#promise this fic will be published soon lmao

[12romy]

trick or treat!! (can i request chewis?X))

Hiiiii, you absolutely can dearie!! I'm giving you some chewis from the fic I'm working on... Spoiler ahead if you don't want to be know what this fic is about, don't read 😘

He couldn’t say who looked happier when he arrived in Lewis’ suite. Mira, or Lewis. It was nice, to have Lewis smiling at him once again. He was pulled into a side hug as a hello and resisted the urge to curry his nose against Lewis’ hair, and drop a kiss there.

“You’re right on time, I just finished to prepare her mash,” Lewis explained. “It’s broccoli tonight, you’re lucky because she loves it.”

“Berk, eww” Charles let out, crinkling his nose in disgust. “How can she like broccoli? Is she really my daughter? What have you been teaching her?”

“I forgot you hated it,” Lewis laughed, throwing his head back. “Don’t worry, I was planning on ordering room service for us. No broccoli, I promise…”

Lewis gave him Mira as soon as Charles had taken off his shoes, and took the lead to get to the kitchen. Charles put Mira in the baby chair, then sat down next to her, tying the bib around her neck. It was a good idea to keep the bath for after dinner.

Mira was, probably like every baby her age, awfully messy. It seemed to amuse Lewis to no end, to see how the food ended up more on the bib than in Mira’s mouth – and sometimes, even on Charles. He had been stupid to wear a white tee.

All in all, the evening was full of laughter. It continued as they gave her a bath, both ending up completely drenched despite sitting next to the bathtub.

“Take off your shirt, I’ll get us some change,” Lewis chuckled as Charles was wrapping Mira in a fluffy blanket.

He did, then finished to dry Mira before putting her in a new diaper, then a cute pyjama – a gift from Seb, all in organic cotton, natural yellow dye, and hand-made stitched bee designs. Mira was an absolute delight, laughing all the time. She was a great audience to Charles’ antic, who did all he could to make her happy. She always giggled when he was peppering kisses on her little belly.

“There, all ready to sleep,” he smiled, taking her back in his arms, and she yawn as if to approve.

He turned, and found Lewis leaning against the wall, watching them with the softest expression. He smiled back, blushing, and his body almost felt on autopilot as he stepped closer, and kissed him.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

can you do a ghost version of the Memories of Youth fic you did for price please?

Harvest Storms

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Daughter!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, emotionally distant father/Simon, injuries, arguments, mentions of Simon's past, hurt/comfort, fluff near the end, etc.

A/N: I know this might be controversial but I really don't see Simon wanting kids so I tried to keep this realistic but also cute, lmao. Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon admitted that having a kid was never on his to-do list, and it wasn’t only his job that caused that. In fact, at any point in his life, the thought alone terrified him.

His icy eyes spaced out as the man unstrapped his combat vest in the on-base armory, hucking it over his head with a tiny grunt. Muscles ached; wounds burned. 

He’d known having that one-night stand wasn’t right—he should have just stuck to his perfected solitude of dark rooms and middle-of-the-night workouts. But there was only so much you could do before instinct overcame any sort of common sense; add a few drinks into the mix and the concoction had glazed over his mind like a honey-laced dream. 

And then nine months later a single text. A photo attachment. 

“She’s yours.” His child. His daughter. Simon had a daughter. 

It had taken weeks of self-isolation to figure out what to do. There were moments of very real panic—bone-deep worry and hatred. He couldn’t be a father and still be the Ghost that he was now, but there wasn’t a way to reverse his already damaged psyche. Home in Manchester didn’t feel like a real place anymore; home was a gun in his hands and his mask over his face. Slumping bodies and adrenaline-blown pupils. The high he got out of killing could never be topped by the joys of having a family he didn’t want. 

But then he remembered his own father and the guilt that had struck him at that moment left Simon physically sick. Head pounding and bile lacing his tongue as he retched over a toilet. It would have been easier to just promise money, and give over some of what he earned to give you a future. He could distance himself but still be a shadow on the wall if it all went south.

Yes, it could have been easy. 

Until your mother up and disappeared; leaving you all alone. There was no way in hell he could leave you in foster care. The stories he’d heard…

Simon’s gloved hands flex, joints cracking, before he checks the watch on his wrist with slow-blinking eyes. He needed to be home in two hours.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” A groan escapes, rolling his shoulders twice before grasping at his thigh holster—slipping out the X12 to place it down with a small thump of black metal. 

These movements were entirely routine and soon there was a neat line of multiple knives, the pistol, an automatic rifle, frag grenades, med pack, rope, and anything else that Ghost could have even the slightest possibility of needing in a tight spot. Through it all, the mask stayed; icy eyes behind the spread of black face paint numb. 

It’s one hour later that he’s done cleaning and putting everything away with tired fingers. Feet shuffle before he’s exiting the armory all together, snatching the large duffle bag near the double doors; a small grunt plays out of his chest. The strap is dragged over his head when Soap passes him in the base’s hallway.

All Simon could do is hold back a groan as a headache already begins to form.

“Lt.” The Scot calls, smile pulling his lips up, “off to go hide in back-alleys, then?”

“Jesus, Johnny, shut the fuck up already.” Ghost grumbles out, hands slipping into his pockets as he continues off down the hallway. Behind him, the mohawked Sergeant belts out a laugh before disappearing into the armory Simon had just vacated. 

“Copy and check, Sir!” Sarcasm bleeds out and makes icy eyes fall half-closed with subdued annoyance.

The large phantom continues on until he exits the base and digs his keys out of his pockets—finding his car in the underground parking garage exactly where he had left it two months prior. As if on autopilot, he shuffles open the door and tosses his bag in the back before sitting in the front seat and twisting the ignition. 

Reaching into the glove compartment, Simon pulls out a clean balaclava and holds it loosely—his opposite hand slipping up to the skeletal mask of his head and feeling the fibers on his fingertips. Replacing it swiftly, the clean fabric slips over his face with a stiff movement of his arm. Seconds later, his foot presses into the gas.

There are no words spoken, no comments under breath, just a silence that seems to stem from some underlying anxiety completely foreign to Simon on the field. Going home always made him nervous. A soul-digging kind of hesitation.

It takes him the rest of that last hour to drive home—a tiny little country house far removed from Manchester though still leaving it well guarded by local law-enforcement patrols. A perfect mix of safety and distance that had been the driving force in Simon’s initial purchase of it. But it wasn’t his only properly, not by a long shot. 

Like a rat, the holes of his paranoia ran deep into the earth.

He pulls the car into the dirt driveway and kills the vehicle. Outside in the darkening sky, his eyes slide to watch over the top of the garden wall; seeing tree branches sway in a subdued breeze. Sitting there for a few moments, the man just ends up shaking his head and shoving open the door with his shoulder. 

Veins tighten under his flesh.

“Kid!” Simon raps on the front door with his knuckles when his boots take him over and up the steps, voice gravelly. A house key slips into the lock, turning over before the barrier opens. Ghost stomps in and immediately knows the entire home is completely empty. 

He blinks in confusion, looking over the still air and dull noises. The AC unit whirls; the fridge shakes. No feet on the floor—no groan or sly comment.

You were a teenager now, but the absence of your aura was harsh to him. You were supposed to be here. The Manchester man’s lips thin.

“Christ, don’t go and tell me she’s fuckin’ gone again…” Simon kicks the door shut and lets his bag fall from his fingers, feeling his chest tighten slowly. He beelines to the kitchen where, sure enough, a note from the far-off neighbor who keeps an eye on you when he’s gone was sitting with its delicate font.

Fast fingers snatch it like a snake, jaw clenched and tight grip creasing the paper. He reads with a growing disappointment.

“She got into a fight out of school again—black eye and bruised knuckles. I’m sorry, Mr. Riley, but I couldn’t get a hold of you to tell you about it. I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father. When you read this, I’ll have tried to make her come back inside but I was unsuccessful. I left supper at the base of the hill and a blanket. I’m sorry. I’ll be at my home if you need me.”

Simon places the note down and runs a hand up and down his face, a deep sigh exiting his lips as his fingers cover his jaw and chin. Like the definition of fatigue, his body lightly bows forward. Slouched shoulders.

This would make the fifth fight this year. 

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

After a minute of mute irritation, the man drops his hands and goes to the freezer, taking out an ice pack with a small glint of further emotion stinted in his gaze. There are so many things that Simon feels for you—some of which he would never be able to properly express. 

He’s not a good man. Not someone to look up to or place on a pedestal. He’s in the 141 because he can do a job; a job that not many others can do simply for the fact that something in him was broken. Shattered beyond repair. 

Simon was never meant for this.

The blond placed the ice pack into a rag from the drawer and exited through the back door of the house. Grunt stuck in his throat at the thought of the delinquent activities you seemed to always get up to when he was gone which, admittingly, was more often than not.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

But wasn’t he doing a good thing by staying away? He took you in—provided food, water, shelter, and anything else you could need. What was he doing wrong? 

Simon’s brows tighten as the chilled air hits him as a winder wind would. By now the sun had fully set and the darkness was becoming more black than blue by the second; dim twinklings from stars dancing in the pupils of his eyes. His feet take him off the back porch and easily finds a small trail that leads through the barren garden all the way to a hill in the distance.

Icy blue easily finds the tiny hunched being at the very top. His hand tightens over the ice pack. 

Ghost was unable to understand, of course, he hadn’t had the kind of childhood people would want—was never around kids in general. No friends with little brats running around, obviously. Was this a normal kind of thing kids did? Start fights? 

He’d heard some things about teenagers. 

Closing his tired eyes for a moment, Simon silently walks past the plate of food at the foot of the hill but snatches the fluffy blanket that had been beside it. If you don’t want to eat he won't force you, but it was getting cold out quickly. 

Simon wasn’t letting you catch a bug.

He huffs as he ascends the slope, all the aches and pains finally making themself more known in his thighs and abdomen. 

You hear him coming when he’s three-fourths of the way there. 

Your red eyes widen in shock, hands that had been trapping your legs to your chest rising to wipe the tears on your cheeks away aggressively; frantic. Three seconds later a heavy fabric hits your head and you tense, widely looking up into the dead eyes of your father. 

The blanket thumps to the ground beside you in a heap. 

“Put it on,” he grunts from behind his balaclava and your surprised expression slowly sours. 

You turn away with a growl. “Don’t want to.”

“Bloody ‘ell, just put it on,” there’s no acidity behind the words, but the annoyance is clear. “Asking to get fuckin’ sick at this rate, are you? I’m not cleanin’ up your vomit from the floor when you're hunched over like a mutt on drugs.” 

Not a stranger to his humor, but with a venom-laced look, you grab the blanket as Simon sits next to you and end up throwing it over your shoulders. Your face hurt too much to talk for long periods—right eye swollen and radiating heat; hands weren't that much better, the knuckles puffy and blood-flooded under the skin. It made you flinch when you had to clench your fingers. 

You’re acutely aware of your father’s presence. How he sits with his spine bent with one hand behind him; legs laying out flat. You should be happy he’s back safe in one piece, but in reality, there would be little change if he never showed back up at all. 

The house was always silent anyways. Dead. Simon was as much a stranger to you as he was to everyone else. 

“What did I tell you when I went away, eh?” The man asks you lowly when you’ve settled, and you grit your teeth and look out over the landscape, long grass swaying in the wind. “Kid.”

“Don’t get into any more fights.” Words are stiff, reflective of both of your muscles and hearts. 

“Affirmative. You want to explain to me what you did?”

“Got into another fight.” An icepack is tossed near you, bouncing in the grass. You scoff but take it, softly applying it to your face with a concealed flinch. Shame permeates in your ribs, a desperate need to prove yourself. “I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s not an excuse.” Simon glares at you from the side of his eye, utterly serious. “When I tell you something, you listen, yeah?”

“...Yeah,” you grit your teeth and clench your hands, a bitter huff leaving your lips. “Sure.” 

A tense silence keeps you in its clutches, the kind of silence that stems from two people who really have no idea how to speak or understand one another.

“No more fighting,” Simon grits out, “now show me.” 

“It’s not that bad—”

“Show me it.” Your face burns as you slip the ice pack away and turn your face his way, meeting your father’s gaze head-on and seeing his lids slightly pull back. You spy his hand clenching in the grass, ripping strands out like hair from a head. 

“Happy?” You sarcastically ask, turning back forward and putting the ice pack back into your socket. 

It’s a long while before he speaks to you again, and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face when he does. Your heart rampages at the deathly slow and tiny voice.

“Why?” The question makes your body flair with anger and you grip the pack tighter, feeling the ice shift in your grip as you clench it violently. You feel your fingers twitch when you answer, unconsciously closing into fists.

“Why?” You glare at him, “Why the hell do you care?” 

Simon’s eyes go blank, brows going up his head. Gazes lock and you’re suddenly standing to your feet, chucking the ice pack right into his chest. It only makes you madder when he catches it easily, glancing down at the object before slowly shifting his numb eyes back to you.

“You’re never fucking here, what’s the point in telling you anything about me?” Your father’s face is covered, but the mask is more than just physical—it’s a part of him in every sense. You don’t know what he is, but you see his lungs going still in his ribs. You splay your hands around you as the blanket hits the ground at your feet. “It wouldn’t even make a difference if you never came back! Even when you’re here it barely even matters beyond who’s dishes are in the sink.”

Bitter tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, a tight itch in your skin. Slight guilt hits you when you shove out such harsh words, but you don’t care enough right now to think about what you’re saying. Everything just hits a breaking point. Shaking your head you scoff again, weaker this time. “You don’t even know the first things about me and you want me to try and explain why I do the things I do?” 

Simon watches and listens, stone still. It’s as if he doesn’t even breathe; his pulse doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. If you would have been able to see it, you’d have noticed the way the large man’s lips were slightly parted. 

He wasn’t averse to arguments, he yelled on Ops and cursed aggressively on duty, but he had made a stark promise to himself to never yell at you. If there was one thing that reminded him of his father—it was that. Explosive fights that only ended one way. 

What you were saying was everything he knew to be true. This came to him in a slow and silent realization of growing pain. Simon didn’t know your favorite color or what food you loved. Your interests or your goals. 

He knew how much you spent on snacks at the store, but didn’t know what you bought. 

Ghost clenches his jaw and watches your resolve deteriorate with a heavy heart. What was he supposed to do? He was your father, sure, but…he didn’t know the first things that went with anything beyond giving you items and objects.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

How could he be a father to you?

Simon clears his throat, for once in his life completely unable to pull on any sort of skill to rectify this situation. You take his silence as blatant disregard. 

With a burning face, you sniffle and twist on your heel, speed-walking down the hill back into the house. Your brain is pounding in your head, just as fast as your heart when you finally stomp through the garden and shove open the back door. 

Simon doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Left on that hill, he watches your back disappear into the house and gets a rabid pain in his stone heart. You were his daughter. You were hurt; neglected. He’d never felt like this before.

Simon had failed the only job that he knew was far more important than any other. Blue darkens into a color reminiscent of storm clouds.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Standing, he snatches at the ice pack and the blanket, lightly jogging down the mound of earth. In no time he’s standing in the house again, having completely forgotten about the plate of food outside. It’s the tense set of his shoulders that really give away how unprepared he feels. How out of his expertise. 

Give Simon a gun and he’d be able to take it apart and reassemble it in one minute; a knife and he’d have it sharp in seconds. 

Simon Riley has no idea how to be a good father and he’s suddenly very aware of how fast the window is closing to try. You were his blood and his responsibility. He can’t end up like his own father.

The thought almost makes him sick again, stomach rolling with anxiety.

Inside the house, he tosses the items in his grip onto the couch and whispers past into the hallway to your room. Fingers twitching, he grabs at his balaclava before ripping it from his head; stuffing it into his pants pocket. Stopping in front of your room, Simon raises a hand. 

Just as he’s about to shove open the door, he instantaneously stops himself with a sharp thought.

Daughter, not soldier. Home, not barracks.

Hand lowering, he takes a long and deep breath and waits a moment; gathering himself. He still didn’t know what to say…but…

God, your words hurt, but he needed to hear them because they were true.

Simon’s knuckles rasp on the wood, a series of three dull thumps that echo over the stale air. There’s a shuffling of sheets and a dull, “God, just go away!” 

Cursing quietly under his breath, Simon runs his fingers through his hair tense-like; pushing back blond strands. 

“Open up for me, yeah?” He tries, awkward as his hips shift weight. “Need ‘ta talk to you.”

A cruel laugh exits from under the bottom of the door. “You? Talk?”

Simon keeps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, pulling from the deep pit of patience he holds for on-duty missions and not mastered yet for disagreements and verbal talks. He calms down and rolls his shoulders slightly. 

“Please.” A pin could drop. 

It’s a long, hot-air moment before there's the padding of feet over the floor and the slight shift of the door handle. The metal jiggles before it’s twisted back with a firm hand. 

Your face comes into view through the tiny crack of the door, injured eye on full display in all its swollen glory. A young face is laced with surprise at seeing your father’s bare visage—only the black face paint stuck to his skin—but even more so at his plea. There were only a few times you’d actually seen him and even fewer when you’d hear something like that. Simon stops himself from getting angry at the sight of your wound, staring down at you as his gaze softens just a fraction of a sliver. 

He recalls the moment he had first held your form when he had picked you up at hospital years ago. You were so small, squirming in his foreign grip. The nurse had to tell him how to hold you properly—what to do and what not to do. 

It had been the first time that Simon could really say he’d been terrified down to his marrow; sweating and lips pulled tight. This being so small it couldn’t do anything by itself had rendered him frozen with unease like he had been stabbed in the heart. Your eyes had looked up at him with trust and love. You hadn’t cried or screamed at his hidden face, even if he thought you should have…you’d done something worse.

You had reached up to his face and placed your little fingers on his brow, slapping his flesh with no strength or hatred. Simon’s gaze never left you for hours after you’d done that, uncharacteristically warm and rendered mute to all else. 

Tiny. Weak. Innocent.

How could anybody ever leave you? Hurt you? But the man had been petrified; utterly fearful to the point he would begin shaking when you’d begin crying for a bottle. 

In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from. 

“What?” Your crestfallen voice brings him back and he blinks, expression going blank once more. But he tries. 

“Can I come in?” 

“I don’t know—are you going to give a lecture?” You ask, eyes red and other hand still holding the door handle. Simon breathes out a grunted sigh.

“Negative, Moppet, no lecture.” He relaxes his posture, eye bags plainly visible. He was so tired his fingers had gone numb. “Jus’ need ‘ta…” Words fail him. What did he need to do? 

Simon clears his throat, looking off down the hallway before his eyes drift back to you.

“You land a hit, then?” You blink in silent shock at the graveled question, a hitch in your lungs giving way to confusion.

“I…” your feet shuffle, face burning, “what?”

One of your father’s large hands goes up to rub the back of his neck, fingers creating red lines across his flesh as his chest rises and falls. You could immediately tell he had no idea what he was doing. 

But…he was trying.

“A hit,” he vaguely gestures to your eye, staring intensely. “Did you get ‘em back?” 

It’s a vague few moments before you respond, oddly touched by the question. Your door opens the slightest bit wider.

“More than one person,” you admit hesitantly. Your father’s gaze darkens but you quickly continue. “T-they look worse than me right now.”

Simon nods stiffly, hands going to slide into his pockets. “That’ll do,” a pause, “...‘cause I can’t beat up teenagers without getting into a fuckin’ heap ‘o shit.” 

Your heart lurches with amusement and a small smile grows on your face. You stare, still just a tiny bit confused at the sudden shift, but unable to stop the chuckle you let out. He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling in his chest when his ears twitch at the sound of your humor, yet Simon pulls a smirk to his lips. It made him…content, you could say.

“Who said they were teenagers?” you smirk, tinting your head, and your father immediately frowns, unamused. Brows pull in. 

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“No, it isn’t. Shut your bloody trap.” The air lightens to a degree you hadn’t experienced before. A silence settles before you break it, vision darting down to spy on the dog tags Simon wears. 

“...How long are you staying?” The man hums, licking his lips. 

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

“I’m off as long as it takes to get you to stop picking fights, yeah?” Your fingers flinch and you stare into eyes that are always like ice, except now try to melt themselves into a chilled puddle. 

“Change of heart?” You ask, voice subdued. A bitter hope builds in your veins. 

Simon motions with his chin for you to open the door to your room and you do, elbowing it to the side before backing up—letting your father’s large frame enter. 

He looks around for a moment at the posters and the bits of personality, glaring internally at himself because he didn’t know what you liked at all. He seems disappointed with his own negligence.

He’d really fucked up.

“C’mere,” Simon goes and snatches your desk chair before he whirls it around, “lemme take a proper look at it.” His hand pats the top of the wood and you listen, going to it and sitting down softly. 

Your father kneels in front of you, bones cracking, and he delicately grabs hold of your chin to tilt your head to the side with practiced ease. You avoid his eyes, hands in your lap held tight together in this silence that brews from shared thorns. 

Simon has to take a deep breath to get his head out of his rage at the sight of your damaged skin; instinctual reaction to guard you rearing its head even more so now that he can see the injury in the dim light of your desk lamp. His thumb caresses the side of the swelling with intense care.

“Won’t die,” is all he can say, voice hard and strained. “Lucky you, eh?” You scoff and his hands leave—there wasn’t much he could do. “Moppet.”

Eyes slide up to his and his grip finds your bicep, squeezing once. You’re momentarily locked at the sight of real concern in his glinting orbs; a once in a blue moon occurrence. 

“Give me your word.” Simon levels firmly, feet shifting. “No more of this. You’re gonna end up gettin’ hurt—badly—you got that?” 

“They were calling soldiers cannon fodder.” You glare at your hands in your lap, mumbling out the truth with a burning face mixed with shame and honesty. Your father goes silent. “That they weren’t even good enough for bullets.” 

Jaw clenching, you rotate your wrist and feel the flare of pain from the joints. A deep sigh exits from Simon and with a hesitant clench of his jaw, his hand travels to the back of your head. He presses firmly, and your face finds the junction of his neck and shoulder with little fight. Tense in the beginning, you slowly breathe in sweat and tarmac with a gradual loosening feeling in your muscles. 

Eyes wide, you slowly begin to return the strange embrace. Your father flinches lightly when your fingers slip along his waist, hands grabbing into his shirt. But like you, time makes him calm—the side of his face connects with the side of your scalp, lashes fluttering closed tightly. 

It was you. His daughter. Innocent.

The emotions are so foreign to you that it brings a burning behind your eyes as the minutes lengthen. 

Simon can’t even begin to process it, it just felt natural to do such things for you. If there was one thing he did know—it was that he didn’t want to see you in pain or suffering; hurt or eyes filled with pain. His hands slip to bring you up into his arms like you were a baby again, carrying you easily as your nose sniffles with restrained tears. You’re placed in your bed with a delicate plop, icy eyes darting over you until it seems a decision is made with a quick nod.

You watch him leave and return seconds later with a pile of manilla folders in his hands. Your father grunts softly, “Go to sleep. It’s late out,” and drops the items to your desk, sitting down with a huff and a squeal from your chair. The air is warm and you sit in it a moment longer.

Eyes blink at the silhouette before a small smile builds on your lips—genuine and warm like a weighted blanket. 

“How long are you gonna be there?” You ask your father, grasping the covers and slipping under as your head hits the pillow; making sure to stay on the uninjured side.

He doesn’t turn around. 

“All night. Need ‘ta get this shite done for my boss.” You don’t know why, but you feel like he’s lying. Simon looks over his shoulder with a tone dipping to a whisper. “Sleep, Kid. We’ll get those knuckles sorted in the morning.” 

Of course, he’d noticed that, too. 

“Dad?” You ask and his spine straightens instantly at the title. It’s a long time before he answers and when he does his emotion is the softest you’ve ever heard him; gravel so deep you almost miss the words entirely. 

“What is it?” 

“Goodnight.” Simon’s hands shake as they open the first folder in the small stack, small tremors that are both horrible and endearing. He doesn’t say anything until you’re fast asleep behind him—when he stands up and walks over, pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling the covers farther up to your chin. 

Into your skin, he whispers, “...Goodnight, my little Moppet.”

Simon wonders if his daughter likes eggs for breakfast as his pen slides over the first report, one eye forever staying on your slumbering body to watch the rise and fall of your lungs.

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers (except me because obvs I have done it). Spread the self-love❤️

Thanks for the tag @brandileigh2003 ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I should say most of these are unfinished lol I love writing but I’m a little all over the place

1. Without You Wolfstar Titanic AU my beloved I promise to complete you someday soon hopefully! Remus as Jack and Sirius as Rose, yes there will be MCD and it is unfinished but I adore this story with all my heart.

2. so ready to give up my soul my Destiel “Beautiful Creatures” movie AU, again unfinished but I love it so much and hope to finish it soon. Castiel as Lena Duchannes, Dean as Ethan Wate, and though the plot mostly follows the movie so far I’ve combined it with another idea I had to expand on it a little more and I’m very excited to continue it!

3. Flight Risk An imagining of how Show!Wesper Wylan Van Eck reveal could’ve gone if Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows had continued on Netflix. It’s a one shot so it is finished and genuinely one of my favorite things I’ve written, I love Wesper and Wylan so much and I’m still so upset we’ll never see anything like this in the show (F you Netflix)

4. Cursebreaker and Fireheart/Son of Night and Daughter of Stars Oh my Wattpad days how I miss you, back in 2020ish I wrote a four-part Sarah J Maas fanfiction series of a crossover between the ACOTAR and ToG worlds, starting with Feyre and Aelin in the first two and then time-skipping to their kids’ story in the next two. I created Estelle, Aelin’s daughter, and used the canon name of Nyx as Feyre’s son to create my own version of him and write him and Estelle meeting and falling in love. Sadly, the fourth fic is still unfinished, so Estelle and Nyx do not have their happy ending just yet but I LOVED writing those stupid fanfics so much they were my first attempt at fanfic and Estelle and Nyx were my first attempt at a love story and even if the writing isn’t amazing I’m still so proud of these damn books.

5. Scars Of A Gold Moon: I have never actually published this one, but it’s my Wolfstar Bookstore fic as it’s been dubbed by my friends. It’s one of the only fics I’ve written with no AU tie in or anything, just my own story with the Marauders characters and I adore it. It has Wolfstar, Reg and Lily as Remus’s best friends, Sirius in a band, Black Brothers reunions, lots of secrets from both sides of Wolfstar lmao, and ironically, this fic is the only reason I have Without You. Sirius made Remus watch Titanic so I rewatched it so they could make funny comments, and then Without You was born! Lol someday I’ll finish this and post it.

No pressure tags except I don’t know any fic authors so let’s tag some famous ones I love just for funsies @mayescapade @cal-daisies-and-briars @smilingbuckley @motswolo

And anybody else who happens across this have at it too lol

[almostfoxglove]

Not to pressure you at all but do you already know the order in which you're gonna publish your WIPs, or do you post them sort of spontaneously? Just wanna know what I should look forward to next :)

omg hi angel!! you're too sweet ahhhh <3 <3 I post spontaneously (truly unfortunate - I wish I were structured enough to have schedules, but alas my adhd does not cooperate with deadlines for creative things) BUT I do usually have a sense of the order I'd like to work on things, so I can give you a guess!!

the next thing I post will be chapter 13 of see you at three (should be live pretty soon)

I'm going on holiday later this month, and while I'll have my laptop with me I expect I won't be able to finish / post anything while I'm gone - so for the rest of october I think this is what I am most confident that I'll be able to get done (pray for me):

the prettiest part 2 (max phillips)

i'll carry you finale (since I've already started it)

if I'm lucky, my entry for fuck-tober (maxwell lord)

then when I'm back in november, I'm itching to work on (but the order is TBD):

lock the gate finale (wish I could do this sooner)

an entry for the jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge (frankie)

probably syat chapter 14

more than letters (my frankie one shot that tbh I think is going to end up a mini series / 2 part-er LMAO, so I guess the first part of that)

I'm going to be writing a lot in november for my own projects that aren't internet/fic related so I suspect my fic-posting might be slower next month, but who knows! I'm fairly ~go with the flow~

but I hope this is sorta helpful!! and obvs if there's anything you're really itching for don't be shy - I can't promise anything but I'm always happy to hear what y'all are most excited for (and it's often pretty motivating) <33 ILY honey, thank you for this. it's really sweet to know someone's excited about my stuff ahh :,,)

[sameschmidtdiffname]

DANI HII. Not a request - just wanted to tell you how much i adore your writing. 'To all i think is safe' has a very special place in my heart. Ive also reread 'sweet delights' an ungodly amount of times (like a bedtime story). Anyways, have a good break! Ill be screaming, crying, foaming at the mouth when youre back <33

Awww, thank you so much Anon!! I always love getting submissions like this, it really does warm my heart ❤

'To All I Think Is Safe' was honestly a really hard one to write since I was actively in a disassociation episode while writing it, so I'm glad it's found a special place in your heart! Glad you also enjoy 'Sweet Delights' the way I intend for all my fics lmao. Honestly, I can't even tell you how many Mike fics I have saved as my bedtime stories, most recently 'Sex Dreams' by @yanderestarangel has been the constant one in my rotation because I am- BEGGING for ftm! reader x Mike shit rn. I'm. Desperate. I'm on the cusp of writing some myself because I- lisTEEEEEEEEEEN-

Honestly, I can't wait to be off break. I love publishing for you guys, your responses are my favorite part of this whole process. But I'm keeping myself on it so that I don't burn myself out and can make sure I've got some quality shit for y'all once I do start writing again. (I'm itching to write smut. It's that time again where I'm climbing the walls for smut, thus why I broke break to write 'Pretty.' Ferally need a whimpering mess beneath me rn. I could say shit that would have y'all questioning if I'm gonna ever get employed due to digital footprint, but I won't right now lmao)

I hope you have a good time with my past work! While I'm on break, make sure to check out some of my moots such as @janitorhutcherson, @freak-accident419 and @joshfutturman because they have amazing content too that makes my mouth water and my [REDACTED] [REDACTED] until his [REDACTED] in the [REDACTED] [REDACTED] with the cows in the [REDACTED] [REDACTED] o'er my [REDAAAAAAAACTEDDDDD] home. Plus, they're very special to meeeeeee

Also, LET'S DO A Q&A FOR 300 FOLLOWERS!!

I've just hit that mark and I love getting these questions anyways, (I'm aware im tagged in a couple ask posts anyways, promise I'll respond soon. I suck [REDACTED]) so if yall have any questions or anything, let's just have a gay Ole time in the inbox

Love y'all!! Stay safe <33 talk soon <333

[onekisstotakewithme]

20 questions for fic writers 💜

tagged by the lovely @mihrsuri (I think more than once, although the other time was some time ago... thank you for the tag! 🥰💜)

1. how many works do you have on ao3? 221, not counting unrevealed ones from exchanges

2. what's your total ao3 word count? 1,417,178 words

3. what fandoms do you write for? Right now, mostly M*A*S*H and The West Wing, though I do occasionally dabble in other fandoms (Star Trek TOS, For All Mankind, etc.)

4. top five fics by kudos? 1) Ties That Bind - Star Trek (Spirk) 2) a wild call and a clear call (that may not be denied) - Star Trek (Spirk) 3) Uncharted Territory - M*A*S*H (Beejhawk) 4) ye who are weary, come home - M*A*S*H (Punnihawk, Charles/Donna, canon pairings, etc.) 5) you were meant for me - M*A*S*H (Punnihawk)

5. do you respond to comments? Not usually. I feel pretty guilty about it and I do try and go for a thank you note in the A/N at the end of each story/chapter, but my spoons are pretty limited. I do however cherish each and every comment, and if I have regular commenters, your username is probably carved into my heart. 🥺

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Uhhh. That is a good question, because even if I write in angsty/bittersweet scenes, the endings are usually more hopeful or happy.

I guess my best answer to that is "let's do some living (after we die)" only because it's immediately followed by canonical character death. lmao.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? There are any number of stories you could pick for this one, haha. But I guess if I had to pick (twist my arm, why don't you!), then it's probably either "ye who are weary, come home" (OT3 Endgame!!!), OR "Make the Leap" (this one takes place on January 21st, 2007, so that and the title should make it self explanatory 😉)

8. do you get hate on fic? Not... really? Sometimes I'd get comments complaining that I should be writing a different pairing 🤷🏻‍♀️ (which..???) but I don't get much "engagement" to begin with usually, so I'm grateful that what I do get is for the most part positive. 🥰

9. do you write smut? Yep. Nothing super hardcore and not very often (because I am a self-conscious girlie haha) but I will write it. Posting it is another story. I want to do more, it's just getting over myself to do it. (if anyone has advice on how to proceed with getting over my self-consciousness, I'm ALL ears).

10. craziest cross over? I once, in my misspent youth, wrote a crossover between Downton Abbey and Titanic (it's still buried in the depths of my FFN page, alas it is unfinished.)

11. have you ever had a fic stolen? Not as far as I know, no.

12. have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! My one M*A*S*H Fic, "Here's Hoping We Meet Now and Then" (aka BJ puts the "GOODBYE" stones together with the help of the rest of the 4077) was translated into German by a dear friend of mine, Pat. And you can read that here.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before? A few times in the distant past. Once recently (I'm sure you'll all see it soon enough!!) 😈... in general, I love the idea of getting to write with my fellow ficcers whom I cherish and admire, so I'd love to do more co-written fics.

14. all time favorite ship? I'm not picking one lmao. But if I had to? Probably CJ/Danny. They had everything. the chemistry. the will they/won't they. the yearnnnning. (Close runners-up are BJ/Peg/Hawkeye, Anna/Bates, Spirk... and Kate/Gibbs because I don't forget my roots).

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Triad Wedding. 😬 I got kinda burnt out and (at the time I finished it) went "eh no one will want to read this anyway" so now I have a 125k MASH draft on my desktop. It has... well, everything. Bisexual OT3 wedding. Mucho smut (more than I've ever published in one story before in my LIFE). Communication ✨. etc. It's been two years now, so even though there's a full draft, I don't want to promise that it'll ever be done. It needs a lot of work.

16. what are your writing strengths? Dialogue. I used to be terrified of writing dialogue, and now I think I'm decent at it. Staying in character, maybe?

17. what are your writing weaknesses? Pacing! Ask me why the 125k draft mentioned above is only seven days of in-universe time.

Also I could be better at worldbuilding. I know many authors who flesh out the whole universe and make it feel so breathable and lived in (Mia for example, she's a champ at that!) but that's still a work in progress for me. AND smut. I need to get better/more confident at that, but I've yet to learn how after six-odd years of writing it. 😐

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language? I don't speak enough languages for that. Other authors can do it and do it convincingly. Not me tho.

19. first fandom you wrote in? Lost (baby's first fanfic, still buried in the depths of my FFN page); but I really got into it with Downton Abbey.

20. favorite fic you've written? I could give one of my usual answers about "ye who are weary" (because of the technical achievement of covering so many characters in one story), or "Don't Bet Your Future" (probably my MOST self-indulgent) but instead...

I really enjoyed writing "None of Us Are More Than Caretakers", guys. The season 7 secret relationship is one of my favourite time periods to cover for CJ and Danny, and getting to write this little "missing episode" between Last Hurrah and Institutional Memory was so much fun, and a great technical challenge. Plus it WAS self-indulgent because I got to write all the post-coital scenes we were robbed of in canon AND build up to the events of IM.

thank you again!!! and I'll tag whoever is interested and has a few free hours to kill! 💜✨

[chimivx]

was NOT expecting a sequel (or I guess a prequel?? Haha) to no matter what I do. I also was literally logging in to tumblr to reread it because I needed a Soobin fic for my Soobin feels and I couldnt find any good ones in the tags. But I saw this! And I read it all last night which I kinda regret because I felt bad after like I always do when reading angst LOL BUT IN A GOOD WAY!!!!! Your writing is so immaculate it had me feeling a type of way……. The love triangle, the fights, the drama, I loved it all. I felt sick when y/n felt sick, and I felt mad when y/n felt mad….. I’ve said this before lol but ur writing is very much like a published novel, it’s SO GOOD. I’m like tired rambling rn but I just had to tell u before I forgot to send an ask. The character dynamics were great, the jealousy between tae and Beomgyu over y/n, and the guilt y/n feels at the end for liking both gyu and tae, and then beomgyus whole personal story with adhd and his dad, you gave them so much depth!!!! I love it!!!! Also that tease at the end of the next part with tae and his baby mama SUCH GOOD WRITING SKILLS I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!!! Anyways I am excitedly anticipating the next part 🥰🥰 no longer in my Soobin feels bc of this LOL now I just want Beomgyu to be happy (and yn too). Actually one more thing before I end this off LOL but in nmwid I kinda didn’t like yns character (though I did sympathize with her for her past), but this backstory really made me actually feel for her. She just wants to be happy with taehyun (and gyu lol) and she is trying to change her life for the better. Despite their relationship break, I am glad she did get her happy (somewhat) ending with Soobin in the future. I’ll be rereading nmwid with a different perspective now! Haha

I am FRRRREAKING out right now you have no idea.

I love you SO MUCH. These words mean everything to me 🫶

I’m a sucker for depth, for backstories, lore, you name it, I want it and we GOT IT!! Positively in love with the people I’ve made up, the people I’ve created even though they are fucked beyond belief… They my babies. I’m so so so so happy you loved them just as much!

NMWID, it’s so tough to see what MC is going through and sympathize, because we’re going off of so many hazy, broken memories… She was almost never sober, so who’s to say everything that happened really happened the way it did?! So you saying this shifted your perspective makes my day 🫶

A PUBLISHED NOVEL!? I adore you. You get to have my first born, sending her over to u ASAP. Lmao, I kid, but still. That’s the biggest compliment… Published novel is the dream… Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Part Two comes soon, I promise you!! Get those Soobin feels ready again! He’ll be in there!!!

[youngbloodbuzz]

it’s been a long time since I’ve found myself in these asks. in the times between chapter 10 & 11, I was here A LOT. I still consider BHAH one of my favorite stories I’ve ever read and I’ve reread it atleast three times. Other chapter have (like 9 & 11 have been read even more than that). Unfortunately, I am waiting probably another year before I read it again (I haven’t read it since Chapter 12 came out) just so I can try to experience it fresh. How does it feel to be a semi-famous-amongst-a-very-niche-audience-and-simultaneously-be-completely-anonymous? Must be pretty exciting. That book someone made also of BHAH!!! It’s perfect and I wish I could swoop to the nearest Barnes and Noble and pick up a copy for myself. I’ve always considered printing out yours and Roman’s story just to have it, but maybe I should take up a certain art of book binding first. Anyways, the reason I came here: I’m reading The Stand by Stephen King right now and it’s 475k words. It’s a monster. I’m nearly done with it, but I’m so ready for it to be over. BHAH was only 100k less and it still felt too soon for it to be over. First off, how the hell did you guys basically manage to write a Stephen King novel just based off a 9 part series? Second, how did you make it so goddamn entertaining? The whole time I’ve been reading this, I’ve just been contemplating what you guys must have went through because seeing the physical evidence of a 400k word novel in book format is insane. You don’t get that same experience scrolling on a screen. So, essentially I just came here to say again how much I love your story and also say how absolutely insane the two of you are. You’ve made a lot of people extremely happy with your story. If only it wasn’t illegal to sell on shelves, I think it would be considered a classic in the LGBT section of the book store. Now I’m signing off. Love y’all. I’ll check back in next year when I do my reread

thank you so much oh my god this is so sweet. honestly every time i get a message like this i'm still so surprised how well loved it is. i personally don't particularly feel like any kinda semi famous fic author lol thobm has such a small fandom after all but it is a first time that something i co-wrote got this much attention

and honestly i have no idea how we managed to write something that long and coherent while still being entertaining and gripping. we both agreed though that (in roman's words lol) that the key to making a long novel not seem like a huge slog is to make sure your plotting is even across big sections (ie/ our massive chapters lol) while still maintaining an overall structure. even having each chapter or pair of chapters feeling like they each have their own little mini arc because usually the past and present would complement each other in some way which meant that we pulled off a good ebb and flow effect

so in other words like...a lot of rambling in the dms and being super obsessed lmao

maybe one day we could officially publish it but no promises lol

@romanimp

[umbra-borealis]

TLDR, Elements of Chaos, a massive Sonic AU I've had for years will be in production, meaning most my spare time will go towards that. C0mms might still be open but I'll be more picky because I want to make sure I can actually deliver quality without overworking myself. It's just me, one singular guy, working on this passion project and while I'm okay with that, keep in mind that things might move slowly. I don't have the mental capacity, free time or funding to work on it full time. I'm still excited though and I hope you guys are too.

And of course, here's that ko-fi link I mentioned.

Transcript:

Umbra's 2024 look-ahead

Hello everyone!

2023 was a rather slow year for me as an artist but eventful for me mentally. Because of this I wasn't able to do as much as I had planned and that, not going to lie, hurts. But I'm also ready to leave that in the past and perhaps just push the pause button on some things to return to later because certain things (like the tarot card project) still live rent free in my head. These big long term projects are most impacted by the small amount of folks interested in them besides myself and before you think I'm complaining, this is actually a bit of a blessing because this means I can put a pin in that and things like it to instead focus on something more important to me...

ELEMENTS OF CHAOS.

This is a Sonic AU, yup. Lets get that out of the way first. I'm far from the only one to have an AU and turn it into a full length fic or comic but the thing is, I'm doing neither. Sonic has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. It was a comfort during my most traumatizing years as a child when I had to navigate abuse on the daily, it was a reason for me to not commit sewer slide when I was at my lowest and I cannot begin to express the many ways it affected me as a writer and artist. Together with it's less well known sibling NiGHTS, the Sonic series is the reason I draw/write at all. But as we all know, the Sonic series isn't without it's flaws and just like so many others, I started re-writing bits and pieces I didn't like to form a new narrative.

This is a long haul passion project. The format has already been decided on and I plan to keep 'dev logs' for folks to keep up with if it interests them because I can't promise the release of it's first chapter any time soon. This project only has one person doing all the work and that person is me so if you're interested in supporting me I have a ko-fi link I'll attach to this post (and hopefully more options to come soon) They come with perks too so I don't feel like I'm just e begging, lmao.

Here's a little list of things I'm doing/have to do in order to start publishing.

Character references (Sonic is done already). This is because this story will also feature illustrations.

Website building. Yes, I plan to host a website on Neocities specially for Elements of Chaos.

Actual writing, doi. It's true that I have already worked on the first chapter and gotten positive feedback on what I have so far, but it's far from done!

Cover/page illustrations. This is a storybook type thing. I want to experiment and learn as an artist. This project will be my playground for that and hopefully you'll get to see that growth as the story progresses.

Development will happen in that order, so you can expect references before anything else.

For now, happy new year everyone! I'll share more fun stuff such as a synopsis, world building, stream news etc. in the near future. For now I'm going to enjoy what's left of the holidays before going straight back to work. I look forward to taking everyone along on this creative journey. Thank you!

[itsjaywalkers]

hi lovey how are you <3

it's late—like,,,4am late—and im somehow spewing out actual sentences BUT i have a question and i've been debating on how to start this whole thing so ill just say fuck it n get it out there—how do you keep up with all your wips??? bc like,,,,i've started writing, and i LOVE it. it's so fun to have these ideas finally out in word format instead of just stuck in my head.

but i have a really bad habit of starting smth n then...moving on to smth else when inspiration strikes. i occasionally go back to what i was originally writing, but even then it doesn't last long before im starting a whole new story 😭 im a little peeved as i've completely abandoned this one writing i slaved away at for days abt the backstory of one of my ocs—im somewhat proud of it n i don't want to just not get back into it.

as i write this, im currently staring at my laptop as i churn out yet another story of said oc (along with multiple other ocs myself n a friend made together) n im just,,,perplexed?? i suppose, on how so many fic writers keep up with all their wips.

i realize now that im just droning on n on so ill end here. writing is a bitch but also feels me with accomplishment when i do end up finishing smth, so i was just curious as to how you work around wips n things like that.

hello darling, i'm okay!! kinda dreading today's shift, but it is what it is. how are u tho??

and to be honest with u, i don't keep up with my wips like . at all . i do try to maintain some order, and sometimes i forbid myself from working on a story in favour of focusing on another one, but it doesn't always work, and there are times in which i really want to work on a fic even tho it's not a priority or supposed to be posted any time soon. but still, i try not to beat myself up over it, bc fanfiction is a hobby and something that i do for fun!! it shouldn't feel like a chore, so even if i do want to keep a schedule or alternate between wips so i can have some resemblance of balance, it's not really necessary, or even possible, considering the amount of wips i have lmao. it's our work and our writing, we're free to never finish anything if we don't want to, or to write 13847872648 fics at the same time, or to write only one for the rest of our lives. there are no rules or a right way to go about it yk??? i totally get the need to . focus on just one project, or at least be able to finish something, anything, but it'll happen at some point, i promise, and u should never force yourself, especially when it comes to an activity u do bc u love it and enjoy it

it's different if we talk about original fiction or original characters.. at least in my case!! i didn't get into writing fanfic until a few years ago, but i've been writing original stories since i can remember!! in fact there's this one i'm very slowly making progress with, that i came up with back when i was 17, and that i really want to . finish someday and hopefully try and publish it. for me, and when i'm really passionate about a project, like with this one, i do . force myself to not write anything else . it's inevitable to get new ideas, so i write them down, i make pinterest boards and even outlines, and occassionally, i also start them, write a lil of them when i need a break or to scratch the itch. but otherwise i just . do my best to stick to the one that i really love and i'm the proudest of. i do tend to hyperfixate and obsess a lot, so it's not THAT hard for me, bc even if i do get distracted sometimes, i always come back to this story. especially since i've been working on it for almost 5 years now, and i know it like the back of my hand. i could write three prequels and four sequels lol

so really, i don't think there's a right or wrong way to go about this. one of my best friends, and a writer i quite admire, jumps from a wip to another all the time, and also struggles to finish a story, but she just . trusts the process . lets herself have fun and write whatever she wants every day . it's been a while since she last finished something but she isn't too worried yk?? she enjoys what she does, and what matters is that she keeps writing. every person is different, and the way they approach writing is, too!!

my advice is to try and find out what works best for u and to stop beating yourself up over something that might be out of ur control. if u have this one story that's really important to u and that u really wanna finish, then maybe ur gonna have to practise some self-discipline, and force yourself a little, forbid yourself from getting distracted with these other shiny new ideas. but if doing that ruins the whole thing for u and sucks the fun out of writing then . take it one day at a time, focus on something different each day, and start 4 stories in the same week. it doesn't matter babe!! writing is an art, there's not a correct way to do it!!

[salmon-daikon]

a bit abt me

hiya im salmon and im usually just a studious and quiet person but once you get past that im a fanfic binger who reads 10k smut until 3am :)

anyway i also try my best to write fics tho they're not very good so i don't publish much :(( im tryna stop being so perfectionistic and post some more soon!!

find me on ao3: salmon_daikon

can't wait to meet some fellow shippers and chaotic fans hehhh B)

feel free to send some fanfic requests from tagged fandoms (tho i cant promise i'll write them for sure lmao i really do need to fix my procrastination issues)

nice to meet you!

[candyskiez]

Hello 💖

For the writer goal ask: 🎉🐌🐾🛏️

Hello!!

🐌: Honestly. My new years resolution was to just finish One Fic so. I think I got that covered LMAO. If I get my shit together I might be done soon but I'm having a weird autism thing about needing Permission and its weird man. But basically my goal is Finish ONE Fic.

🐾: I'm planning on applying to fandom trumps hate hopefully! I'm also planning on Nimona week. I know I need to finish dadrius week I just. Am emotionally exhausted on those so I need to gently bap my hand away from them lmao. Goldenheart week is a maybe?

🛏️: Physical hurt/comfort, whump, those are some things in the wips that I haven't done before, least not in a published fic. Also actually fucking writing characters interacting instead of just Vague Introspection, shocking I know /lh. At this rate maybe I'll have them make gestures or body movements!

🎉: Honestly I'm horrendous at being nice to myself so I make absolutely no promises on that. But I will at least not punish myself as much as I did over dadrius week lmao

[angst-in-space]

june ‘23 writing progress

words written: 14k

most words written in a day: 926

least words written in a day: 142

current yearly total: 86.1k

projects worked on:

- ya sci-fi book revisions - sylvix pacific rim au - matchablossom bed-sharing fic - red skies ch 8 - kazurei post-canon fic - sylvix dreamscape ch 9 edits

works published in june:

none

june goals:

- write about 20k - rewrite 2-3 chapters of ya sci-i book revisions - post ch 9 of sylvix dreamscape - edit chs 3-4 of renga fic if i have time? - maybeee start editing ch 10 of dreamscape fic? - keep working on ch 8 of red skies - work on other fics (sylvix pacrim, kazurei post-canon, matchablossom fic, etc.)

july goals:

- write 30k for camp nano - rewrite 4-5 chapters of ya sci-fi book (up to ch 20-ish?) - post ch 9 of sylvix dreamscape fic - start editing ch 10 of dreamscape fic - start editing chs 3-4 of renga fic? - continue first draft of arctic monster book - work on various fics (sylvix pacrim, kazurei post-canon, matchablossom, red skies ch 8, etc.)

notes:

technically... i think i got a lot done during june! did not reach my word goal of 20k, but it was kind of a busy month for me and i felt a bit stuck during the first half of the month, so i’ll cut myself some slack lol.

i ended up setting a goal for myself to try and rewrite approximately 600 words of my YA sci-fi book every day. why 600 you ask? yes it’s kind of a random number, but... basically, i’m aiming to finish this round of rewrites by the end of september for Reasons—and judging by my average chapter length, i calculated somewhere around 600 words per day will help me reach that goal. i’m going to try and keep that up throughout july, with a goal to reach at least ch 20 by the end of the month (ideally maybe more like ch 21 or 22 but... we’ll see *sweats*).

july is camp nano!! so i set a goal of 30k. a majority of that will be book rewrites. but i also hope to reach that goal by working on a few other projects (i.e. various fics, and the arctic monster fantasy book i’ve been neglecting for a couple months). 

ch 9 of sylvix dreamscape fic has been beta’d and everything... i just need to actually make my final edits on it and post it (aka where my worst executive dysfunction kicks in, lol). it’s been...an embarrassingly long time since i updated so errrm i hope to get on that soon!

i also keep meaning to edit the next couple chapters of my renga fic since i also haven’t updated that in many months.... i’m sorry i am so behind on everything lmao, as usual i keep biting off way more than i can chew. but i’ll be on top of things eventually i promise akdfkd

well anyway YEAH should be... a very busy month!

[da3dm]

HI I PROMISE I'M SLOWLY GETTING INTO YOUR CONTENT, I FINALLY FOLLOWED YOU AND WILL GET INTO THE G/T FIC THEN IRZA AND VARA SOON AFTER!!! PATIENCE PLEASE IM NOT A QUICK PERSON!!!

ANYWAYS

🦅, ✍️ , 🌞 , 💖 , 📚 for the writer ask game! :]

ALSO you should make a playlist for vara or irza or vaza (coining an unofficial ship/duo name LMAO) or even eze !!!

— brick

i will unveil myself like a normal anon will, just for fun :)

HELLO YDXKGCKUGC

It’s perfectly fine, you actually startled me when you followed me! Which is actually pretty hilarious, and thank you for this ask...‘anon’!

You should’ve asked for a snippet of a wip or something bc I’m in extreme I MUST WRITE mood bc I feel very sick

I already have a playlist for Irza and I definitely don’t listen to it daily and write to it...

Here are your answers! Behold!

--

🦅: Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

What’s an outline???

No—in all seriousness I absolutely never outline. I attempted to outline for Night Light and it went nothing like what I planned for the very beginning of it but flowed sooooo well.

✍️: Do you have a beta reader?

Not really? Only dingbatnix bc I started proofreading theirs and decided to ask for some help with mine too! I don’t mind having more than one person read over it before I upload it though, since everyone catches something completely different...

🌞: Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

When I’m tired. That could be any time, but when I’m tired I hyperfixate on writing and easily spew out a few thousand words in about half an hour depending on how much I’m interrupted.

💖: What made you start writing?

I have absolutely no clue. I’ve been writing since kindergarten, although back then I drew a picture book and had my mom write the words for me and that never really went anywhere. I’ve also been told that, you know those tangents and stories toddlers will go on when telling a story with their toys? My brothers always ended after maybe a week, sometimes a little more, but I would carry on for MONTHS, and randomly bring it up like telling my mom “Oh! that gave me a great idea for “this and this” character!” Since I carried on forever tho my mom had no clue what I was even talking about bc she’d kinda tune me out. I once had a stuffed toy duck I insisted was a “rabies rabbit” just bc it fit my story, but I had toy rabbits....

📚: Would you ever want to turn writing into a career?

If possible, ABSOLUTELY! I actually want to publish the book Voidshire if I can ever get around to finishing it! It would be my first published ones, altho not the first one to be finished.

—

I had fun answering this!

[sparatus]

Emoji asks: 🍆💖✨🤲

yesssss

fanfic writer emoji asks

🍆 Do you write the spicy stuffs? If so, what's your most popular nsfw fic?

....... nothing that's published, at least not recently :lmao: probably this one from 2017 the crowd went wild for besties fuckin with funny banter and not being perfect at sex and laughing at each other

💖 What made you start writing?

rp!! i started rping with my friends on facebook, and when i met @lightspeedpowerpunk and we started building up our own whole au universe it turned into writing entire fics for the concepts we wanted to rp, and eventually i started just writing my own one-shots about our characters and tossing them over

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

hmmm i've definitely made a lot of improvements over the years, i've come a long way from how i used to write. my character and worldbuilding especially are leagues better, they're definitely my strong suit.

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

short once since this has other questions!! i promise memory ch1 will be done soon we're almost there--

--

If Valis realized what she’d said, she made no indicator, just calmly taking the roast out of the oven and setting it on the counter. The air swam before Saren's eyes as the rich, honey-drenched scent flooded the kitchen and elbowed everything else out of the way. He leaned forward in his chair, sniffing deeply.

Valis chuffed. "Uh-huh. Should taste better'n it smells. Wanted somethin' special for you lot to come home to." She started sprinkling herbs over the roast, her claws clicking together with every little rub of her fingers. Saren settled back and leaned an arm on the table, closing his eyes to savor the scent, and –

“So, when were you two planning on telling me Harper’s back?”

His eyes snapped back open. There was an edge to her voice, something in her subvocals he couldn’t quite name. Uh-oh. He froze, watching her patiently pull a carving knife out of the block, trying to decide how best to answer. They had, in fact, barely discussed it at all – Desolas had asked him you know we can’t tell Valis, right?, he’d agreed, and that had been that. Valis had been through enough at Shanxi, and Des didn’t want to reopen old wounds.

He was taking too long, evidently, because Valis sighed as the knife touched the meat. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she grumbled.

Saren’s heart climbed up his throat, and his neck burned in shame as he ducked his head to look at the floor. “Desolas didn’t want to upset you,” he offered meekly, awkwardly moving his forearms to rest on his knees and loosely knit his fingers together. He didn’t, either, and Desolas knew his wife better than Saren did, so it felt safest to just do as he was told and keep his mouth shut.

A noisy exhale rattled Valis’s nasal plates as the knife sawed through the roast. “Ohhh, that man,” she hissed to herself. “I’m not fragile, you know. I’m a big girl, I have a therapist, I’d like to know the fuckheads who killed my scout and tortured my husband are causing problems again.” A deep growl ripped out of her chest as the knife found the cutting board with a solid thnk. “Need to know. I can’t get the rest of me back, so I’ll just take those chunks of him and call it even.”

[twobraincellkentwell]

A Thousand Miles And Poles Apart

[A Game Called Revenge]

Part Twenty-Six

Series Masterlist Part One.

Summary: "ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʜᴇʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴜʀɴ."

The final moments in the hovercraft before they're taken someplace else, poles away from each other.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the nature of content in some of the chapters. Murder and death. Mentions of sex probably.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Here we have it, the last chapter of this fic and an ending that is hopefully a surprise (I aimed for suspense lmao) and I promise I'll get on publishing the prequel as soon as possible. I want to just say my usuals, I have a favourite line so if you can find it then let me know :) reblogs, shares and comments always appreciated.

Screams ring through her ears.

Shooting straight upright on the floor, Clio struggles to regain her breath which escapes in explosive gaps from her lips, fighting viciously against the sedative being pumped into her body. She grasps the space beside her, looking for the comfort of Cato's body but her hands come up empty and the events of the past few days come flooding into her mind sickeningly quickly. She grasps tightly at large handfuls of her hair as she hears the screams of agony, only barely managing to hear the insults the screaming girl is throwing at someone in the adjacent room. Steady, metronomic beeps in the background, sounding wildly when she yanks at the needle and tubing in her right arm. Blood comes spurting from the puncture wound as she fights the effects of her drugging while adrenaline surges through her body to enable her to reach for the gauze and micropore tape on a silver side table beside the machines and tapes it to her arm as she pushes to her feet in preparation to meet the footsteps now pounding down the hallway head on.

The glass door slides open with a loud squeak as four guards storm the room, each in a form-fitting, lightweight black bodysuit covered by hard-panelled exoskeleton vests. They're unarmed, something Clio notices the instant they step inside, and the guard at the back presses a button on the wall beside the door to fix it shut, trapping them inside the room. The four guards came to halt in front of the glass panels that separate her location, from the main area of the hovercraft as if they want to make a show of incapacitating her before they encircle her with tense muscles. Clio stands tall, grabbing the needle she ripped from her arm that was abandoned on one the chairs and reaches for the lone pair of small nurses bandage scissors in an open container before kicking it to the side. The first of the guards lunges forwards, fist flying with blinding speed in an effort to hurt and disorientate her while the second reaches for something in his pocket. She dodges the punch, making use of her short stature to duck under the man's arm, countering with a strong kick to send him staggering backwards before turning her attention to the second guard; running the short distance towards him and kicking at his arm. The man is caught off guard and he drops the needle, likely filled with a sedative, to the ground. Clio quickly stomps on the sharp, sending liquid spilling out onto the floor around her, and shoving the man forcefully so that he loses his footing on the slippery surface and falls to his back, allowing her to send a fast kick to his chest which makes him flail and knock his head on one of the chair. Another of the guards makes his way towards her and she takes a low blow, kicking the man in his groin before driving her elbow into his windpipe when he doubles over in pain. With two of the guards on the floor, the fourth guard sneaks up on Clio from behind, grabbing at her shoulder and bending slightly to administer the sedative to her neck.

"Fuck." A jab hits the guards chest, hard over his armour. "Off." She punctuates her sentence with a shift spin in his hold and forces her thumbs into his eye sockets. Watching another syringe tumble to the floor she kicks the man again and his body hits the floor with enough force to break the vessel on impact and he screams in pain. The one remaining guard lunges at her again, outstretching to grab at her sides, when she sidesteps quickly and uses the force of her body weight to slam the large man into the glass. With his large size she struggles to keep him immobile against the divider, instead she reaches into his pocket to retrieve the sedative and pierces the skin of his neck. The man crumples the floor with a thud as his world fades to black. One of the guards on the floor has managed to crawl to the button by the door, pressing it twice to trigger some kind of emergency response and making red lights flash throughout the area. Kicking at the man's chest once more, Clio pushes the palm of her hand against the button to silence the alarm. She steadies herself before walking along the wall, before entering the main area where the shouts have now ceased when the doors whoosh open.

The low rumblings of conversation are immediately cut off when three heads turn to face her. Beetee, in a wheelchair, Finnick and Plutarch loiter around the control table of the hovercraft which has three red dots flickering in the same location and the coordinates of important spots in the Capitol highlighted with yellow boxes. Plutarch is still dressed in a three piece suit, whilst Finnick and Beetee are dressed in what she can only describe as slate grey hospital gowns, with their wrists and forearms strapped with white bandage wrapping, yet they still hiss slightly when they move.

"Do any of you want to tell me where the fuck I am and why the fuck I'm here?" She shouts, "I'm not involved in your stupid little plan so you can fucking drop me and Cato off in Two."

"We can't do that-" Beetee tells us softly.

"You can!" She yells, letting out a crazed laugh as she walks towards the table and scouring the buttons. "You press one of these buttons and direct this fucking hovercraft so we can go home."

"Clio-"

"You're a fucking liar, Finnick. You sat in on our alliance meeting and let me talk about how much I want to kill her only to stab us all in the back with your fucking trident." Her voice is shrill, breaking slightly from the volume but she couldn't care less as she continues. "It was my right!"

"I understand that, Clio but this isn't about you anymore. I had a commitment to this rebellion, and I couldn't let you do that." Finnick is unmoved, voice cold and stoic, whilst Clio's anger is like a raging current.

She can hear the thud of her heart in her ears, the tips of them red hot as she tries to breathe deeply to calm herself down; to try and understand Finnick's logic to protect someone he only properly met a few months ago over some of his friends no matter how flawed she believed it to be - least she thought they were friends. Now she isn't so sure.

"She was mine to kill." Clio seethes, her voice deep and almost unrecognisable as she strains not to let her anger explode through her throat.

"It had to be like this." Finnick offers with a clench of his brow.

"You expect me to believe that?" Sarcasm oozes from her as if it was second nature. As easily as her aggression does. "I've only ever asked for one thing from you, Finnick. You promised I could be the one to do it!"

"I didn't promise anything, Clio." Finnick takes a deep breath, his sea-green eyes flickering with some kind of pain, from what she isn't sure. "I'm sorry but I had to give Plutarch intel on your plan and couldn't risk exposing him."

"I knew I should've told Snow about this stupid thing the second I could. That's why I'm here isn't it?"

"Yes." Beetee answers curtly, raising a hand to try and placate her. "You knew too much about the plan for us to risk anything."

"So you fucking kidnapped me to, what? Prove a point?" she scoffs, running her hands through her hair as she paces backwards.

"You should be thanking us, Clio." Plutarch says, "If we had left you behind I can promise you that you'd be dead if Snow found that you knew."

"I'm not a fucking rebel!" She shouts. "I don't want to be here. I never have, don't you get it? I was going to die in that arena so just fucking drop me off before I tear your head from your neck."

"We can't." Beetee reinforces.

"You should be grateful we rescued you. Your boyfriend's little speech about the two of you not choosing to fight together has the beginnings of an anarchist written all over it." Plutarch tells her. "You would be begging to be killed with whatever torture the Capitol has in store for the rest of the rebels."

"The rest of them?"

The room falls silent as the three around the control panel all nod solemnly, their stances softening slightly at the head gamemakers revelation that they left behind some of the members of their team, their rebellion.

"They have Peeta." Finnick confesses, "and Johanna."

Her eyes widen, if they left their symbol's loverboy to be tortured and killed then there's not a chance they're letting her go home now and expose where they are hiding out.

"Where's Cato?" She questions.

"Clio-" Finnick tries.

Voice wavering, she tries again. "Cato. Where is he?"

"In the Capitol."

"You fucking cunt!" She screams as she launches herself full force at the ex-gamemaker, her nails coming to grip the man's throat before two hands wrap themselves underneath her arms and lift her off the floor away from her intended target. They took him. She flashes an angry look towards the man and towards Beetee who is watching with frantic eyes at the scene unfolding before him. "He's going to die. You've left him to fucking die!"

"If you're not the rebels we claim you are, then there's no reason to be worried." Plutarch spits out, clutching desperately at his throat and trying to find the location of the stinging cut that has been left by the sharp points of her nails.

"They're going to think he knows something because you took me. I look involved," she snarls, writhing in Finnick's tight grip as she fights to reach the man. To kill him. "They're going to kill him."

"There's no changing what happened but if you hadn't split up we might have been able to rescue you both. I'm sorry." Finnick tries.

She turns attention to him, struggling in his hold as she turns her head. Is he blaming me? She thinks, mouth hanging agape she tries to find the words, or even a sound that could come close enough to the anger she felt. Close enough to the sense of betrayal. She goes to take another stride towards Plutarch when Finnick's grip loosens marginally but his hands stop her as they come to rest firmly on her shoulders.

"Get off me," She spits, shaking off his hold and looking between the three of them, their figures becoming a blur as tears start to well in her eyes. Blinking them away as soon as she feels them, her voice cracks. "How could you, Finnick?" Her face crumples. "I trusted you. He was your friend!"

"Is..." Finnick says softly, "He is my friend."

"He was because he's good enough as fucking dead now anyway."

"Look I know it might not make sense right now, but we did what we could." Beetee says.

Clio shakes her head, her frown deepening as she steps away from her once friend, ready to go and find a high enough dose of sedative to knock herself out, maybe enough to kill her. It's then her attention is drawn to the far corner of the room where a tense Haymitch struggles to restrain a frustrated Katniss as the second round of sedation wears off; and who Clio now realises was the source of the scream that woke her up. He holds her back by her wrists while she kicks violently at his legs and claws at his arms so viciously that blood drips to pool by their feet. She is screaming again. The sound of her voice is piercing as she screams incoherently about how they left Peeta, her words slightly slurred from the sedative.

"I hate you." Clio hisses as Finnick snakes his arms underneath hers again to restrain her from attacking the symbol of their rebellion.

"The feelings mutual, sweetheart." Haymitch retorts, waving his hand in the direction of the others as he tries to hold Katniss back. "I did not advocate for your rescue, that was all them."

Katniss is the one shouting now, her voice breaking under the stress, "You saved her? Over Peeta?"

"You can drop the act, love. He's not here."

"Letting her go was never an option once she found out about the plan. It was the best option for all of us. She will remain in District Thirteen under the constant surveillance of guards until we have decided what to do with her." Plutarch answers for.

"What to do with me? I'm not some fucking cattle you can just decide to slaughter!" Clio laughs, "And by the way, you might want to get some better guards because there's four of them in the other room, probably unconscious or dead by now."

Plutarch swears under his breath, scurrying through the doors to go and check on the incapacitated guards in the next room over, while Clio delivers a swift kick to the side of Finnick's legs; bringing the man to his knees as she sees angry, pulsating red. The young woman from Twelve manages to break free from Haymitch's hold, only to be slammed into the metal wall of the hovercraft by her throat. Clio's left hand wraps around the base of the mockingjay's throat as she uses all her upper body strength to keep her pinned to the wall when her skull bounces against the metal.

"It's all your fucking fault!" She screams into her face, kicking at the taller girl's knees so that her feet dangle from the floor and all her weight is being supported by Clio's palm against her windpipe. "Why won't you just fucking die! I swear I'll do it right now."

Katniss shakes her head as frantically as she can with her range of movement obstructed by Clio's strength, an utterance of a 'please' slipping from her mouth.

"You took everything from me!" Clio continues to shout, "You couldn't have just killed the bread boy like you were supposed to or just been fucking grateful for once in your life?"

Katniss begins to claw at her hand, drawing blood as she desperately tries to break free and communicate with Finnick and Haymitch who are attempting to pull Clio off of her to no avail as they fear that the woman will rip her throat out if they even attempt to use her short stature against her and lift her off the ground. Katniss gasps for air, collapsing to the floor and grasping her neck in reprieve as she wills the air to return to her lungs. Finnick, careful not to further anger an already enraged Clio, gently places her feet back down on the floor as Katniss stands again, "I was just trying to survive."

"Oh boo fucking hoo, Everdeen." Clio mocks, "The world doesn't revolve around you and your desperate attempts to steal everyone's personality."

"I didn't-"

"Cato is gone. My parents are dead. Clove is dead!" Clio screams, willing herself not to let tears fall with her anger.

"Clove was a cruel, sociopathic narcissist that enjoyed the thrill of killing children." Haymitch rasps.

"She was a child. You're conveniently forgetting she was fifteen."

"She was a menace to society and I'm glad she's dead." He snarls back

Finnick's hands clutch Clio's shoulders once more, as Haymitch takes a step back from the girl lunging towards him with a venomous glint in her eyes.

"Don't you fucking speak about her." Clio shouts, pointing her finger at Haymitch.

"She tried to kill me. You tried to kill me." Katniss protests. "Besides I didn't kill her, Thresh did."

"And then Ajax killed him and you killed Ajax. Don't you think I know how it happened? I've watched it nearly everyday for the past year." When Katniss looks shocked, Clio continues, jabbing her finger angrily in Katniss' direction.

"She was my sister. MY SISTER! Not yours, not anyone else's. Mine. And you're the reason she's dead!"