he will honor my little indulgence with some kind of retribution. Of course, this may seem like an almost masochistic move on my part, but it's still a safer and more predictable area than the series of thoughts buzzing in my head caused by just observing his face hidden under the mask.

His eyelids open slowly, as if I had just disturbed him from his peaceful slumber, and when his usual brown eyes are focused on me again, the lazy sparks dancing in them almost take my breath away. It seems as if heavy weights have been lifted from him, and as the tension ready to jump disappears from his muscles, and his body relaxes, his aura becomes quite human. As if sitting next to me wasn't the fearless, grim, and always terrifying Hunter, but the man who calls MacTavish Johnny, who sometimes disappears into Price's office and reappears with the scent of whiskey and tobacco smoke trailing after him, and who responds with a low snort to one of Garrick's lame jokes. He almost becomes a different person, and this makes me wonder why he allows me, exactly ME, to see this side of him. I doubt he is aware of how carefully I have observed him so far, but he certainly knows the dubious messages he is sending with this. It might make me believe that he doesn't hate me nearly as much as I had assumed.

"Theres no need to." He states finally, and his voice now rings with a much healthier depth, indicating that my little trick is slowly starting to reach its goal and pull him back from the edge of the abyss, where he voluntarily danced close to. But this answer is far from enough for me, because again it's just a short sentence that scratches the surface of the problem. I know that he is comfortable with settling the matter with that much, but it never was my strong suit to settle for speculation, so I decide to keep pushing.

"I thought disobeying orders was a serious offense." I vocalize this tiny detail, raising one of my arched eyebrows, conveying perfect disinterest with my whole being. Although I appreciate that, contrary to my previous experiences, he is not coming up with some vile and mean comment to let me know his dislike, but now I'm curious about more than just his curtness. Mainly because my disobedience has annoyed him terribly so far, and I doubt that this current transgression of mine would leave him unfazed, which could have ended much uglier if he hadn't decided to show up.

"It is." Comes another rather informative answer, and when I'm about to open my mouth to tell him how talkative he's become in the wee hours of the morning, his fingers tighten around my hand, almost warning me that he hasn't finished yet. "I thought about leaving you there." He says dispassionately, and with this tiny little sentence, he lets me know exactly what I was already aware of. And when I left the overpass, I departed with this knowledge, because I never even considered that he would come after me. But nevertheless, he stepped in when he was most needed.

"Yet you came after us." I emphasize the obvious, because in the end, despite the fact that I managed to save the Hunter with the mohawk from an early and brutal death with my suicidal action, he had to intervene so that I wouldn't end up dying together with his Scottish friend. And I'm not so naive as to believe that it was his concern for me that led him to the dead-end alley. "MacTavish is lucky to have such a loyal partner. I might even envy him." I note, and I curve the beginnings of a mean little smile on my lips, because that way it might be easier to silence the evil little voices that arise in me, which whisper that Riley would have left me to my fate with the greatest peace of mind, if MacTavish's life had not depended on his appearance. There is such a close bond between the two Hunters, the origin of which I don't know, but I'm aware that they would put their hands in the fire for each other, which is why it's perhaps understandable why he can let go of my punishment so easily. Because I suspect that if he hadn't been almost neck-deep in the remains of the mutants, he would have intervened at the start of the chaos at the beginning of the combat zone.

But before I could delve deeper into the mass of dark little thoughts born in my own brain, mocking me for having the faint and silly idea even for a minute, that maybe he didn't just come to the party of my private rescue mission for his friend's sake, the man's body moves towards me in a rather surprising manner, and I freeze instantly. Every part of me is prepared for the counterattack by the instinctive reflex of defense, and my nervous system is almost automatically attuned to forming a blood clot in the snaking vascular network of one of Riley's vital organs instead of friendly regeneration if the need arises. However, when the brutal attack I expect doesn't arrive even after a few nerve-wracking seconds, I shift my confused eyes to his face. It's only a few centimeters with which he brings his broad shoulders closer as he leans down to me, but even this tiny movement is enough to make me unsteady and focus on the Hunter's body language with every nerve. And when I don't find anything in his mannerisms that would indicate that he wants to kill me, I only stare with growing puzzlement into the pair of brown eyes in which golden sparks swim from the lamplight.

"I didn't go there just because of Soap." He declares, and there is such a significant weight in his voice that I feel that my heart, which is hammering in confusion, skips a beat. Because with this simple expression, he drives away all the clouds of gloomy theories fighting in my head, so that nothing else remains after it, but honest surprise, which I'm unable to stop before it also appears on my face. And I must give a comical sight as I stare at him with slightly parted lips and eyes wide with astonishment, but despite this, he doesn't let my gaze wander and maintains eye contact with unbroken determination, as if he hadn't just made the most benign comment that he has ever said to me. If it weren't for the pull of the smoldering power inside of him, interlocking with my energy, I would quite simply think of this whole absurd scenario as a dream image created by my brain. But it's real, just like the bitter smell of blood and gunpowder emanating from the man and the fiery touch of his skin under my palm.

It takes me a few seconds to snap out of my shock-induced stiffness, and when my gray matter manages to grasp what Riley just said to me, I straighten up in my seat with an amused sigh. For this one confession amounts to a peace treaty, which he nobly offers me, no doubt as a reward for saving his Scottish friend. But I don't care why he had the motivation to tell me this, it doesn't take away from its importance.

"Just be careful, Riley." I utter with a mock warning in my voice, as I regain my confidence and lean forward a hair's breadth, boldly reaching closer to him. And as interest flashes in his eyes, a cheeky smile appears on my lips. "You might end up liking me." I cock my head to de side with sassiness, and when neither anger nor contempt follows my little comment, I know that maybe he wouldn't mind so much if that happened.

And although silence reigns in the room again, and only our shadows dancing on the wall in the warm light break the immobility, this peace doesn't weigh on me suffocatingly. I turn my attention back to the visible network of blood vessels beneath my closed eyelids, letting the waves of the now-calmed power of the Hunter lick at every fiber of my body. For the first time, I feel that neither of us is in a hurry to get rid of the other's company, which lays the hundreds of thoughts in my head to rest. And for a little while, the sounds of exhaustion that are slowly growing inside me are silenced, allowing me to enjoy this idyllic moment.

⃰

My body shakes with another wild wave, as the torturous claw of hunger digs into my stomach again, pulling my insides with such force as if an elephant was trying to press down on my chest. I angrily kick off the blanket that is clinging to my skin drenched in cold sweat, because every square centimeter of the textile that touches me pricks me with the sharpness of a thousand needles. As if I were in a torture chamber where everything wants to make me suffer, instead of lying in the comfort of my soft bed. The air flows into my lungs with moist heat, and with each breath, I get more and more dizzy, because I feel my trachea sticking together from the sticky, disgusting dampness that settles in the silence between the walls of the room.

Of course, my brain, hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, knows that everything is exactly as normal as it was before this hell started, when I returned to my room and after a nice shower, I threw myself on my bed and fell asleep. Because maybe I managed to sleep for a few hours, when with the first rays of the sun, that well-known pain woke up in me, which didn't mean anything good at all. Although it's not surprising that the unrelenting feeling of hunger appeared in me, because I actively worked for my energy to be drained sufficiently. MacTavish's healing and regeneration, Riley's recharging, and the recovery of the other little soldiers meant just enough stress for my little ability, which even though I started the mission with a full stomach, my body couldn't tolerate. And now I get to enjoy the aftermath of this, since Laswell isn't here to give me the only thing that could help this damn situation. The woman is now digging and researching for information somewhere within the walls of the colony, and she will most certainly not come back because I whine because of my rumbling stomach. And since only the all-knowing boss of the base knows the code to that fucking door that stands between me and my snack, I'm forced to wait here writhing until she gets back.

My canines sting with a sharp pain as I think, that I actually have dozens of opportunities to alleviate this suffering, but even my dulled mind is aware that I shouldn't betray the team's trust in me. And even in my current state, I find it quite ridiculous that my instincts can be crushed by the image of the Hunters, because before I arrived here I would have quenched my thirst behind a club with the help of an unsuspecting idiot a long time ago. There would be plenty of such silly little fools here, and all I would have to do would be to lure one of them into a dark corner, stun them, and that's it. They wouldn't even feel it. They wouldn't even know about it. No trace would be left.

And as another torturous spasm twists my insides, I hiss weakly and grip the skin of my stomach, because it feels as if an iron fist would try to tear my intestines apart. My nails tear at the skin of my belly with desperate force, as if that would ease the torture. Although the aching caused by my own abuse doesn't reach my senses, the sweet smell of the blood coming out after my fresh wounds is even more so. Its seductive aroma snakes into my nose, and I impatiently raise my hand to my mouth to clean the crimson liquid off with my tongue. But that doesn't help one bit, and the couple of small bites I stole from myself only push the claws of hunger that stab into me like knives even deeper.

Time crawls forward on leaden feet, and I might even lose consciousness for a while, because by the time I regain awareness, and the fever has subsided from my brain enough to be able to perceive the outside world again, then I become aware that the darkness of the night has engulfed my small room. And it occurs to me that if no one has tried to find me until now, then the woman probably hasn't magically appeared since then either. But the impatient hunger is now demandingly straining inside me, and keeps shouting in my head to go and find something that will finally make this pain go away. And nothing seems like a better idea to my confused mind, which eagerly urges me to move and look for food.

With hasty movements, I peel myself from the tangled fabrics of my sheets and rush to the door with my newfound momentum to tear open the entrance to my room. And as soon as I step out to the hallway, I shiver from the cool breeze that caresses my feverish skin that emerges from under my t-shirt and shorts. I set off almost automatically through the deserted corridors of the base, as if an invisible leash was guiding me towards my goal, promising that at the end of my journey, I would find something that would finally be able to free me from the pain piercing through all my limbs. And for a fleeting moment, it crosses my mind how eerily empty the entire base is, but I can't do anything with this information. Maybe it's better this way, because even my twisted brain understands that if I saw an unsuspecting victim, I wouldn't be able to control myself. I would throw myself on them, sink my teeth into them, and drink from them until the last memory of the hunger tearing at my stomach vanished.

Those few minutes seem like millennia until I finally find my final destination, wandering through the maze of uninhabited corridors, and when the door of the infirmary finally appears in front of my eyes, an almost aggressive temper takes over me. Food is within arm's reach, and nothing can stop the angry voices raging in my skull. This vehement impulse takes me to the threshold of the medical room, and I have no capacity to understand why the door is open, when I almost tear it from its socket and open it, and it obeys my aggressive attack with a loud creak. Without thinking, I enter the noiseless, empty space of the room, and in an instant, my nose senses the faint remains of the scent of blood even through the smell of the disinfectants. And I feel like a wild animal looking for its prey as I catch sight of the beds resting against the walls, ready to pounce on them as soon as I find the source of the delicacy. My clever little nose leads me all the way through the dark room to an abandoned, neatly prepared bed, and I reach for the white bedclothes with impatient haste to pull them from their peaceful position. Although only the dull light of the buttons of the many machines shines in the blackness of the night, it's not a problem for my eyes to discover the few small, brown spots that rest on the mattress laughing at me. If I had an ounce of self-respect left in me right now, I'd find it pathetic that I messed up a fucking hospital bed just because I sensed that the unfortunate injured soldier had left behind a little crumb of that delicacy for which every nerve in me screams with ever-increasing despair. But now I have no self-respect left, only hunger.

The disappointment that settles into my consciousness stops me for a fleeting second, and when I realize that it wasn't my dinner that greeted me under the sheet, then a thick, red fog descends on my brain. Every part of me fills with the heat of this smoldering passion, and it moves my body almost automatically to action, which carries me all the way to the fucking password-protected door. As soon as that damned thick metallic thing appears in front of me, I don't even try the panel, because I know that my fingers wouldn't be capable of the fine motor movements required to press the buttons. On the other hand, the fury in me warns me that there is another way to get in, I just have to try hard enough. And with the keen senses of a hunted beast, I look around the infirmary, so that when my eyes stop on the chair resting next to the doctor's table, I can cross the distance between me and my improvised weapon without hesitation. The heavy piece of furniture seems as light as a feather as I pick it up, and I know that the strength I have when I storm back to the door with the chair is due to the blessed effect of the stress hormones working in my muscles. Without any delay, I raise the seat up, and as I slam it down, the plastic squeaks between my hands. I strike again and again, and with each blow, I only get angrier, and the infirmary's quiet peace is filled with a series of furious snaps and cracks. I feel my mouth contort into a snarl as I methodically destroy the furniture, and the irritation bubbling up inside me doesn't let up until my weapon is shattered into pieces, and I'm left with nothing but the mutilated legs of the chair in my painfully clenched grip.

It takes me a few seconds to realize that I can't continue my assault against the door any longer, and then carelessly tossing aside the shattered pieces of the furniture, I move closer to see if I managed to damage the goddamn metal. But it still looks back at me unscathed, laughing at the miserable and pitiful way I tried to break through it, and I know I never had and never will have the chance to tear down. Only one or two faint scratches are visible on it, and nothing else shows how indignant I attacked it. And that gives me enough motivation to charge at this damned garbage with my bare hands. My fist collides with the door with a dull thud, and not a single spark of the pain radiating from my hand reaches my brain, I just beat the entrance to the storage room with increasing distress, becoming more and more anguished with each passing minute at the sight of my failure. And when the suffering rips into me again, and another agonizing wave of hunger grips my stomach, I fall to the ground along the cold steel with a tortured whimper. My attempted break-in resulted in nothing other than the rapid deterioration of my already poor condition. My pulse is pounding in my ears, and with each heartbeat, the violent grasp that holds my insides in an iron fist becomes more and more suffocating. Fuck….

Suddenly, the rhythmic noise of my panting is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and I break out of my paralyzed self-pity to turn my head towards the gaping entrance of the infirmary in a daze. Although my brain is still not on top of the situation and is slowed down by the dull confusion left behind by the disappearing poisonous fog, I would recognize the outline of the tall figure I see stopping at the doorstep out of a thousand. Riley stands there in the embrace of the darkness behind him, like a spirit freed from the underworld, and as I weakly lift my eyes to him, I can only focus on the skull that glows with eerie vivacity, and I remember that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he snapped my neck.

[rosesradio]

fanfic ask game

i saw this ask game i wasn’t tagged in so let’s do it 🤠 & i’ll tag whoever wants to do it as well

1. how many works do you have on Ao3?

27 :-)

2. what's your total Ao3 word count?

466,409 (oh cool i’ll most likely hit 500k by the end of the year 💪)

3. what fandoms do you write for?

currently pjo & once in a blue moon hsmtmts, but i have written for like 10-12 different fandoms in my life

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

ceaseless eve 🌙 (a leo, nico, & piper quest + valdangelo)

camp triple pine 🌲 (a lawrusso summer camp au with fwb 👀)

talk to me, deep in the night (& i’d tell you something i never thought i’d admit) 🏕️ (a surprisingly non-smutty first caswen fic in which ricky talks with ej about how he works too hard, written in s3 era)

Cobra Kai/Karate Kid one shots 🥋 (fluff, humor, angst, smut…what it says on the tin 🤠)

he’s only here for one thing, but (so am i) 🔥 (valdangelo college au smut + camboy nico 👀)

(because i can’t tell a lie, i did skip over one or two stranger things fics on this list. i have complex feelings about them & keeping them up due to the controversy, but also abandoning them or deleting them…i’m sentimental, and i procrastinate lol. i’m glad a higher volume of people enjoyed them by nature of it being a more popular fandom, but i also feel like the kudos aren’t as genuine or earned as they are for my longfics in less popular fandoms for that reason. at least To Me. i hope that makes sense 🧍)

5. do you respond to comments?

i try to reply to every comment around the first week of posting something (because by then it’s an “old work” and it’s “weird” to comment on it, but that’s another post 😐). i still haven’t replied to the last of the ceaseless eve comments & i feel terrible, the sentimentality of it all overwhelms me but know i appreciate it 😭 i wish there was like a code word though that people could comment that lets you know if they want you to respond or not, because it’s hard to know if people want an author response or if it’ll scare them off yk

6. Which of your fics has the angstiest ending?

i don’t do a lot of angst, but when i do, i do (meaning i lay it on too melodramatically thick lmao) but i thought i’d give a list of some of my angstiest/darkest fics 🤠

the moonlace & the sunflower 🌻 (in which grover dies protecting a demigod, so the empathy link causes percy to pass away as well)

games long lost 🌳 (in which luke must drink annabeth’s blood for kronos’s reformation, it covers the dark lukabeth of it all & there’s some death)

the smallest casualty ♟️ (in which it’s slowly revealed over the course of a luke & annabeth chess game that the gods lost the war, and percy & friends have been subjected to dark magic experiments to make them compliant to luke’s fantasy)

rewired 🤖 (okay. i usually try to be humble or self deprecating or whatever but this 1400 word fic is an actual fucking masterpiece to me idc. it just came out of me and makes me physically nauseous to this day. showing this to my hypothetical therapist etc etc. oh wait what’s it about lmao—the concept of daniel rewiring his brain & morals to fit into silver’s desires. ft that sick sick silverusso dynamic)

7. Which of your fics has the happiest ending?

i have a variety of fluffy fics, but i’d have to say my happiest most sugar coated ending is—

who said anybody would? (a ej/gina/ricky road trip fic that literally ends with an ot3 picnic scene 😭 it’s just too much 🫶)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i’ve gotten unwarranted criticism (i like to ask for constructive crit comments at the end if it’s like a longfic) that’s been surprisingly rude…i won’t say which fic but someone got so mad at one of my chapters they left a lengthy mocking crit comment and then stopped reading 😭 but that’s their prerogative, i hope they found something they enjoyed afterwards. other than that, surprisingly considering some of the controversial dark fics i’ve written…no sign of flames, so thanks! 😅

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

i have four different smut fics (hopefully a fifth if i can ever finish it up)…i fear they’re repetitive but also not really, they cover different fandoms and explore different kinks. i’m not really sure what to say about them, hopefully people find them hot ! or whatever !

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

i’m not a fan of crossovers currently, but my longest fic i wrote when i was 15 (it’s 97k i’m beating it someday 😭) was a crossover between sanders sides, voltron, miraculous ladybug, and gravity falls (doesn’t that feel like a kick in the gut lmao—did i mention i was 15? 😅)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of 👁️👁️

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

not that i know of 👁️👁️

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

i tried, myself and another author had a shared Google doc & everything…but we both just didn’t commit. i don’t think i’d work well with another writer…i don’t mind bouncing ideas around with a beta reader/editor (like @heavens-vault 🤠) but ultimately i’d prefer to write on my own

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

it changes—it’s currently valdangelo, but the ones I’ve written the most over the years are: prinxiety (😐), lawrusso, caswen, and valdangelo. i’m excited to explore a bunch of other ships as i continue writing as well

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

oh gosh, i mean i hope i don’t have any like longfics in question…i hope i can finish + deliver on Ivory Rain, but i’m sure I’ll manage even if it takes a while. i haven’t really mentioned this a whole lot to “the public” but i have what i call a “scrap fic” i’m working on, with a bunch of like 800 word chapters i just kinda bounce around when i have time. the concept is really exciting but the execution still needs work, so i’m kinda seeing how that’s gonna play out, it might not be posted. i hope it will though !

16. What are your writing strengths?

i think i’m pretty good at characterization, good romantic moments with good buildup, and humor :-)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

action scenes i hate you so much 😭 why do i insist on writing pjo fics when i can hardly write a fight scene

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

i should do it more, i hate that i don’t, especially considering nico being Italian and leo’s native language being Spanish. but I’ve used & been disappointed by Google translate too many times…perhaps I’ll find another way to translate to include that for more character accuracy

19. First fandom you wrote for?

actually i think percy jackson, i’ve come full circle. the first fic i posted was sanders sides, but i remember when i was probably nine or so i wrote with pencil and paper and stapled a book together with a hand drawn cover 😭 it was about a son of Apollo, a satyr, and a daughter of Demeter on a quest…so really, richard took some creative liberties from my hand written fanfic i think 👀

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

like the ships, it changes—I love all my fics, it’s hard to explain how there’s little fractures of me at different points in my life at any given time in my works. no amount of over-explaining could make anyone understand how i express myself through my character’s emotions and desires and fears and journeys.

at the moment, my favorite fic is CE. it just got completed, myself and others are excited for the sequel. i think all my pjo works in particular are pretty good, and of course i tend to shy away from my older works because my writing…probably wasn’t as good. but that just means I’ve improved, so that’s good.

that’s all the questions, but this was fun ! :-)

[purdledooturt]

Thank you, @cinnamontails-ff, for tagging me - I really enjoy filling out these things 🙈

How many works do you have on AO3? 25.

What's your total AO3 word count? 50,253

What fandoms do you write for? I am currently writing for Baldur's Gate, and I'm thinking of dipping my toes into Spy x Family, but according to AO3 I have written for: Baldur's Gate, Layton Brothers: Mystery Room (the iOS spin-off), Professor Layton, Persona 4, Pokemon, Welcome to Night Vale, Fire Emblem: Awakening, League of Legends, Frozen, Resident Evil (Village, to be specific), Lovely Complex, and Mystic Messenger. Additionally, from Fanfiction.net, I have written for Twilight, Legend of Zelda, Doctor Who as well.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 1. Pecking Order - Fire Emblem Awakening (305 kudos) 2. Backseat Gamer - Lovely Complex (237 kudos - smaller fandoms are sleepers, I swear) 3. The Rules Don't Apply - Layton Brothers: Mystery Room (218 kudos) 4. Happy Birthdays - Layton Brothers: Mystery Room (163 kudos) 5. Trapped in the Courtroom - Layton Brothers: Mystery Room (146 kudos)

Do you respond to comments? I used to not - mainly because I forgot my AO3 details and I never checked it! I don't actually get emails from AO3 to let me know I've gotten comments, so by the time I'd noticed it would be months ago that someone had left it. But I'm more on top of it now, and I try to reply to everyone who comments to thank them for their time at least.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Got me out here checking my fics and trying to remember what's what - I think I tend to avoid angst because I have to fight myself on the daily to get out of that mindset, and mentally I'm not quite separated enough from it to be able to look at it objectively without it absolutely ruining my mood. Apparently my angstiest fic in AO3 in general is Accepting Defeat, and on the grand scheme of things it's actually quite mild, so there you go. There's probably some borderline depressing things on my Fanfiction.net account, given I was a teenager with no emotional regulation back then, but I ain't digging for that.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I love 'love'. I love hope. I love happy endings. Soooo this question is actually terribly difficult for me. Hang on, let me have a look at the old catalogue and see. I'll give you the gremlin is encumbered again, only because that made me laugh the most and I really liked exploring that minor camp dynamic in BG3 for the ending.

Do you get hate on fics? Thankfully, no - I usually write for smaller fandoms so normally people are just stoked to see content.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I've only recently started, so I'm still working on it. I have a few on the pipeline but my first one is my currently only contribution to the Resident Evil: Village fandom, and it's for the Heisenhoes. I like to provide.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I don't have any crossovers published anywhere but I'm sure I've written them when I was younger, in some notebook somewhere, but nothing comes to mind. It was definitely, most likely, an anime x anime crossover.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I am aware of.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Again, not that I am aware of!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No - I have commitment issues and writing comes and goes for me as a hobby.

What's your all-time favourite ship? Oh god, this is hard. I don't know!

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I don't write multi-chapter things because I am useless, but I did have this Egoshipping fanfic I wrote that I have published in Fanfiction.net (I really ought to move it to AO3 - maybe I'll rewrite it). It's called Being Second (warning, that's a fanfiction.net link), and it was pretty angsty but the last update for it was nearly 10 years ago now.

What are your writing strengths? I'd like to think I do humour pretty well.

What are your writing weaknesses? Oh, boy, where do we start? I can't finish anything multi-chapter for the life of me because I lose interest so quick, and the weight of expectation gets to me. I can't be consistent with anything, and I've only started writing out plot instead of just pantsing it with no general idea of what I'm doing. I tend to get lost in characterisation because I'm too self-indulgent. I have a lot.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Here's the cringe bit, because I was young when I started writing - I used to type out Japanese phrases in romaji in my Detective Conan fanfics. It definitely would take me out of the experience now if I were reading it, so it might be a bit jarring if not done right.

First fandom you wrote for? I'm checking fanfiction.net for this one, because that's where your girl's roots are. Apparently, Twilight! 2009.

Favourite fic you've written? Please don't make me choose between my children. I'm proud of everything that I put out, because it is a battle to even muster up the courage to put myself out there in that way. BUT if I had to, I would pick Pecking Order, not because it's the one with the most Kudos but because I genuinely blow my own mind when I read it, thinking 'I wrote this?'

I can't think of anyone to tag so I'll leave an open invite to whoever would like to fill this out too 🥰

[tabswrites]

Author Ask Tag

Tagged by @writernopal here 💜

Gently tagging: @pandoras-comment-box @elbritch-kit @clairelsonao3 @thatndginger

1. What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

Don’t let the past define you. Each MC is weighed down by something in their past: A reputation, a legacy, trauma. They will explore their grief in many ways, and while some of them will overcome it and grow, some will let it consume them.

When I started writing again, it was to help me process some really heavy stuff that I went through last year, and I realized I had let the situation overwhelm me to the point where I didn’t recognize myself anymore. It happens in little ways over time, and I’m sure others have experienced the same thing. I want people to know that the things that have happened to them, the things people have done, they don’t go away. Not completely. But if we learn to accept them and confront the emotions, those things become easier to overcome, and you don’t have to lose yourself in the process.

2. What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

I’m inspired a lot by nature and animals, tv/movies I love, books, random and weird history facts, fairy tales/folklore. I also experience vivid dreams from time to time and they inspire a lot of my story ideas.

3. What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

Besides the whole “bring back magic” thing, I think overall the characters in ToL are trying to achieve inner peace for themselves, and I want the same thing. I do want to inspire people to realize that sometimes the greatest empathy you have should be towards yourself. Forgiveness is definitely one of the minor themes, as it has been a key part in my own personal healing process.

For the readers, I just want them to be mindful of tbe complexities of life and of other people. You never know what someone else is really going through.

4. How many chapters is your story going to have?

….more than 2, but less than 100? Honestly, I planned for 15 with ToL but it might go longer. I��m not the one behind the wheel, if I’m being honest.

5. Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Original! Both of WIPs are on Ao3 and Wattpad.

6. When and why did you start writing?

I originally began writing when I was 14 when I started role playing on Goodreads. (Yes, that one.) My classmate and I started our own 1x1 and decided to turn it into a novel just casually. I ended up dedicating way more time to it and she stepped away, so I rewrote everything in my style. I finished it during NaNoWriMo a year later and even submitted it for Script Frenzy. That was the only serious writing project I ever did, 99.9% of my time was spent role playing. When my RP buddies started to drift away I got really depressed and ending up not writing for almost 6 years. Started back up again last year and here we are!

7. Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow?

No one will ever love your writing as much as you do, so you should love it the most! Don’t second guess yourself, and stop comparing yourself to everyone else! You chose to write the story for a reason—if that other person was meant to write it, you wouldn’t be the one kept up at night by story ideas.

I follow so many who have been tagged by other people but too bad:

@writernopal I love her writing and her OCs and she’s always supportive 💜

@outpost51 I would love to file a formal adoption request for Atria and no one else matches my deranged commenting style like him

@writingmaidenwarrior Always supportive and up for a chat, silly or otherwise!

@clairelsonao3 I love her writing and she’s super supportive too!

@sam-glade Sam has amazing world building and gives great critique!

Others I don’t know very well yet but I have enjoyed their writing and/or interacting with:

@reneesbooks

@mysticstarlightduck

@pheita

@avrablake

@coffeewritesfiction

[atiyasnake]

After MANY MONTHS and my brain hooked on dp x dc stuff, I finally freaking managed to work on my bnha wip chapter draft for ch.11 of Coffee on a roof.

Technically, I already had a first draft, but very bare bones, in my opinion, and in need of major rewriting and editing. Usually, the first draft is pretty fleshed out, but ch.11 was giving me some trouble.

But today, by the Grace of Beatrice, I actually wrote what would essentially be half of the final version of ch.11 that I would post on Ao3. I'm sure there needs to be edits cause of misspellings and some other edits but essentially, it's halfway done.

Funnily enough, the 2nd half is much more fleshed out in the first draft, so there's not much needing to be done other than building onto that and, of course it's actually good enough and fits it with the rest of what I have written.

I'm hoping to meet a word count of at least 3,000, and from the looks of it, I think I'll meet it. It would be nice to be able to post a longer chapter after almost 6 months since the last update (December of 2022). Poor readers, I got a few comments about if I had abandoned the story. XD Sorry, my lovelies, I'm just slow.

Seriously, the dp x dc got its claws in me and did not let go.

I have a lot planned and outlined for Coffee on a roof. Kind need to reorganize that whole mess that's not really messy but feels messy. Either way, I'm invested in completing the story so no abandonedment is happening. Tho can't promise it won't take a long time. Still can't believe I finished TIAB so quickly, tho a lot of that was just free writing it in the sense that things weren't really planned at the beginning.

Things are a bit more complex with COAR and I'm really wanting go make sure it comes out good seeing as it's the 2nd major part of the main story. Gotta make sure it connects and all that jazz with the details and so on.

Kinda stressful tbh with the attention TIAB got, but I try to ignore that, less I want to feel the crushing weight of being perceived and judged...no biggie (I am small and sensitive)

Anyways, just feeling happy bout the progress that was made today. Feels nice.

Also, I just gotta remind myself that writing fics isn't my job or obligation. It's something I do for fun and enjoy. Gotta make sure I keep it that way :p

*FYI Beatrice is a character in one of my other bnha wips that has yet to be published and probably will be a big project if I ever get to rlly work on it. It's a whole chaotic quirked 'doesnt die' Izuku style fic (gotta love having multiple cakes). And to specify, Beatrice is a possum...no I will not expand on that.

[sherlollyandspoilers]

We're worth it, Chapter 24, February 13th

Chapters 1 through 23 can be found here on AO3. This is a companion piece for Here Be Dragons - HBD timeline: Chapter 18, before the epilogue.

June blinked at the two of them. They had been doing okay the last few sessions, but today they both had their arms folded and were turned away from each other. Neither reported anything being explicitly wrong, but they were most definitely annoyed with each other.

“Can you guys do me a favor?” she asked, her voice higher pitched than normal, unsure how two highly intelligent people, who had become extremely introspective, could not see that there was an issue. “Look at yourselves. Look at how you’re sitting. Look at how the other is sitting.”

Sherlock and Molly looked down at their folded arms and as they looked at each other they dropped their arms to their sides and angled themselves so they were face on with June.

“Want to share with the class what is going on?” she prompted.

They were both quiet, shifting uncomfortably. Sherlock finally shrugged, making Molly groan in frustration.

“He keeps asking me, what’s wrong, all of the time!” She tossed her arms out in frustration.

“I wouldn’t keep asking if you just told me,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth. “Reading your emotions can be really difficult sometimes and I just want to know what you need.”

“Quiet, is what I need, not questions!” she snipped.

June suppressed a giggle. “You two have been working through really big issues since you started in therapy…addiction, lying, death…being almost killed by a secret sibling.” The two of them huffed out small chuckles of agreement, relaxing into their chairs. “Everything you two have worked on has had multiple layers to it…but you know what you two haven’t worked on?” They both shook their heads. “Just being a couple.”

Sherlock tilted his head.

“What do you mean?” Molly asked, a concerned look crossed her face as she glanced at her engagement ring.

��I’m not saying that you’re doing being a couple wrong…I’m just saying that you two have had to spend most of your time as a couple dealing with complex issues. Now, you finally get to spend time deciding how you want your relationship to look.”

“Okay…well, I do not want it to look like this.” Molly looked at Sherlock. “It’s not fun fighting with you over nothing.”

“Sometimes it fun,” Sherlock mumbled, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Oh my gosh!” Molly groaned.

“We both had fun,” he teased her.

“SHERLOCK!” she snapped at him, a horrified look on her face.

“What?! June says we are supposed to be honest in here and that there isn’t anything we can’t talk about, which means angry sex was on the table.” Molly’s eyes went round at his comment. “I meant to talk about, not where it was located!” Sherlock crossed his arms defensively.

June had stopped trying to suppress her laughter and could feel a few tears sliding down her face, she was laughing so hard. Taking a few deep breaths, she looked at Molly and Sherlock who seemed to be in complete shock at where this conversation had led and then the three of them broke down laughing again.

They all took a few moments to collect themselves.

“One of my professors when I was still in school used to tell me that you’re not doing therapy right if you’re not laughing, so I guess we’re on the right track at least.” June smiled at them. “Alright, to get back to where we were…deciding how you want your relationship to be. That isn’t simply one decision and you’re done. It’s about making multiple decisions over the course of your relationship to build what you want it to look like.”

They both nodded in understanding.

“I prefer to know how Molly is feeling. It helps me determine if I need to be extra mindful of my responses or if I have the ability to get lost in my head if needed.” June raised an eyebrow, giving him a look of concern. “If I’m on a case, sometimes getting in my head is a good thing.” She nodded for him to go on. “How do we build something into our relationship so I can know how she is feeling without having to ask her all the time?”

June was impressed, “That’s a great question, Sherlock.” She looked at Molly, who was picking at her thumb nail. “Do you think that is something you would want to build in as well?”

Molly shook her head yes. “I want to help him, I do…but I don’t always want to talk about my feelings…we do that enough in here and sometimes I just want to let them be.”

“That makes sense too…Sherlock, are you wanting to talk them out or do you simply want to know how she is feeling?”

“How she is feeling,” he looked at Molly, “You don’t have to talk anything out…I just don’t want to make anything worse for you.” Her face softened and she stopped picking at her nail and took his hand.

“It sounds like what you need to work on is being more direct about how you are feeling. If you’ve had a bad day at the hospital, when you come home, include that in your hellos…Hey, I had a rough day at work, I’m feeling drained, but I don’t need to talk about it, I just wanted you to know. Does that make sense?” Molly nodded. “The other thing that can help is when your partner does ask you how you are feeling or if something is wrong, stop saying nothing.”

Both Molly and Sherlock looked sheepish.

“Don’t worry…most people shrug off that question.” June wished they knew how typical of a response that was. “If you haven’t told him how your day is going and he asks or Molly asks you what’s going on, stop saying nothing. Again, just be honest, I’ve had a long day, nothing wrong, just tired. Or maybe something is wrong, I had a shit day at work, but there isn’t anything to do about it now…I just need some space tonight,” she paused, looking between them. “How are we feeling about those two ideas?”

Molly hesitated, “It sounds easy, but my guess is I’m going to have a hard time with it.” She gave Sherlock a shy smile.

“You’re not alone,” he told her. “I will try to give you some time to tell me before I jump to asking.” He thought for a moment. “I know you are usually able to read how I am feeling, but if you want to know what the cause is, please feel free to keep asking.”

“Do you think you’ll have a hard time with this idea?” June asked.

“Now that we’ve talked about it, I will be more…mindful of being open when asked, but I will most likely need prompting.” He shrugged.

“Alrighty – I look forward to seeing how this goes.” June smiled brightly at the two of them.

[crowtrobotx]

Man, I know you shouldn’t do this. But I was staring with increasing bitterness at the kudos/hits on Chrysalis and sinking further and further into the whole “what even is the point” mindset I’m so prone to. Probably this was triggered by having come to expect a handful of kudos with each new chapter and this time I didn’t get… any.

I think Bri is probably the only person who knows how personal this fic is to me and how much of myself I’ve poured into it. And I don’t really want to divulge what that means to everyone - maybe one day - but just rest assured this fic isn’t just the manifestation of an irrational love of a video game character (which it is, of course) but it’s… somewhat healing for me. And a gift to myself. And it took a lot, and I mean A LOT, for me to even put it out there.

I’m not saying everyone needs to shower me with praise and affection at all times, or that I think I’m uniquely incredible at what I do, or that I need validation to keep going - I am much more motivated by spite anyway lol. And I for sure don’t want to minimize the folks who have been devotedly commenting on every chapter, have texted me outside of here/AO3 to talk about it, have made FAN ART (which is crazy!!!!), have reblogged every chapter and sent me asks. I appreciate it so so so much and it means more to me than I could ever verbalize.

But like, damn. Sometimes the sadness has hands and sometimes it’s the absence of folks you thought would be there that’s all you can see, y’know?

And then I decided to look at the other Heisenberg/OC fics, and the ones that are purely platonic, and basically anything that isn’t 2nd person w/smut or part of a popular canon x canon ship. I looked at ones that came out right around the game’s release, ones that came out last week.

And like, damn. Chrysalis has a staggering amount of engagement in comparison, especially when you consider I published it two years late. I didn’t have an AO3 account at all until fucking February 2023. And that makes me feel sort of good, but now I’m just mad again lmao. You should not have to jump into things at peak popularity or have an established following or include popular pairings/tropes to have your work get noticed. I mean, logically, I know this is just how media and art works to an extent - and I’m not saying people who do write/create in the popular fandoms for popular ships are doing something wrong - but it really shows how unwilling folks are to step outside their comfort zones and read things that they think they’re not interested in or won’t like.

There are platonic, x oc, rarepair etc fics that are so stunningly beautiful that it feels criminal for them to only have a handful of commenters and kudos. And honestly the people writing these are doing so with an insane amount of passion because you HAVE to in order to keep finding the strength to publish that next chapter when you know you’re explicitly going against what people insist they want. Again, this extends to more traditional art forms too - how many fucking brilliant books and paintings are out there gathering dust because the creator didn’t have the right connections or they didn’t make something that had mass appeal?

I always try to do the “what advice would I give to someone in my position” exercise with stuff like this. And of course I would reference the reality that if you have ONE person who is cheering you on, it’s a whole complex person you’ve made happy and that’s a miracle in and of itself. And some folks don’t WANT to be noticed - they are much happier with small circles and good for them! But also - I don’t think people are wrong when they start feeling crummy from seeing their work get steamrolled or comparatively ignored.

Idk. Idk where I’m going with this except to say I really wish people would expand their fic libraries (and their media/art consumption in general) to include more than just whatever the current hyperfixation is because it gives them serotonin. Take a chance on something different, within reason. (I know someone will try to respond with OH SO YOU’RE SAYING I SHOULD TRIGGER MYSELF or something like good god, no.)

There are some truly awesome popular works and creators out there. Please don’t interpret this as me being some bitter small platform blog ranting because I’m not being elected prom queen. All I’m doing is thinking out loud and sorting through my own spaghetti brain. I think I’m gonna spend part of this weekend sorting fics with the least engagement/popularity first and leaving some comments on them.

It’s a brave and beautiful thing to make and then share art, no matter the form it takes. People deserve to be reminded of that. Frequently.

[herenortherenearnorfar]

Tagged by @undercat-overdog and @aipilosse for an end of year writing wrapup. 

Word Count for the Year: 30.5k according to Ao3, my own counter says 128k but that includes a lot of not this account writing. 

Works Posted: Seven

Pairings: Mercymorn/Cristabel, Celebrimbor/Sauron, and Nie Mingjue/Wen Qing (I need to finish that one). 

Fandoms: Silmarillion, The Locked Tomb, The Untamed, but mostly Silm. 

Most Popular Work: Excluding hits from last year, Mirror Test

Fic That I Spent the Most Time On: unpublished 9 rings fic is killing me

Fic I Spent the Least Time On: Jewels For Your Daughter was very quick and easy

Favorite Thing I Wrote: I love all my children equally (Architect Digest)

Story I’m Most Proud Of: I love all my children equally but none of them are doctors, they could do better.

Funniest: the latest chunk of Baby Gollum was very funny

Kinkiest: I need to get over my complex about writing freak nonsense on main. None, this could be improved.

Saddest: Baby Tar-Miriel

Least Popular: my niche locked tomb prequel

Favorite Opening Line:  Four hundred and fifty years after the one calling himself Annatar appeared at their stoop, a hundred fifty years after his abrupt departure, someone is brought through Eregion’s gates.

Favorite Closing Line: Honestly, they weren’t going to have their family come back to an unordered fairyland. It’s the least they can do to settle matters before everyone comes home.(And it is nice to be the one winning the crown for once.)

Story I Haven’t Written Yet But Intend To: Some more second-age stuff, some final chapters to things. 

New Things I Tried: Working on giving everyone new and exciting pronouns.

Ficwriting Goals 2023: Get weirder, comment on other people’s work more, better documentation of how much I write.

Favorite Things I Read This Year: It has been such a good year for peredhel fics; Family Pulled From a Flood, Lineage by @aipilosse, my heart resteth not by @undercat-overdog, skies full of silver and gold by @asterique, from the ones who came before by @thalion71 just a lot of good stuff

Tagging: I think everyone has already done it but @winepresswrath, @thearrogantemu, @ameliarating

[littlelambdrgnfly]

Ok since you reblogged that one post I hope you know I reread The Sum of Them for the 3rd time, maybe like a month ago, up until the last chapter and i never finished it cause i didnt want to experience it ending again (if that makes sense), i wish it never ended. I wish they could play baby games forever but its so important it does end because the ending is soo beautiful but so devastating, and it's beautiful because its so devastating, and my heart cant take experiencing that again :'-(

i already sent a message on here saying that your fic was the first fic to make me cry, possibly the first piece of LITERATURE in general to make me cry (i could be wrong but i cant remember any piece before that), and it made me cry 2 times when reading it for the first time. It is truly my favorite piece of McLennon fanfiction, but the only reason i dont fully consider it mine is that if someone were to ask me, it'd be too taboo/freaky to say but its truly one of the most heartfelt and complex ways ive ever seen anyone portray John and Paul while also feeling completely accurate and realistic. My god. And i love so many of your other fics too but The Sum of Them really means so much to me and I cant even say that enough. i wish you could just live as me and be inside my mind to fully grasp how much of an affect it had on me, I dont think i will ever be able to explain it sadly </3. But just know out of every McLennon fic ive ever read (and ive read many), THAT one is my very favorite out of like 100+. The way you characterize them is just so completely different from any other fic ive read and its so intimate and raw and holy shit i dont even have the words. Sorry i know im rambling at this point but I just think about it a lot! Also your fics are the only fics i enjoy anymore, (recent) beatles fics have gone down the drain in my opinion and yours are the only ones i can be satisfied with because, as far as im concerned, anything you write is automatically in-character for them after reading The Sum of Them lol x) thank you so SO much for writing cause it's truly exposed so many of my own desires and hidden , sensitive parts of myself that couldn't be excavated any other way without your work 💖

Dude... this is legitimately one of the best comments I've ever gotten. I wish I could memorize all of this and replay it for myself whenever I'm feeling blue. Thank you so so much, it means the world to me! I think all writers insert their own thoughts and emotions into their work, and I definitely do that in all of mine, but especially The Sum of Them. This fic is basically my wishlist of things I would do with a partner, as well as coming to better terms with my own kinks, so I'm glad it's been able to resonate with people. I'm also glad that I managed to keep John and Paul in character, even if John is crying every other paragraph lmao! I totally get what you're saying about wishing I could experience what you did, I wish I could too. Sometimes I reread my fics with the mindset of someone reading it for the first time, but it's just not the same. I'd give my left tit for more writers on my level or higher who wrote bottom!John or even ABDL fics, I swear. I don't read a lot of fics these days, but I'm usually disappointed whenever I check the Beatles tab. I'm also really really bad at remembering titles and author names, so I never remember what fics that I like! Thank God for bookmarks. I definitely understand not wanting to tell people that this is your favorite fic though, lol! I've been writing Beatles fics for a long time, but I created a new account on AO3 when I started writing these fics. I'm comfortable talking about this stuff, but only with the help of an alternate profile. I'm really really happy to help people explore this side of themselves though-- too often fics like mine are just really gross over-the-top and completely unrealistic portrayals in my opinion, and I guess I wanted to bring something sweeter and more realistic to the table. <3

[screadingchallenge]

Behind the Keyboard Volume 31

Behind the Keyboard is a series of interviews with different Schitt’s Creek fanfic authors. The series will last as long as there is interest (from authors) and capacity (from me). If you are an author from the Schitt’s Creek fandom who would like to participate, send a DM to this account.  

Each author was given ten questions. The first five questions are the same for every author, the last five will vary.

Let’s meet our next author:

@delilah-mcmuffin / delilahmcmuffin

How many fics have you written?

90 in the SC fandom. 30 in a precious fandom a long, long time ago. 

When did you publish your first fic on AO3?

August 15, 2019

Describe your writing process from “Oh, I have an idea” to pushing publish on AO3.

My writing process has changed from the beginning. I used to just get an idea that wouldn’t leave me alone and start writing, look it over for obvious errors, then hit the old “Post” button. I started using outlines when I wrote my Stranger Than Fiction AU because it was so complex, and found that I couldn’t really go back to just writing with no guideline anymore. Most of my fics (except for prompt fills) are outlined now. Not that I stuck to them religiously but just like having an idea of where things are going so I don’t paint myself into a corner as much anymore. So I outline and I get feedback on that from a few people, then I start writing. I’m a very anxious writer, requiring lots of validation and head pats and I am lucky enough to have some very patient friends who are willing to put up with my neediness! 

Tell me about your most recent fic? What do you love about it? Is there anything you think you could have done better?

My most recent fic was a teensy little prompt fill, and the one before that was a birthday gift for a friend which I’m still debating whether to add a second chapter to. So I’m going to go back to my third most recent fic [Editor's note: Until You Can Love Yourself Again] which was an introspective look at David’s anxieties about his appearance after Patrick makes the “he goes to the gym” comment about Ted. I really like how the story turned out, but there are always things I’d like to tinker with after the fact. I rarely do, aside from fixing grammatical errors that I’ve caught on a reread. I generally fret and worry as I’m writing, letting trusted friends have a look throughout the writing process to keep me on task and also give me honest feedback on whether I’m on the right track or if I need to rethink certain phrases, plot points, or if I need to scrap an idea altogether. So by the time I actually post a fic, there’s not much of change. 

What advice would you give to someone who’s thinking about publishing their fic for the first time?

Absolutely do it! If there’s a story you desperately want to read but haven’t found, then chances are there are other people who feel the same way. So put your words out into the universe! In this fandom in particular, people are very generous with their support in the form of kudos and comments. 

How has writing fic changed you?

It’s made me more aware of how I communicate. And it’s found me a gaggle of wonderful friends, which has changed my life for the better. I’ve had some very tough times over the last few years and I can honestly say I would not have made it through without some of the very important friendships I’ve made. 

What does a successful fic look like to you?

For me, I feel like something I’ve written is successful when someone says it’s moved them in some way. It has nothing to do with the number of kudos or hits (although they are very lovely and I appreciate them immensely). But when someone comments that something I’ve written made them laugh or cry or shoot coffee out their nose…yeah. That’s a great feeling. But success is also about telling a story that I want to tell in a way that I think only I can tell it. I’ve written fics that maybe haven’t been super popular, but they meant something to me and I’m proud that I’ve put them out into the world. 

Do you think your fics have a brand? What is it?

Is second hand embarrassment a brand? If so, I think that’s probably pretty accurate! In all honestly, I think my brand is humour, through the good times and the bad. I wrote a fic that was very much about loss and heartbreak, but I was very conscious that there needed to be little pockets of levity sprinkled throughout the story so it didn’t get pulled under by it’s own weight. Everything I write has at least a little cheeky humour in it. And sometimes my fics are just pure nonsense. So. Yes. Humour. It me. 

Fill in the blank. You couldn't pay me enough money to write: non-con/dub-con. David & Patrick having a kid together. I also don’t really write BDSM but that’s not because I have any issue with it. I just think there are other writers out there who can do it much better than I ever could. 

What is the favorite scene you’ve ever written?

Oh my gosh. That’s like asking me to pick my favourite child! One that comes immediately to mind is a prompt fill I did where Stevie and Patrick talk about sex. That was the prompt. I decided to have them do it while drunk and they ended up talking about David’s dick and Patrick was very put out that it wasn’t at the top of Stevie’s list of best dicks—was just in the top ten. At the time, I remember thinking “this is too much. It’s too ridiculous. I’ve finally jumped the shark.” But the responses I got were so fantastic! I had the same feeling about the car scene with Clint and Marcy in my broken bed fic. But again, I was surprised by the response and I love it!