#or that might just be how first drafts go. am still getting into the swing of how to actually Write Fic

[orchidbutch]

steadily working on that WIP... wrote almost a thousand words today and somehow am STILL not on the climactic scene that inspired the damn thing! i think i have maybe 1-2 more scenes to go? i hope? unless they decide to run off and do their own thing again lol

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 51

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Trapped in another holding pattern. That's all that life seems to be. Phases. Dull and prolonged. Waiting but for what?

Your days aren't much different than before Lloyd's return. He may as well have stayed gone. For you, he's not there. He's nothing. He doesn't deserve to be anything to you.

Your routine once more stagnates; sleep and feedings and some crying. Between it all, you see Harlan or Dottie, sometimes both. Your mother-in-law has grown quiet, even evasive, since her son came back. You know why but you won't argue with her or her precious Marion.

You get your walks in, looking forward to the escape from the suffocating walls. Andy passes you often, waving or saying hi. He doesn't try to talk again, not with your father around. They barely acknowledge each other. You ignore his texts. You're still trying to figure it all out.

When you're at home, Harlan holds Luna as you catch up on your reality TV. You whisper back and forth about your most hated personalities. It can never be what it once was, or what you wished it could be, but it's manageable.

That day, Harlan and Dottie go into town to do some shopping. You haven't seen Lloyd but you don't mourn his absence. Not like before.

You have Luna downstairs in her rolling bassinet. She's fully fed and sleepy. You might do some cooking. You're finally feeling up to it.

You shiver and watch your daughter dozing peacefully. Why is it so cold in here? You hug yourself and notice the draft freezing in from the kitchen. You find one of the french doors slightly open and push it shut. You can guess who did it. You should lock him out but you'd rather not provoke a confrontation.

You go back to the front room. Something feels off. You don't know. Maybe it's just the empty house. You check the thermostat then the bassinet. Luna is tucked against the side. She must feel it too.

You make sure the wheels are locked before you flit out to grab a quilt from the nursery. You pant as you get to the top of the stairs. Whew, you still got work to do before you're anywhere close to back to normal.

You snatch the sewn pink blanket and come back down, catching your breath as you sweep through the doorway.

“Lulu,” you say quietly, “gonna swaddle you up–”

You notice the angle of the bassinet. It's not how you left it, almost parallel to the sofa instead. You rush over and nearly scream as the bottom stares back at you empty.

You drop the quilt and spin, searching for any sign of the culprit. You storm back into the foyer and stomp a foot.

“Lloyd!” You bellow, not caring if you wake the babe, “where the fuck are you? Give me my baby!”

Nothing. Just the echo of your anger. You snarl and holler again. Louder.

“LLOYD! I'M NOT FUCKING AROUND!”

You stride forward and go down the hall. Not in the kitchen. Nope, not in the dining room either. You go through the first floor, yelling, then ascend the stairs again. There's no way he could've snuck her up there.

“You motherfucker. Lloyd!” You stop at the top, “it's not fucking funny.”

“Jesus Christ!” You hear a door swing open, then another as he comes out of his bedroom, “what is it now? Wanna call me more names? Push me around?”

He has a towel clutched around his waist as his feet slap on the floor. He glistens, his hair slick and dripping the noise of the shower still buzzing. You gulp and your heart drops.

“Lloyd, give her back.”

“What?”

“Don't. Give me Luna.”

“Luna–” he grimaces, “what the fuck? You serious? You won't let me see her and now– wait, where is she?”

You stand silent in horror. He's a loar to the bone but dammit, he's convincing.

“You took her. I know… I went to get her a blanket and you…”

“I've been in the shower for twenty minutes, sweetheart,” he sneers, “I… she's… gone?”

You croak. It's all you can do. You spin and hurtle back downstairs. You near the bassinet again and squeal. Gripping the sides as panic floods your chest.

“She's gone! Lloyd! My baby! Where is she?!”

You hear him come downstairs and his footsteps rush across the floor, searching everywhere you did. He appears from the kitchen, barely hanging onto his towel. You look at him as he stares at you palely.

“The back door was unlocked.”

“I know, I thought you were out there–”

“Peaches,” he utters as his eyes dilate, “call the police.”

🍑

You're still sobbing as the red and blue flash on the other side of the window. You told the story a dozen times over. It's 2am and you haven't seen Luna in thirteen hours. You feel her absence heavy in your chest.

Your baby. You failed her. She's gone and it's all your fault.

Why didn't you just take her upstairs? Why did you want to cook? Why weren't you watching her? Why didn't you lock the goddamn door?

“Honey,” Harlan clinks down a mug and his weight dips beside you on the couch, “they'll find her. She can't have gone far.”

“No, no, no,” you bawl, head throbbing, “someone took her. Someone– it's all my fault–”

“Shhh, shhh, it's alright. It'll be alright. She got everyone lookin’, they'll find her.”

“I fucked up!” You fold over your lap, “I was selfish--c-c-carlessssss.”

He hushes you again and rubs your back. You can hear the police milling around outside, a few inside still investigating every nook and cranny.

“Ma'am,” an officer approaches, “we're doing what we can but these things can take a while. You know, we got a few volunteers from the neighborhood too and some statements–”

“I don't care! I want my daughter back,” you snap.

“Sorry, officer, she's just…scared,” Harlan slings his arm over your shoulders.

“Understood,” the officer says, “we're doing all we can.”

You sniffle and bury your face in your palms. This can't be real. It is and it's all on you. You wished so many times that Luna would just go away, you didn't want her, you remember that, and now that wish came true. You are a monster.

“Breathe,” Harlan coos as your breath turns shallow and suffocating, “honey, please, you needa–”

“Let me look!” You sit up, so dizzy you nearly keel over, “I wanna look for her.”

“Dear, you already did. You needa rest.”

“No, no!” You shove him away and stand, slippers slapping as you stomp around the couch, “she's my baby, I can find her! I know I will.”

“You won't help. Lloyd's already out there–” Harlan calls after you as he follows.

You hurry through the entryway and burst out the front door. You hear your father swearing as he scrambles for his shoes. The snow crunches under your thin soles as you jog past the cruisers and the uniformed figures.

You turn down the street without a thought. The streetlights flash over you, yellow, then darkness, yellow, dark…. You don't know where you're going. Maybe you want to disappear too.

You hear Harlan calling your name but he's getting further away, not closer. You slow down and cough, lungs burning. You lean on a fence post and bend to collect yourself.

“What are you doing out here?” A drawl brings you straight up.

You squint. You think it's Lloyd at first, you haven't seen him since the police got there. Andy steps into the soft hue of the lightpole.

“I… what are you doing?” You throw the question back at Andy.

“I'm a volunteer firefighter. Heard there was a missing baby so I've been helping. I'm sorry to hear about Luna. I don't know who would do this.”

You shake your head and snivel, “I don't know.”

“I know what it's like to lose a child but… I think… she's out there. It'll be okay. You'll see her again, I know it.”

“I hope,” your voice cracks and wipes your eyes as your grief spills anew, “I should go back.”

He says nothing. You back away and turn, dragging your feet down the pavement. You see the sirens lit up and the distant beans of flashlights. Suddenly, you're caught around the neck, a hand smothering your mouth.

“Do you wanna see her?” Andy whispers as you kick out, “Luna needs her mommy…” he wrestles you out of the cone of light and behind the fence, “so do I.”

You thrash, clawing at his sleeve. Your slippers fly off in your struggle as he squeezes tighter. No, it can't be him.

You were wrong. Again.

[wehaveagathering]

how are you feeling about the flyers draft picks/activities? i don’t hate luchanko but i would’ve rather seen them trade up to the 20s for him with a future second and/or 3rd round pick (or laughton or something) + 32. i can’t believe they passed on buium so I’m hoping they knew something we didn’t about him. i’m doing my best to trust in danny but i’m skeptical of his first round.

I feel great. I feel incredible. I was pretty uncertain and definitely shocked re: Luchanko at first but I've changed my mind. Danny made the right moves and while I might be upset that we didn’t get Buium or Helenius (and I am especially upset that we didn't get Dickinson but that's on the Sharks who I am pissy at rn. I promise in like three days i will be very excited to see him in teal), I see the vision. This is long term.

Here are just some of the first quotes I’ve found on Jett Luchanko:

Guy seems to me like a power-play oriented, playmaking, speed-skating, young Morgan Frost. Suzuki, and apparently Luchanko, are net front danger zone scorers, and Luchanko clearly seems disposed to pass first, playmake, and score in exactly the same zone that Michkov likes to score in. Net front. Behind the net. Michigans. (Watch that video I just linked! Look where he scores from!) Everything I'm reading here seems like he’s tailor-made to playmake for Michkov - and if he’s not? Well, this wasnt exactly a big swing, was it? We traded back and traded away, which was THE THING I SAID WE SHOULD DO, LIKE, A MONTH AGO:

Here's that link, in case you don't believe me.

We might not have traded to a shit team, but we still got the 2025 pick. Everything I said in that post is still applicable. This was "not the draft for big swings." So we didn't take a big swing. Danny took a guy that the Flyers clearly seem to think is a fantastic possible center for Michkov, which is, and should be, their top priority. One of the main criticisms that fans had of the Giroux era was that the Flyers didn't surround him with the talent he needed to succeed, and we don't want to make that mistake this time around?

The problem is that this isn't the draft that's full of that elite talent. Some of them, maybe. The Flyers very clearly wanted to trade up for Lindstrom, but CBJ didn't bite, because they wanted Lindstrom, and I get it. Lindstrom is a fantastic center. So they took the next best center for Michkov, who turned out to be Luchanko. It was what they wanted out of this draft – Michkov's center, or at least a possible one. He wasn't the best player available – clearly, since they traded away from Buium, and gained a 2025 3rd rounder in the process (nice!) – but he is a phenomenal choice for Michkov. And if he doesn't pan out? Well, it's a good thing we didn't trade up for him.

Now, 2025. This is the deep draft. This is the draft that does have that elite talent. And we may have 6 picks in the first and second rounds.

Now that is the draft for big swings. Michkov is coming over this season. We move as few pieces as possible. Who does he work well with on the team? Who doesn't click? How does his play fit, where are the gaps, what do we still need with him on the wing? How does he feel? What and/or who does he need, personally? Three first-round picks in 2025 mean that you have a LOT OF ROOM TO WORK WITH. I assume Luchanko doesn't go to the NHL this season – haven't seen anything to suggest he will, and with the general quality of this draft being one that still needs time, it's fair to assume that he'll stay with the Guelph Storm in the OHL. So when we watch him play in Canada this year and see how he improves and how he communicates with the Flyers, and see Michkov on the ice in orange, we'll have an idea of what we need in 2025. Do we keep the PHI, COL, EDM picks where they are? (My guesses are 14, 25, 32. Quote me!) Or do we package them and trade up? That's a big swing in a deep draft full of huge talents. 25+32 to trade to 20. 20+14 to trade up to 5, or 4. Or maybe 25+32 is enough to get us up front. 10, even. And then once you have that high pick - like we saw today, anyone can fall. We saw it with Michkov last year. Imagine.

I love this draft. I think Danny cooked. I think this was a long-term vision and I'm stoked for Jett Luchanko. Welcome to Philly, bud! I can't wait.

[27dragons]

Since I'm trying to get back into the second draft of the Safe Harbor sequel, I'm going to take you at your word and ask about the Sandbridge series. Do you have a favourite moment from the series? And are there anything you can tell us about that happened but we didn't see onscreen? ❤️❤️❤️

First, let me say that I am utterly delighted that you're continuing the Safe Harber story; I loved it so much!

Favorite moment? Oh, holy heck, that's a difficult one. I'll just stream-of-consciousness a handful of them, shall I? :D

Tony and Bucky's dance and first kiss in Safe and (the) Sound, the one that gets interrupted by the fire. I'm a little weird about sex scenes; they're really intense for me the first time I write (or read) them but they lose most of their punch on subsequent re-reads. But that kiss never fails to make my heart beat a little faster.

In Lord of the Swings, Bucky standing in line for beer and dealing with a bunch of homophobic asshats. Tisfan wrote that scene pretty much in its entirety (I only edited it) and it is for me a perfect encapsulation of how queer people experience that sort of aggression.

In Howard's End, the moment where Tony thinks Howard is actually going to apologize, but then realizes that Howard still doesn't get it, and his line there: "You regret driving me away because of what I might have become. It still doesn't occur to you to regret hurting me because I was a child." This is the heartbreak at the core of Tony and Howard - that Howard can never really see Tony as anything but his heir, even when they're on good terms.

The bachelor parties in Zen and the Art of Family Maintenance. Because they're so delightful and absolutely perfect for them both.

The scene in From the Ukraine with Love where Steve gets a call from Bucky and has to go collect his sad drunk ass. That's the beating heart of their friendship, right there. Also, Natasha fretting over her sundress when Steve introduces her to Winifred is utterly adorable, because we don't get many chances to see Natasha as anything but supremely self-confident.

Tony dealing with Billie's tantrums in High Noon in Sandbridge, because so many kidfics have the new parents struggling comically or barely struggling at all, and Tony starts out as, frankly, a really TERRIBLE parent. He has NO idea what he's doing, and it shows very clearly in those scenes.

In That Someone Special, I have 2 moments: When Scott first shows up and Steve is chasing him to try to punch him and Tony steps between them until he finds out exactly who Scott is, and then steps back and says "oh, carry on" -- that was, to me, a perfect moment of almost gallows humor. And then the turnaround scene, when Tony, Steve, and Sam show up at Luis' apartment to help Scott after he's been beaten up. That scene is a special kind of funny and touching.

In My Three Dads, the scene where Billie is in the hospital with a broken leg. Loki being jealous over Tony's rapport with Billie and then proud that she picks him to stay with her for the x-rays; and Bucky stepping in to make Tony leave when he can't handle seeing Billie in pain. Family dynamics at their best. <3

And finally, in Stem the Tide, which is not technically a Sandbridge 'verse story at all, but a "What If" side novel, I really like the scene where Bucky stands up to Alex and tells him to fuck off.

Stuff that happens that you didn't see onscreen... I have a couple of chapters that we cut out of My Three Dads, including Tony meeting with Grant Ward that we rejected because it steered the plot wrong, and one with Tony and Bucky going to Ty's apartment to pick up his stuff, which we allude to and consider as having actually happened, but didn't include because it screwed up our pacing for the story. I actually sometimes forget that we never posted the scene at Ty's apartment, because I really liked it. I might someday clean it up and throw it into the Jetsam and Flotsam bits-and-pieces collection.

But if there's something specific you were wondering about in the background, feel free to shoot me a DM and ask; I'm always happy to talk about my Sandbridge boys. <3

[tiktaalic]

I know this is counter intuitive because hotd is a show with women perhaps the only show with women but I see people saying like the dance wouldn’t have happened if alivent was a boy if Rhaenyra was a (cis) boy and I think it would have happened regardless because of Daemon. Daemon would have caused issues regardless. But if Daemon were a girl. Well he probably would have married Viserys and not given two shits about Rhaenyra. But assuming viseyts still married aemma then alicent. Daemon would be a green wouldn’t he? He’d 100% be grooming aegon instead of rhaenyra.

yeah daemon's a real sticking point. because he's daemon. i think. hm. options:

viserys daemon first marriage #nochildren #livefastdieyoungbadtargsdoitwell. rhaenys probably comes into play here. could not tell you how it would actually shake out.

viserys daemon first marriage viserys still dies relatively early bc of illness and then daemon remarries for power has a baby and leverages the baby as blood of the king or whatever with the end goal of going they're a baby. they cant rule. so i will generously, do it for them,. maybe. i know ive just described cersei. sorry. i dont often think about daemon. i don't know in a less complicated situation where he had the lock on viserys' attention if he would chase power as aggressively or if he would be content to permanent younger siblinghood being included in councils out of respect for dead viserys but not really being taken seriously and having a lot of free time to spend drinking fighting and fucking. am no daemon scholar. to be honest.

evil aunt daemon skulking around. 50/50 split between daemon doing death by dragon to people who question rhaenyra's claim. which would be the series of events if he supports her claim primarily because he loves her and loves viserys. or. purposefully making rhaenyra's route to ascension much thornier . which is the outcome if he supports her claim primarily because of his proximity to power.

this one's a real thinker. it really comes down to if you think his motivating factor is primarily the love(as conceptualized by daemon, conceptualized by everyone else as obsession/possession/jealousy/etc) or the proximity to power. i'm having a really hard time making a call on if evil aunt daemon resents niece rhaenyra for taking daemon's place in viserys' life. or if she goes the step further to alright he loves this kid i'm not gonna get anywhere by hating her so might as well become indispensable to her and by extension viserys. even coupled with the reality that daemon will NOT get wifed up by rhaenyra. the other dimension to this is that daemon just seems so uninterested in alicent + kids. which is obviously based in the fact that he has #picked #his #side. but i'm having trouble visualizing a world where daemon expresses any interest in aegon at all, mostly because viserys is so uninterested in aegon.

i can see the possibility of a daemon who takes aegon under wing and likes him well enough, but it's complicated by the surrounding context of daemon having to pick between allegiance with viserys favorite child, who is unmarriable but the heir, and viserys' cast off kid, who is marriable and could make a fighting appeal for heir. i also think there would be a secondary wrinkle of resentment from daemon over not being part of the draft picks for viserys' second marriage. and i dont know if that resentment would manifest as fuck them kids. or . well second place is marrying one of em. i don't know where daemon would come down on those varied pros and cons list. i've said all this and to end it i'm going to take a swing in the dark and say evil aunt daemon would marry aemond.

[snickerdoodlles]

✨What's a fic you've posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

(prev) hmm, maybe Hair-Trigger? like, it got a good response, i'm very grateful to everyone who's read it ❤❤❤ i don't mean in a 'im looking for more hits' sort of way, i just really love Porsche & Kim as a duo and spin them around in my head like a shiny rock all the time. this mostly manifests in me spamming tortoise with Kim & Porsche snippets and thoughts that never seem to flesh out into proper fics, so Hair-Trigger has a special spot in my heart because it's my one finished Porsche & Kim fic and I want everyone to look at Porsche being extremely fond of Kim and Kim feeling all sorts of things about how fond Porsche seems to be of him (surely???? this is a trick????? he is so nice and smiley????????? a mystery)

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

i like them all!! i genuinely enjoy all "types" of comments for different reasons, it feels weird to rank them against each other. so long as the comment is excited to engage with me/gush over idiot nerds together, i'm excited to answer and chat with them (although, i am. very behind on my inbox rn. hjghjg im sorry friends, i promise i will respond even tho it might be v late 😂💦)

💘Is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?

I've actually been rewriting a *checks date* 5.5 yr old yoi WIP (*winces*) for a while now. very slow as my attention gets drawn away, but i love epistolary fic and there's a funny satisfaction without pressure to re-writing it.

but the story rewrite that actually has been sitting on my head for...forever really, is my ft story Jinxed. i was very new to fandom/writing fic when i first posted it, and at the time i'd just posted what i wrote and then went "...wait, how the fuck do you write a multi-chapter story???" and i really psyched myself out of posting more for it.

however, it's always like...sat in the back of my head, even after the fandom bullshit and when ft went to shit. because i just...don't like soulmate/soulmark AUs. 😅 the reasons behind my dislike for the trope are uh...kinda long and extensive actually, so i'll save that for a different post if anyone cares enough to ask, but the premise in this story of two girls with mismatched timers who fall in love and choose each other anyways is one i'm extremely drawn to. and i'm still like, figuring out how to write long stories, and i'm never going to write again for ft, so whenever i look over the old story drafts and notes, i'm actually thinking about it as an original story. not one i've started and maybe i'll stumble into a fandom that i want to apply this premise to, but...after i figure out long-form stories, i really want to swing by this one again, if simply to have it stop haunting my brain every few months.

(rest under the cut because i am rambly lol)

🌈is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

hmm Silver for Truth is the obvious one since i whined about it taking a yr+ to write, but i think everyone understands when i say Tawan is an annoying ass bitch to write.

i'm actually going to cheat and say the freezer!Kim WIP i'm writing with @majestictortoise. there's a few different POVs in this story and one of them is Porsche's POV, and there is something about Porsche's POV specifically that i find very hard to capture. even when i know what i want from his arc and character struggles, post-canon Porsche carries around some conflicting beliefs and mindsets that i find really tricky to write, plus he's also a guy of action who's been forced to a standstill and i want to capture that trapped feeling without making it obnoxious. he's just tricky to me in a way that other characters aren't. (i actually ran into this issue with Hair-Trigger too, except it wasn't so hard because that's a fic about him Doing A Thing He Wants To Do, which is why i was able to write it within the timeframe i did. oh Porsche, ilu, why do u stick in my head so. orz)

🦋what are you most insecure about when you post a fic?

everything? idk, my reaction after i post a fic is to either Stare At My Inbox or desperately try to distract myself from the fact that i Posted A Fic, which really go to show how secure i feel about my writing 😂 i try very hard not to let a fic's reception get to me when i post because i've been down that road and it's really bad for me. all fic i post is fic for me, but i haven't hit the carefree attitude of "idc what you think, its for me first and foremost" yet.

🌻what makes you want to give up on writing? what makes you keep going?

there's nothing that makes me want to give up on writing specifically. i wail and cry when stuff isn't flowing right, but like. so i had an irl thing run me over like a truck april/may of this year and it's bullshit kept spilling out through june and july too, so i had like no time or energy to write or even spend much time on fandom stuff for four months, and i went absolutely bananas. i need to do something creative to feel good, and writing is my favorite of those.

posting...posting is a different story 😂 weirdly if im chasing the high of posting a fic/the high of comments on fic, i dont like to post as much. the hill in my head is too much to get around, so that ig.

🌿how does creating make you feel?

*points up*

also prev

🍉in what ways has writing helped you process trauma and/or navigate through your own life?

...this is such a weird question lmao (not u, the person who made the question list should have deleted this). i've always found writing as a good way of examining my internal biases and preconceptions i might not have otherwise had opportunity to find and reflect upon so clearly, and i'm going to leave it at that.

🎈describe your style as a writer; is it fixed? does it change?

fuck if i know what my writing style is 😂

🎀give yourself a compliment about your own writing

*curls up in more shy* hmm, i really like reading my own stories. like, i always have cyclic periods of "oh god this is garbage what the fuck was i thinking" feelings for each of my fics, but i know now that feeling is brief and it'll be gone soon enough and it will stay gone longer than it comes. the person who reads my stories the most is me, and the fact that i want to go back to read them again is really important to me.

🎉how often do you celebrate completing & posting a work? how often do you give yourself the credit/validation that you seek from others when you post? (if you don't, you should!)

i don't think i linger so much on the actual posting of the fic, but i return to my fics a lot and i've also started paying more attention to how much i post. i'm trying to find a balance between acknowledging that i posted stories vs "oh god, im not posting ENOUGH," but back at the turn of this year, i was really bummed that i didn't get as much posted during december as i had set out to do, specifically because i felt like 2021 had been a really strong year and i'd let myself down not finishing as many fics in 2022. then i actually checked my AO3 stats for 2021 to 2022, and realized i'd posted 4x as much in 2022 than i had in 2021. over 100k words altogether even!

i think i'm getting off topic, but between rereading my own stuff pretty frequently and trying to get a better grasp on how much i've actually posted vs what's in my head, i think i celebrate pretty often? idk 😂

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

characters!!! everything's built around the characters. i love worldbuilding, making up worlds is a lot of fun, but i worldbuild through the lens of "what am i interested in?" (which starts with characters) and "how does this affect x?" (because if it doesn't matter to/affect the character, it shouldn't be a priority to me). similarly, plots exist for me to put Specific Guys Into Situations. a plot can be objectively interesting, but i'm not going to stick to it if i don't care about the people going thru it, my brain just doesn't focus like that.

the actual writing of the story is lowest priority on my list. there's a lot of writing types i don't like, but i can muscle thru a lot in the name of a good cast or plot. similarly, i don't give a flying fuck how pretty or polished a writer thinks their sentences are, if the actual story is boring or OOC, i am not reading it. or i am reading it and bitching extensively in friends DMs, which is worse. 😂

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

honestly, hard for me to answer because i'm actively trying not to think about what sort of response i do get. i guess one that still amuses me quite a bit is the response to my fic Shining Dishonesty (howls moving castle AU for haikyuu!!). i love this story to bits and i really love the comments i have on it, but it's weird/funny to me because it's my most recommended and mentioned fic on twitter, but it's one of my lowest in terms of kudos & comments. idk what's up with that 😂

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

*big shrug emoji* nothing that comes to mind???

maybe Silver for Truth, just a little bit???? everyone got the message of "get fucked Tawan" but there was also a little more pity for Tawan than i'd expected. like, not really, because Tawan's annoying, but i don't know that everyone quite caught Khun's trap for Tawan in it. Tawan could've completely turned things around for Vegas and ruined Kinn's lie by confessing his own failures/betrayals and accepting the consequences, except Tawan puts himself before all others, even someone he claims to love.

🕯️was there a fic that was really hard on you to write, or took you to a place you didn't think it would take you?

honestly? i don't remember the specific writing issues once something is done. even for something that takes me a while to write. usually my writing hang-ups are related to irl stressors. Pitch It was an extremely hard fic for me to write, but that was because it had a deadline attached to it while i was also trying to come up with money for a new car after my previous one was totaled 😂 and while i approach all stories with a vague plot in mind, it's purposefully vague so i can adapt to where's best for the story to go. that's the part i look forward to the most when writing lol.

💥find your least kudos'd fic - say something wonderful about it.

lol i don't even have to sort my stories to know which one is my least number of hits/kudos. it's by dawn's early light, which i wrote for the bnha myths zine, and it is literally one of my favorite fics i've ever written. there's some stuff i would've done differently now, but i liked it when i finished it, i liked even thru that fucking project's mess, and i liked it enough to post it after the project was finished, and that is probably the highest praises i can give that particular fic.

(this response probably doesn't make much sense to anyone who hasn't participated in a zine before and i'm not going to burden you with context if you haven't, but like. trust me. that's saying a lot 😂)

🍭why did you start writing?

to make a dick joke. i haven't changed.

💎why is writing important to you?

it's just fun. i really like doing it and i really like connecting with people over it/through it.

🪄what is your post-writing/sharing aftercare? How do you take care of yourself or celebrate yourself when you've finished a fic?

i re-read the story about a bajillion times in that first week. you'd think i'd be sick of it by the time it's posted, but the satisfaction of having finished something changes the way i read it and i just bask in that.

📡why is writing and sharing your writing important for fandom?

another terrible question in this otherwise nice questions list.

i like it, so i do it, and i'm lucky enough to have made friends through it.

🎙️which one of your fics would you like someone to make a pod-fic of?

i'm excited if anyone wants to make a podfic of my work and i give general permission for it, but it's not something i seek out specifically. i have very bad ears, it just doesn't really cross my mind.

🤲what do YOU get out of writing?

*points up however many questions ago* it's very fulfilling for me and i like it a lot. i'm lucky enough to have also made connections to others by way of writing, but first and foremost is i enjoy the actual act of it.

💋when you leave comments on a fic, do you want to hear back from the writer?

maybe? idk, i leave comments because i like to leave comments. i like hearing back, but its not like im leaving a comment looking for that. wrong mindset for this question, u know?

☯️how do you think engaging with each other through tumblr, twitter, comments, kudos, creates healthy fandom experiences? How do you deal with that if you're not a social person/experience social anxiety?

*sighs* this fucking questionnaire maker lmao.

responding to fics is fun for everyone. it's a great way to make new friends if that's the fandom experience you're hoping for (same goes for responding to edits, art, etc). if you're anxious to start talking to people or leaving comments or whatever, take the babysteps you need to try to push and expand your comfort zone. and be gentle on yourself -- there's no "right" way to interact with fandom, and you don't have to be perfect at what you want to do right away either.

but if that's not the way you want to interact with fandom, you don't have to. there's nothing wrong with "lurking" and frankly i care about my stuff being enjoyed (even if i never hear about it!), not the ~proper~ way to be in fandom or whatever. furthermore, my healthy fandom experience is regulating and maintaining my own reactions to the reception (or lack of) i get when i post so that it stays fulfilling for me, and that's how i create my healthy fandom experience.

🧿what steps do you take to not take things personally if a fic doesn't do well, or if your writing/posting/sharing experience isn't going how you'd like it to?

mostly i look inwards to see what exactly im dissatisfied with and examine why. there's plenty of stuff that i wish had a bigger reception, but i focus on things that i can control (what im happy with in a story, what i enjoyed about the process, talking about it more in my own blog space so people can choose to engage or ignore, etc) and push myself to that framework of mind. the worst thing you can do is focus on things you can't control, especially something as random and fickle as other people's reactions or a post/story hitting the trend wave just right.

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

timeloop AU!! (prev)

timeloop AU will be 3 chapters + an epilogue. first chapter is Kim POV, the second one is Big POV, and third is Chay POV. Kim is the first one trapped in the timeloop. Big joins him later. Chay never does.

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

in my fic Single Star Review, Khun goes to university and then starts seeking extra therapy help. i am Extremely excited for this one, but one of my favorite-favorite parts of it is Khun dismissively says "it's not like i can call Kim and gossip about boys" and Flop (the therapist, no that's not actually his name) asks Khun "why not" and Khun stares through a wall for a solid three minutes realizing hey, he CAN call Kim to talk about boys actually.

-later that night-

Khun: Kim! Kimmy-Kim my littlest kin! forget your other plans, tonight we are painting our nails and gossiping about BOYS

Kim: what the fuck

Khun: my therapist thinks i should try talking to you about stuff

Kim: THERAPIST?!

Khun: THAT'S NOT THE IMPORTANT PART HOW DO I HANDLE HAVING A CRUSH

(Kim is, ofc, over the moon and extremely excited when his brain catches up with his ears, even though he's a total little brother about it.)

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Red Line fic is the first installment of a 4-fic series (tortoise is laughing at me for thinking it'd stop with 1). mostly because it immediately dived into one of my favorite variations for how Chay kills Korn.

Korn's death is not a fix-it.

[stridingseer]

cant say i have any specific asks about inception ships but i am more than happy to hear you talk about rarepairs because there is simply not enough content here <3

Okay this uh, admittedly might get long (I am going to do this in point form for the sheer rambles). Very Long Thoughts Under the cut!!

Eames/Robert Fischer

One thing that keeps on swinging around to me every time I write them or read about them is this one constant theme, aka the idea of Identity.

Who is Robert supposed to be after the inception? How does he reconcile with breaking up his inheritance? Who is he outside of his father? Who is he besides being the son of Maurice Fischer?

For Eames, it's a bit funkier but Eames is a forger. His identity is anything that the job needs him to be. But then, who is he really? Is he a combination of his forges? Yes he plays a role for the others but what are his thoughts about it?

(I recently got a reply back from another writer for this ship that pointed out that Eames got to deal with the psychological aspect of the inception and I can't help but wonder: how does he feel about having to do this to Fischer in the first place?)

What happens post canon between these two is SUCH an oasis for writing ideas. Have them meet years later at a bar! Maybe Robert chooses to break up his empire and then go AWOL before running into Eames (maybe Eames steals his wallet for the THIRD FUCKING time, admittedly it'd be funny)

Similarly: what did Eames see at Fischer-Marrow while he was there? The two of them probably did meet which means the first meeting is one of infinite possibilities. I just love the idea of Eames introducing himself, calls Robert by Fischer, and then Robert corrects him to use his first name. (names as intimacy and trust!! NAMES AS INTIMACY AND TRUST)

I do have this headcanon that Eames also has like similar-esque issues as Robert which is why he's the one who more or less starts digging in from the angle of the father-son relationship. In a way it's him getting his own catharsis when Robert gets his but again, it can get really messy. It's also why he keeps on bringing it up. Anyways they both have family issues and they're foils your honor.

Would like to thank This Fic for getting me into the pairing though there are som Very Good Ones in the tag. I love them all dearly.

Anyways I have a cannibal + shapeshifter roadtrip fic in my drafts and it's actually an exploration on identity. And also a second person fic from Robert's POV that tackles his relationship w/ his father like my relationship with both of my parents. Consider it an alternative reading of sorts

Arthur/Dom Cobb

Basically they're inception's reasonable right hand man/mastermind who has Big Ideas (aka Rusty and Danny from Ocean's 11 though admittedly their dynamic is way different)

Read them as exes who can't leave each other alone and it suddenly becomes quite funny to watch the movie in that way. Cuz then it makes Arthur's constant :/ funnier but he's STILL hanging around.

I like the idea of the two of them living together to take care of Cobb's kids at the end of inception! Arthur comes to visit and ends up staying way longer. They are now common in laws.

And given his logical brain, if any of the kids needs him w/ history or math or geography, Arthur is There because his whole job

One thing that does rotate in my head is just the sheer loyalty that Arthur has for Cobb? Like the Fischer job goes wrong on the first layer in and he, like Eames, can say that he can voice that he's walking off the job. The Thing is his choice to Not to. Tiny thing but it speaks volumes. Also if they go to hotels, these two basically live together even on the job.

So Arthur 100% knew Mal which means that I imagine that it's Cobb who first dragged him into dreamsharing. I just like the idea of the three of them testing limits and whatnot (it's very Ocean's 11 in its parallels but it also gives more depth and food to think about. Of course Mal and Cobb get married and Arthur is not bitter about it, not at all)

I also raise you the idea of Eames calling Arthur a 'nanny' for watching over Cobb's kids. And then Eames gets called 'gold digger' for getting with Robert. Neither of them are wrong about it technically but it could be that it's a fun in joke/dig at each other.

MORE FICS ABOUT THEIR FIRST EXTRACTIONS TOGETHER AND WHATNOT!! There is so much food for thought about how they managed to find their place in their extraction world.

On a similar note: their first adventures in the dreamscape. Basically the question of 'how many times has Cobb shot Arthur to wake him up'.

[xxfillerxx]

Characters I would/would not/could not fight from Hypmic: (spoilers for TDD and DOD manga). Btw this has been sitting in my drafts for almost a year and i wrote most of this like 4 or so months after getting into the series.

Ichiro: I would prefer not to but I think if I were to take him in a fight I might have a chance. I think he's as strong as Kuko but not as relentless. Also might not use his full strength in the beginning

Jiro: Pretty sure I could win

Saburo: Yes but also I think he'd roast the hell out of me and bully me for it. It's about what he does after the fight

Samatoki: I would try to fight him and lose.

Jyuto: Same as Samatoki's

Rio: I would not want to fight him and also I would lose.

Ramuda: I would want to fight him but I'd be scared. I think he'd be unpredictable and really hard to pin down. You know those moments where one character tries to hit the other and suddenly their opponent disappears, only to reappear behind them with a smile? Yeah that's him

Gentaro: I wouldn't mind fighting him and I'd knock this mf flat. But also I think he'd be a Saburo case and follow up on me after the fight.

Dice: Depends on how fast I am bc he'd try to run away. Yeah I'd kinda want to fight him

Jakurai: I am not fighting the best character in hypmic 💕 also he'd kill me within seconds if he got serious

Hifumi: I could and I would

Doppo: See, I think I might but anyone could fight him when he's not in berserker mode and it'd feel like kicking a puppy.

Sasara: NO. Have you seen what he's capable of right before the TDD era??? Rei WISHES he were as clever as him. I am scared of him and he'd completely own the fight. Hed fight dirty 100%

Rosho: I could but I wouldn't want to 💖 also I wouldn't be able to win if he's angry/actually starts fighting

Rei: I'm going in hands swinging and I think I could win. I'll go for his knees first and bite

Kuko: Another solid NO. TDD era??? He beat his arm with a pipe no hesitation so he could fight Ichiro immediately. I would still want to try tho.

Jyushi: Again, anyone could beat him but it'd make you feel bad. Yes ik he does upper-body training and can actually restrain Kuko (temporarily) but he doesn't have the emotional capacity.

Hitoya: I could and I would. Nothing against him but I'd just want to try

Tom Whisper Weathercock: I don't actually know this guy but what's up with his name

[btsmosphere]

2022 Writing Roundup

Tagged by @here4theheartbreak forever ago!! I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a bit but only getting it up now because I just couldn’t come up with answers for some sections, but since I have some I wanted to post it anyway! It’s always nice to look back on the year😊

Fandom: bts

Total fics: 11

Total words: 43,143 note: I only included word counts of what I published because I am lazy :)) I have written some wips this year that have yet to see the light of day, but some of them have been going since 2021 and I cba to try and figure it all out

~Favourite Things~

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest. Why? This has got to be Still Waters Run Deep, written for the ghibli collab this year. It’s a only fic I really got my teeth into this year, while a lot of my other work was quite short. Not that that’s a bad thing, but Still Waters felt like much more a labour of love for the fact I pushed it longer than I intended, and it’s still something I enjoy reading!

Top 4 current WIPs - if anyone’s been paying attention to my blog, you’ll have heard a lot about certain wips, which still haven’t made it out and I’m sorry! Here they are:

Supercharged is the big one - and by big I mean it!! This is the longest thing I’ve ever written as it stands and it’s still not finished! Started in 2021 and still persevering, this is a Jungkook x reader enemies to lovers with superheroes, villains and all the trimmings! Highway to You drabbles (I’m grouping this into one here) - I have more in the works for my Highway to You universe (2 stories are already out), which I’m very excited for. It’s a Yoongi x reader mafia au, childhood friends to lovers and stuffed with my fave hurt/comfort Sunken Heart - another story that’s been kicking around since the dawn of time, demigod!Namjoon x royalty!reader mythology au set in atlantis. I promise I haven’t forgotten this one! Autumn drabbles - I had a great time writing 3 bullet fics for 3 hyungs this autumn, and I planned one for every member, so maybe you’ll see those this fall!

Favorite Line - I have a few lines that make me smile this year, but I’m gonna pick the most dramatic one haha: Lightning washed the nightmare in white. - from Still Waters Run Deep. I liked it when I wrote it, but I appreciated it even more when I was reading this part to my bf and he paused at that sentence to tell me how effective he thought it was!

~Question and Answer Time~

Top 2 Resolutions for 2023

Hmm, actually write? I’ve had big chunks away from writing in 2022 and while that’s okay, and breaks can be helpful, mostly these were not. I wanted to write, just never got down to it. When I took part in a november writing goal event, I loved it! just getting myself motivated without that is a challenge Start daydreaming again! In line with my first resolution, I think this is a way to get me motivated. I still daydream of course, but it has shifted to some other fandoms, and while I still love bts, I don’t have their stories on my mind all the time, even though they are stories I like. When I start dreaming up scenes, the need to write them follows, and it’s fun besides :)

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than, or about what was expected? Why? I can’t say I really had any expectations, but I have to say less than what I expected. I had been tailing off but I thought I might naturally swing back up again in terms of writing, but alas.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year? How was it? I haven’t really done anything on this blog that I couldn’t have predicted.. maybe the bullet fic series? I usually am a bit of a completionist but I found the bullet fics gave me some freedom when working from just a concept/aesthetic, as I did in my autumn drabbles. It was a refreshing change to write! Oh, and they were all in present tense? took a while to get used to and a while to switch back, but it fit the ~vibe~ in terms of other differences, I’ve written a few things behind the scenes for new fandoms, but that’s just for my personal enjoyment at the moment :)

What’s your most popular story with readers?

Heaven’s Open - 534 Number 45 - 178 Won’t Tell - 170 Ride or Die - 139 Still Waters Run Deep - 124 The Web part 6 - 121 Say it with Flour - 94 Autumn with Namjoon - 78 Autumn with Hobi - 58 Autumn with Jin - 36 Trade my Life - 10 (at time of writing, notes are probably a bit different as of posting date)

The magic of Jungkook wins out this year with 534 notes on Heaven’s Open!

What was your most productive days/day of the week/month, etc in terms of writing? October and November! In October I got inspired again by the season and I was buzzing to create again, I started with the seasonal drabbles and then in November I took part in the BTS Writers’ Club’s wrimo challenge, where I wrote something every day! I only posted one fic off the back of that but I wrote over 10k words that month, mostly behind the scenes with longer wips :))

~ Fics Written in 2022~

In chronological order of posting

The Web (part 6) - Jimin x reader You made it out of the web, mostly whole. But will you be able to overcome the damage done to you and your family?

Say it with Flour - Namjoon x reader This had always been a bad idea. You, notorious for kitchen disasters, attending a cooking class. Maybe it could be what you needed to fix your terrible cooking skills - or maybe you could meet someone who makes it so much worse!

Won’t Tell - Jin x reader You aren’t the only one sneaking out at night at hogwarts. In fact, it appears to be a popular pastime - shame it also happens to be extremely banned. Oh well, he won’t tell if you won’t…

Number 45 - Namjoon x reader The man at number 45 becomes the highlight of your shift… Five times you delivered something to Namjoon, and one time he gave something back to you!

Still Waters Run Deep - Taehyung x reader down at the riverbank is a boy whose eyes hold each swell of the waves, whose hair ruffles like the reeds. but the peaceful magic of the river may become your only sanctuary when wilder forces come into play

Heaven’s Open - Jungkook x reader it’s never a good time for the heavens to open, trapping you to wait out the storm. but your own piece of heaven is stuck right there with you - maybe the rainclouds will shed some light on the cold front that has formed between you and Jungkook

autumn with: hobi - “are you cold?” - college au ft. apple picking, chasing leaves, wearing each other’s clothes

autumn with: namjoon -  “you kept this?” - established relationship ft. a carnival, getting lost in a good book, a kiss for good luck

autumn with: jin -  “I hate you - I love you too” - childhood friends au ft. a graveyard, a thunderstorm and seokjin’s sweater paws

Ride or Die - Yoongi x reader yoongi isn’t sure when he became so accustomed to your ineffably cheery presence. until he sees that innocence crack, he hadn’t realised how far he would go to keep it there.

Trade my Life - Jin x reader once, you were just two children giggling in the corner of the dojang, trading equally in punches and hugs, everything a game. but that was long ago, and now that man stands day after day outside the door which separates your two worlds. is the throne really worth leaving the barrier unbroken?

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Tuna Doing the Waltz

Something I had sitting in my drafts. Hope it brings a smile to your face!

Summary: Dean and Sam leave their younger sister with strict orders not to leave the bunker. But she can’t help if trouble finds her.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x WinchesterSister!Reader X Sam Winchester

Warnings: None? Minor language

Word Count: 834

“Keep the door shut and if I so much as see you stick your nose out, I will personally beat your ass.” I tried not to roll my eyes as Dean gave me yet another lecture on staying in the bunker. “You act like I’m five or something. All I did was sprain my ankle. Plus, I have a movie marathon planned for today. It’ll be nice to have the bunker to myself.” Dean glared at me while Sam offered a smile. “We have our phones on us just in case. We should be back late tonight.” I gave him a nod and waved them off. “If I don’t answer my phone, I’m probably out exploring the world.” I couldn’t help but smirk when Dean took a step forward with his hands balled into fists. Sam chuckled at what he hoped was a joke and pushed Dean towards the door. “Y/N I am not kidding! I have eyes everywhere.” I nodded my head at my oldest brother, “I’m sure you do. Be safe.” They finally left and I took in a deep breath, smiling at the silence that greeted me. “What to do first?” I ended up eating a few too many bags of popcorn, watched a couple movies, and now was reading in bed waiting for my brothers to get back. I heard the door shut and glanced at the clock. “10 pm? I thought they would at least give me until midnight.” I poked my head out of my bedroom door and saw the lights were still off. A crash of what I thought might be books made me limp towards the noise. “Are they drunk or something?” I saw two shadowed figures pushing each other and went to say something until I heard one of the voices. “Dude, this place is way better than I thought.” The hairs on my neck stood up as I reached for a weapon. Thankfully Dean was a bit paranoid and had them scattered everywhere. I gripped a bat and quietly made my way behind them. With two swings, the bigger one went down without a fight and the smaller one was too slow to do anything. I shook my head at the two knocked out men on the floor, “That was too easy.” Knowing my brothers would be back soon, I got to work.

I saw my brothers before I heard them, and the look of confusion was what I was greeted with. “Y/N, what the hell is that music?” Dean had his hands over his ears looking at me like I killed his cat over my choice of music. I opened my mouth to explain when Sam cut in, “That smell. Did you try and cook again?” This time I did roll my eyes at them. “If you would let me explain you would understand that this was life or death decisions.” I had them follow me to the kitchen hearing nothing but complaints from them. “We give her one full day alone and she loses her mind.” “Dean, there is probably a good reason for this. Hopefully.” I stopped in front of the two intruders and admired my work. “Who in the hell is this?” I glanced over to Dean, “They tried to break in a few hours ago. Figured you would want a go at them.” He was slowly losing his patience, but I knew he couldn’t get mad at me. Technically I never left the bunker. Sam asked me to explain from the beginning. “Well, I heard a noise and caught these two trying to steal from us. After a swift hit to the head, I decided I needed to keep them on edge until you both got here. So, I threw on some opera music, which took forever to find by the way. Threw some canned tuna on them and sprayed them with cold water every now and then.” My smile faded some when I saw the blank looks on my brother’s faces. Dean looked like he was still trying to process everything in front of him and Sam ran a hand through his hair. “What were you planning to accomplish from this?” I looked down at the two guys who were watching with wide eyes, “Well, I know how to torture supernatural creatures. Humans are a mystery.” It was silent for a second and then the two of them started busting out laughing. I watched them wipe tears from their eyes and shook my head. “I thought I did okay.” Dean threw an arm around me still laughing. “Y/N this is the best thing I think I have ever seen. Thank you for this.” I shoved his arm off. “You two assholes can deal with them. I’m going back to bed.” I started heading back to my room when Dean yell out, “Hope you don’t have any nightmares of tuna doing the waltz.” I threw up my middle finger and walked away with the two of them laughing again

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[leviiattacks]

CASHIER LEVI AND LIKE THE READER IS THE CUSTOMER AND IT’S LIKE THEY HAVE A CRUSH ON EACHTOHER

author note :: honestly not my best at all..... like at all..... this was actually pretty good but the entire draft got deleted and i just lost all my effort but i felt bad for starting it and not completing it for anon so you may take whatever i have managed to salvage. i hope u enjoy it :’( i am extremely sick rn and yeah writing is the only break i am currently getting from anything :-) SO AGAIN I’ M SORRY ANON..... i may write a 10k + word fic on this though so i can redeem myself bc this is just disappointing 😭

word count :: 3.3k

every single thursday you stop by ackermart. maybe it’s because the day is convenient for you or perhaps it’s because of a certain cashier that works the evenings...

HAHA it’s got nothing to do with a cashier why would it have anything to do with a cashier? :-)

today is like any other. you walk through the fresh produce aisle then proceed to make your way towards the bakery section picking up a loaf of bread

it’s stupid, you know it is but... you think you’ve worked up enough courage to speak to him today!!

and who is him you may ask?

levi at till number four. his tired eyes always happen to pierce into yours and his calloused thumbs brush past your skin when you hand him your rewards card

levi is what his bright red name tag says and although he doesn’t look like a levi you’d like to think your crush isn’t stealing someone’s identity so you believe that it’s his real name

anxiously fiddling with your basket you’re beginning to think this was a horrible idea

the girl ahead of you is flirting up a storm with him and although he’s not reciprocating it by any means you still feel deterred

levi bags the last of her groceries and looks up at her when she asks for a way to contact him. he doesn’t look mad... just bored?

“ma’am. this is an ackermart i don’t think it’s appropriate you ask me for my number. the customer service line is listed on our website.”

the woman raises a brow looking completely flabbergasted. okay, if everything before this wasn’t a warning THIS sure was

she stomps off when she realises levi isn’t kidding and you think you’d feel bad for her maybe if she was more respectful about it

“next customer.” levi calls over his shoulder and you shuffle forward pretending to be engrossed in your phone

“cash or card?” he asks plainly.

you hear the BEEP of your groceries being scanned and think on it for a while before replying with “cash”

you’re clearly pretty good at your pretend to be totally into your phone act because levi tries to get your attention but you don’t hear what he has to say till the third time he repeats himself

but even then you’re still unsure what it is he’s said????

looking down you see his hand is stuck out in front of you and now you’re even more confused

faltering for a second you look at his palm and then speak

“um, i guess your hand is nice? it’s pretty big compared to the rest of you actually.”

“i was asking for your cash?” he says and now you look at his palms in mortification

gasping you yANK your hand into your purse as you laugh awkwardly fishing around to find your money

“oh, OH i knew that. just kidding!! i mean- i meant that thing about your hand?? but i thought it was- i funny? yes the joke funny? i’m-”

he leans back into his spinning chair and sighs contently. “you’re not making much sense peaches.”

“pe- peaches??” you repeat. no way you’ve heard that correct

levi lazily points at the abundance of the aforementioned fruit in your grocery bags

“you must love em.”

“i, well yeah i do like peaches but i also like...” um??? what food would make you look sophisticated and professional?

OH YEAH

“FRENCH CUISINE :-)!!!!” you say rather proudly

“...cool. i guess.” levi hands you your grocery bag which is basically an invitation asking for you to get out

he doesn’t seem mad but he’s definitely going to look back at this encounter and laugh his ass off at how stupid you are

hanging your head down low in embarrassment you make your way out towards your car

there’s always next time!! maybe you can practice in the mirror yeah that does sound like it would help!!!

okay so.

it is officially next time.

actually you never got the opportunity to practice in front of the mirror because you chickened out of looking like an idiot even if it was in the privacy of your own home

but!!! you did try to practice some cool pick up lines because who doesn’t like a good pickup line or two??

the two mini milk cartons in your hand and the pack of doughnuts you have tucked under your arm aren’t too heavy so you aren’t too worried about having to wait in the line

for some reason the guy in front of you keeps turning around and glancing at you as if you don’t even exist

you are not casper the ghost

also casper is a little boy and you definitely aren’t a little boy

finally after a good five minutes the man ahead of you is having his stuff scanned but he’s STILL doing it. even levi notices and gives him an odd look which borders annoyance and anger.

“can i pay for your groceries? maybe walk you to your car?” the stranger asks suddenly

so that’s what this is, he’s simply taken an interest in you

my god this is new but it is uncomfortable and you’d rather say no

“oh, i actually walked here and no thanks i can pay for my own. enjoy the rest of your day!!” you hope your white lie is enough to fool the man but instead of agreeing as any other person would he looks majorly deceived

“i saw you in the parking lot.” ok this is getting a bit too uncomfortable for your liking

“c’mon i’m offering to buy your shit too?”

his voice is raising and you’re not sure what exactly you can do but thankfully for you the manager steps in and takes him away before any more threats can be made

the man had taken up so much of your attention you almost forgot levi was even there until you turned back around

“do you want a member of staff to accompany you to your car? it’s getting dark out.” levi’s comment helps ease your nerves and you try to laugh off what just happened

“i’m good :-)” you say shaking a little. you’re unsure if it’s the cold or the fact you still haven’t completely calmed down

“you sure peaches?”

“i haven’t bought any peaches this time.”

“you’re still peaches to me.” your cheeks flush at his confidence

wait, maybe this is your chance. you’re the last person in his line and they’re closing up for the day so...

“could you walk me to my car?”

and to your surprise even before you can take back what you’ve said levi agrees

it stays like that for a while.

every thursday levi walks you to your car by the end of his shift, all the while the two of you exchange a few words together

like last week you asked him what his favourite colour was (he said purple) you’ve learnt about his hobbies (he’s a decent cook), you’ve even found out about some of his own personal problems. he had mentioned suffering with insomnia in passing.

to be honest each and every time he walks you to your car he has to notice that you begin to park further and further away from the front entrance. but if he does notice he doesn’t say a word about it

“is that all you’re checking out?” you ask with a cheeky grin plastered across your face

looking down at your new dress your lopsided grin is far from fading away any time soon. you especially picked this one out after asking levi what his favourite colour was last week

god. this is so embarrassing but never actually have you had a crush this huge

levi who’s sat behind the counter shoots you a look which almost seems to be on the verge of uninterested. he isn’t entertaining this at all or this is just his typical bored face, you can’t really tell

BUT..... you still have a huge crush on him and you aren’t one to give up this easily

for the record you don’t harass him or anything, just the occasional hint is thrown around but he’s either really dense or doesn’t care

his expression does you no favours, you can’t tell what he’s thinking half the time

“you’re always buying energy drinks... might want to cut down on those they’re no good for you.”

warmth blooms in your chest. he’s just saying it to make small talk but the fact he even thinks to bring that up has your heart fluttering

“i- well- yeah i will!! just have a few overdue essays to get over with :-)” twiddling your thumbs together you think that makes your nerves too obvious so you begin to scratch at the back of your neck

if anything is a dead give away it’s your constant neck scratching, thankfully levi hasn’t picked up on it

“so you wore purple today?” his eyes linger on the thin straps of your dress and you feel the goosebumps rise up onto your skin immediately

“oh yeahhhh-”

“did i tell you yellow was my favourite colour last week?” he asks holding up a neon yellow pack of crisps and for the first time you see him smile

he looks so ?!|>\€|^ pretty ?!/)/&

wait?? yellow??

“didn’t you say purple?”

���no?” he crosses his arms playfully over his chest thinking for a bit

“maybe i did but no it’s really yellow.” he says as he hands you your bag

nodding your head you smile “yeahhhh sure it is.”

damn, now you’re going to have to find a yellow dress just to make him revert back to purple because who even likes yellow?? that’s a deal breaker right there??

update

it’s been two weeks!!

and a yellow dress has been found and secured B-)

it’s been a pretty rough day at work and you need to desperately collect a pack of green tea and get going

you don’t know when exactly being a secretary meant you had to babysit your boss’ children but that’s what the last week has entailed

being made to work overtime to this extent has had an effect on you and you’re ready to head home as soon as you swing by ackermart

not seeing levi for a week made you a little :-( because to be honest he’s the highlight of your thursday evening BUT!! you’ll be able to see him today at least

walking in through the entrance you’re met with connie smiling right at you, he holds the door open for you and smile back greeting him

“so you didn’t come last week...?”

it’s weird for him to ask that, after all you don’t really speak to anyone here apart from levi, you’re surprised you’re enough of a regular to be known by name

“oh i didn’t think anyone would notice? but yeah i had to work overtime you know what boss’ are like.” groaning you crouch down and look at the pot noodles on display

“i didn’t notice it. boss man did.”

“boss man?” you ask feeling out of loop

“levi.” connie answers as he hops into the backroom

????

isn’t he just a cashier??

“you still look confused.” connie remarks as he heads back out with a cardboard box full of pringle’s tubes

“levi’s the boss man, this is his store. he literally only ever mans the cash register on thursday evening because of you.”

at that you start laughing because it makes no sense at all to you

there’s no way connie is being serious

“good one.” you say as you stand up with a chicken flavored noodle in your hand

“i’m not kidding?”

turning around you give him a skeptical look

he sighs and shakes his head.

“listen. me and the part timers are tired of making bets on when he’ll give you his number and i bet that it would happen today so if you could confess to each other that would be perfect!!!”

“who said i like-”

“anyone with a brain can tell you both like each other.” he’s rolled his eyes so far into the back of his head you begin to take him a little more seriously now

“i... did i make it that obvious??” you’re directly facing him trying to get out as much information as you can

“yeah. very. at least levi wasn’t as bold.”

“i think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick he definitely doesn’t like me.”

connie gives you an “are you fucking with me?” look and you look away trying to distract yourself with the the canned goods lining the shelves

“he was worried sick when you didn’t come in for the entire week. he even asked me if he scared you away.”

“maybe i’m just his favourite customer?”

“favourite customer my ass he has a crush on YOU. confess.”

playing around with the ends of your sleeves connie sees he’s fighting a losing battle unless he gives you definitive solid proof

“please... i’ll get free barbecue if i win the bet and i’m kinda broke rn :-(” okay, you do want connie to eat well and be treated and maybe this is a good thing. if levi doesn’t like you then you can move on!!

“i’ll think about it.”

before connie can continue talking you make a beeline towards the tea aisle whilst throwing a “see you next time!” over your shoulder.

by the time you’ve gathered all of your groceries your basket is full to the brim. you’ve been lingering as much as you can out of fear but you think you’ve collected just enough courage to ask for his number

looking at the cash register levi is sat there and your shoulders slump. he’s probably going to say no and you’re going to look like a huge loser.

right as you’re about to take a step towards him levi finally spots you and gives you one look before standing up from his seat

“hi!” you wave at him

“...hey!” he smiles wide but he bites it back pretending it was never there in the first place

placing your basket in front of him he eyes what you’ve got

“hm... lots of peaches as per usual peaches.” the nickname that rolls of his tongue makes you tremble a little. will he call you that after you fuck everything up with this stupid confession?

his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek when he gets to the heart shaped box of chocolates

“a gift for a friend? didn’t know you had those?” he teases as he scans the barcode

“gift for a crush!” you reply back enthusiastically as you dig through your wallet looking for your card

levi doesn’t respond for a few seconds and an awkward silence fills the air. you glance up to see him looking at you open mouthed in shock

“good luck.” he murmurs under his breath he’s not even returning your gaze at this point and is hurriedly scanning through your barcodes

“you okay?” you ask worrying about his mood

“yeah, yeah. great.” he’s quieter than usual.

the rest of your encounter is the same, levi silently bags your groceries and you can’t tell if this is a good or bad response.

just as he’s about to place the heart shaped box into your plastic bag you lunge forward holding his wrist to stop him

“no i don’t need those.”

he cocks his eyebrow upwards trying to analyse your expression and gain an understanding of your thoughts

“don’t tell me you’re chickening out. whoever it is will say yes.” he scoffs as he places the chocolates into the bag handing them over to you with a warm smile

there it is again. the fear returns and you swipe your tongue over your slightly dry lips.

no way.

is he telling you to confess to someone now? so he must not like you?

taking the bag away from him you scratch your neck out of habit and huff feeling frustrated

“he keeps giving me mixed signals.” you say hoping he catches your drift

“give him the chocolates and let him put two and two together. don’t even say anything.” his advice would be great if he weren’t the guy you were trying to confess to in real time

nodding you reach into the bag and bring the box back out before gently placing it in front of levi

“are you serious?” he asks and your face drops seeing the possible displeasure in his eyes

great, connie and the part timers just over analysed he doesn’t like you, obviously he doesn’t like you, why would he like you?

without looking back you hurry out, the embarrassment is eating you away now and the thought of ever returning to ackermart isn’t even feasible in your mind

at this point you may as well change your name, identity, dye your hair, have a few children and wear sunglasses the next time you come back so you look like a soccer mum and not the foolish y/n who thought they had a chance with their cute CASHIER???

god, you probably look like a creep

the sound of footsteps can be heard behind you and labored breaths follow before levi calls out for you

“please wait up.” he grumbles. slowing down your pace you let him catch up to you. he grabs at your wrist and sighs in relief

turning you see him savour the air

is this the part where he confesses he likes you too or—

“your receipt you forgot it.” he gasps as he opens your hand for you and places it into your palm

oh.

fingers clasping shut onto the paper you feel the humiliation seep into your pores

this.

is.

the.

worst.

moment.

of.

your.

life.

“open it.” he offer you a boyish smile and your nerves don’t let you find comfort in it

you grimace as you fold it open, you’re imagining he’s charged you an extra £100 for having unwanted feelings for him and if that’s the case you’ll die on the spot

but instead your eyes light up in joy. you’re pleasantly surprised

...

inside of the receipt is his phone number haphazardly sprawled across in black biro - you even double check by comparing it to the number for the customer service helpline

hello??

HELLO.?.!/)£ HIS NUMBER???

“if you just wanted to return the chocolate this is embarrassing.” he’s the one who’s now scratching at his neck and you find that he’s endearing this way

the streetlight from above illuminates him, the shadows cast over his face and his brows aren’t furrowed as they usually are

you open your mouth to reply but connie cuts you off unintentionally. he can be heard YELLING into his phone ecstatic that his plan has worked out

“I WIN!!! HA BBQ’S ON YOU JEAN!! MUST SUCK TO BE YOU.”

you and levi look at each other and laugh, reassuring the other of what has just happened.

well...

you guess this is the start of something new? maybe??

:-)

[feral-ella-flynn]

Paying the Toll, pt 2: M Troll x F Human, SFW (for now)

Part 1

Male Troll + Female Human

still SFW (so far)

2.5K/6.5K word draft

tagging @feralprose @monster-bait @apocalypticromantic666 @pre-schoolervengance @bresilienne-ami @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @dont-call-me-a-faerie @kirmalight (comment to be tagged in updates!)

I bet no one expected this to be updated! Including me! This installment is definitely not as long as I intended, because I got really hung up on details--that’s why I’m posting anyway, to get some momentum so that hopefully the third part will be both longer and not so tardy. 

Escaping a goblin raid on your village leads you to a bridge, but you have nothing to offer the troll who guards it for a toll...except yourself

You wake in darkness.  At first you aren't sure you're awake at all--it's only by touching your own eyelids that you can feel sure they're open. It seems to make no difference between the thick, pressing dark around you either way.

“Mattie?” you whisper, your voice thin and hoarse. 

There’s no answer, and understanding comes crashing down on you, like floodwater overwhelming a dam. You are not in your cramped room under the eaves of the big house, Mathilde is not sleeping on the narrow bed an armspan away–if she’s lucky, perhaps she was able to hide in the cellars or the attics, somewhere that was safe enough until the goblin raiders felt they had run out of things to raze and ravish and moved on. Or perhaps help would come, from the regiment billeted outside the market town, or from rangers who might have been near enought to see the smoke. If Mattie was unlucky….

A sob catches in your dry throat, then turns to choking dry heaves that leave you shuddering. Bile burns on your tongue. You huddle into the nest of furs, remembering now where you are and how you came to be here, naked and alone in the pitch black.

Not alone. There is the hush of leather brushing against stone, a faint musky scent. 

“Brúsi?”

“Aye.” The troll’s gravel-rough voice is low and close–you almost reach out, ready to blunder once again into his arms rather than be alone with your fears.

The scrape of flint is loud enough in the silence to make you jump. Sparks illuminate the troll, kneeling at your side, and as he coaxes the tinder to unfurl into flame you hastily wrap a fur around your bare flesh. Whatever mood made you so bold before has been banished by your nightmares.

“Is it morning?”

The troll shrugs. “Near enough.”

“Shall I–shall I make breakfast for you?” Your fingers knead anxiously in the soft nap of the pelt that you clutch closed over your chest. “What do you like for breakfast?”

The troll–Brúsi–glances at you, his head tilted in the way that is already familiar. You think it means he’s just as bewildered by your contract, and by you, as you are yourself.

“Dried goat,” he says. “Morning meal, evening meal. Unless there is a new goat.”

“Oh. Where do the goats come from?”

He shrugs. “The bridge provides.”

Well. You take a deep breath, pushing the fear and panic of the last day, of the dark dreams, down into a tight ball at the bottom of your stomach, where you can ignore it for a little while. “Does the bridge ever provide eggs?”

And so you begin your month as housekeeper to a troll. 

Your clothes are badly stained, and chilly from being spread out on the stone floor, but they're dry and you dress in them anyway, trying to ignore the scrutiny of Brúsi’s dark blue eyes as he watches you. He seems fascinated by the layers as you lace your stays over your shift, tie the strings of your petticoat, and your cheeks burn with a blush as you finally button your gown. You do your best with the tangles in your hair--letting it hide your face until your heart stops thumping in your ears before you twist it into a hasty braid. 

There are no eggs. But you take a lantern the troll indicates and follow him into another cave that serves as a store room.

“There is goat,” he says, pointing at the considerable supply of dried meat, “and other goods, if tha wish them.” His gesture at the heaps of bags, crates, jars, casks, boxes–all jumbled together and shoved to one side–is dismissive, as if there is nothing of value to be found. You stare wide-eyed at a bolt of fine silk, at the glint of gold from a carelessly overturned casket with a broken lid.

“What is all this?”

“Payment for the toll, for when there were no goats.”

“You don’t do anything with the things paid for the toll? They just sit and rot?”

He shrugs. “I butcher the goats.”

You can only shake your head, but the practicality can’t be denied–gold and silk isn’t much use in a cave, and it’s with less wonder but more delight that you find flour, oil, and salt.

Breakfast is fried bread--and goat meat.

Once the meal is prepared and cleaned away, the troll vanishes up the dark tunnel. He takes no lantern with him. He also doesn't say a word to you before he leaves, and you stand in the cave for a while, expecting him to come back with instructions, or–well, something. But he doesn’t, and  you can only twist your hands in the skirt of your gown for so long. Eventually you pick up the lantern and explore. 

There is little enough to see. Other than what you noticed when you arrived, there is an alcove that must be where the troll sleeps, on piled furs that smell musky but not unpleasant. There is the storage cave, although it seems larger than it did at first, because you realize that you can’t see the far wall before the circle of light gives way to darkness.

And then there is the tunnel entrance, where your new employer disappeared, and which presumably leads out, to--your stomach lurches at the memory of being upside down from the sky–the underside of the bridge. But perhaps that had been an illusion, and the tunnel merely led out to an opening in the bank underneath the bridge? You had been half out of your mind with fear, after all. Maybe you dreamed that part.

Maybe…maybe you could simply walk out of this tunnel, out of the dark, and walk all the way home.

Except that you agreed to a contract. And the troll did say he wouldn’t eat you, wouldn’t even touch you, which was more than any of the men at the big house ever promised...none of them had touched you, but you knew that was because you had been careful, so careful, all the time, to be invisible. 

It had helped that Mattie made it easy to fade into the background. She flaunted her pretty curls and winsome dimples, and when she sometimes crept into your shared attic room well after midnight she always had a new length of fine fabric for a dress or a necklace of amber beads to show for it. You asked once if she wasn’t afraid of falling pregnant, but she just shrugged.

“I know to be careful,” she said, and hid the coins she’d gotten for selling her latest bauble away beneath her bed.

Thinking of Mattie makes your eyes sting with tears, and reminds you that probably there was no home to walk back to–and if you tried, there would likely be nothing to be done there except burying the dead. You leave the tunnel entrance alone, and busy yourself with organizing the heaped goods in the storage cave.

When Brúsi returns, he brings you eggs, freshly laid and nested in a straw packed basket. 

“They had no goat." He shrugs. 

Other than struggling to invent new ways of preparing goat meat, most of your time is spent sorting. You find all manner of things in the storage cave, from precious jewels to plain linen fabric. The gems and gold you store in caskets, and then can’t shift on your own–Brúsi laughs at you, and picks them up with one hand, arranging them neatly along one wall as you direct him. You stack bolts of fabric, folding shorter lengths neatly into a another chest, you line up swords with gold wrapped hilts, swords with elaborately carved scabbards, swords that are short, swords that are nearly as long as you are tall, and then there are maces and axes and other things you can’t name. There’s even a pair of pistols in a tooled leather box, their handles gleaming mother of pearl. It’s more treasure than you ever imagined, and you feel that you’re in a dragon’s den instead of a troll’s cave--except that Brúsi shows little interest in the goods, except for the goat meat.

“If you don't have a use for these things, why accept them?” you asked, after the third day of sorting boxes and bundles and barrels, and still not finding the back wall of the cave. You’d found a crown, heavy and lumpy, like something out of an ancient grave, and under it a belt of bronze scales that linked together.

The troll just shrugged. “They are the toll, for the bridge. There must be a toll.”

“Then…" you bite your lip, but blurt "can I use some things?”

“If tha hast a use for them, then mayhap the bridge meant them for tha to use.”

“You make it sound like the bridge is alive,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bolts of fabric, already imagining yourself in a dress made of such soft material.

“The bridge is the bridge,” Brúsi says.

“What does that mean?”

He just shrugs.

You sigh, picking up a bolt of wool–practical, and still finer than anything you’ve ever worn. “If the bridge provides, can I give it a list? I need thread, needles, scissors, buttons…I can’t keep wearing this dress,” you gesture down at yourself. “Not without something else to wear while I wash it, at least, but I can’t make anything without supplies. And for that matter I need soap–”

Brúsi tilts his head. “Tha may always ask the bridge, but it works slowly. Simpler for tha to go to a market.”

You stare at him, your mouth falling open. “I can? I mean, is that allowed? I thought…”

He stares at you, the intense blue of his eyes unblinking, and you finally shrug. “I just thought I couldn’t leave the cave.”

“Not for long, but art not bound to the bridge as I am. Come.” He scoops a handful of coins into a pouch and leads you into the tunnel.

The ground slopes upward under your feet, and after a time there is a door before you, swinging outward. Brúsi ducks under its arch, his broad form filling the opening. When he doesn't move to let you through, you realize that he's blocking the way deliberately. Unease spikes through you.

"Is something wrong?"

"The bridge made tha sick before," he says. “Tha shouldst close thine eyes.” You squint suspiciously up at him–is he laughing at you?–but obey. You hear the rattle of his bone-decorated belt as he steps toward you, but then he stops. “I must touch tha,” he says. “Just to lift tha over the topside.”

“All right,” you whisper. You stifle a gasp as his enormous hands circle your waist, lifting you easily off of your feet, and then after a blur of motion you feel stone under you again.

When you open your eyes, you’re on the narrow stone arch of the bridge.  Your lantern flame becomes suddenly pale compared to the warm sunlight that makes you blink and squint. There is no dark and shadowed forest hemming in the river. Instead there is a road, smooth hard dirt fringed with wildflowers on either side, and the rooftops of a village in the distance.

“Where…” You look down at the bridge under your bare feet. 

“The bridge is all bridges,” Brúsi says. He holds out the leather bag of coins, and you take it, staggering a bit at the weight. “Buy whatever tha need.”

You hesitate, glancing from the troll to the road. What is there to stop you from walking away and never returning, from making a life somewhere? The bag in your hand holds more money than you had ever expected to earn in your life. There would be nothing to hold you to the bridge…except your promise.

“Tha canst not escape the bridge.” Brúsi seems to be reading your thoughts, although he’s not even looking at you. He’s gazing down at the water. “Every bridge tha sets foot on will be this bridge, until the toll is paid.”

“Of course.” The bag of coins drags at your arms, and you fumble it open, taking out a handful. “I should be able to get everything I need with these–it would be dangerous to carry all the rest of this.”

The troll frowns, glancing from you to the distant rooftops. “Danger from other humans?”

“Only if I seem to have more money than I should,” you assure him hastily. “It would get attention from the wrong kind of humans. I'll be careful.”

 The coins bite into your palm as your fingers clench unconsciously. The frown creases his forehead, not smoothed away by your reassurances, and you half expect him to shake his head and pick you up under his arm again, ready to toss you back under the bridge. 

“Please?”

 You bite your lip too late to keep the word in, but there are lazy curls of smoke rising from the distant chimneys, and you can hear the lowing of cattle nearby, the friendly chime of chapel bells...and all you can think about is cheese. Cheese, and fruit to pair it with, or potatos, perhaps. Honeycakes. Your stomach rebels at the very thought of dried goat.

Brúsi jerks his chin toward the road. “Go, then. The bridge will be waiting for tha to return.”

You hand off the sack of coins–your shoulders more than grateful to be relieved of its weight–and the troll adds it to the other oddments that dangle from his belt among the bones. He folds his arms.

The handful of coins you kept are barely enough to make your pocket sag with their weight, but you can feel them as a reassuring lump under your skirts. You run anxious hands over your hair and stained gown, smoothing uselessly at wrinkles. 

“I wish I had been able to bathe properly,” you mutter. “I look like a ragamuffin.”

But your hands and face are clean, your hair neatly tied back, and dusk is not far off, so perhaps your bare feet will not be noticed. You step from the cool stone of the bridge to the warm hardpacked dirt of the road. 

"I'll be back s--" Your voice breaks off as you glance over your shoulder. The bridge behind you is a simple one of wooden logs, straddling a stream that a child could leap across. Gooseflesh prickles the back of your neck. You hurry down the road towards the village without looking back a second time.

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 23 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

hello my loves! Some of you may have already seen this, but I have news! This fic is officially complete. There are thirty chapters, so you still have seven left after today’s update. I’ll be keeping the usual Tuesday/Saturday posting schedule, so you have a month left of updates.

Now that I am done drafting this fic, my requests will be open while I begin to bank up new chapters of the Hotch x Reader Scandal!AU that I plan to write next. Please send in requests here. I would also LOVE if you could fill out this survey about the Scandal!AU so I can get a sense of what you all would like. I will make sure to write it in a way that makes sense, even if you haven’t seen Scandal! 

As always, thanks so much for reading, y’all are just the best. 

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: canon-typical descriptions of violence, cursing, hospital mention

wordcount: 2.3k 

A little while later, Hotch sends JJ and Emily to the school to interview the classmates of the students who had been murdered, and you and Morgan head off to the medical examiner’s office. 

“Find anything interesting in the calls from the tip line?” Morgan asks you as he pulls out of the parking lot, and you shrug. 

“I need to go back through my notes. There were a couple kids' names that came up, but I want to go back and cross check for the names that came up more than once-- i figure if the name only comes up once, it’s kids pranking each other and I don’t want to waste our time on dead ends. Garcia’s looking into a teacher for me, though.” 

“We just need a couple more puzzle pieces, and then it’ll all come together,” Derek says, more to himself than to you, and you murmur out your agreement as he pulls into the examiner’s office.

“Cause of death for Mrs. Mack and Mrs. Sutton was a gunshot wound to the neck. The daughters, to the abdomen,” the doctor says, passing over her report. “The men were all strangled. The boys by hand, the men with a garrote.”

“Any idea what order they were killed in?” You asked. 

“My guess is the women first, one right after the other. Then the sons, and the husbands.” 

“How did he stop the husbands from taking him down while he killed the sons?” Morgan asks skeptically. 

The medical examiner points out a bruise on Mr. Sutton’s skull. “Looks like he was knocked unconscious, maybe by the butt of the gun or something in the home.” She explains.

“Thank you,” you said to the medical examiner, who smiled and left you both to your work.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Morgan asks you.

“White man in his twenties or thirties, snubbed by a woman he desired for another man, taking out the families he’s convinced he’ll never have?” 

“Call Hotch,” he said, taking off at a brisk pace back towards the car and trusting you to follow. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and discovered that Garcia was already calling you. 

“Hi Garcia, can you patch Hotch in?” You asked. 

“Already here bug, and trust me, you’re gonna want to hear this.” She told you, and you put the phone on speaker so Morgan could listen in while he drove. 

“What did you find, Garcia?” Hotch asked. 

“So, I looked into Marc Vexper, and it turns out this long-term English sub has something to hide-- he didn’t make a single card purchase on either day that he was out, and his phone was completely off from the moment he stepped off the school’s campus to the time he returned.” 

“Morgan and I are just leaving the medical examiner’s office now-- Marc fits the profile to a tee.” You interject. 

“Oh but wait, the high school of horrors doesn’t end there,” Garcia warns you. “I took a peek at Marc’s texts looking for clues about his whereabouts, and I noticed some too-friendly chats with Victoria Sullivan, a student in his AP Literature class. Her phone was on both days, and I’ll give you one guess as to where she was both days-- and it wasn’t school.” 

“You’re kidding,” Morgan sighs out. 

“So did he groom Victoria into doing it herself, or was she an accomplice?” Hotch asked. 

“The men were strangled, Aaron. There’s no way she could have done that herself.” You tell him. 

“We need an address, Penelope.” Hotch demands. 

“Already on your phone. The station’s closest.” She tells you. 

“We’ll meet you there.” Hotch says, and the line clicks. 

In a routine you’ve performed too many times to count, Morgan flicks on the lights and sirens as you mount your phone with the GPS sending you in the right direction. It’s all the same as it usually is, so why are you so nervous? 

**********************

Hotch elects not to put on his lights and sirens as he approaches Mr. Vexper’s house, not wanting to alert him that anyone had found him out. There are two cars in the driveway-- a modest sedan with a few dings in it, and a shitbox of an old jeep with a parking permit for the local high school on the back bumper. 

“The girl is here-- she might be a hostage.” Hotch tells Spencer, who nods. “We need to be careful. There’s no need for any other kids to lose their lives,” he says, quietly opening up his car door and gesturing for Spencer to take a back entrance while he takes the front. He climbs the worn wooden steps and peeks into the window, seeing nothing before he takes one hand off of his gun to swing open the front door of the home, where he’s met face to face with the Victoria Sullivan, standing on the main stairway of the home, gun leveled square at the middle of his forehead. 

“Victoria, put the gun down,” Hotch says slowly, raising his own hands as a sign of good faith. “I’m here to help you. Where’s Marc?”

Before Victoria can answer, Hotch hears the woosh of metal in the air and feels an overwhelming crack in his legs, falling to the ground as he yelps in pain. 

“Run, Vicky! You know where to go!” Marc yells, and the girl disappears from Hotch’s blurring line of vision as March continues to beat on Hotch with a crowbar, stomping on his legs. 

Hotch vaguely hears Spencer's running footsteps, and Marc takes off, running in the same direction as Victoria. 

Spencer falls to the ground next to Hotch, attempting to gently tend to his injuries, but Hotch weakly waves him off. 

“Go, go, save the girl, he’ll kill her next. I’m okay. Go,” he coughs out, and after a moment’s hesitation, Spencer goes. 

Hotch groans as he gropes around in his pants pocket, pulling out his cell phone and calling Garcia. 

“I need help,” he says once the line clicks.

****************

If Aaron lived through this, you were going to kill him yourself. You knew you were being irrational, you knew it wasn’t his fault, and worst of all you know that he hadn’t even done something you could be mad at him for, like going in without backup. This was just the job. This just happened sometimes. And you were absolutely fucking livid that it was happening to him. Not to mention scared shitless. 

Morgan had pumped the gas as soon as Garcia called, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Your leg bounced anxiously in the passenger seat. 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Morgan attempted to placate you, but you wouldn’t have it. 

“You don’t know that,” you spat out. 

“He’s tough. He’s got a lot to stick around for. He’s gonna be okay,” He tells you, and this time you don’t argue.

When you finally pull up to the house, Aaron is on a stretcher being loaded onto an ambulance. You throw yourself out of the SUV before it’s even fully stopped, calling out for Aaron. 

“I’m okay,” he sputters out as you climb into the back of the ambulance. 

“No you aren’t, you asshole,” you scoffed at him, your voice a little watery. “Tell the paramedics what happened so they can help you,” you said, stroking at the hair at the top of his head as your chin quivered. 

“Don’t cry,” he says, reaching up for you and you see that his hands are bloody. 

“Shh, shhh. Don’t worry about me. Let them help you,” you calmed him down, trying not to let your tears interrupt the medics when his eyes roll into the back of his head and he loses consciousness.

 Aaron will live, and you suppose you won’t follow through on your threats to kill him. Once he’s in the hospital, they wheel him back to a restricted area, leaving you alone in a waiting room while the rest of the team finds the unsub. You call Jess, let her know what’s going on, but ask that she keep it from Jack until you’re back in the room with him and Hotch is able to talk to Jack himself. You didn’t want Jack to worry, and you knew that Aaron’s assurance that he was fine was the only comfort Jack would accept.

After a while-- it could have been thirty minutes or three hours, Emily appears in the waiting room..

“I was appointed to come check on you,” she says by way of greeting. “Have you seen him yet?”

“Not since they took him out of the ambulance. He looked… bad,” you struggle to find a word that explains the magnitude of it. 

“He’s gonna be fine. No gunshot wounds, just some nasty bruises. I’m sure it looked worse than it actually was.” She consoles you gently.

“I hope you’re right.”

At that moment, a doctor appears in the doorway. “For Agent Hotchner?” He asks, and you walk over to him. 

“I’m Aaron’s partner,” you explain, the word “girlfriend” feeling entirely too childish for the scenario. 

“Agent Hotchner is going to be just fine. His left leg is fractured slightly at the femur and the kneecap, but we’ve put him in a brace to stabilize the knee, and he should recover over the next eight to twelve weeks. He’ll need some physical therapy, and field work is out of the question until he is cleared, but he’ll make a full recovery.  He has a mild concussion and a few bruised ribs, but we’ve given him some meds for the pain and the concussion shouldn’t present any further complications.” 

No field work. Aaron was going to be pissed. “Thank you, doctor.” You said gratefully. 

“He’s been asking for you, if you’d like to follow me,” The doctor responds, and you allow him to lead you down a maze of hallways, leaving you just outside Aaron’s room, where his eyes are shut and his chest rises and falls slowly. Figures, you were sure he’d been up all night running through profiles in his head.

You sat on his right side, away from his injured leg, and rested your head against his mattress, near his hip bone. He looked so fragile like this, wrapped up in a thin blanket and a johnny, bandaged from his collar bone to his toes. You wondered, briefly, if he felt this helpless and frustrated the night that he picked you up from your old apartment. The tears well up against your will, but you allow them to fall, for a few moments. You had earned the right to care for him, to worry about him, to fret. You had earned the right to sit vigil at his hospital bed and try to force images of a lifetime lived without him to stop passing through your head. 

Aaron stirred, and you sucked in a quick breath, not wanting to wake him. He settled, again, and you rested your head back against the mattress, letting the gentle rhythm of his breath lull you to sleep. 

He twitches a little while later, and the sudden movement jolts you awake. His return to the waking world is slower, and you let him come at it at his own pace, not wanting to overwhelm him when he was probably already going to be in pain and disoriented. You hear him mumble out your name and you stand, placing one hand on his cheek and the other in his uninjured palm. 

“I’m right here, baby,” you whispered to him. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, trying to look you up and down without moving his neck. 

“Am I--” you chided gently. “Honey, I’m fine. Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” 

“My leg,” he tells you, trying to sit up, but you push back on his shoulders. 

“Absolutely not,” you tell him. “You broke your leg. You are staying in this bed until a doctor tells you otherwise.” 

“Fuck,” Aaron muttered out. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. “Is Spencer okay? And the girl, Victoria Sullivan?” 

“The team took them both alive. Spencer is fine, just a little breathless from his run.” You tell him. 

“When is it gonna heal?” He switches topics back to his injury. 

“You mean, when are you going to be allowed into the field again?” You asked skeptically, and he at least has the good grace to look sheepish. “Not for at least six weeks, more than likely closer to ten, plus physical therapy.” 

“God damnit,” Aaron sighs. 

“It could have been a lot worse, Aaron,” you point out softly, and he looks up at you. 

“You’ve been crying.” He says softly. 

“No, I haven’t.” 

“Don’t lie to a profiler,” He chides you gently.

“Well, I’m the woman who loves you and I’ve earned the right to cry when you’re hurt.” You said defensively, but not unkindly.

“Hey, I’m okay. Really, I swear. Come up here,” he urges you, and you roll your watery eyes. 

“I’ll hurt you,” you tell him. 

“You’ll hurt me worse if you don’t come cuddle,” he pouts. 

“Corny bastard,” you chuckle, tenderly sliding into bed next to him. 

Unable to shift and cuddle, Aaron settles for reaching out for your hand, which you allow him to take in his own. He strokes his thumb over the back of your palm tenderly. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he whispers, and you might start crying again right there.

“Don’t do it again. I was ready to kill you myself,” you warned him. 

“Noted.” 

“We should call Jack. I didn’t tell him what was going on, I didn’t want to scare him. Jess knows.” 

“I just… want to hold your hand for a couple more minutes.” 

“Okay, love. A few more minutes.”

tagging:  @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads

[popopretty]

Storm Bringer Spoilers (6)

One of my favorite scenes where Port Mafia went all out on Verlaine in CODE;4. I like this part because it introduced a lot of Port Mafia’s skill users that have never appeared in both the manga and the other novels. It was so fun to read. 

Dazai made some interesting statements and theories here too. I like the dialogue at the end, where he kinda slipped and let out some of his real emotions. 

PS: I can’t believe I actually typed out 5000 words! I was drafting this on my phone so I didn’t notice the actual amount of words. I know it’s not gonna be perfect and I am gonna make mistakes and I will want to punch myself so much but gosh, I am so proud of myself now!

...

The train driver put one hand on the handle, his eyes staring at the darkness in front of him.

Twenty-seven years of service. He is a veteran. He has held this handle through rains and winds, through the Great War where the bombs poured down like rain, messing up the landform.

Even for him, today’s job is unusual.

The train company he works for was bought out overnight. Together with the trains and the service schedules. Then he was ordered to operate a temporary ride. Yet there is only one passenger on this train. Even when he protested to his boss, what he got was only “stop questioning and just drive.” And then one more thing, “If you run away, it will be even worse.”

The driver took another look at the scenery in front of him. The trees have sunk into the darkness. All he could see were the silver railroad tracks and the yellow headlight. Those are the only guidelines to tell where the train is heading.

What his boss said might actually be true. Putting other cities aside, this is the unorthodox Yokohama. Anything can happen. Even if there is only one passenger, he has no intention to talk to them. If he does so, he might end up having to catch his cut off head with his chest.  _

At that moment, from the eternal darkness of the night that looks no different from the bottom of the ocean, he felt something moving.

His well-trained eyes managed to capture it from the distance. Is that an animal? No. Is it just the trees rustling? No.

That’s a person.

A person is standing on the track.

He pulled the break even before his brain went ”Oh no”.

The compressed air was released, and the train’s speed reducer made a violent metallic noise. But it was too late. The train bumped straight into that human figure.

However, that figure took the train’s hit. A tremendous force was applied on the train. The first car jumped forward. It was like they were being pulled, the rear cars also jumped off, derailed, rolling over into the woods. Like a rampaging huge iron snake, the train hollowed out a big area around it, knocked down a bunch of trees, before finally stopping.

The person who witnessed the whole event, Verlaine, smiled with satisfaction. He took the train head-on but suffered no scratches. He started walking. Towards the car with Mori Ougai. Jumping over the cars half-buried underground, getting through the cars whose electric system were starting to catch fire, he reached his target.

Mori Ougai was lying face-down. The train was fully flipped sideway, the walls become the floors and the ceilings became the walls. He was facing away from Verlaine, not moving an inch. From beneath his body, a pool of blood is slowly spreading.

He did investigate the target’s skill in advanced. It’s not the kind of secret that a formal spy like him cannot find out. Mori Ougai does not possess a skill that can withstand such an impact.

“Too easy.”

Verlaine muttered and approached his target. He is not as stupid to walk away without confirming if his target is really dead or not. He is going to check and if by some rare chances the target is still alive, he will finish them off for real.

Verlaine flipped Mori Ougai’s body over. Then his eyes opened wide.

That was not Mori Ougai.

That was a man he had never seen. He was wearing a wig and clothes to disguise as Mori Ougai. But Verlaine’s assassination preparation was thorough. He had set up a hidden surveillance device in the last station. And the images taken from there were definitely Mori Ougai’s.

When he grabbed the man trying to confirm his identity, suddenly a hand was put on his chest.

“Too easy.”

A powerful repulsive force coming from a skill blew Verlaine away. He flew through the glass windows and landed on the humus soil outside. He rolled further while scattering the soil, and hit his back against a tree before finally stopping.

”... Not bad.”

Verlaine push his hand on the tree to stand up.

He brushed off the dirt from his clothes and started thinking. The face he saw at that moment moment, the repulsive force coming from his palm. That was probably one of Port Mafia’s constituent members, the one who with the repulsion skill, Hirotsu Ryurou.

A double!

They knew about the hidden device and let Mori Ougai’s image captured on purpose, then quickly switched the double in. In other words, Verlaine’s assassination plan was seen through. Ever since he came to this country, he only knew one person who has the ability to outsmart him with such finesse. 

“Hello, Verlaine-san.” A small was sitting on the edge of a car, on top of the overturned train.

“Dazai-kun”, Verlaine said as he picked up the hat that had fallen to his feet. “I have heard the saying that age doesn’t matter when it comes to talent, but you are really frightening.”

“You are just bad.” Dazai said with a dry voice as though he was lecturing Verlaine. “This time you acted on your personal feelings too much. When you are like that, I can read all your moves. Why are you so obsessed with Chuuya?”

“Is it that strange for someone to be concerned about his brother?”, Verlaine said as he dusted the mud off his clothes.

“It is, a lot.” Dazai affirmed. “First of all, what made you believe so firmly that Chuuya was your brother?”

“What?” Verlaine narrowed his eyes.

“You saw that too, right? Chuuya’s original experimental body. Turned into bones and died.” Dazai spoke while swinging his legs that were dangling out of the train top. “That looks almost the same as Chuuya in terms of appearance. In terms of abilities, too. And a lot of other things in common. What if that thing was actually a skill-containing artificial life form, and the Chuuya who is living outside, whose only redeeming trait is being energetic, was the original one? Can someone like you who is not an expert, someone who has only browsed through limited materials from the past, see through that?”

“That is impossible.” Verlaine shook his head. “I’m not as stupid as to mistake the target in my infiltration mission. What I stole away from the lab nine years ago was undoubtedly the same as me, an artificial life-form.”

“If I look it up I will understand right away.” Dazai said casually. “Fortunately this time, the guys from the labs has demonstrated the method to rewrite the code formula inside Chuuya. If I capture some of those researchers using Mafia’s power, they will be more than happy to tell me how to read those codes. And then I will know which one Chuuya is actually. We have all the time in the world.”

“You seem pretty confident that Chuuya is human, don’t you?”

“I am”, Dazai laughed with a sigh. “There is no way a man-made string of code could create such a personality that I detest that much.”

Verlaine signed then started walking towards Dazai. His footsteps were heavy, as if he had to clean up a lot of tedious work.

“I can gently whole-heartedly explain to you the reason that was a misunderstanding... but now I have another job for you.“ he said, walking up the gentle slope that he fell from. “That is to spit out where Mori himself, not his double, is. It’s a painstaking job. Literally”

“So you have no intention to back off?”

“Of course not.”

Dazai didn’t look at anything, he gazed aimlessly into the air, “Is that so?”. Then he spoke with a disappointed face, “Then it is your loss.” A sniper bullet went straight for Verlaine’s head. Verlaine bent his upper body, and felt down the slope of humus. He rolled three times then looked up, looking at Dazai with stern eyes.

“Sniper?”

Before he could finish his sentence, yet another bullet struck Verlaine’s forehead. He almost fell to his side, pushing his hands against the ground to support.

“Your ability only works on things that you can touch.” Dazai said, swinging his legs as he looked down on his opponent. “That’s why the bullets that hit you will hit you. They just stop immediately. However, if we aim a larger sniper bullet, which has several times the velocity of a normal bullet, then it will still give you a blow the moment you use your gravity to stop it. Also...”

Dazai casually raised his hand.

From the top of the hill, through the gaps of the trees, from inside the humus, on top of big trees, more than fifty sniper bullets were fired at Verlaine at the same time. All the bullets pierced him, Verlaine growled.

Verlaine tried to hide under the shades of the trees while protecting himself by gravity. But even in the places he ran to, he got attacked from behind. Even if he tried to lower his posture to hide, the attack would come from above the trees. He had nowhere to run.

“To be able to set up this many snipers... in such a short time...”

A bullet pierced through Verlaine’s clothes and slid through his skin. It’s not a wound that could make him bleed, but there are so many of them. Ten shots in one second, then twenty, and more kept coming. It’s like the air that surrounds his whole body has become his enemies and attacked him.

Verlaine had no choice but to protect his head with his two arms and rolled himself up.

“You picked the wrong opponent, Verlaine-san.” Dazai chuckled. “I am an expert when it comes to dealing with gravity. Because no matter if I wake or sleep, the only thing I think about is how to annoy Chuuya.”

“Don’t underestimate me!”

While enduring the rain of bullets that were striking him, Verlaine grabbed a tree close by and pulled it out of the ground.

“You think you can kill me with this kind of rock throwing play? Verlaine swung the tree, trying to throw it. He planned to use the tree as a spear to crush the snipers who were hiding faraway in the dark.

However, that hand of his stopped halfway.

It was because the tree had been cut into pieces.

“Hoho, if I look closely, you look terribly like my subordinate.”

There was a flowing female voice as graceful as the sound of harp.

The burning bright red hair, eyes of the same color. Her crimson red

ombré looked like the color of ripen maple leaves. The most eye-catching thing was what floated beside her, a masked demon in a kimono. The demon was tall with long hair. She carried a sword of almost the same height as a child, as if it had no weights at all. The golden kimono melt into the air from her knees downwards, showing that it was not a real body.

“However, it was Mr. Brother who selfishly tried to poach our boy from us. I guess I can let that go after cutting off one of your limbs or two. So you’d better get lost quickly.”

Ozaki Kouyou. The Port Mafia’s young sword-woman. A powerful skill user who took Chuuya as her subordinate, accompanied by the golden demon, an embodiment of her skill, a beautiful beast.

Kouyou rolled a bright peony-colored umbrella on her shoulder. And then she twisted its handle and pulled it out. A silver blade appeared. A hidden sword.

“Mafia’s skill user?” Verlaine smiled like a beast. “But what can a mere ability user with two swords can do against gravity?”

Verlaine lowered his posture, ready to jump at Kouyou.

“Who said that I was alone?”

Verlaine’s body sank in.

Startled, Verlaine looked at his feet. The ground undulated like a snake, swallowing his two legs and even crawling up. 

Verlaine was caught by surprise. He got rid of the gravity of his own body and jumped up. He landed on a trunk of a tree nearby. But even the trunk that definitely looked tough started to liquify the moment his shoes touched. It reached for Verlaine, trying to eat him up.

“This is...” Verlaine leaped again. However, the spot he planned to land on already turned into a mud with a will of its own, opening its mouth to wait for him.

“Hahaha. Keep running, young man. Youngsters like you exist to entertain this old man. Please die quickly and offer your head to me.”

Coming from the darkness of the woods was a big, strong man who looked just like a big tree. A military uniform that has faded in places. His bristle looked like a sewing needle. He wore a judo belt around his waist, and wooden clogs on his feet The arms folding in front of his chest were as thick as a tree that has lived for hundred years.

Port Mafia’s elite, a veteran who survived the Great War. His nickname in the organization is “Colonel.”

He swung his arms like an ancient tree and squeezed his fist tightly in front of his eyes. At the same time, the ground started to muffle. The liquified soil, trees, even the overturned train, all rushed to attack Verlaine in the air. An skill user who can manipulate objects and turn them into liquids?

Verlaine kicked the first wave of liquified soil that came towards him and retreated backward. But the soil was also coming from that direction. Even if he tried to change his orbit to run, liquified soil was still coming from beneath his feet and above his head. If they touched him they would still be blown away by the gravity, but the liquid will start to cover up from the top again, giving no time for Verlaine to prepare a counter attack.

On top of that, as if to stitch up the gaps, there were sniper shots coming from all directions.

“Tch...”

Verlaine densified a small amount of dust in the air, and stepped on that to leap his body up. He wanted to take some distance. Abilities that manipulate things like Colonel’s, in most of the cases won’t work for things that are out of their sights. That’s why he planned to hide deep in the wood then throw a huge rock enforced by gravity to finish them off.

An odd thing entered Verlaine’s field of vision at that moment.

A watch.

A watch was floating in the air.

From the outside, it looked just like a normal pocket watch. A dial with numbers, a long hand and a short hand, a crown, and the internal mechanism peeking out from the edge of the dial.

The strange thing about it was that it had a size of a man’s upper body. Also, it kept turning around as if it was staring at Verlaine.

Verlaine, who possesses a wide range of knowledge on skill users, sensed the danger from that watch almost immediately.

He tore off one button from the sleeve of his suit and amplified its gravity until it weighted dozens of kilograms. Then he threw it towards the watch.

That button comet holding enough power to knock down a building, however, couldn't interfere with the watch. It smoothly slipped through the watch, knocked off trees and disappeared into darkness.

“You can’t destroy that thing.”

A gloomy voice came from the ground.

Verlaine diverted his gaze and without his notice, a boy was already sitting on the ground. He was hugging his knees with his two arms, looking miserable. He looked up at Verlaine.

“It’s no use. That thing looks at everyone. Including me, and you. We have no choices but to die. One day it will find us. One day it will catch up with us. It’s　“time”. It’s the enemy of us all.”

He looked and sounded miserably. His clothes were so long it became awkward. The hems were all frayed. The boy who was so skinny you could see his bones through his clothes glared at Verlaine and waved his finger as if he was telling him “Come here, come here.”

The two hands of the watch clicked and pointed to the number 12 at the same time. Immediately afterwards, the watch in the air was sucked into Verlaine.

That was not a metaphor, it was literally sucked into him, into his chest.

Being wary of the disappeared watch, Verlaine stiffened his body. But nothing happened. There is nothing within his sig...

The liquified soil twisted around his legs.

Startled, Verlaine shook the liquid off by gravity. Then he looked around. He had got pretty far away for sure. It was so strange that the liquified soil could chase him this close. Right after that was a shock. A sniper bullet hit his head. Verlaine span halfway in the air. He landed on the ground, scraping the humus to stop.

It was weird. The speed of the sniper attack went up. The speed of the bullet by the moment it reached him was so fast that even if he used gravity to bounce it back, he was also blown away by a corresponding force.

“Did they replace their guns or bullets with more powerful ones? No, this is...”

The ground liquified again. Verlaine jumped out to dodge, before being eaten by the soil. But the speed of the liquid tentacles that extended and followed him also increased. Verlaine took a quick look around. From the treetops that were hit by the sniper attack just now, leaves were falling down. They were not fluttering, they were dropping as if they were stabbing the ground. This means, the attack speed didn’t get faster...

“Was my time... slowed down?”

“Everyone will die before me.” the gloomy boy stared at Verlaine with dubious eyes filled with hatred. “Brothers, parents, everyone will be killed by time. But I will get away with it. With this special power of mine”

A skill user who meddles with time. For the first time, Verlaine got a cold sweat on his forehead.

Time manipulation is not just a powerful skill, it is a extraordinary skill out of this world. As far as Verlaine knew, there were only a few cases reported in the world. The fist on the list of those time manipulation skill users who are separated from the world’s reasons, was a former skilled mechanic, H.G. Wells. After creating the skilled weapons called the “Shell”, she disappeared and became the world’s worst terrorist.

The time manipulation type of skills tinker the basic principles of this world, and rewrite them at will. Because if you look from the universe’s perspective, time and space are equivalent. The time manipulation skill users hold the same power that can alter the world, just like Verlaine’s gravity. Verlaine whose movements have become dulled because of the time delay　was flooded with Mafia’s attacks. All the bullets, the swords and liquified soil.

Even if he tried to retreat, because his time has been delayed, he could only move sluggishly as if he was under water.

Verlaine’s expressions became stiff.

Dazai gracefully looked at the wooded area echoing with gun shots and roaring sounds. He looked down at the battlefield that had turned into a hell, with such a carefree expression that cooled down in the night breeze._

“This is the rule of this world.” Dazai spoke like he was singing. “It applied in all times and ages, all creatures, the absolute truth. In this world, a group is stronger than an individual. A skill user is stronger than a group. And then...”

Feeling the pleasant cold breeze coming from the blasts of the battle on his cheeks, Dazai smiled.

“... a group of skill users are stronger than one skill user.”

Verlaine pushed his body’s gravity to the max. With a powerful driving force that surpassed the effect of the time manipulation skill, he quickly escaped from the battlefield. Verlaine’s bones cracked at the sudden speed acceleration that exceeded his limit.

Even when the danger struck in front of him, Verlaine’s judgement did not falter. It was not yet a hopeless situation. He would retreat as much as he could, taking as much distance he could from the waves of skill attacks. Then he would fix his posture, manipulate the gravity of the bullets that managed to reach him, repel them and knock down the skill users, one by one. That would be his win then.

Only three skill users. Not too much of a difference in strength.

Suddenly, blood came out from his skin.

Verlaine looked at his cuffs. The skin under his clothes was peeled off, exposing the flesh inside. But only a little blood came out. He felt almost no pains.

He landed down on the ground as a reflex. Upon touching the ground, the skin inside his shoes also came off. He could tell by the slippery feel from it. But again, there was no pain.

That was a new skill attack. But the true nature of it immediately became clear.

His breath was white.

His skin is frozen, there was frost on his eyelashes.

“Let us be held. By the frozen love. Let us be held. By the frozen flower that breaks in its full bloom.” the new skill user appeared, singing with a thin and screechy voice.

Long, white hair, white fur around her shoulders, white breath. And a crimson red rose on her chest. Every time the woman takes one breath, the trees around her froze, cracked up and snapped due to the water inside it freezing and expanding.

Verlaine understood it right away.

A skill user who can cool off the temperate. The reason why his skin was peeled off earlier was because the skin was exposed to the low temperature and got stuck to the inside of his clothes and shoes. His body really became that cold in just an instant. He was frozen from flesh to born, but not much time has even passed.

A super dangerous skill user. Freezing attack does not involve physical clashes. That’s why he can’t dodge them using gravity. It is his natural enemy

Another sniper bullet hit Verlaine’s shoulder. He groaned in pain.

The bullet was cold. It froze by the time it touched his skin, forming a frost pillar. The low temperature invaded into him through the wound, eating up his flesh.

The enemies attacks were too synchronized. Time delay, freezing, sniping. Apparently, it was a tactic that had been put together to block all of Verlaine’s strengths and exploit his weaknesses. There is still something strange about this. He has been retreating at a considerable speed since a while ago, yet the gunshots never stopped. His escape route was totally seen through. Normally if he ran at this speed in the woods in the middle of the night, he would immediately disappear from the telescopic sight. Losing the targets, sniping attack would definitely become impossible. So why?

“Hihihihi, what a sweet face. Hey, just between us, but if you cry and slobber and apologize here, maybe I will let you go this time?”

The voice was close. Really close.

Verlaine turned to that direction.  No one was there... No.

In the middle of no where, a hole the size of a coin was opened. It was like the space was burnt and hollowed out, and on the other side of the hole was another different space. From that side, a black eye was staring at this side through the hole.

“Yes, it’s me. You are being watched. From now on, you can be assured even if you lock your toilet door hihihihi”

The hole was so small to see the entire thing. But that eye alone is enough. The eye was filled with malice. It had been watching Verlaine, chasing him and reporting about his positions all the time.

Verlaine fired a rotary kick by reflex at the hole.

“Oops.”

Right before being hit, the hole closed up and disappeared.

“I’m here.”

The voice came from behind. When he turned around, the same hole had been opened in a different place, looking straight at Verlaine.

That was the type of skill that connects space and monitor the targets. The skill user was probably sitting in another safe place, and monitoring the whole battle using their space connection skill. He couldn’t attack the actual skill user. If he tried to touch it, it would close immediately so he wouldn’t be able to destroy it using gravity.

Just how many skill users they have thrown in this battle?

“Hihihi, I have a present for you. From Port Mafia with love.”

From the coin-sized hole, flower petals flew out. Countless petals surrounded Verlaine then started to shine white. Yet another new skill.

The moment Verlaine tried to take a quick avoidance action, all the flower petals exploded at once.

From the train where he sat, Dazai could see the light from that explosion very clearly. The white light split open the woods at night, the afterglow burnt into the night sky.

Dazai looked at that scene, he was grinning.

“How is it going, Dazai-dono?”

From inside the train, a middle-aged man appear. He was wearing the boss’ outfit. He was the one who played the boss’ double, Hirotsu.

“As you can see, it is going well. So well that it is boring.”

In the direction he was pointing, the explosion sound was echoing, trees were falling, sniper flashes and low frequency noises were ringing non-stop.

Hirotsu took off the wig, put on the monocle he always has on, and narrowed his eyes.

“As one would expect.”

“Of course, I had to earn a lot of time to prepare all this. “ said Dazai, who was crossing his legs elegantly like a royal. “Chuuya and I had a terrible hard time fighting Randou-san. So this time I came prepared. Just to kill Mr. Assasin King from Europe, I had to gather a total of 422 people from the combat troops and 28 skill users. That is the full strength that Mafia can put in now.” At the scene where they were looking, the cold air and gun flashes kept shining. Verlaine tried to escape by threading his way in between the trees but a yellow-white ray burnt off the whole night sky, blocking that escape route. That was yet another skill user.

The plan was extremely simple. Setting up a trap and waiting. Chuuya and Adam drafted the same tactic before to defeat the Assasin King. The plan that Dazai carried out was basically the same. Identify the next target, set up traps around that target, and ambush Verlaine from behind when he appears.

The only difference between this and Chuuya’s plan is the scale of those traps. What have been set up as traps this time, was the entire Mafia’s overwhelming combat unit. The result was a one-sided destruction.

“We can keep this battle going for the whole night.” Dazai said as if he was whispering to Verlaine from far away. “Verlaine-san, you are a flawless assassin. With that vivid skill of yours, you have never once been traced down and surrounded like that, haven’t you? That’s why you have no experiences when being cornered by such a skill users organization. Even Randou-san was afraid of that dangerous flawlessness of yours.”

Dazai took out the leather notebook.

Rimbaud’s memoir. The journal Rimbaud had kept about the birth as well as full accounts of skill user Verlaine.

“I mourn for you, Verlaine-san.” Dazai put his hand on the notebook and said as if he was praying. “I mourn not for your death, but for your birth. No one mourns for you for being born. The only one who does is you yourself. That is the reason you fights... I think you are amazing. You despise the fact that you were born, you despise your own power, you despise the world. And by doing that, you came to accept your meaningless life. How wonderful that is. I don’t have that kind of courage. That’s why I wanted to talk with you more. But this is already goodbye.”

Dazai stood up, turning his back on the battlefield in front of him. He walked away.

“Dazai-dono?”

“Report to me when it is done.”

Dazai’s voice powerlessly fell to his feet. He walked away.

The next moment. A black way swelled over the battlefield.

...

[happysoldlady]

Still - Part 2 - Angel Reyes

a/n: you ask, you shall receive. I have so many things in my drafts right now it’s stupid bruh. y’all enjoy this though! I might do a third, makeup sex part. I haven’t decided yet. 

taglist: @woahitslucyylu​ @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly​ @peaches007​ @cocotheclown​

warning(s): sad boi angel, alcohol use

It had been two whole weeks since you had last spoken to Angel. Two weeks. You hadn’t gone that long without seeing each other since you were very small, and not that long without fucking each other since you were about sixteen. But you were angry. And betrayed, kind of. Angel had never been able to step up for you, and be the guy you needed him to be. And you didn’t feel like you were asking for much.

Angel, on the other hand, felt like you were asking for too much. Suddenly wanting to change something that had worked for the two of you for over a decade. He didn’t understand why you needed commitment from him all of a sudden, and he didn’t understand what this new guy had that he didn’t. Angel had been under the impression for years that the two of you understood that the relationship thing never really works out. You had tried it before, and it always went up in flames.

What Angel didn’t understand, though, is that this new guy gave you the relationship that you and Angel could never have. He gave you early morning sex and afternoon picnics. He gave you thoughtfulness and commitment. He gave you all the pieces that were missing from your relationship with Angel. Not that Angel couldn’t give you those things, because you knew first hand how sweet Angel could be. It’s that he wouldn’t do it. And how could you turn down the relationship in front of you for the relationship that one day might be something more?

So, it’s been two weeks. Because afternoon picnics and surprise hiking trips were occupying all of your time. But even sitting in the sun eating grapes with the man offering you everything, Angel Ignacio Reyes was at the forefront of your mind. And in your true nature, you find yourself knocking on his door later that night. 

You had a bottle of wine in one hand, and a clenched fist in the other which you used to knock on his door. Once upon a time, you had a key, but after walking in on him and other girls on several different occasions, you decided that knocking would probably prevent you from getting your feelings hurt. It takes a couple seconds before you hear Angel’s heavy footsteps coming toward the door, and you’re just hoping he isn’t preoccupied with another one of his distractions. 

The door swings open and you’re met with the shirtless (and beautiful, you must admit) man that you’ve adored for half of your life. 

“Y/N?” Angel’s eyes widen a little, confused. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?” Angel hates that he kind of hopes your new boyfriend fucked up somehow. 

“Yeah. No, I’m fine. I just-” You shrug and hold up the bottle of wine in your hand. “I needed a drinking buddy.” You were lying. You knew it, Angel knew it, the bottle of wine knew it. You could drink with anyone, but the truth is, you had a lot you needed to say to Angel and you weren’t sure you could get it all out without a couple glasses of your favorite wine. 

Angel eyes you for a minute, thinking very seriously about returning the favor of you slamming the door in his face, but he’s missed you. So he opens the door wide, and gives you a glimpse of a smile as you stroll through it. 

“You can keep that shit. I’ll drink a beer.” He mutters, admiring the way you throw your head back as you laugh at him. 

- 

“Come on, Angel!” You shriek. “Just one sip. I swear it’s good.” 

“Am I really supposed to trust your judgment?” Angel shoots, scrunching his nose at you as you hold up your half-full glass of wine near his face. 

“My taste is immaculate, first of all.” You pout, wiggling the wine glass in front of him. “Please. Just a tongue dip.” 

“A tongue dip? What the fuck is that?” Angel asks, and then laughing as you demonstrate, sticking your tongue out into the wine instead of sipping it. 

“Okay fine, but I get my own glass querida.” Angel forfeits, smiling at your victory dance as you shuffle to get him his own cup. 

“As if you haven’t drank after me before.” You scoff, shaking your head. “Wasting a perfectly, well sorta, clean glass, Reyes.” 

“I don’t know where your mouth’s been.” It’s out before Angel can stop himself, and once it comes out of his mouth, he immediately regrets it. He wasn’t going to bring it up tonight. He really wasn’t, he had decided that when he let you in. But every time you stick your tongue out of him, all he can think about is how it’s been swirling around some other guy’s dick for weeks now. 

You set the glass down on the counter and slowly walk back into the living room. He can tell by the look on your face that he’s hurt your feelings, and even as he tries to open his mouth to fix it, he can’t. Mostly because he kind of wants to hear your defense. 

“That’s not fair.” You say quietly, your shoulders sitting low, defeated by his obvious opinion of you. “I’ve never judged you for the things you did to forget me. I would never do that to you. I’ve always been supportive if you felt like you needed to be with other people. That’s not fair, Angel.” 

Angel sighs, his eyes moving from their place on the floor up to meet your eyes. “I know. I didn’t mean to say that, querida, I’m sorry.” 

You eye him for a second, and then quietly reach around the counter to get the glass. You pour him a little bit of wine, hand it to him, and then plop down next to him with your own glass. 

“Y/N-” He starts but you cut him off. 

“Drink it. I want to see you try it.” 

He stares at you for a minute, his eyes dancing back and forth between yours, searching for the answers to fixing this in your eyes but ultimately, he comes up short. He raises his glass to his lips, and delicately takes a sip. He face scrunching, and then spreading out in surprise. 

“Shit, querida, that’s not bad.” Angel says, taking a larger sip. 

You laugh, and shake your head. “See, I told you.” 

But not soon after the laughter fades into a silence neither of you know how to fill. Unspoken truths bouncing between you full of things you’re both too afraid to say out loud. Truths you’ve spent weeks in national parks trying to run from. Petrified that if they ever see the light of day, you’ll lose the person that means the most to you in this world. 

“Do I mean anything to you, Angel?” You say quietly, crossing your legs underneath you. 

Angel’s eyebrows furrow, as he turns his whole body toward you. “What are you talking about, mi amor?”

“Don’t do that.” You say, cringing away from him. 

“Do what? It’s the tru-”

“Pretend like I’m the love of your life. Like I’m the girl you want forever with. And even if that’s true, don’t pretend like I’m supposed to know how you feel when you’ve been bouncing back and forth for a decade.” You sputter out, pouring more wine. You’re going to need it for this conversation. 

Angel stares at you for a minute, his mouth opening like he has something to say and then closing again periodically. You try to give him a few minutes to collect his thoughts, but eventually, you decide that maybe you shouldn’t have come over tonight at all. 

Not wanting a replay of the events of last time, you shake your head, and stand, taking your wine glass to the sink and then grabbing your keys. 

“Stop.” Angel finally says, but he stays planted on the couch, his eyes on the floor. 

“No, I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. I’m just going to go home.” You sputter out, looking around the kitchen for your purse. 

“Stop.” Angel says again, this time clearly more abrasive. 

But you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. You can’t believe you could be so stupid as to think coming over here would be a good idea. But fuck, you can’t find your purse. 

“I know it’s here somewhere.” You mutter, scurrying around. “Can you help me find it?” 

“What are you looking for?” He asks. 

“My purse.” 

“Did you bring it in?” He asks, his eyes finally meeting yours. 

You shake your head, your mind foggy from the wine. “I can’t remember. I’ll go look in the car.” 

“No.” Angel says, watching as you walk toward your keys. “Y/N, stop!” His loud voice booms over the ringing in your ears and you stop and turn toward him. 

“You aren’t driving home.” He mumbles out, shaking his head. “Just stay here tonight.” 

You shake your head, “I can’t. I’m sorry. I-” 

Angel stands, cutting you off as he crosses the room. He takes your face in his hands and forces you to look at him. His eyes are wide, full of fear of being vulnerable with you. He’s afraid that once he says it out loud, he won’t be able to take it back. He’ll have to commit. 

“Don’t go. Just stay here tonight. It’s fine.”

You pull yourself away from him, and shrug. “I’ll call Y/BF/N.” 

“Absolutely not.” Angel says. 

“Why?” 

“Because I love you.” He yells. “Is that what you want? I love you. You’re my favorite person in the world, mi amor. And I love you. And I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to say it until now. Dump him.” Angel takes your face in his hands again, softer this time. 

“Be with me.” He whispers, his eyes searching yours again. He leans down to kiss you, but is met with the tug of you ripping yourself from his grasp again. 

“What changed?” You ask, skeptical of his change of heart. 

Angel gives you an incredulous look as he spouts off, “Nothing changed. This, me and you, will never change. It’s the only real thing in my life. Please, Y/N, te amo.” 

You stare at him for a while, too long, really. So long that when he reaches out for you, you don’t have the heart to pull away from him this time. 

This time, when he leans down to kiss you, you let him. Your lips mold together, as he grips your face, pressing you against the wall of his apartment. Once his lips start trailing down your jaw, you whisper, “You really love me?” 

“Con cada fibra de mi ser.”