#re: new fanfic

[diaryofasentimentalist]

— i dial drunk // ex!leon

pairing: leon kennedy x reader

tags: angst, exes, drunk dial, very mild sexual content

summary: your ex calls you in the middle of the night to reminisce on the good times, but you'd rather not. (2.7k)

a/n: lots of jumping between the current phone call and their past memories so just mind the verb tense!

The ringing finds you in your dreams, a vexing trill that you can’t seem to find the source of no matter how long you search, that doesn’t stop no matter how long you wait it out. When it finally pulls you from your sleep, you reach over and silence the tone without so much as twitching an eyelid. The grating vibrations of your phone against the nightstand continue as the call finishes ringing out.

Another shrill tone startles you, shattering the silence as soon as you feel yourself drifting off again. Groggily, you pat around on the nightstand until you find your phone again and bring it to your ear, eyes barely cracking open enough to find the green 'accept' button.

“Hello?” you mumble into the receiver, eyes straining open. It’s pitch black. Nowhere near dawn. Good news never comes at this hour.

“God, I missed the sound of your voice.”

That voice you’d know anywhere snakes its way into your ear, straight down your throat and into your chest, where it settles around your heart, squeezing tightly. You’re wide awake now, burning eyes forcing their way open, pulse quickening as you lay still in bed, paralyzed.

“Leon,” you say hoarsely, your voice still thick with sleep.

Your name echoes back to you on a sigh, your chest constricting at the homesickness of it all.

“I told you not to call me anymore,” you say, measured and even in spite of the way it feels like you can’t breathe.

“I know, baby,” he says, words slightly slurred. “But I jus’ missed you… wanted to hear your voice again…”

“You’re drunk.”

It’s not a question or an accusation, just a statement. It’s in his voice, in the way he called you multiple times at such an hour. In the way he’s calling you baby again, telling you openly how much he misses you. Leon has too much good sense— or maybe just pride— to pester you when he’s sober. Even on the rare occasion when he’s run into you in public since the break up, he just watched you from afar, a strange expression on his face. Get enough alcohol in him, though, and he’s right back to the desperation of the day you first left.

“S’that obvious, huh?” he says with a low laugh. The sound triggers the thing that has settled in your chest to tighten once more, sends another stabbing pain straight to your heart as you stare up at the dark ceiling. “Sorry, baby. I know you hate it when I drink.”

“Hated,” you correct. It doesn’t matter. Even if he remembers this conversation when he’s sober, it won’t stop him from talking the same way next time he drunk dials. “I don’t care what you do anymore, Leon, so long as you leave me out of it.” You shift onto your other side, breaking through the strange paralysis that had overtaken you. The digital alarm clock on your nightstand is waiting to greet you. 2:23 AM. “But you can’t even do that. God, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Nighttime?” he offers, sounding unbothered. “Did I wake you? We always used to stay up this late.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as an involuntary wave of memories floods through you. There were a lot of late nights when you were together. The lack of consistent sleep schedule never bothered you then. You were always just happy to be spending time with him in whatever way. Sometimes you’d be out on the balcony, lights off, clinging to one another as you talked on the wicker settee. Sometimes you’d watch late night tv, lying on the couch with him on top of you, nuzzling into your neck while you traced patterns into his back beneath his shirt. Sometimes you’d lie atop the mound of pillows on the bed, his head buried between your thighs as you gasped and sighed and moaned his name, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I have work tomorrow,” you say coldly, bidding the images to stop. “Goodbye, Leon.”

He cuts in before you can hang up, carrying on as though you hadn’t said anything at all. “Remember when you got that craving for muffins at midnight?”

Of course you do. You’d been having another late night with Leon, the tv droning on in the background while the two of you dozed on and off, when he’d finally suggested the two of you retire to bed. A commercial for some cereal came on just before the screen went black, and the second you saw the mock breakfast spread, that was it. You needed a muffin. Leon laughed off your suggestion at first. As soon as he realized how serious you were, though, he’d pulled you up and to the kitchen, and you’d gotten to work. His offers to help you culminated in him keeping a hand firmly planted on your waist at all times, watching you measure the ingredients out, and kissing the back of your head every so often. But you were at his apartment, and he wasn’t much of a baker, and so you’d only realized halfway through that he didn’t have all of the things you needed, no brown sugar or vanilla or even cinnamon.

Feeling defeated, you’d relented that you could just finish tomorrow. Wordlessly, Leon left the kitchen, returning a moment later with his keys jingling around his finger and tossing you a jacket. He took you to the nearest 24-hour supermarket, your hand never dropping his as you led him along the aisles, giggling. Even now, you recall the distinct domesticity of it all, how you’d felt so normal, like you could have a real life with him some day.

Leon kept a hand on your thigh the whole drive back, taking the long way home just to prolong the moment, and you were so glad you could watch the wind from the open windows rifle through his hair just a little longer, drink in the sight of the passing street lights flickering across his skin. When you finally got home, he was touchier than before as you finished your baking expedition. The moment the tray was in the oven you were upon him, legs wrapped around his waist as he hoisted you onto the counter, pulling you closer, always closer. You’d been so distracted that you’d let the muffins bake a little too long until the smell reminded you what you’d stayed up for. The edges had started to burn, the cinnamon crumble on top hardening just a bit too much, and you’d insisted that you could do better, but he assured you—

“Best damn muffins I’ve ever had,” Leon rambles on. “Been to a million bakeries, can’t find anything like them…”

Why is he telling you all this?

Why is he making you remember?

Now that the memory has started, you can’t stop it, the scenes rolling in your mind like a film. After indulging in the baked goods, he’d carried you to his room, house still smelling of cinnamon and vanilla. It must’ve been well past three by the time he was laying you back against the bed gently, but neither of you were tired. The earlier impatience in his movements had dissipated, and he took his time with you, his hands caressing your body while yours explored his with equal devotion—

“I miss how you felt in my hands,” he says suddenly, as though his thoughts have followed the same natural trajectory as yours.

You remember his hands on your hips, firm, secure, anchoring you to him. The way his calloused palms felt against your smooth skin. The way his touch dripped with reverence, like he was perpetually caught between the desire to treat you like something delicate and the desire to have more of you, that hungry conflict always reflected in his piercing blue eyes—

“I miss how you looked under me,” he continues.

You remember throwing your head back, how he’d dip in to kiss along the exposed column of your neck before littering affection across your face. How it would suddenly stop, sometimes, and when you’d look up at him expectantly, you’d find him gazing down at you in equal parts awe and adoration. The moment you reached up for him he’d come back down and—

“I miss how your lips fit against mine.”

“You’re so selfish,” you interject, unwilling to entertain this any longer, afraid of what might happen if you do. “Waking me up on a work night so you have someone to reminisce with?”

“I know, baby,” he says, a self-deprecating laugh tumbling through the phone, twisting your stomach. “I was a shit boyfriend and I’m a shittier ex.”

That’s not true. He was a wonderful boyfriend, except when he wasn’t. He was always affectionate with you, except when he wanted to be alone… always warm and patient with you, except when he would withdraw… always understanding and attentive, except when he’d drink… It’s just that the times he wasn’t there for you were so hard, and over time, they’d gotten more and more frequent. Nothing you did to try to reach him, to be there for him, to support him, ever seemed to get through to him. Eventually, it was all too much.

Yet anytime you hear his voice, it’s always the good that comes to mind. It overwhelms you, makes you question why you ever left. A single word from Leon makes you curse the day you walked away. Only when you’re alone, in silence, away from the inexplicable effect of his presence, can you truly remember how the lows felt. The isolation of it all, the pain, the waiting. The disappointment over and over and over again.

The rest of that night comes to you now, floating in through the open window with the August breeze. How strange to think that was a whole year ago. After making love, he’d held you for a time, and you were content there, as sweaty and warm as it was, but he’d carried you to the shower with him. It was mostly silent, save for the pitter-patter of the water against the tile. He lathered your hair for you, and you scrubbed his back, pressing kisses against his wet shoulders. By the time the two of you were toweled and dressed in fresh clothes, it was late— or early— enough that you’d decided to stay up and watch the sun rise. You’d snuggled closer to him out on the balcony, the early morning air chilling you slightly as your still wet hair dripped onto your shoulders. He’d pulled you in, his body a natural furnace, and wrapped you in his arms.

God, you’ve never felt that safe anywhere else.

“Yeah, you are.” The words are laced with forced venom, and it burns to speak them. “That’s why you shouldn’t call me anymore.”

“I know.” There’s a pause on the other end. “You should block me.”

His words shatter something inside you. “Shut up.”

“I mean it,” he drawls. “You could just block me. But you won’t.”

“Leon.”

“Because you still think about me, too, don’t you?”

“Seriously, shut up.”

“And if you blocked me,” he rambles on, “then you’d really never hear from me again.”

“Go fuck yourself, actually.”

Laughter filters in and out of earshot, like the receiver keeps drifting from his lips, but he doesn’t say anything else. The silence stretches on for one minute, two. A part of your conversation from that night on the balcony strikes you.

“Why not?” you’d asked him, tearing your gaze away from the brightening horizon to stare up at him, at the distant look in his blue eyes. Somehow, the subject of past relationships had come up. It wasn’t something either of you really cared about, but he’d just disclosed that he hadn’t really had a long term relationship with anyone before you. Most women left before things got serious, he’d said, and he never asked them to stay, to give it a real shot. He shrugged, using the motion to tug you closer.

“I can’t ask that of anyone. I don’t really deserve to. If someone wants to leave, I get it.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “That means you, too, when you finally get sick of me one day.”

“Never,” you said, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek as he chuckled. A few strands of sandy hair tickled your nose. “You’re stuck with me, you know that?”

“Oh, darling, I know. I’m afraid I’ll be stuck with you long after you’re gone.”

The offhand remark didn’t make sense to you at the time, and when you asked him what he meant, he refused to elaborate, merely remarking on the emerging colors in the sky.

You get it now. And if you’d got it then, you would have been afraid, too.

Time moves on for everyone else, but not you two. Something happened when you stormed out of his apartment on that rainy night back in April, staining the fabric of time, marring your life with an inescapable loop. Just when you start to feel normal, you’re forced to relive the raw heartache all over again, as if it’s only been four days, not months, since you left. It happens every single time his name pops up on your caller ID. Every so often, when you think— with a surge of dread that you refuse to acknowledge— that he might finally have moved on, he calls again.

Never to ask you to come back, though. Never to ask you for another chance.

Just to reminisce.

Hot tears stream out of the corners of your eyes, landing on your pillow with muted plops. You make no effort to stop them or wipe them away, silent for fear that your voice will betray you if you try to speak now. You hate it, but even crying in bed like this makes you think of him, the feeling of his chest against your back, his silent strength when he’d comfort you during moments of weakness.

“Leon?” you call, wondering if he finally passed out. Hoping that if he did, he’s at least in bed, or on the couch, or somewhere safe. Warm. Not huddled outside of some seedy bar, or hunched over the filthy curb.

“I may be selfish, sweetheart” he says finally, his voice husky, “but you’re just cruel.” You can only blink up at the ceiling, tears momentarily stayed as you wrack your brain for what he’s responding to. “You answer my calls just to tell me how much you don’t want them.”

If the fight weren’t draining out of you, you might snap back at him that he doesn’t have to call in the first place, that he should take a hint, that he should delete your number altogether. Instead, all you can do is let his words hang there while you contemplate them.

Maybe it is cruel. When he calls you like this, asking if you remember, he’s asking something more. Questions he could never verbalize, but that remain implicit in what he says. Do all those little moments mean as much to you as they do to me? Do the memories haunt you like they haunt me? Do you miss it like I do?

Leon won’t ask you to come back, no. But he wants to know if you’ve ever considered it on your own.

“Goodnight, Leon,” you say suddenly, forcing the words past the painful lump in your throat. You can't keep doing this, can't keep letting him tear you down just because he's found himself at the bottom of another bottle. “I hope you learn how to take better care of yourself one day.”

“I hope you find someone better to take care of one day.” At first, you think he’s just scrambled up your words in his drunken stupor in an effort to throw them back at you. But then he speaks again, and you know he meant exactly what he said. “Hey, I’m glad you left. Happy for you, I mean. You deserve better than me." Something terrible is building up in your chest, threatening to climb up your throat if he doesn't stop. "I love—”

You hang up before he can hear the way your breath shudders.

[jessunderstands]

Re: Zero Otome AU snippet

Snippet of an AU where Subaru ends up in an otome that he definitely doesn’t play

“Forgive me, but I can no longer hold my feelings back.”

Sunlight danced across Subaru’s cheeks as meadow flowers swayed in the gentle breeze. He looked back at his companion who had knelt into the grass, careful not to crush the flowers beneath them. Subaru’s eyes widened at the sight.

Wait. Wait, wait.

“For so long, I’ve felt this way about you.” The breeze brushed his companion’s hair out of their eyes, giving Subaru a full view of the glistening admiration in their eyes. The weight of their gaze was so heavy with fondness that Subaru wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. Those weren’t the eyes meant for someone like him.

Hold on pause.

“I’ve grown extremely fond of you, Subaru.”

Please, wait a minute! This whole situation was wrong, totally wrong.

The red that overtook his so-called admirer’s face was lovely, comparable to that of rosy dawn. He almost wanted to burn the sight into his eyes, to close his eyes and forever see the flustered expression of someone who loved him. Almost. He would if not for the fact that—

“Please let me stay by your side forever, Subaru. I swear that I’ll protect and cherish you.” Reinhard’s slender fingers gently took Subaru’s hand and brought them up to his lips.

—If not for the fact that wasn’t this the sort of situation that girls are supposed to be in? A guy like Subaru isn’t the type of person whose hand should be kissed. It should instead be Emilia, beautiful and kind Emilia in this position. So why wasn’t she? Why was Subaru here in her steed?

Subaru’s face burst into flames. He reckoned the red on his face didn’t look as flattering on him as it did on Reinhard, and yet, the knight’s eyes crinkled into what could only be fondness.

Why was he the one being confessed to?!

[fruchtfliege]

New chapter on the Re-Animator!thiam AU fic 🧪 so here are some memes :))

Summary: Liam had it all: the girl, a secured future, the dream vocation, and, above all, a way to make a difference. He worked hard to gain everyone’s respect at the hospital and Dean Romero’s blessing to get engaged with Hayden. Only a few years and he’d officially be a doctor! That’s when Theo Raeken came in like the rudest, most unyielding and fascinating meteor, crashing right into his comfortable life with his mad ideas about resurrecting the dead. But what could Liam have done differently, really? He needed a roommate, after all.

Go read God's Failures here 🎉

[anemicjellyfish]

I'm too lazy to write the fic myself so here are the bullet points, nothing flashy or proofread, all typed on my phone! It's got some Stolas, some Octavia, some Blitzø. A big dose of hurt/comfort. And an open, but fairly happy ending with an ending where "things sure do happen!"

Octavia is told she will be arranged to marry some Goetia or another relatively soon after Sinsmas takes place. She opposes the very idea of it, but Stella puts her foot down, insisting that this is the only way Via can be controlled Via can keep her place in Goetic society.

Their argument comes to a point where Octavia refuses to marry someone she doesn't love, much less someone she's never met. Stella rolls her eyes, finally admitting that all marriages are like this. It's not like her parents got to choose each other...

Octavia finally starts to see through the rest of the cracks in the foundations of home. The home that hadn't felt like home once her dad started to leave. The home that wasn't home without him now.

She decides to make a little trip.

Stolas and Blitzø are in their tiny apartment. Whatever movie was on TV was being ignored, despite Blitzø's insistence that it could be a short break from - well, from everything Stolas was going through.

Stolas has been taking things well enough, but it doesn't take much to upset him. A particularly difficult day could shut him down for almost a week on occasion.

He tells Blitzø he can learn to live without his staff, his possessions, even without the space to move around in.

But his heart can't learn to live without his Via. He misses her. He misses the music blasting from her phone that he never understood. He misses when she slyly tucked away the foods she didn't like when she thought he wasn't looking. (He of course told the staff to let her get away with it.)

He missed those times he fulfilled his promises to take her places and teach her things.

His head sunk into Blitzø's small shoulder, he doesn't see her peering through the glass door of the balcony. He doesn't realize the cheap plastic isn't soundproof, that she could hear every word.

Blitzø's eyes shone with tears until he noticed her. Her brushed them away and gave her a small smile before asking Stolas:

"If you could tell her anything right now, what would you say?"

Stolas shakes, sobbing into Blitzø again. How, he laments, would he even find the words? He had failed the daughter he loved more than the stars in the sky. His only joy for 17 years, the little light that kept the darkness at bay. And he'd failed her over and over and over again. He only hopes he taught her to be strong enough to resist her mother's influence, to protect herself as he had protected her for all these years.

The door slides shut, and Blitzø loosens his hold on Stolas' shoulders. Stolas looks at him, ready for his lover to be as disappointed in him as his child was, only to see Blitzø's gaze was elsewhere. He followed the imp's eyes and felt his heart drop.

Octavia was at his side before he could process his humiliation.

She's not ready to let go of the hurt she feels, but she's starting to understand. Being left behind by her only support left a sting in her heart. But there was something that she wasn't sure she could overcome alone.

She needs help. The help only her dad could give.

"I'm scared. I don't want to be married off to-"

She doesn't even have to finish her sentence. Stolas is on his feet, his daughter in his arms. He carries her away from the window, as if Stella and her brother would ever be caught this close to the apartments of imps.

Blitzø excuses himself after a few minutes. Stolas, his tears now vanished, instructs Octavia in the few loopholes in Goetic society and Hell's law that could (at the very least) postpone a potential marriage. There are a lot of fancy words and references to the weird Goetia crap that Blitzø could never grasp.

He idles in the kitchen, tuning it all out as he makes some dinner. An extra plate, in case Via wants to stay a bit longer. But they're getting ready to say goodbye as he plates up the potatoes. At least Stolas can have the extra rats as lunch tomorrow.

Blitzø's heart aches when Stolas hugs his daughter, at least until she hugs him back. As Octavia heads for the sliding door, Blitzø pushes past.

He shoos Stolas to the side, telling him to go wash his hands before he eats.

Octavia gives him a skeptical look. Blitzø takes it in stride. He tells her it's okay if she still hates him. He knows what it's like to hate himself.

He slides alongside her and pushes the TV stand out from the wall. Something starts to glow in the low light of sunset.

If she should ever need protection, he tells her, then he can handle it. IMP has done some bodyguard work before, and Blitzø will gladly do it again. It's a good thing that the assassin that tried to kill her dad left behind his Blessing Tipped Rifle.

If anyone was going to bring harm to her, Blitzø would use an Angelic weapon to keep her safe. He hands her his business card.

"Just in case," he says, moving the TV stand back as Stolas returns to the living room.

Octavia raises an eyebrow, but pockets the card and nods. Without another word, she opens the door and steps through a portal of her own creation.

[slowsweetlove]

23 AO3 tabs open on mobile

2 more on desktop

And new chapters are dropping left and right.

You wonderful writers in the MOTA fandom I can't keep up.

[pixelatedraindrops]

Guess who’s going to a theme park tomorrow in the midst of a heatwave? 😅 I’ll probably have to put wet paper towels on my head to prevent heat exhaustion.

Hehe it’ll be like a fever compress :3c

[wanderingaldecaldo]

2025 Writing Resolutions

I'm not usually one for resolutions but I've been kicking around the idea of having some writing goals after the post I shared last week, and came up with a few that are feasible:

Finish the first draft for one (or both!) of the stories I started last year in new-to-me fandoms

Edit and post the Presidential PWP

Finish the DA:I Blackwall fic that's been 95% complete for years

Daily 15min sprint

Some personal musings about writing (and reading) and WIPs under the cut.

Last fall I lost my Cyberpunk hyperfixation but, after three years of nonstop Val and Mitch (and Rosalind) through VP and modding, it's been a boon to my writing, and once more I'm reminded why I love hate one of my oldest hobbies. I really wish I could reassure my younger self that actually, no, I'll never run out of things to write.

Over my tumblr break, I rewatched the whole Daniel Craig Bond series, all because I really wanted to watch Skyfall, my fave of the entire franchise. Something new happened this time around as I watched the films — Judi Dench and Daniel Craig's chemistry gripped me by the throat and wouldn't let go.

I'm not generally one to visit AO3 (or ff.net back in the day) after consuming a piece of media; I could list out the ones that have on two hands, and still have several fingers left over, even with including the new ones mentioned here.

This time, I was lucky to have found a ship with a backlog of fics to work through. For weeks I read fics, and rewatched their scenes ad nauseam, ever thankful I'd bought the 4-disc set and wasn't reliant having the correct streaming service. Eventually inspiration struck and I started what I thought would be a oneshot. But where there's a WIP there's always more ideas lurking around the corner, and suddenly the oneshot developed into two chapters, with the second spinning quickly into a third.

Over the course of a two-week head cold that knocked out all writing aspirations, I binged all of Ted Lasso and became enamored with the characters and themes, but especially the relationship between Ted and Rebecca. As I watched, I didn't know the status of the show; in fact I had assumed season 4 was in the works. :sad trombone: No slow burn for me. After I finished it, I wanted to rewatch it immediately but decided not to; I wanted to sit with it first, to let it digest. I really didn't think I'd reach the AO3 stage — usually it's like the proverbial bolt of lightning that strikes quickly — but this time, appropriately, it was the friends-to-lovers trope that I adore.

Again, I was lucky to find a veritable treasure trove of fics. I wasn't the only one who wanted more of those two, and again, I found myself inspired with an idea that was two lines of dialog and half a scene held together with spit and twine, and since then it's spaghettied into —yes, you guessed it — three chapters.

Neither of them are anywhere close to being shitty first drafts; they're hand-scratched pages written over consecutive nights where I wrote seven sentences, or maybe seven words or even paragraphs, before nodding off over the notebook. The 00M fic has 2k words transcribed, and that's just the first half of the first chapter, while the rest is mostly vibes and smut, and now there's a fourth chapter, because of course there is. The tedbecca has less than a quarter of that, but it's at least all transcribed now.

Enter Cyberpunk 2.2 and remaking Val and falling in love with this stupid kleptopunk streetrat all over again. Glory shared a "what AO3 tag are you" quiz and I got "only one bed" and said it was ironic since I'd never written one, and she jokingly (???) challenged me to change that. Welp, friends, my brain couldn't stop poking at that and now I have an idea for a new fic featuring fan fave "only one bed" trope, and also a fix-it, another first. Usually I am content to leave canon as is and play within the margins and behind-the-scenes of what we're given, though maybe I will add my own touch to scenes; but I always felt that Driss's death was cheap and easy to avoid. Maybe if we'd been given an actual RPG with real choices, it could have been, but that's a topic for a different rant.

And with the reignited love for Cyberpunk, plus the desire to mark things off my to-do list, I opened the Presidential PWP tonight when I was going through my folders, and my god, it happened — I'd forgotten it! I read a few paragraphs and decided I need to save the reread for another night when I can read it uninterrupted and take fresh notes on it. Probably should recruit a beta, too.

Another very long standing to-do is the Blackwall fic. I started it in maybe 2015, and worked on it off-and-on for a couple of years alongside a ME Shakarian/Shaeed love triangle (don't at me), trading off between them as the hyperfixations switched back and forth. The Blackwall fic is a true oneshot and has been waiting on an ending for for 6+ years now. It's literally 95% done, and I fucking adore it so much, and just need to Write It, and get that draft out the door (and maybe to a beta? idk, we'll see).

So that gets to the last resolution — this is the one that I know I'll fail in that I won't do it daily; I will miss days. But it's an aspirational goal, and I know firsthand how beneficial writing daily is, even if I only get a few words out of it. It still gets the ol' compost bin in my brain going in the background, churning all those ideas and thoughts into more WIPs.

I've also been thinking about the why. Writing is one of my oldest hobbies, following reading and video games. Returning to the Cyberpunk setting runs the risk of me picking up VP and modding again, newer hobbies that offer faster and more immediate feedback from other fans; hobbies that I know will cut into both my desire to write and my free time. By writing out my... writing resolutions, it will be easier to remember my priorities for the year.

Rat asked about our writing accomplishments in 2024. I answered that I wrote four new characters in two new-to-me fandoms, and that I let myself move from projects as did my interest without guilt. Now, it feels freeing to have four fandoms and a dozen stories to choose between when I want to write, but I will say the color-coded notebooks are getting hard to keep track of.

[nothingenoughao3]

Back at it again with a fic update! New tags in italics!

Dreams in the Necromancer House (52655 words) by NothingEnough Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Re-Animator (Movies - Combs), Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Daniel Cain/Herbert West Characters: Daniel Cain, Francesca Danelli, Herbert West (Re-Animator), Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Henry Armitage Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Swearing, Drinking, Smoking, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Hypnotism, Slow Burn, Fix-It of Sorts, Plot With Porn, Exes, Character Study, Making Female Characters Actually Characters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Surrealism, Virgin Herbert West (Re-Animator), Tickling, Laughter During Sex, Anal, Unsafe Sex, Pining, Blood and Gore, References to Lovecraft, Lovecraftian Shenanigans, Reagent (Re-Animator), Reagent As Lube, Love Confessions, A Wild Nyarlathotep Appears, Angst, Body Horror, Trypophobia, Facial Shaving, Jealousy, Minor Character Death, Lovecraftian Cults, Chases Chapter 10 summary:

Dan discovers what went on while he and Herbert left the party. After a mind-altering escape, Dan decides, at last, to make certain parts of Herbert's life his business.

This story is killing me as much as it's killing y'all. I have to tell it or it will choke me out.

[trappedinmymind]

Re-reading your own writing is one awful thing, but re-reading your own writing specifically because you have to figure out if you already explained an important lore point or not somehow manages to make it worse

[tani-b-art]

((my very distraught Avanine recap))

When people have a connection like this, ain’t a thing you can do to stop it! Even Ava couldn’t stop that.

Ava, sweetie, I am so, so sorry. It’s too la—. Janine and Gregory has happened!

Ava wears purple a lot and that color represents part of the LGBTQ+ community so I’m gonna tentatively say she is a part of the rainbow!

Janine has a cardboard cutout of Allen Iverson, who Ava dated. She didn’t get a cardboard cutout of any other 76er (I mean Allen is the most famous Sixer of all time) but she doesn’t have one of Andre who Ava is/was dating. I feel she got this post Ava revealing this. She pays attention.

Janine brought her cousin to her party for Ava — obviously to be a distraction and to keep her out of her hair for the night. Is it because she knew she’d maybe be distracted by Ava and didn’t want that to happen? Ava saying “we’re like sisters”…so we’ve gone from friends-acquaintances and now “sisters”. We took a L, Avanites.

((now for the real))

Ava noticed Janine and Gregory’s chemistry while she was dancing with the cousin and physically attempted to position her body between that and was extremely vexed about it! And before she did that, she gave such a glaring stare to Janine when she noticed something was happening beside her. Her hyper-awareness & sensors for Janine is unmatched! [Ava gave Gregory a livid look]. And to say, Ava was very much preoccupied with Janine’s cousin and paying zero attention to Janine until this happened.

It was kinda funny seeing how unbothered Janine and Gregory were with Ava shooting eye lasers their way! And then it crushed my feelings because the ball was rolling from that moment onward.

So Ava obviously HAS feelings for Janine and it hasn’t stopped. So they want us to know that (or to remember if some forgot or thinks that Ava has stopped liking Janine just because we all witnessed the snail-paced progression of her and Gregory eventually becoming a thing).

Ava is probably going to be unbearable towards Janine and Gregory come next season now that they’re together unless Ava amps it up higher and flirts harder with Janine out of frustration OR they’ll have her the complete opposite, which would be awesome, and make her sad and despondent and lovesick with the new couple and she’ll be less picky towards them both which will shock Janine because she’s expecting Ava to tease her more than before.

WRITERS, what are y’all doing to us?!?! They wanted us to know Ava has feelings (still has) for Janine because why would y’all have Ava be so visibly bothered with Janine’s moment with Gregory?? (Then they zoomed in on Ava realizing what’s going on). Why have Janine dance right beside Ava too when this happened? But then have Janine bring her boy cousin specifically for Ava AND make Ava declare “we’re like sisters”? Unless this “sisters” statement was purely under the guise of Ava just being instantly excited for an attractive guy and it was sheer surface-level. Conflicting, testing, twisting and unreadable Ava+Janine story arc.

Ava seemed so dejected. Like the rug was pulled from underneath her. And while it’s very charismatic to see her unravel when it comes to Janine because she’s longing for something with her and is that attached and interested, I’m also sad for her because it’s yet something else that’s disappointed her as far as relationships are concerned. It doesn’t seem like she’s had much success with relationships.

I get it…Avanites will simply have to suffer till the end of Abbott time with their unrequited love! I feel queasy lol!

I think I set myself up way too high with my Avanine delusions and now look at me…I’m all undone about them being done (when it is clear they weren’t ever). I blame all the Tumblr Avanites for pushing me here - jk! Y’all are awesome! We’re awesome!

All is fair in the world of delusions.

[malleusmaleficent]

 “This smells incredible,” he murmured, entirely enamored by the utterly rote carnival food before him. The spices were rare and expensive, broken out only for the Laudation, but it was standard. You could find this here every year. To the people of the city, it was fairly unremarkable.

To Gon, though, it represented an entire world he had never known.

Gon took his first tentative bite, mumbling an incomprehensible mess of vowels and consonants before managing to get out the word “HOT!” as he flapped his hands. Presumably, that made the burning hurt less, somehow. The human mind is a strange thing.

Killua couldn't help but feel a little warm inside. The moment couldn't have been complete without Gon fumbling somehow. Killua was happy, because he was making someone else happy. It still felt weird to him, but each time it happened it was easier and more rewarding than the last.

“It's so good!” Gon said happily, after having let the frozen air cool his burnt tongue. The candied sugar left a hint of residue to Gon's lips, lending them the color of burnt amber. “But didn't you say we shouldn't do this?”

“Consider it payment for uh…” Killua trailed off and looked down at his feet. “You know, for putting up with me. I know I’ve been kind of a dick the past several days. You’ve helped me tend to my wounds and let me lean on you and stuff, you deserve better than what I've been giving you.”

Gon’s body moved with graceful speed, planting a kiss on Killua’s cheek. His lips were sticky, and now Killua’s cheek was sticky, too. “Things are stressful and you're in a lot of pain. You're doing great.”

[oatmealwrites]

new writing blog

hello I need to actually write on a schedule/discipline for once in my life so I'm starting a fanfic writing blog. (i did this once at 13 and it was the only time I actually did things on time so here we are a decade later)

I'll write fanfic for:

anime: JJK, BNHA, Death Note, Haikyuu, AOT/SNK, & more (i just can't remember all the ones I've watch tbh)

games: Resident evil, BG3, Personna (?) & more

But just drop me a request for anything specifically you wanna see!

I do long fics, multi-part, head cannons, and one shots :)

current preferred tropes: Enemies to lovers, love triangle, helpless pinning, best friends to lovers, obliviousness love, hurt/comfort

tho i'll write other topes depending on the specification

i will write NSFW (hehe) and i'll leave a tag depending on the anatomy i'll use. tho request if u want a specific anatomical reader/gender. NO NSFW for students unless time skip bc thats weird otherwise. (ex. Yuji after being a student and now a full sorcerer at like age 22 ya feel?)

anyways ty for reading this and just be patient. I need to consume at least one red bull per post to write it all

current plan:

Gojo x reader (in which reader is a sorcerer but not a teacher. reader is also implied to be close friends with Nanami) - Friends to something more? - Gojo Satoru needs help in persuading the higher ups to extend Yuji's execution date but he needs more support from outside sorcers. Nanami and Mei Mei already signed their support, with some convincing, but he needs one more signature. Yours.

L x Reader (reader is uni student studying criminology and psychology who is interning under chief Yagami. They are trusted to the Kira case and reader expects to get a full time job out of grad school - especially if they can catch kira, image the CV references)

colleagues to friends to lovers: When chief Yagami brought his grad student intern along for a Kira briefing L was all but hesitant to let them into the circle. But when the reader catches a detail L missed and put Light noticeably on edge, L realizes they may have more worth than he initially expected. Late nights together working on the case begin to blur the lines between professionalism and something more. L brushes it off, if he can try and be friends with Light, who he is certain is Kira, then he can remain friends with you. Or so he thought..

*im currently requesting an AO3 invitation to make a new account so soon all fics will also be on there*

[bleachbleachbleach]

[Bleach 083]

I have never really identified this in myself before, but I am kind of maybe a little obsessed with Ganju. A lot of this has to do with my general superinvestment in Rukia and Kaien and the whole Shiba-Kuchiki situation. But I'm also just into Ganju himself? I think it's the 4WD boar. SUBARU FAM.

Also because it's interesting to think about what we can draw from these panels, in terms of how Ganju is thinking about himself. I'm pretty sure we don't yet know that the Shiba are former nobility (though now I'm not sure in what future context that, specifically, would come up? if I had to guess Byakuya brings it up on the bridge, because literally who else would). Regardless, they have this whole cannon situation, and they are adept enough at the spiritual arts to know/invent kidou. In this chapter, the ceremony of the cannon is a huge deal (and requires use of what we might assume is Kuukaku's zanpakutou?). Even if we don't know the specifics, we know these are not your average Rukongai konpaku by any stretch of the imagination.

From Rukongai

But Ganju has still narrated a version of his brother that excelled in the Academy "despite being from Rukongai." The Shiba are absolutely not "from Rukongai" in the way that, say, Parakeet Kid is, even if they have always lived outside the Seireitei walls, pre- or post-demotion. Despite that distinction, and their linage, Ganju still thinks of himself--and by extension, Kaien--as being of this place, this non-Seireitei place. I mean, he rides a boar, he has fully embraced the bogan lifestyle.

My point is, this distinction of being from Rukongai matters to him, in his calculus of the world. Being from a noble family, it's probably only as surprising that Kaien is as innately talented as he is, as it is that Byakuya would be innately talented (relative to other Kuchiki as well as relative to other shinigami). The reach isn't as extreme as it would be for some literally random Rukongai konpaku. But that's not how Ganju sees this.

My brother who's in the Gotei

As far as determining Gotei norms, Ganju gives us a lot of cool info, provided we take him at this word as someone who would be intimately familiar with how the Gotei works. SURE, everything I've said thus far suggests we shouldn't. But I also feel like his pride in Kaien--and the kinds of weird things grief makes fixations out of--would suggest that even if Ganju knows nothing about the Gotei, he knows these little Kaien-shaped pieces to the letter:

Perhaps obviously, it is unusual to have lieutenant-class levels of reiryoku on entry into the Gotei

This does not automatically qualify you to become a lieutenant (even if there are slots available, which it kind of seemed like there were, re: Ukitake)

Kaien makes lieutenant within 5 years of joining the Gotei, which is also an exceptionally quick ascent. Given that Ukitake is nudging him in that direction during TBTP, this gives us something of a timeline on how long Kaien had been in the Gotei at that point (not very!).

"I was just a kid"

Then, between 40-110 years later, Kaien dies.

It's wild to think about Ganju being "a kid" when this happens. When was Ganju born???? Given that neither time nor aging are linear here, that's an impossible question to answer with certainty. Plus, I think "a kid" in this context could mean a whole lot of things that don't necessarily mean "I was exactly seven years old."

Even if I don't think I buy it entirely, I'm into the possibility that Ganju really is BABY, and was born after Kaien was already a shinigami and living apart from the fam (are the Shiba parents still alive and living and even weirder and more itinerant life than even Kuukaku--perhaps on the high seas??).

I'm also into the possibility that, honestly, Ganju has had a hard life, and that Kaien's death fundamentally separated his sense of who he was prior to that moment and who he would become, and that this is what he's referencing when he says his memories are dim because he was "only a kid" then. He had to grow up fast, at the same time as he's in no rush to grow up (running around with his boar gang, self-proclaiming things, rushing home for supper, acting the dutiful little bro to Kuukaku). Regardless, there's a lot of trauma surrounding Kaien's death, for sure. Which isn't to say Ganu's entire and only personality and reason for anything is his trauma, LOL. But it's not like Kaien's death and absence isn't a huge part of what's made him. It's not until this moment with the cannon, and the Hero Garb he made himself (using the Shiba crest) that he really says, okay, let's get some real info. Let's move forward.

DIY Regalia

Even the fact of his making his own Hero Garb really intrigues me. There is a long history that the Shiba are a part of--and again, we see this in the ceremony of the cannon, and perhaps even in Kuukaku's clothing and tattoos. It's not as though the Shiba don't already have regalia. And we could take this as Ganju finally fashioning literal, specific garments for himself as he takes up more of the mantel of his family's legacy, in the style of their usual regalia. I totally buy that.

But I also feel like the focus on this special getup being self-made goes back to Ganju not necessarily having access to the full picture of who his family was as a Great Noble House, and what all that history really is. We know that sometime after Kaien's death, the Shiba ceased to be a Great Noble House. If Ganju really was that young when Kaien died, there's another disruption. Like his memories of Kaien or his notions of who Kaien was, what the circumstances of his death were, Ganju is kind of piecing these things together without a map. ...Not unlike Ichigo!

(Must run in the family.)

[endlessburningdarkness]

been thinking about luo binhe getting therapy in the modern world. living a good life, happy, only to be haunted by dreams of horrendous abuse. inflicted on him and by him. thinking he's going insane, becoming depressed and suicidal. it takes years of his life to piece together that these dreams are in fact, memories.

he comes to accept it and move on with the help of cbt. but just as he's pulled himself out of a depressive pit and ready to move on, fate throws another anvil at his head. one day, he run's into a man who look's just like his hated teacher. in shock, binghe almost doesn't manage to dodge when the man immediately attempts to kill him.

turn's out, shen jiu remembers too.

[neve-gallus-girl-detective]

I'm slowly edging toward a new depression fic haha if I get energy to write at all

[drrden]

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