#short ik it's going in the extras fic on ao3

[bbyquokka]

panties

– in which changbin accidentally wears yns panties and doesn't hate it !!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | seo changbin x gender-neutral reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 | smut – 18+ is strongly advised!

𝐂𝐖 | panty wearing ; light sub themes ; dom-turned-sub changbin ; dirty thoughts ; masturbation (m) ; nipple play ; a toy mentioned (strap-on)

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | 2.2k ~ ( 2,226 )

��/𝐍 | ik its been a while since i posted :( pls accept this fic as an apology, hehe. wrote this a while ago & haven't stopped thinking about it since! don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. curious as to what is next? here is my wips list! i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

m.list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

it wasn't supposed to be like this. heck, he didn't plan on it ending up like this.

to him, it was a simple, innocent action that he didn't think twice of purely because he was in a rush this morning. he woke up late, time being against him. he barely felt clean from his shower because he was in a rush.

he was going to be late for work and his boss hates it when people are late. yet, there he was, standing in front of the open underwear drawer as he searched for a pair of his boxer shorts.

sweat coating his brow. his mood dipping and slowly becoming annoyed with himself. his hands fumbled as they brush up upon many textures of fabric. when he failed to find a single pair of underwear, he rushed to the wash basket to see that it was still full to the brim with unwashed clothing and sitting at the very top, as if to torment him in some cruel way, were his last pair of underwear.

ah, that's right. he promised to do the laundry yesterday but it slipped his mind. maybe because he was so busy indulging in you last night and now he has to face the consequences of his greed.

“fucking shit. fuck fuck fuck!” he looked at his watch. the minutes ticking by fast. now was not the time to feel sorry for himself! 

changbin thought about going commando. no one would know, right? but the thought of spending a full day in jeans with no extra layer of protection for his groin made him feel oddly itchy and uncomfortable. he dropped his towel, put on a clean tee and grabbed the first underwear his hand came into contact with – which were yours.

he didn't think much of it. he didn't even notice to be honest. he did feel a little uncomfortable and tight but he thought nothing of it and continued on with his day; until he got home, stripped and saw pastel pink panties with a dainty bow and frilly waistband hanging on his frame; leading him into his current situation.

“oh fuck.” he mumbles to himself. “oh fuck fuck.” he stares at himself in the full length mirror that's leaning against the bedroom wall. he swallows thickly as his eyes flicker around the panties.

they are yours. they are your favourite pair of panties and he is wearing them! the amount of times he sees you prancing around in this specific pair is uncountable. he can't count on his fingers the amount of times he has got hard over them, yet here he is, naked with nothing but the tight fabric on him.

he panics at first. sheer embarrassment and humiliation washing over him. “i must have accidentally grabbed them this morning.” he whispers to himself. his ears perk up as he listens for you only to be met with a soft hum and pots and pans clanking around in the kitchen.

he bites his bottom lip and slowly walks closer to his reflection like he is in some sort of horror movie and his reflection could jump out at him at any moment.

the closer he gets, the more he holds his breath. once close enough does he really soak it all in.

the pastel pink contrasting well with his tanned and dewy skin. the material hugging his ass and penis, accentuating the outline of his curves. his cheeks flush red as he can make out his assets. the dainty bow and frills adding just that little bit extra.

now with a closer look at himself, he strangely doesn't hate it. he feels pretty, sexy, but pretty. he turns his back to the mirror, looking over his shoulder and eyes widening at how plump and plush his ass looks.

“oh fuck.” he repeats. “this is bad.” he presses his lips in a thin line, facing full front in the mirror again. he traces his index finger down his torso and chest, following it in the reflection of the mirror. he stops at the waistband and gingerly traces the outline slowly.

it feels rough. not as soft compared to the rest of the fabric. he flicks the little bow and watches it bounce slightly. even though it feels tight and a little suffocating, it feels oddly comfortable and lewd. 

he lets his finger brush over the frilly waistband and onto the soft fabric. it feels velvety and smooth. he reaches behind him, tracing the outline of his ass and giving it a small squeeze.

he moans. it's a small moan, a silent moan but it's a moan and it makes changbin feel shocked at himself. he chews the inside of his cheek as he squeezes his own ass again. testing the waters and seeing if he has the same reaction, to which he does.

“oh fuck.” the same two words seem to be the only words he is capable of speaking right now. he looks down at his groin and sees his semi suffocating and stretching the material of your panties. 

up until now, he hasn't noticed that the pit of his stomach feels warm and fluttery. his penis throbs which he very clearly sees and it makes him blush. his nipples perk up a little bit and he dares to touch himself.

“maybe just a small touch.” he mumbles. he slides his hand to his clothed semi where he traces the outline slowly. he chews his bottom lip gently and hums softly.

the material feels hot and is radiating heat from his penis. he swallows thickly as he cups his balls and squeezes them ever so gently. he squeezes and tenses his thighs before huffing.

“why does it feel so good?” he questions. he's not doing much, just teasing himself but it's the thought. 

he drops to his knees in front of the mirror and parts then slightly. his hand removes itself from his balls and cups his growing semi. he gives himself a few gentle squeezes, head kicking and rolling back as his eyelids flutter close.

he increases the strength of the squeezing before rubbing his palm along his penis. he feels himself grow fully hard and throb. he rubs his cock head slowly but a little roughly as his free hand comes up and plays with his pink and perky nipples.

it's wrong. it's so wrong of him to do this. he knows that. he's also aware that you could come through the bedroom door at any minute and see him in such a lewd position but he doesn't care.

maybe it's because of the surging lust in his veins that he wants you to see him like this. his cheeks all red, curls flopping over his hazy eyes and bottom lip swollen.

his fingers circle his nipples before he tugs on them gently. he feels a growing wet patch against his palm to which he ignores and rubs his palm faster against his head. 

“oh fuck.. yes, just like that.” he whispers to himself. he tries to keep the moaning to a minimum or at least be quiet but with each passing second, his body burns.

his penis fully erect and leaking. the material stretching and hugging him tightly to the point of suffocation. cock and balls throb, thighs tensing as his body jolts with each surge of pleasure that courses through him.

“m-mhm!!” he looks at himself once again in the mirror and whimpers. the man in front of him is unrecognizable to him. he's so used to seeing himself as a strong, dominate man so seeing himself act and behave how you act, as a sub, all whiny, teary and lewd flicks a switch inside him that he didn't think he had.

he doesn't understand anything any more. he doesn't understand why he is thinking and feeling a certain way. one thing he is sure of though, is that his body is burning hot and he is filled to the brim with lust that it hurts.

he's far too gone to stop or think about that right now. he doesn't hate it and wants more. palming and rubbing himself through panties can only provide so much for so long so he takes it a step further.

his hand dips under the waistband and disappears underneath the fabric. he's met with his hot and throbbing penis. he groans as he wraps his hand around the base and squeezes himself hard. he looks down and grunts at the sight of his red and pre-cum leaking cock head appearing from under the waistband and being pressed flat against his soft tummy.

he gathers some saliva in his mouth before letting it fall onto his tip. his hand glides up his hot shaft for his thumb to smear the saliva and pre-cum around his sensitive head. 

he pushes his curls away from his eyes as he slowly strokes himself. the bumps and ridges of his veiny cock bumping against the palm of his hand. his tip continues to leak and spill as he throbs over and over again. 

he bucks his hips and tenses his thighs as if he were fucking you doggy style. he closes his eyes and imagines one hand buried into your hair and the other on your hip as he's buried deep inside you. he imagines the warmth and your scent as well as the sounds you make for him. 

but then his imagination drifts and all of a sudden, he imagines himself in doggy and you fucking him from behind. he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head as an attempt to ease it from his memory like an etch a sketch but to no avail; so he welcomes it instead.

he swallows as he imagines himself on all fours in front of the mirror. your hands on his skin, tracing down his spine and to his ass where you slap his cheeks gently. he can hear the slaps, feel the ripples of his ass cheeks. he can hear and see himself being fucked out, begging and lewd. his face being tear and drool stained as he begs you to:

“put it in! please don't tease me anymore.” he whispers to himself. he's shocked as the words just free flow past his lips but he continues on. he imagines your fingers circling his wet and puckered hole. he feels his own hole twitching at the thought to which he briefly thinks about doing it but decides to stick with imagination (only because he doesn't have the confidence)

his hand on his penis increases in speed. he becomes rougher with himself, tugging and squeezing his nipples hard. he squeezes his cock hard too, lips parting as he moans loudly. he doesn't care at this point. he doesn't care if you hear him or walk in on him. he's so consumed with himself anyways to think.

as he rubs himself, he continues to imagine. he can hear your sweet and gentle praises, calling him a princess and a good baby girl. he imagines your fingers in his ass and stroking his walls. he imagines himself tensing and throbbing around the digits, his penis also throbbing and begging to be touched as it leaks.

and then, he sees it. the strap-on that you've both been preparing him for. changbin's hips stutter and his movements on his penis are now sloppy, fast and desperate. the pit of his stomach is burning and feels so tight. he's hot and very close but he continues on with his imagination.

he imagines the tip of the strap-on poking and prodding his wet hole. he imagines making a note of how wet it feels due to the lube that is currently soaking the plastic. he imagines himself looking from over his shoulder at you and sobbing.

“please.” he begs to himself. “please put it in. need you so badly.” 

as he imagines the tip slowly entering his hole and stretching him, as if waking up from a wet dream, his eyes shoot open as his orgasm hits him in an overwhelming manner. 

“o-oh!! ohhh!” he moans. hot ropes of cum shoot out onto his torso. some of it landing on his thighs and staining the material of your panties. he strokes himself through his high, rubbing his tip in the process before painting heavily.

he pushes back his sweat coated curls and looks in the mirror. he flushes pink in embarrassment, post-nut clarity hitting him hard.

body stained with cum and sweat. cheeks rosy, eyes doe-like. his nipples perky and swollen but that's not what shocks him the most.

his own reflection staring at him as the tip of his penis is still visible and being pressed against his soft stomach thanks to the waistband. the once pink material and innocent look now stained with cum and tainting the innocence.

changbin panics and quickly rushes to the on-suite bathroom, where he takes the panties off (which are now stretched) and takes a quick shower to think about what to do about your underwear that he has just so lewdfully and willingly stained.

he comes to the conclusion to simply throw them away and buy you a new pair. 

surely you wouldn't notice that a pair of your favourite underwear has gone missing and been replaced with something completely different, right? 

[juroguro]

For the fic writer asks: 4, 17, 25

4 - Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

usually just bouncing ideas off with friends :) i also am thinking of my special interests at all times no matter what so ideas just sort of formulate naturally very often like that.. also i keep a physical list of all my fic ideas so when i wanna write something new i can just choose from that (my j one has like. 45 options queued up at this point 😭 i'll get to them eventually....)

17 - What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

it's sometimes good to just not let yourself write for a while, or just focus on writing something that's not a fic (i have to write every day for my job, which i feel like flexes a different writing muscle, so then i have more energy to work on stuff im passionate about!). that way you can let your energy build up and simmer :). some other misc tips: read a book (not a fic, a physical book), watch a movie, go on a walk, have some tea/coffee, make some art, listen to a podcast, etc. to help replenish your creative energy and find inspiration in new places :)

also a big one that i always recommend is to trying handwriting if you're always writing on a keyboard. it's like using a whole different part of your brain and it flows so much easier, + it helps u not edit while writing. also lets you have an extra stage of editing built in while you type everything up! i handwrite about half the time, almost always for shorter fics + short stories + poetry. (i also handwrote about 70% of scab, it took up nearly an entire notebook!)

25 - What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

this honestly isn't something i really think about.. i mostly write fics atp because it's stuff i want to read, and i always reread my stuff every day as bedtime stories or inspo or whatnot, not necessarily to please other ppl (but i love when ppl also like my fics :D). stuff on ao3 usually performs just as well as i think it will. like i like my gore fics the most, but ik that isn't a lot of ppls thing, so it doesn't perform as well. meanwhile if u write vanilla porn stonks SKYROCKET.. that's just the way of the world lol

the only fic i can really think of off the top of my head is kimi = hana, cuz i really adore that one but it didn't really do well for a multi-chapter fic comparatively because no one likes minimum AGONY... but again that's mostly expected

asks r here :)

[thetomorrowshow]

closed

Main Story

a short little story for the empires superpowers au! a little note before the fic: bc of life stuff i probably won't be following a post schedule anymore, so the strictly-every-tuesday will no longer exist. posting will likely be random (i do prefer tuesdays though) and not every week.

cw: flashbacks, references to past abuse

this piece takes place about 3 months after the end of poisoned rats.

~

They usually leave doors open around the house these days, after discovering that being in a closed room can be quite the vicious trigger for Jimmy. Which is why Scott finds it strange that their bedroom door is closed.

Elle, he thinks absently, before pushing the door open.

Maybe he pushes it open a bit roughly. The door handle does knock against the wall, after all. So when Jimmy, lying on the bed reading, hears the door open, he rolls off the bed and drops to his knees, head bowed and hands hanging loosely in front of him.

And Scott feels sick, because he hates triggering his boyfriend.

“Jimmy,” he says, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking. He slowly lowers himself to the floor, places down his mug of tea beside him. “Jimmy, dear, can you hear me?”

Jimmy nods tightly, flexes his fingers, but doesn’t move. Scott closes his eyes, takes a calming breath. Jimmy’s not usually dangerous when he gets like this, but it’s nerve-wracking for different reasons. The idea that one day, Scott will trigger him and Jimmy will be completely thrown back, all his progress undone? Scott will never shake that fear, as irrational as it is.

For every two steps forward you take a step back, he reminds himself. It’s something his therapist had told him when he was younger, and something Jimmy hears frequently from the same therapist. This isn’t necessarily even a step back, just a minor bump in the road. This is by far not the worst result of a trigger.

“Can you breathe with me?” he asks, keeping his distance. When Jimmy doesn’t respond, he continues, “Take a deep breath, okay? In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. Again.” He repeats the breathing exercise until Jimmy’s shoulders loosen, until he shifts to sit cross-legged instead of kneeling.

“Still want breathing counts, or need something else?” he murmurs, and Jimmy looks up with red-rimmed, watery eyes.

“Can—um, can you hold my hand?” he croaks, and Scott slowly slides across the room and holds out his hand for Jimmy to take. Jimmy does, hand barely gripping Scott’s fingers. Scott keeps his breathing slow and relaxed, hoping that Jimmy will continue to follow. He does, and eventually Jimmy scoots up into his lap and leans his head against Scott’s chest. There they sit, Scott leaning up against the bed, Jimmy leaning up against him.

“‘M tired,” Jimmy slurs, and Scott chuckles lightly.

“I can imagine, honey. Did you have a flashback?”

Jimmy nods sleepily against him. “Yeah. Not too bad. Jus’ some people grabbing me from my cell.”

Scott’s heart aches at the words, just like it always does when Jimmy brings up his captivity. He can’t imagine living that long in a tiny cell, the only faces to see vicious guards and a brainwashing captor. He’s not sure how Jimmy survived.

He’s insanely glad that he did.

“Love you,” Jimmy mumbles, reaching up with a clumsy hand to pat Scott’s cheek. Scott grins despite the sober mood, the panic in his chest finally starting to dissipate. Jimmy’s okay.

“Would you like to sleep now and talk later, or talk first?”

In moments after flashbacks, Jimmy has trouble making choices for himself out of nothing. They’ve arranged that Scott will give options and Jimmy has to choose out of them—still granting him autonomy, but making it just that little bit easier for him. Scott tries to limit it to two, any more can be overwhelming.

“Hm. Can we maybe talk a little, then sleep?”

“Of course.” Scott stretches a bit, helps Jimmy stand and sit on the bed. It sinks down a little under their combined weight, one of the blankets slipping. Scott pays it no mind but to shove it back toward the middle of the bed.

Jimmy kicks at the carpet a bit, smiles at Scott. Scott smiles back, but nudges him with his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about the flashback, or do you want to talk about what triggered it?”

The smile fades quickly. “The trigger, I guess.” He looks unsure, so Scott smiles encouragingly. “Right. I know we usually leave the doors open, but sometimes I . . . I miss it, I guess. The—the isolation. The cell was—nobody really hurt me in there. It was like a reprieve. So I just felt really exposed today and needed to be closed off.”

Scott chews on that for a minute. “I think I understand. You needed to know that you were in a place where you wouldn't be hurt.”

Jimmy nods. “Something like that. And then—it’s not your fault, not at all, but when you opened the door it was like they were here to drag me out of my safe place . . . like the reprieve was over. . . .”

Scott hugs Jimmy a little closer when he shudders, pressing a kiss into his hair. Jimmy hums, nuzzles into his chest. “I’m okay now,” he says quietly. “Tired. It’s been a rough day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“‘S not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Jimmy looks like he wants to argue it, but instead he just closes his eyes and leans more of his weight against Scott. “What time is it?” he asks.

“Time for bed,” Scott tells him, easing him down onto the bed and standing, before pulling a blanket over him. “I’ll make dinner while you nap, okay? Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Mkay. Love you.”

Scott can’t help but smile as he dims the lights, picks up his mug from the doorway. “I love you, too. Door closed or open?”

“Closed.”

[thosch3i]

Fic Writer Interview Game

was tagged by @extraordinarilyextreme <3 thank you so much! was out all day and only got around to this now lol

name: emmy/thosch3i whatever u wanna call me, it’s all good lol

fandoms: currently, only dmbj but previously also zhenhun. most of my fics on my ao3 are still weilan but maybe one day i’ll kick my ass into gear and write more pingxie LOL.

two-shots: ......I only write one-shots i’m sorry LOL

most popular multi-chapter fic: ............i really do only have one-shots man im sorry. most popular fic in general is going viral, at 840 kudos. shen wei vs technology in covid-era online classes lol. glad all 840 of you were coping with this pandemic well(?????)

actual worst part of writing: getting ideas from brain onto paper. talking about fun angsty ideas in dms? awesome! actually writing them? uhhhhhhhhhhh [sweats] also lol finding time to write. i feel like i never have time these days but maybe my time management is just...terrible.

how you choose your titles: i write the entire fic and then panic throw a random line that sounds vaguely related as the title. idk what im doing, ever, dont ask me things. *lies down*

do you outline?: usually yeah. most of the time my writing goes horribly south from the actual outline anyway though. (everything’s fine folks i promise--) though sometimes for short fics i’ll just have a general idea and start typing. and then it turns into like 15k words and i despair

ideas you probably won’t get around to, but wouldn’t it be nice?: all of my old weilan fics lol. i had a huge 20k outline for a weilan x dbh crossover with android shen wei and Plot and Twists and Betrayal and Revelations and whatnot and honestly i was rly hyped to write it, i got 50k for nanowrimo two years ago but ehhhh i just dont have the brain for guardian anymore....im only capable of fixating on one fandom at a time. looking through my guardian wips i also have multiple other soulmate AUs, a literal ghost!sw + human!zyl AU with a whole other plot, urban fantasy demon!sw + human(?)zyl again with....more plot. lol i give up on life *shrugs*

callouts @ me: write faster and also read more fics in english instead of chinese because you’re forgetting how the english language works at this point, dumbass

best writing traits: i legit do not know. descriptions? fluff? pining? lol help

spicy tangential opinion: hmmm...mainly, i dont read much eng dmbj fanfic bc i dont vibe with most popular eng fandom fanon/characterization, sorry 😅 uhhhhh i also really hate it when people forget that xg & pz have their own friendship and relationship independent of wx......pz tends to bring out xg’s playful side at times, which un showed w their last couple eps and also there’s a novel extra where xg pranks pz (&wx but mostly pz bc wx sees through it p quickly) with a fake zombie turtle and it’s rly cute lol. anyway t3j’s relationship is the heart of dmbj and it can’t be intruded upon or broken up by others, esp by chongqi/rain village. uhhhh another spicy opinion: i vastly prefer huaxiu to hei///hua, sorry guys orz i blame tlt2...huaxiu are too cute ;;;;;; anyway ill stop there before the entire dmbj tumblr fandom blocks me LOL. (i also have too many Opinions(tm) about characterization.)

but anyway, so like im definitely a cranky judgy bastard at times, but in the end fanfic is fanfic so u can write whatever ooc crackship crack premise stuff you want, have fun with it. i certainly do too. as long as you’re having fun then that’s all that matters. tangentially related, dramas don’t have to be Objectively Good/Amazing or anything for you to like them. i definitely have very strong opinions on dmbj adaptations for example re: how they respect the novel and characterization of t3j especially, but they all have their own problems....(some far more serious than others). i could write an essay about that but i wont, to save your eyes LOL. 

(i mean at the end of the day i unironically love time raiders and that is like an objectively terrible movie.)

tagging: im so inactive on tumblr im sorry idk anyone anymore. i think lots of dmbj writers have already been tagged but also i dont read much dmbj fanfic so im not sure who else there is OTL @laireshi ik u already got tagged but if u choose to do this i wanna see :D otherwise if you’re a fic writer and you see this please feel free to tag yourself~

EDIT: im a clown sorry laire just saw u already did it lmaoooo

[silver-colour]

fic: The Long Road Home

Summary: Martin was just going outside for a walk, and then the world ended. Now he has to find his way home, to Jon, before it’s too late. AKA Martin’s pov of the events of MAG160

Tags: h/c, panic attacks, canon-typical comfort (theyre alive and together); all dialogue you recognize is from mag160

Written for @themagnuswriters TMA h/c week, day 7, for the prompt “panic attack”

Read the whole fic under the Read More, or HERE on Ao3

And HERE is the Ao3 collection for all my fics this week!

“Obviously I’m going to tell you if I see any good cows,” Martin said, already turning around to grab his coat. The days had been getting much colder and windier since their arrival in Scotland. If they were going to stay here all winter one or both of them might have to travel to a larger town to get some winter gear.

As he pulled on his boots Martin started making a mental list of things they might need: coats and hats, definitely, and possibly sturdier shoes as well. Strangely enough the cabin had a large collection of gloves, in which they should be able to find some to last them the winter. What they really needed was food, some stuff they could stockpile.

As Martin locked the door behind him he had to suppress a shudder. He had gotten rather good at stockpiling food with long shelf life since the Hive attacked him. And gods, didn’t that feel like ages ago now? The memories were still enough to wake him at night, sometimes, both in London and here. Whenever he woke from worm-infested dreams, he had to check the cupboards, and the fridge, and see if there was enough food there to last them a long time.

It’s a compulsion he hasn’t been able to rid himself of, even if it wasn’t the worst thing to be compulsive about. As Jon had put it once, after finding Martin in the kitchen at impossibly-early-AM: “it can’t hurt to be prepared, right?”

So Martin had been bringing extra groceries every time he went down to the village. A few cans of food here, some dried pasta or bottled water there. Their stores were doing alright, but if they wanted to be comfortable for the winter, instead of just surviving, he’d have to look into getting some nicer things as well. Perhaps some extra fruit preserves, and dried meat?

Still compiling lists and thinking about recipes (more tea, definitely more tea, and should he already be preparing for Christmas? What if they got snowed in? They should check the shed out back, make sure there was enough firewood as well), Martin emerged from the stretch of forest behind the cabin.

Looking up the hill he could see the clouds tumbling and chasing each other across the sky in the same wind that grabbed at his coat. Definitely getting colder– soon it wouldn’t even be decent hiking weather without wearing a scarf and hat. The path uphill meandered and circled, sometimes branching off to go downhill and up the next one. Martin was halfway up the path, about to take the corner that would bring him back in view of their safehouse, when he felt the winds pick up, ike someone flipped a switch.

For a moment Martin had to lean his entire weight against the sudden gale of wind, then it lapsed as abruptly as it started, leaving Martin to tumble over his feet around the corner. He hit the ground hard, cushioning his fall with his arms, tearing his coat in the progress. He blinked, dazed for a moment, resting his head on his arms for a breath before getting up.

Had it been only a moment? A creeping, sneaking fear whispered the question in his mind. Hasn’t it been much longer? Aren’t you lost out here, aren’t you hurt, and abandoned, and alone?

The light had changed in the short(had it been short?) time he’d closed his eyes– still enough to see, but it looked more like twilight now than mid-day. He’d have to go home right away, Jon must be worried by now. Fighting the pain in his arms as well as the creeping fear, Martin struggled upright, attempting to wipe the mud of his knees, his coat, and blinked.

He looked around at where the safehouse should have been visible. Instead there was… everything– nothing– certainly not what had been there when he left. The path down the hill was a mess of spirals, and confusing roads crossing, linking up and breaking off. The forest at the foot of the hill seemed to loom, even though Martin stood higher than the forest. It appeared to reach for him, for the surrounding land, as though it wanted to reclaim it all, and keep it forever in it’s choking, wooded embrace.

And then there was the sky. Though the wild winds were still there, now pulling in many different, unpredictable directions, the sky had lost all clouds. Its colour was one no sky should ever, could ever be. That of bruises both old and new, and in it was– God. That was no moon or sun. That looked entirely too much like– like an eye.

You’re alone, now, Martin, and so very, very lost. Who will find you now, Martin Blackwood, out here where no one knows you, where none remember you–

He shook his head, attempting to get rid of the whispers, the all too familiar thoughts burrowing into their old places again. He didn’t have time for this, he had to get back to Jon.

Could this be caused by a ritual? The rituals weren’t supposed to work at all, Jon had said. He’d said it would never work to only bring a part of the Whole That Is Fear into this world. Yet this looked an awful lot like someone had succeeded. Whatever this mess was, he had to get back.

Surveying the crooked path Martin dimly wondered whose ritual this was supposed to be. Were those spirals moving? He’d never find his way back across those. He stared straight downhill, at the impossibly looming forest, to where he knew the cabin should be– to where Jon was.

Dead ahead and downhill then? The way would be rocky, and dangerously slippery, and the going very slow. But it was more likely to keep him going in the right direction. Martin dreaded losing sight of the forest, and the-place-where-the-safehouse-was. Somehow it felt like he’d never see it again, if he followed the spinning, twisted path back around the corner.

Path decided, Martin straightened his back, pushed down the thoughts spiralling in his head (you’ll never make it Martin, what will Jon think when he finds you’ve abandoned him? Perhaps he’ll be glad–) and started the climb down.

Climbing was hard, much harder than it had looked from the path, rocks loosening up when he tried to steady himself, edges scratching at his palms, and his knees, slowing him down even as they tried to throw him down.

Every step felt unprepared, rushed and unsafe, yet took forever. When Martin crossed a new path, this one twisting in a gravity-defying way, he slumped down for a moment to catch his breath. Looking down he still had so very far to go– looking down the impossible path it tempted him again, to just take the road, it’s a little longer, sure, but won’t it be easier, and faster in the end?

It was unnerving, how accurately it knew his thoughts, what way best to tempt him into what would certainly be an endless maze. It sounded so much better. Which was why he couldn’t trust it, could not take that path.

Further down, ever further down he climbed, for what could be hours, and felt like days. Martin lost all sense of time, but surely, surely the hill hadn’t been this high this morning? Or even when he stood up there on the path, and made the decision to climb down?

A rock shifted under his feet, then a second one slipped loose in his hand and he was falling, plunging down, far too fast–

When he opened his eyes he found himself staring up at the wrong-sky above, one of the eyes (hadn’t there been only one before?) staring straight down at him. With consciousness pain flooded through him, telling him he was bruised and battered all over. More than that he could feel himself being watched, being Seen, and coldly judged, and left alone to suffer his pain.

And really, truly, wasn’t this what Loneliness was? Worse than inside the Lonely, where he felt nothing but loneliness, here he was: Seen, Known, lying on the ground at what might as well be the end of everything; to be out here without anything, no one to help him, no one to save him, all alone–

Martin curled up on his side, bruised limbs protesting loudly at his every movement. He might as well be in the Lonely again; the result was the same, and the pain would be less.

A cold washed over him, a feeling of distance, from himself, from the Eyes and the spiralling paths, from the pain in his limbs and the despair in his heart. The Lonely had never quite let him go, and was coming back for him now, to suffocate him in nothingness; to bring him back to that place where he didn’t have to care that no one would miss him. After all, it was his own choice this time. Better to be Alone, than the stay, and see the aftershocks of the death of the world he once knew. His only regret was–

Jon.

Jon was still out there. What was Martin doing, what was he thinking? Jon was still waiting for him, he had to be– perhaps he was even looking for Martin right now. He had to get back to Jon. Jon might know (might Know) what to do, how to fix this– this thing that was no longer their world.

Under even louder protest Martin unfurled his limbs and slowly, very slowly stood back up. He was at the bottom of the hill; he’d made it down! Not the way he’d wanted to, but certainly faster than his descent thus far had been. His jeans were torn in several places, and his coat would certainly not help him in the winter– would there still be a winter? Martin could feel that cold creeping back at the thought, and willed himself to start moving.

He could worry about wintery weather when it arrived. There were bigger problems for now.

Here at the bottom of the hill the forest seemed even more ominous than it had before, malevolent roots seemed to reach for him, whip-like branches twisting in his direction, and despite the fact that the larger-than-life trees obstructed any view of the sky he felt Watched. Perhaps the Eyes wouldn’t be stopped by something as simple as wood and leaves. Or perhaps there was something in the forest watching him.

Martin quickened his pace. Despite his aching legs, and complaining back and bruised everything, he had to get through this. He had to reach Jon. So despite the oppressive fear that hung like webs between the trees, the need to make himself small, and the feeling of have-to-hide, he squared his shoulders and walked on.

The forest watched his every move, his every step, but now that he didn’t need to climb a rocky slope Martin could pay attention to the path. He avoided several gnarled roots that attempted to trip him, and never strayed from the road. This path, at least, had not been affected by the spirals on the hill. Somehow, Martin got the feeling that the forest would not have let that happen.

After a meaninglessly long amount of time, Martin emerged from the tangled forest. Up ahead, at the normal distance from the forest where it had stood before, was their safehouse. It looked the same, untainted and unmoved by the changed world around it. Which might have been worrying, if Martin had stopped to think about it.

He did not. Martin broke into a sprint the moment he saw the cabin, running for the door, and– it was locked.

Of course it was locked, he’d locked the door himself. Fumbling the key into the lock, he whispered a thanks to whatever gods might still be listening that he hadn’t lost it along the way. The door opened with a now-familiar creak, and Martin made himself lock it again behind him before going any further.

Jon was unconscious, lying on the kitchen floor, the new statements scattered around the table and floor.

“Jon? Jon wake up, please, Jon, wake up!” Martin was frantic, and Jon was not moving at all, so he slapped him.

A dazed blink: “Uh– Wh– Martin?” Another blink, as Jon began to look less dazed. “Wha– Oh god. What– What happened?”

Martin could cry, from fear, from the release, for the fact that Jon was alive, and Martin wasn’t alone.

“I- I don’t know; everything– It’s all gone wrong!”

“Help me up,” Jon made to move, and Martin helped him up, supporting them both against the edge of the kitchen table. Then Jon tried to move for the door.

“No– don’t, don’t go outside. It’s– It’s real bad, Jon” Martin breathed. But Jon seemed determined to see, to Know what happened. He limped over to the window instead.

“Oh god.”

“I- I don’t know if it’s just here, or–,“ Martin started, to explain, or to stop Jon from looking outside, to distract him and divert his attention back to Martin.

“No. No, it’s everywhere. They’re all here now,” Jon’s voice was shaking, yet he spoke with a certainty of Knowing that unsettled Martin. “I can feel all of it.”

“Jon. Jon, I’m scared,” in another time, another place, Martin might have felt ashamed to admit it. Here and now, the words barely seemed enough to convey what he felt.

“The whole world is afraid, Martin. Because of me,” he choked out a laugh, and that laugh hurts Martin more than anything Jon just said. “And The Watcher drinks it all in.” He laughed more fully, yet the edges of it were ragged and sharp.

“John?” Martin’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Look at the sky, Martin. It’s looking back,” Jon laughed, deranged, distant, and this needs to stop, now.

Martin might not be able to fix their situation, (a situation Jon caused, he said?) but he could at least try and stop Jon. Because the way he’s laughing? It sounded like Jon might as well be crying. Martin shuffled over to the window and dragged the curtain closed.

He knows the sky is looking, and he understands a little bit better why the sky might be looking at them. He was out there, just now. Before. However long ago. It felt like he’d been gone for days at times. If he was, then Jon must have been unconscious for all that time. Or perhaps Martin just got the time he spent Out There wrong.

But he came back, they're together and that’s more important than anything else. He folded Jon in his arms in a bearhug and just held him. Jon’s laughter slowly turned into sobbing, as whatever he Saw, as the Knowledge of what he has done washes over him.

Jon clung to Martin like a lifeline through the sobs that racked him. They stand like that for a long, long time, before Jon stopped shaking. He never let go of Martin.

“Come on, Jon. I’ll make us some tea.”

A snort, something that might still be either laugh or sob escaped Jon. “What’s the use of tea, Martin? What is the point of anything, now? We cannot sit here and pretend everything is normal!”

“Of course not, Jon!” Martin said, perhaps more exasperated than he really felt. Mostly what he felt was fear. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t still nice to have something warm to hold.”

Hidden in Martin’s arms Jon whispered something that sounded suspiciously like “I’m already holding something warm.”

A small smile found its way onto Martin’s face. “Let me find some tea, and we’ll move to the couch. Then we’ll figure out what to do next alright?”

Jon nodded against his chest. “One step at a time, and the first step is tea.”

“The first step is tea,” Martin agreed.

[spadebrigade]

5 things i’ve learned about publishing on ao3

heyo ~ so i’ve been publishing on ao3 for about 3 months now. ik it’s not a lot of time but i thought i’d share tips of what i’ve learned so far. mainly about how to attract readers

write chaptered work. if you want to build a following, the easiest way is to write something that has multiple parts. it will create an investment in your work that’s different from writing a one shot. a one shot means one chance to prove yourself to the reader, but a chaptered work means that you’ll get another chance whenever you update AND readers will become familiar with your writing style.

be careful with rating. i tend to over-rate (making my work M when it could probably pass for T). i once had to lower a rating because my hits-to-kudos ratio suddenly went out of whack (people were opening my work, but less were leaving kudos). when people see an M rating, a lot of times the reader is going to be expecting smut (or other adult content) and will be disappointed if your fic is misleading.

have fun with tags. in addition to important info about the work (like trigger warnings or sensitive content), use the tags as an extra space to clue the reader in on the vibes or tone of the piece, giving additional info that doesn’t fit into the fic summary. 

the most intriguing fic summaries are the ones that are a short excerpt + a one/two sentence summary. the excerpt gives the writing style/vibe and the summary gives the context. (i’m still bad at writing summaries but this is the kind that works on me best as a reader.)

reply to comments. if your readers see how much you appreciate their comments, then they’re more likely to share their thoughts with you.

i can’t say that all of this is universally true but i hope this list will be helpful to someone!! and if i discover more things, then maybe i’ll add on to this list in the future. good luck writing everyone <3